
-----------------------------------Seeds of Memoryby J. Richard Jacobs-----------------------------------Science Fiction/Suspense/Thriller
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Copyright ©2006 by J. Richard Jacobs
First published in DDP, 2006
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Seeds of Memory
Copyright © 2005 J. Richard Jacobs
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A DDP First Edition January 4, 2006
SEEDS OF MEMORY
by
J. Richard Jacobs
On the afternoon of 15 October 2219, the pressroom of the International Space Administration in Detroit was packed beyond capacity with journalists and science writers. The great hall hummed with conversations cut short in the past and old disagreements resumed, with loudly expressed friendships and animosities renewed. Dr. Andrew Longbow, spokesperson for the Institute of Planetary Sciences in London, stepped up to the lectern and silence traveled in a slow wave to the back of the hall.
"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. You all know who I am, and I know who most of you are, so we may dispense with preliminaries. We are going to run this session in reverse order today, because there are a lot of rumors and misleading speculations circulating in the media, the result of which will be catastrophic if we do not put an end to them ... today. So, I will entertain questions first, then we will have a brief statement issued by Dr. Charlene Clark, Director of the International Space Agency. First up ... Ms. Carlisle."
"Dr. Longbow, do we know what this ... thing is? Is it true that it may be a piece of a fractured neutron star?"
"No, Ms. Carlisle, we do not have any hard information on the makeup of the object. Its density remains unknown at this time, though its mass is reasonably well established. But, yes, it is possible that it is a fragment from a collision of two or more dense objects. However, it is very difficult to imagine something as dense as a neutron star being fractured by any known mechanism other than being ripped apart in an encounter with a black hole, in which case it could not be expected that any of its fragments would escape the episode. We have launched a probe from Uranus One. That occurred at 0100 hours UST yesterday, and we should have useful information by late tomorrow. Yes ... Mr. Benson."
"Dr. Longbow, we have received reports that the object is more massive than the sun and, if so, what danger does it pose to the system as a whole ... Earth, Mars, and the sun in particular?"
"Mr. Benson, I suspect I know the origin of those reports, but we have determined, based on perturbations observed in the outer planets, that the object is approximately zero point seven solar masses, that is, about seventy percent the mass of the sun. Whether it represents any major threat to the inner planets or the sun remains unknown. It is doubtful that the object poses any danger to the sun, but we need to gather more data before we can begin to model possible effects with a reliable degree of accuracy. What we can say is, AFO-8 will certainly have an effect on the orbit of Mercury, although we cannot yet predict what that effect will be. Venus and Mars will be relatively close to the event, but we doubt, owing to the speed of the object, that there will be any serious disturbance to the orbit of either of them during the pass. Earth will be in a place positioning it as far from the event as possible, minimally two hundred million kilometers, and should be perfectly safe. Let's see now ... Mrs. Leary, is it?"
"Yes, Dr. Longbow. You have a phenomenal memory, sir. Um, you called this object AFO-8. Can you tell us, specifically, what that means?"
"AFO is an acronym of the phrase Astronomically Free Object, although it would be more accurately described as Gravitationally Free. That is to say, an object not bound by the gravitational attraction of any other body, or system of bodies. The velocity of this object and its mass render it free from capture by anything but the most substantial of gravity wells. For example, if it were to pass close enough to a substantial black hole it could be trapped. Since there are many such bodies moving independently through our galaxy, indeed throughout the universe, the designation and numbering system has been restricted to those bodies penetrating a sphere with a radius of one parsec from Sol. This, then, is the eighth such object known to have passed through that sphere. Next? Ah, yes, Dr. Weiler."
"Hmm ... according to Dr. Mathausen's measurements, the perturbations of Saturn and Jupiter indicate that---"
"Dr. Mathausen arrives at conclusions rather abruptly, and his findings have historically proven to be erroneous, Weiler."
"I would appreciate it ... Longbow ... if you allowed me to complete my question. The perturbations clearly show this object to be of sufficient mass, more than the zero point seven solar masses you indicated, to make it capable of seriously disrupting our sun---in spite of its velocity. Dr. Mathausen has suggested that there will be a time lag, he refers to it as flywheel effect, before we will be able to assess the extent of internal disturbances in the sun. He has suggested the time interval could be in the order of several decades before we would know to what extent the sun has been disrupted. Is that true?"
"I remind you, Weiler, that those are the conclusions of a---"
"Is it true?"
"---of a madman. No. Of course it is not true."
"What data do you have to support your position, Longbow? What precedents?"
Two men in dark suits arrived to remove Weiler from the room. Weiler, a small man of advanced age, was easily subdued after a brief struggle. He was heard repeatedly shouting, "Is it true?" while he was being dragged out, until the closing of the heavy wooden doors silenced him.
"Please, ladies and gentlemen," Longbow pleaded. "Let us follow the protocol outlined for you before you came in this morning. One question and one response. If you are dissatisfied with the response given, follow up with a formal letter to the board. It will be answered in a timely fashion. Next question ... Mrs. Brin ... and how are the colonies these days?"
I remember thinking that he didn't give a nanodamn about us and our little colonies. The only thing he cared about was orbiting Mars as part of the largest interferometry project in the history of astronomy. We, the people, meant nothing to him and his elite band of esoterrorists.
"Funny you should ask that, Dr. Longbow. The approach of AFO-8, which, I understand, carries the name of Vaunt-Courier, is said to have been responsible for new seismic activity that destroyed the Tharsis Town greenhouses and brought Olympus back to life. Phobos is now in a rapidly decaying orbit, and if it should survive its dip inside the Roche Limit, could produce a global disaster. The people in the colonies are concerned, and with good reason. Will there be similar disturbances felt on Earth ... and what about the moon?"
"Mrs. Brin, Earth will be more than two hundred million kilometers away at closest approach. There will be some effect, to be sure, but nothing to cause alarm. As for the recent seismic activity on Mars, there is no reliable data linking AFO-8 to---"
"Like hell there isn't. We have definite---"
"Please, Mrs. Brin, the protocol---"
"Screw the protocol. And why is no one aware of what has happened on Mars---a planet, by the way, that happens to be currently almost seven hundred fifty million kilometers from your object and..." Well, in self-defense, I was angry with the whole system, a system that ignored reality in favor of pet theories. You didn't need to be any kind of locked-in-your-tower scientist to put all of the recent occurrences in order and come up with pending disaster. So I was being a little obstinate, I admit that, but, damn it, these were important issues that had not been addressed publicly by anyone in the ISA.
"Mrs. Brin, please. What has happened may be peripherally connected to the presence of AFO-8, but is certainly not a direct result. The orbit of Phobos was unstable to begin with. Your people were advised years ago to work up a program to stabilize it because any slight disturbance could cause a---"
"This is not just any slight disturbance, Dr. Longbow. It is your Vaunt-Courier."
"Mrs. Brin, I will have you ejected from---"
And I don't doubt he would have done it, but at that moment a temblor measuring eight point nine ended the conference and flattened two-thirds of Detroit. Things have been accelerating rapidly downhill since. Phobos has begun to break up, and we have been hit by several large pieces already, setting back our terraforming efforts a hundred years or more. Dr. Longbow committed suicide last week, and Dr. Mathausen, of all people, has taken his place on the board. Vaunt-Courier is now plainly visible as a dark shadow blotting out the stars in the background. Heaven help us all.
Iliana G. Brin, Staff Investigative Reporter, The Martian Chronicle
1 December 2219
"I'm not having second thoughts, Alex. I think I'd describe them as first thoughts. More accurate that way."
"Okay, Marta, then don't go having first thoughts on me. Not now, please. We're too close to launch, and that means you can't back out. Not now."
"What? You rewrote my contract? If I remember correctly, it specifically states I can drop out at any time. Right up until ... you know."
"But you're the most experienced doctor in the bunch ... and the best gene juggler we have. I ... need you."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, but my contract---"
"Will you forget the contract for a minute? What about the crew ... the mission?"
"The devil with the mission, Alex. Oh, it's a grand idea, and it may even have some purpose to it ... maybe, but I'm having a hard time finding it right now. It's the crew ... they're the only reason I'm still here, otherwise I'd have been gone the first time I realized what I was actually doing."
"Well, I'm glad to hear you're still thinking about the crew."
"I imagine some might say it's my mother instinct at work."
Mother instinct? You?
"This instinct, whatever it is, is going to keep you in the flight?"
"It has ... up until now."
"Wonderful. How about I buy you dinner? We can suck up some sweet yummy to finish it off. They have real fruits and stuff here."
"Why not? Besides, we should do it now or we won't be able to. Can't eat for thirty-six hours before going into stasis. That reminds me of a phrase I heard a long time ago ... or maybe I read it. I don't remember which. It went something like, 'The condemned ate a hearty---'"
"Stop it, Marta."
"That an order, ma'am?"
"No."
"Good. 'Into the valley of death rode---'"
"Marta!"
The two of them, dressed in the bright yellow and rich brown uniform reserved for members of the Finder Flights, turned into a passage marked "OBS DK & OFF LOUNGE." A yellow bar below the sign warned, "High rad levels inside lounge shield---tags are available at the bar."
Working asteroid Medevac required an unflinching will to survive, coupled with the nerve to stare death in the infinite depth of its eyes---and a dedication tough to find anywhere in the SESC. Although she didn't look it, Dr. Marta Lavan had all that and much more. She'd served out there among the Belt mines for five years before signing up for the Finder mission and earned the Distinguished Service Stripe to prove it.
Anyone seeing those bright red bars stroked across her shoulder boards knew immediately that she was no virgin to the rigors of space, yet she had one weakness she couldn't shake. Moving scenes, like the one displayed in the huge ports lining the planet side of the lounge, caused her to respond with a severe reaction that demanded the entire contents of her stomach be expelled instantly and violently without regard to where she was, or in whose company.
Lead Officer Alexandra Guzman-Pax, well aware of the doctor's vertigo, took no offense when her junior officer charged in ahead of her. Lavan kept her eyes on the neutral gray carpet like a fastidious housemaid looking for lint. She wobbled a little as she went, and secured a chair with its back to half a Jupiter slowly turning in three directions at once---four if you counted the imperceptible lateral drift of the station.
JS9 was set in a polar orbit that revolved axially once in the Jovian year. The axial drift kept the station out of the shadow of the planet. The drift was so slow it had no effect on Lavan's churning gut, but the axis of the station was pointed directly at the planet's center and the rotation of JS9 caused the planet to tumble in slow motion. That movement, combined with the natural revolution of Jupiter about its axis and the orbital swing of the station shot straight into Lavan's vomit center.
Pax enjoyed the vista. There were times when she would sit in the lounge for hours, transfixed, fascinated with the beauty of it all. She slid out a chair and turned it so she could sit looking straight at the panorama and mused for a moment on how, from the station, Jupiter was always half planet, half ghost. The side in shadow glowed dully from its own energy, flashes of lightning giving it the look of deeply dark brown velvet with tiny diamonds sparkling on it. At JS9's tremendous distance from the planet the entire thing and most of its moons were visible, particularly the larger ones, which added greatly to Lavan's problem. Lavan, on the other side of the table, kept her eyes fixed firmly on the non-reflective surfaces of the bar.
The lighting in the lounge was diffused and cast almost no shadows on Lavan's girlish features. Pax could not help noticing that Lavan's turned-up nose was still not quite a nose; like a small child's it appeared to be developing into one but wasn't quite there. She had deeply dimpled cheeks, lightly dusted with soft freckles, and large eyes of watery blue, dotted loosely with purple flecks. Here and there a silver strand peeked from beneath her short-cropped golden red hair, doing little to lessen the baby-girl effect.
"Well, Marta, tomorrow we do it," Pax said, motioning to a waiter who had expertly ignored their entrance.
"Huh? Oh ... right ... tomorrow," Lavan said, while she traced little looping patterns with an unpainted fingernail on the glossy black table top.
She never uses cosmetics ... adds to that just-out-of-puberty look. One of these days I'm going to have to talk to her about that. How does she ever get anyone to take her seriously---or to bed, for heaven's sake?
"Okay, what's troubling you, Marta?"
"Nothing ... and everything. I'm thinking about what we're getting ready to do. How wonderfully exciting it all is ... and how dreadfully permanent. You know, just sorting through things one last time ... before you pull the trigger."
That's novel. Like I'm holding a gun to all our heads ... and I'm the one who has the pleasure of deciding when to pull the trigger. Great, Marta.
"Mm-hmm, I understand."
Sorting through things one more time. Permanent.
"I'm going over a couple of hours early. You're welcome to accompany me, if you'd like. That way you can keep your eyes closed during the transfer. Where is that waiter?"
"He ducked into the kitchen a minute ago. He'll be back. Why?"
"Because I'm hungry, Marta."
"No, that's not what I meant. Why go over early?"
"Oh, that."
Were her jitters as obvious as Lavan's? Pax tacked a note to her mental bulletin board to be a little more guarded in the future.
"I need to check the Rammix set-up again, and I found some anomalous readings on the hydrogen injector section of the guide tube field generator yesterday. I also want to make a pre-launch rock ... and I think it's going to be a long one."
"Where's the sense in that, Alex? The pre-launch crystal, I mean. We're not coming back ... and no one is going to come get us. That's what I was trying to tell you. This is a one-way trip, Alex."
Pax fixed her iron gray eyes on Lavan and deep furrows traveled across her forehead. She felt the hint of a tic coming, looked back to the half a Jupiter hanging in the ports and ran the heel of her right hand across her right eye.
Lavan had a point and it struck at Pax's solar plexus like her mother's fist. There was no coming back for any of them ... ever. Even the shorter Finder Flights were strictly a one-way proposition.
Dreadfully permanent.
And if anything went wrong? No rescue, no return.
Why do you have to talk about these things, Marta?
"I thought I'd make one for them," Pax said, and waved her hand in what she thought was the general direction of their destination. "Just in case."
Yeah, just in case. Just in case we all die in stasis and the Rammix takes us in on automatic like it was programmed to do.
"Uh-huh. That's a truly noble gesture, Alex, and I'm sure they'll appreciate it. That is, if anyone is home. Have you thought much about that? What if no one is there?"
No, she hadn't thought about it. At least, she hadn't thought about it very much at the conscious level. It was presented as one of the possible mission worst-case scenarios, and Whitaker had gone over all the various reasons it might be so in excruciatingly morbid detail ... more than once. It just hadn't found a very high position on her list of concerns. Lavan had, with a simple statement, bounced it into the number one slot.
That is, if anyone is home.
The waiter finally came out of hiding and, to Pax's relief, headed for their table.
Their meal passed in a somber silence while half a Jupiter and its ghost partner peered through the ports at them.
Pax heard Jupiter whispering to her, "Hey, Pax, look at me. Take a good look. Aren't I enough evidence that you can't live just anywhere you want? If they had landed here ... there would be no one home."
Dispassionate and cold ... tumbling, the cloudy giant chided, mocked her with frigid indifference.
Their time together was friendly enough, even pleasant, but the two of them didn't have much to say. Both were immersed in their private, deep places sorting things through that one last time before she gave the Rammix the commit codes; before she pulled the trigger.
Pax's nerves were all standing at attention.
Suppose there isn't anyone there?
During times of high stress, and this was decidedly one of those, Pax had the nasty habit of dwelling on unhappy pasts. Her mind flew backward to the time when the relationship with her mother had gone from awful to unbearable. Her mother had been inexplicably abusive during her childhood, but her father had always been there to intercede before one of them turned up dead.
Eight days before her twelfth birthday, it all went to hell when a Sub caught her father at the entrance to one of the Undercities and, cease-fire or not, the Sub killed him with no more passion than if he had smashed a bug, such was their hatred of the Hifolk. There had been an uneasy peace for a few years, but the Subs routinely, gleefully murdered Hifolk whenever the opportunity presented itself. After that day, her mother transcended the boundary between mean and vicious.
Pax left Sydney Center at fifteen, because she could take no more. After contemplating a thousand ways to dispose of her mother she was unable to decide whether it was fear of incarceration and psyche adjustment or moral decency that stayed her hand. She made her way to the California Archipelago on money she had appropriated from her mother's account and, when she arrived, she joined the Surface Earth Space Corps. After that, contact with her mother had been rare but, when it occurred, it was never pleasant.
She felt guilty about taking the money she'd needed for her adventure. To atone for that sin, she assigned half her pay to her mother as a dependent. Although it eased Pax's conscience, it did absolutely nothing for their relationship; watering a dead tree would have been just as productive.
Then, when the SESC announced they were seeking volunteers for the Finder Flights, she was one of the first to sign on. The SESC set up a fund for the dependents of participants in the program. It was a fraction of what she had been sending her mother before but, in Pax's mind, it was something and something was more than nothing, certainly more than her mother deserved. She called home to tell her mother about the mission and the fund. She had no idea why.
"Fine. First, you steal from me, then you take away what little I get," her mother had said. "All those years of sacrificing what I could have had to raise you, and this is the payback. Well, go right ahead, you stupid, ungrateful little witch. Throw away a good career and leave me alone with nothing. I don't care. I'll ... I'll insure you up to your cute, thieving little fanny and come out just fine---just fine. You're all going to die, you know. You're all going to ... die." Then she had broken into one of her usual crying fits, and Pax had terminated the call before she could have made it any worse.
She should have known better than to call in the first place, but she thought maybe ... maybe what? What was it she really wanted...? A chance at reconciliation? It was a shame to have to remember her mother like that. Venom. All venom and hatred. They'd had no contact since that night six years ago. Six years. She fought back the urge to send a message.
Forget it and don't pick at the scab. Why should I bleed without reason? She won't be able to reach me where I'm going ... won't be able to hurt me after the trigger gets pulled. Not even with words. Never again. I just wish I could get rid of these lousy memories.
Knowing her mother, she'd probably followed through with the insurance thing and not bothered reading the conditions on the policy that anyone would write for members of the Finder Flights. What a shock she was going to get when she found out that the policy would not activate until the Rammix failure code reached Earth. For Pax's flight that would be a minimum of three hundred fifty years, if ever. An award to be paid out to the descendants of...
Insure me up to my what?
Pax chuckled quietly, took the last spoonful of a real strawberry parfait in her mouth and rolled it around while she wondered if she would make a good mother.
Forget that. I am not the mother type.
"What? What's so funny, Alex?"
"Bittersweet. You wouldn't understand."
"You never know. Try me?"
"Not this time, Marta. Someday we'll talk about it, maybe. Well, how about it? Are you going over with me in the morning, or do you want to chance it on your own?"
Lavan fired a glance over her shoulder. The silhouette of Hermes' long, needle-like particle impact shield cone pierced the planet's limb like a great, black lance and reflected sunlight gave the rest of the ship confusing form but no detail. Lavan gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles growing white, and snapped her gaze back to the solid security of the interior bulkheads. She was trembling and seconds passed before she spoke.
"With, of course. You think I'm nuts?"
A couple of gray-shirts from Station Security Control were staring ... no, leering at them. It had started when Pax and Lavan had taken their table, and the gray-shirts were still doing it, saying a few words to one another and pointing frequently with their eating utensils. The distinctive uniforms of Finder Flight personnel had drawn a more than welcome amount of attention in the first couple of years. Mainly, it had been driven by curiosity about the mission, but it had waned quickly until it became a rarity. Occasionally someone would approach with a few stupid questions or an inane comment and that was all right, but the looks from these two were disturbing. There was something different about them, and Pax didn't like it. She could no longer ignore them.
"Excuse me, Marta. I'll be right back."
Lavan said nothing, just started tracing those little loops again as Pax stood and walked straight to the gray-shirts in the corner. They shriveled like cockroaches caught when the lights come on, but there was no place for them to scurry. They were trapped in a corner with nowhere to hide.
"Good evening, gentlemen," Pax said.
"Good evening, ma'am," they answered in unison.
"I couldn't help noticing your intense interest in us. Is there something in particular you'd like to know, something you'd like to say?"
"No, ma'am. We were just..." the senior of the two began.
"We were just wondering how---"
"Shut up, Mel."
"No, no, it's all right. Let him speak. You were wondering what, Mel?"
"Well, ma'am, we were wondering what sort of insane LO would take a crew of three hundred on a suicide run for nothing?"
He sneered at Pax as he spoke, and she wished he hadn't done that. It wasn't what he said, but how it was said. Her nostrils flared, and her temperature rose as fast as the hair at her nape. Her left hand, fingers rigid as concrete pillars, automatically shot into the nerve bundle at the base of Mel's neck. He dropped face down onto his plate of synthoysters.
The other man recoiled and moved up fast with a fist aimed for Pax's jaw, when a flash of yellow and brown came in from his right side. An injector expertly tapped his jugular. He crumpled like a ruptured p-suit, and the inertia of his intended sucker punch sent him sprawling to the deck a couple of meters beyond their table.
Other gray-shirts in the lounge rose but made no threatening moves. It was more as if they wanted a better view of the expected carnage. When they could see no blood being pumped into the carpet, they returned to whatever it was they'd been doing before the two ladies from Finder had taken out a pair of the station's huskier security officers without so much as a slight struggle.
"I'm sorry, Marta. I don't know why I did that ... it just happened."
"I know exactly why, and, believe me, it was the best thing you could have done for yourself. As for him," Lavan said, pointing to the fellow with his face in fake oysters, "anyone who can eat those things deserves whatever happens." She stepped over the bag of rags spread out on the deck and looked down at him. "And this one is going to be one sick puppy when he wakes up. I think now is a good time for us to get out of here."
"Right. What was that stuff you used on him?"
"Two cc's of Tentanthocaine. Just short of enough to drop a stag in rut."
Pax drifted through the command module iris and slipped into her seat as smoothly as her shell would permit. In front of her was a console crammed with rows of glowing switches and monitors, displaying the myriad bits of information required to run a ship as complicated as the Hermes.
It required a little effort, but Pax managed to get the pressure shell pushed into the depressions designed to accept the bulky suit of armor. She connected the loose hoses protruding from the seat's broad arms to the proper receptors on her shell. Valves chattered uncertainly, then clicked. A soft hiss followed while ship's breathing gas began to replace the stale smell of the shell's internal air supply.
Pax paused to take a few deep breaths of the cool, sweet mix before shoving the shell's main umbilical into the receiver at the base of the console in front of her. The reflection of the iris on the inside of her faceplate contracted, sealing her off from the others, away from ... everything. She was part of the Hermes now, and it was a part of her. So it would remain until they, Pax and the Rammix, were satisfied that all was functioning properly. Then she would meet with Lavan, and they would join the crew in cryogenic limbo.
"Good morning, Alex," the Rammix said. "Bio and neuro scans indicate a reasonable level of pre-launch dynamics. All readings are within SESC tolerance."
It sounded to her as if the Rammix enjoyed telling her it knew she was nervous. She checked her biomonitor before answering. All her markers were creeping up into the yellow.
Calm down, Alex. Get a grip on yourself.
"Good morning to you, Rammix. Thank you for belaboring the obvious. How are we doing? Is everything on schedule?"
"Making adequate allowance for the human element, yes. Dr. Lavan has not connected to me, but that is an expected delay. Cryo sections D-9 and F-15 did not power up correctly, and she is in the process of making manual adjustments. I offered to do it for her, but she declined. I do not think she trusts me, Alex. The remainder of the crew is now forty percent into the long-term stasis cycle, and all readings are within the proper range."
"Good, Rammix. I guess we're about ready to go then."
"Yes, Alex. I will begin the startup sequence when you are ready. Will you be making a pre-launch personal?"
"Yes, Rammix, I will. Load my crystal and clear from me for ... oh, say two hours. I'll dictate the commit codes when I have finished."
To say what she wanted would take an hour or less, but it wouldn't hurt to have the additional time available. Her throat felt dry. Tight.
Is that nerves or the onboard gas mix? Probably both.
She called extra fluid to the affected area. Pax cleared her throat and sat motionless, watching a soft blue light winking hypnotically on the panel over her head. The light told her it was all right to begin ... but the words wouldn't come. She'd had them, but they had escaped to ... somewhere. She coughed softly, reduced the fluid flow to her throat, and fidgeted.
Well, let's get started here.
Pax squirmed as much as the shell would permit until she found a position more to her liking. The shell felt uncomfortable, hot and tight fitting ... but that was impossible.
It's not the suit ... I'm the one who's out of whack. I'm scared to death.
She concentrated on her breathing first.
Get it under control. Breathe in slow and deep. Use your nasal passages. Out through the mouth ... nice and easy. I have to be careful not to get too much oxygen.
Her respiration moderated to a short-of-panic rate, and she went to work on opening up her constricted veins and capillaries for more blood flow near the surface to carry away the excess heat.
She couldn't will away the adrenaline. But by getting her heart slowed and keeping everything else in check, it would be absorbed soon enough. If she had less experience in these techniques, it would have been an exercise in self-defeat as frustration mounted with the effort. Slowly, steadily, her concentration began to produce the desired effects. The satisfaction she felt knowing that the Rammix wasn't going to come charging in to take over when her readings bumped up against some predetermined SESC threshold helped to move the process along. Pax took another look at the biomonitor. The bright dots representing her condition were all backing down out of the yellow. A crooked little half smile formed on her tightly pursed lips.
The full, naked realization of what she was about to do finally sank in. Until the very second she'd felt that first flush and tasted the faintly metallic tang of panic on her tongue---knew her heart and lungs were out of synch---none of this had been real. The whole program had been a sort of romantic, self-indulgent adventure and final escape for her. She---Alexandra Guzman-Pax, wonder woman---was going to be one of the first. One of the first people from Earth to meet with them---out there---an idyllic dream of reunification with the lost ones.
Let's go into deep, deep space and put old Humpty Dumpty together again.
What could she have been thinking to keep her from confronting the reality of the Finder Flight program? Through six years of study, genetic therapy, and grueling training the true nature of the program hadn't presented itself to her. Even through Lavan's remarks and those jerks from SSC.
Stupid slobs.
She didn't have the dedication of a Lavan. She knew that. If the reality of the project had occurred to her any time before this moment, she probably would have dropped out of the program. Lavan's threats to drop out were tempered by dedication and a sense of responsibility for the crew---and by her unrelenting, dark and mischievous sense of humor. Pax, although she had a feeling of responsibility for them, too, just didn't have Lavan's strength of character. Now ... now it was too late.
I'll be ... we'll be okay. It will only be suicide if we allow it to happen. There has to be an acceptable way out if no one is home. What if no one is home?
She began to talk.
The ground rolled and trembled under Niki's feet. The movement was slight, but he knew it to be a warning and braced for what would follow. Then, it came rolling up from deep beneath the surface, a violent, vertical movement that made the dilapidated launching car buck and bounce almost off the track. Can't stop. Not yet, he thought. Just fifteen meters to get her above the himark. Then I've only got another twelve meters and she'll in the shed be at the top of the track where she'll be safe. Got to keep moving.
Laboring and overheating on the block at the end of the rail, a decrepit winch motor rolled rusted, splintering cable onto its drum, sending little puffs of red-brown dust into the air each time another strand parted. Niki wanted to let the motor cool but there was no time for that. Barely enough time remained to get his boat secured in the sturdy old building and rest a little before hiking over the hill to the village of Sochi.
The ground rumbled again, issuing a throaty growl that was accompanied by a long, slow rolling movement. He braced himself for a big one ... too late. He heard a loud snap. A quick, lateral shift in the ground nearly threw him off his feet, but, to his relief, the old car stayed on the rails. Niki glanced toward the shed, sighting along the rails. It looks okay, he thought. Only eight meters to go and the track is still straight---or reasonably so.
Acrid white smoke curled from the cracked and corroded casing. The old motor whined out a metal-on-metal complaint Niki felt at the base of his neck. It was the painful sound of failing parts stressed to a state of torment, a mechanical cry for help.
Balwin, Vahstok Harbor's aged Controller, appeared as if from nowhere and added his shoulder to the back of the car.
"Lo, Niki. Been wanting to fix that miserable excuse for a motor more'n two years now," he said as the two of them pushed at the reluctant car with their combined strength.
"Evening, Balwin. You surprised me. I thought you'd already gone over for the Neathing."
"No, not yet. Wanted to pull that yowling shavecat of a machine first."
"I can see why---hear it, even. Looks, to me, like this may be its final day---cable, too."
"Yu-huh. Damnable thing quit dead on me and Bolskoi yesterday. Gave it a bath in mackrawl grease last night or it wouldn't be running now---such as it is---and I got new cable but don't see no sense in replacing it with the motor like that."
"I'm glad you thought of it. Neathing's in the morning, and I have to help my father with the vents tonight. If I had to do this without that old motor's help---yours, too---there would be no way I'd make it in time."
"No, that you wouldn't, Niki. Parts finally came in from the Continent with the last ship. After this Neathing it'll be as good as new, and I'll put the new cable on at the same time, you know. Well-l-l, maybe it won't run like new, but it'll run better'n it's running now. Least it won't scream like a scalded shavecat for another year."
Three meters more, and the car with its load would be snug against the block at the back of the shed.
"Balwin?"
"Uh?"
"Have you ever wondered why the Fathers chose to come here? That is, why they decided to settle in this system?"
"Yu-huh. Can't help but think on it every year about this time. But, who knows why they did a lot of things? Just lucky, I 'magine."
Lucky, he'd said. Lucky? Weren't there enough stars in the galaxy from which to choose? Say, a nice, single star whose planets pirouetted around it without the malignant influence of a distant stellar partner stretching their orbits so far out of shape?
Vegamwun's yellow disk closed on the brilliant, white spot that was Vegamtu more each day, proclaiming that the Great Eclipse and Perigamia were at hand---and that meant violent, catastrophic events that would grip Paz in gravity's mighty hand, shake her, tear at her, break her, before she'd be tossed out into more stable times---but that would only last for a while. Next year it'll all start again, he mused, and pushed harder against the car.
Niki thought he resented the Fathers for the legacy they had bequeathed their progeny, for their audacity and arrogance in planting their seed on Paz, seed from which he had been doomed to spring. Why, of all the places in the galaxy, had they picked this one?
Niki harbored no animosity for the people of Earth, nor did he question the underlying purpose of the Fathers. They were only doing what people had done for millions of years, ensuring the survival of their kind. Why they had felt they needed to save themselves was uncertain. The Ancient Record did not include that information, but that was what they had been doing.
Can't fault them for that.
One day, in a small way, he would do the same. Niki would have onners of his own to carry his line into the future. But, he vowed, he would teach them true. True about this hell called Paz and not the fantasies the schools fed the little ones.
Another sharp jolt jerked him back to his most immediate concern, that of getting his boat secured in the shed, safely tucked away from the onslaught of storm and quake-driven waves. The tide line was advancing as the average temperature climbed and the polar region ice melted. Soon Paz would swing through Perigamia to mark day one of Paz year two hundred eight.
They pushed Niki's precious boat inside the protective set-shell of the shed and jammed the wedge blocks behind the launching car's wheels, then hammered in the pegs that would keep them in place. They passed the lashings over the boat and tied them tightly to the key rings on the foundation. Niki and old Balwin stepped back to survey their work and smiled an approval to one another.
"Paz will have to move a lot to shake that loose, Balwin."
"Yu-huh ... true enough, but that she's going to do, Niki. That she's going to do." He made it sound like a warning, a warning that this year would be different. Balwin pulled his trousers up over his more than substantial waist and headed for the back of the shed where the smoking motor sat, giving out popping and crackling noises as it cooled.
"You go ahead and think on the why and wherefore, Niki, while I pull this relic or it won't be ready for next year."
"You want some help?"
"No, not for the pulling, but if you have the time I'd appreciate it if you'd wait and help me load it on the tracmech. I don't think these old bones can manage it alone this time."
The village of Sochi had been feeling the precursors of the journey through Perigamia for several days. There was mounting evidence that this was going to be the most severe pass in the human history of Paz. Niki felt certain his boat would be all right, but he also knew there were no guarantees when it came to the natural movements of Paz while she was writhing in the embrace of gravity run amok.
He sat beside the huge metal door of the shed, and looked down the rails to the waters of Vahstok's well-protected harbor, and beyond to the rolling, boiling blackness of the Southern Sea. The sea he had called home for all of his twenty-two years.
Not all of Paz is bad.
The sea was beginning to show the effects of increasing stress. Rivers of dense, frigid water wound their way into the equatorial regions from the thinning ice fields in the north and south. The breaker train, placid and predictable most of the year, showed a confused face. Cross-seas collided and erupted violently in immensely long plumes of spray, some settling back into the sea, most traveling away on the building winds. The storms were coming, and the tide line had already risen thirty centimeters. It was only day three hundred seventy-five. On the calendar an ominous block of red surrounded one hundred forty days, and Paz had entered that block just five days ago. The Days of Disturbance are upon us, he thought, and there's no escape.
Niki was aware he should be getting back to the village where the people were busily preparing for this year's Neathing, but he always found it hard to tear himself away from his beloved sea. The smell of salt in the air, the roar of wind and wave enthralled him. He listened to the crashing hiss as the sea smashed onto the shore and rushed up through openings in the rocks, creating geysers rising tens of meters into the air, and smiled. The blending of green, gray, black, and indigo awed him.
This is what constitutes my essence, my very being. Besides, I told old man Balwin I'd help with the winch motor, and, like Papa always says, "You have to be a man of your word, young man, or no one will trust you beyond their sight." I'll wait.
What felt like a million years ago, he had actually considered forsaking his life as a fisherman to go work in the mines of North Coopersland. Something inside him had said, "No, you can't do that." Something in his dark, unconscious mind had told him that freedom was too precious to be squandered. Moving about where and when he chose, without the constraints of scheduled labor, gave him the latitude he needed for reading the Ancient Record, research, and study. No, he couldn't ... wouldn't give that up.
Such a move would have made it easier to acquire a commercial mate for the prescribed three months and contract with a reputable onners house, but he would hold on to his freedom for a while longer. His kind wasn't wanted in the mines, anyway---but philosopher and sea were a perfect union. He had put enough away from this year's fishing to make a one-term contract with a commercial and one of the less expensive houses. He'd be able to do a lot better next year because the fishing would be good after Perigamia, when the currents changed and warmed the waters around the islands. He would consider the issue again, maybe after the Halfyear celebration.
Nurusha was blessed with shallow water and several low islands that were exposed for much of the year. Those islands provided excellent havens for hatchlings as they braved their first ventures from Nurusha's fjords into the Southern Sea. By the time they were mature enough to leave the protection of the island, Niki would fill his hold many times over with thrashing, deadly goldens ... their venom sure, instant death to anyone who came too close to their ten centimeter fangs. He would trap plenty of the equally dangerous mackrawls, too, their tentacles whipping, knife-edged jaws slashing and subdividing their prey into easily digested pieces like the meat grinder at the butcher shop. Yes, he would consider the onners problem again ... maybe even as soon as sometime after Quarteryear.
Regardless of his feelings about the Fathers and their careless choice, he was sure there was not a single place in the universe more beautiful than Vahstock Harbor under both moons at Quarteryear, when the hot winds of the Days of Disturbance had ceased and the cold not yet begun. The bright reflections of blue Echo and orange Almug would dance on the water, while Vegamtu painted the waves with sparkling silver flashes and the plankton fluoresced around the rocks in its feeble attempt to imitate the stars.
Niki grew anxious. It was getting late, and Balwin was still struggling with the motor at the back of the shed. Vegamwun and Vegamtu, hand in hand, dipped into the deepening haze that was usurping the distinct line of the horizon amid Balwin's curses from inside the shed. Echo leapt from the haze to begin its second frenetic journey of the day.
Echo, the smaller of the two moons, traveled in such a low orbit that Niki imagined, though he knew better, he could hear it rushing overhead. During the Days of Disturbance, Echo's path was so distorted it would shed pieces of itself as its crust buckled under the strain. Usually those fragments would rejoin their suffering parent. But ... sometimes they were ejected with such force that they would find their way into Paz's atmosphere. When they did, they burned long, steaming tunnels through the air in a futile attempt to reach the surface. It was rare, but there were occasions when one would make it through the thick, soupy blanket of air. They were almost never recovered because Paz, except for the Continent and several volcanic islands like Nurusha, was eighty-five percent covered with water.
Echo was already in agony---orange and yellow lines of light crisscrossing its blue surface in an intricately woven web of molten rock that oozed through newly created cracks in the crust. A bright flash on the northern limb told Niki of the turmoil on the hapless little satellite as another fissure opened to vent pressure from below.
"Niki. Niki," his mother's voice called from the crest of the hill behind the shed. "Niki, your father needs your help. Hurry, Niki."
"Yes, Mama," he shouted against the howling wind and stepped out to see her long, silver hair punishing her face as the wind whipped it into stringy froth. "What's the news? Has anyone made contact with Astro?"
"No, Niki." He could barely hear her, the wind was blowing her words away east of him. "The system hasn't been turned on. Everyone is waiting for you. Please, hurry, we're preparing for Neathing." She turned and vanished into the wind.
A glance into the shed revealed Balwin still hunched over the motor, his curses now being lost to the sound of the rising wind that buffeted and rattled the heavy, metal door. Twilight was waning rapidly, and Echo would soon be swallowed in the shadow of Paz. Only starlight and a faint glow from the flows of Echo's bleeding heart as it retreated into the east would light his path to Sochi.
Vegamtu provided a steely burnish to the surface of Paz at other times of the year. Approaching the time of Minor Tides at Halfyear, night would become a dull gray that made the bitter cold seem colder, more desperate. In these days, going into Perigamia, it was darkness that ruled the night, interrupted only by the hurried passing of Echo and the lazy journey of Almug's dull orange glow trying to penetrate the muggy, oven-hot night air.
"Balwin. Are you ready? It's getting dark and the Neathers are waiting."
"Just a couple of seconds and---there, it's free. If we hurry we'll make it back before we get locked out."
"I thought I just said ... ah, never mind."
They half carried, half dragged the ailing motor to the square bulk of the tracmech. With the gate down, the short bed at the back of the machine was chest high, and it took every bit of strength the two of them had to get the motor loaded. Niki wondered how old Balwin had managed in the past.
"Want to ride in with me, Niki?"
Niki politely declined Balwin's offer. He would be in the village before the tracmech could get around the peninsula that served as a natural breakwater for the small harbor. Niki gave Balwin a slap on the back and broke into a loping, stiff-legged run, evidence of the fight he'd had with an adult mackrawl four years ago. The thing had grabbed his right leg and shattered the femur before he had been able to hack and slice his way free. Paz Med had wanted to grow him a replacement, but Niki opted to live with the minor inconvenience and pain as a reminder. Since then, the limp and sometimes sharp pain had become old friends to him. He liked to think he was the stronger for it---he knew he was the wiser.
The press of the wind at his back helped him gain the top of the hill. He stood there on the crest looking down the rocky slope to the village of Sochi for a moment. He had been born down there in the little white house with the red roof. His great-grandfather had built the house to last, using firm set-shell block he had personally quarried from the cliffs on the north end of Nurusha. Last year's Perigamia had destroyed thirty houses in Sochi, but not a single crack had appeared in Niki's home. Now, as he looked at it, something in his mind was telling him he should leave Sochi, that there were important things to be done and great changes to be made. Why was he thinking such things? They had never occurred to him before---why now, he wondered?
The village, bathed in artificial light, was a confusion of activity as people bustled about, preparing for the Neathing. Niki had never looked forward to going under. He felt trapped and smothered in the Neathing shelter. That was one of the main reasons he volunteered for an Operator's position during the Days of Disturbance. As far as Niki was concerned, the bulky radiation suit and insufferable heat on the surface were better than being stuck underground. There was plenty of risk involved in staying on the surface, but there was plenty more risk being down there, living in a hole like a shagrat with nowhere to go. Niki was certain almost anything was preferable to that.
Neathing was one of the facts of life on Paz, a part of the legacy of the Fathers. They were the ones who had chosen this out of balance system where conditions on the surface got so bad that, at times, even he would find himself wishing he were below. Temperatures often exceeded sixty degrees during the day and never went below thirty-five at night. The air was so laden with moisture that breathing was like sucking air through a steaming towel. Immense volumes of water evaporated from the tumultuous sea, and left Paz shrouded in a dense, gray mist. That, Niki knew, was why most of the land animals were burrowing critters. Except for the grand shako, a powerful beast from the equatorial zone, every other creature on the surface lived out the Days of Disturbance in holes dug deep, or in caves. Even the shako knew better than to be out in the open during the day and spent their days in caverns where glaciers had carved out deep canyons during the last Age of Ice.
The wind often gathered enough muscle to pluck giant cashow trees from the ground like tiny sprigs of salgrass and throw them completely off the island into the waiting maw of the angry sea to be swallowed in the South End Maelstrom.
At night things calmed a little, and he was able to move around freely on the surface, almost always wrapped in his radiation suit like a baking potato, but there were rare nights when the count would drop enough to permit removing it for short periods, but never for long.
Last year, with his leg in more pain than usual, he'd been caught out in an electrical storm and had been unable to make it to the Operator's shelter fast enough after the first warning flashes. More than one Operator had been termed when trapped between Paz and her atmosphere as they tried to balance their charges, and that storm had been the closest call he'd ever had---still, it was better than the Neathing shelters.
Niki entered the outskirts of Sochi where the communal gardens grew, and the thought that he should leave came again---very strong and insistent.
Why? Where would I go, and what would I do?
"Evening, Papa," Niki said to a tall figure heaving on a rusted latch handle in the murky shadows of the main surface duct. "Here, let me help you with that."
His father nodded and moved to allow Niki enough room to get a firm grip on the handle. "Dreaming down at the harbor again, eh?" he said.
"Yes, Papa. It's an impressive sight tonight. Echo has already fractured, and the lava streams are running."
They put all their weight on the handle with no results.
"Don't see what's so impressive about that. She cracks every year. One of these days that---" another groan echoed through the duct as they laid into the handle "---one of these days that orbiting egg is going to come apart and land on us, you know."
Niki's father extracted a can from his tool pouch and handed it to him. "Here ... shoot some of this right there in the bearing slot. That should get it. Anyway, when she does, we'll have bigger worries than getting the vents open, won't we? Ready?"
The two men hauled mightily on the handle, and it gave a little, emitting a terrible squeal. On the next try it broke loose, and they pulled the cover clear of the filter plate. The odor of year-old air wafted from the shelter below them, reinforcing Niki's resolve not to go under.
"It's a good thing we got it open, you know. Your mother was just talking about Neathing with the Sampsons if we couldn't get our shelter ready in time. You have any idea what that would be like? Close pass with Ahriman would be more pleasant than that. I swear it on the memory of the Fathers."
His father shifted to the other side of the duct so he could face Niki, settled down on his haunches, and wrapped his arms around his knees. "Niki, you worry me," he began. "Now---now hear me out, please. I promise you I'll not bring it up again if you tell me true tonight." He squirmed as if he were uncomfortable, then continued. "Now, uh, Niki ... most men are paired by your age, you know. Maybe they even have a couple of onners. So, um, do you have any ... well, are you ... oh, hell, are you interested in women, son? I mean---"
"Of course I'm interested, Papa. What makes---"
"Let me finish, Son. You're my last living onner, and I can't afford another, you know. Don't have enough years left, anyway. So, are you ... are you going to keep our line in the record, or is Delta three, two eighty-one a termed designator?"
Niki sat down and pushed his back against the filter plate in silence. He knew his father was concerned about the idea of his getting paired ... but not like this. There was no one he could think of who wouldn't want their designator to go on down the line ... who wouldn't be proud to come back in ten thousand years and find their seed still in the record. Niki just hadn't realized quite how important it was. Now he thought he understood.
To speak of the future in terms of individuals was ludicrous at best, but onners gave a glimmer of hope for the line, indeed for the continued presence of humanity on Paz. Niki's family was a good example of the fragility of life on Paz. Three brothers and two sisters had bone markers out by the gardens, and they'd all termed too young to produce onners. That left Niki, and that was what his father was concerned about. Maybe he wouldn't be so lucky this year ... and that would end their line.
From Niki's reading, The Book of the Law was emphatic on the issue and stressed the importance of multiple onners. The more, the better, but it was never made a regulation. The Council had passed laws on the matter but they were softened by economics in individual cases. The Council mandated a minimum of three and established commercial mating programs as a means of simultaneously easing the burden and ensuring a quality yield---and the advent of the onners houses had solved the long-term care problem. Real pairing, like his mother and father, was tolerated only because it had been a practice of the Fathers. But it was considered the least acceptable method for quantity and quality.
During the Days of Disturbance, everyone's life was uncertain. Each year the end of life was governed by the random results of forces to which Paz was subjected. With Niki, the Delta seed lot faced extinction. Only one of the Delta seeds---Delta three, two eighty-one---had survived the initial landing on Paz. That meant Niki's Ancient had produced a single Delta line, and he was the end of the line from which his father had come. When his father died, Niki would be unique to his family line---the only Kaznov Delta on the planet of Paz. There were other Deltas, to be sure, and Niki was certain there were probably thousands of splinters, maybe even some untrac mixes, but there was only one direct-line descendant of the Kaznov connection to the Ancient who remained, and that was Niki. Now he understood. Without onners, the Kaznov family would be gone---off the record---as well as any direct-line descendant to the Ancient.
Knowing your Ancient was important. It had been specifically defined in the Book of the Law that the Fathers had left for them and, because of that, all mating was controlled by a knowledge of one's seed lot number ... their designator. Niki wondered about the reasons for that and concluded it had something to do with the genetic makeup of the population, but he could find no reference in the Ancient Record to explain it adequately.
"Look, Papa," he said, half choking in the stale air. "I have a problem with pairing, that's all. The time and dedication required is too much for what I need to do with my life. That's why I've been thinking about commercials and onners houses."
His father's expression spoke of a mixture of relief and uncertainty. He was of the notion that there was something terribly wrong with the commercial mating programs and was vehemently opposed to the whole idea. He had said more than a few times that he felt it ripped the humanness out of having onners and that, in spite of the visitation provision, the onners became the property of the government---a decidedly unnatural condition. Niki thought he had better explain.
"Papa, I know what you think of commercials, and I think I agree ... more or less. I've been with you and Mama all my life, and I know how traditional pairing works. I think it's wonderful how you two live, but I have lots of things I want to do ... must do with my life. Fishing's been good, so I have the means to pay a commercial---or two if I shop around---and contract an onners house, but I don't have the time to devote to a pairing. Anyway, I guess my answer is, yes, there will be onners for our lot, the Kaznov family will continue ... just as soon as I have the time." He told it as true as he knew how, and all he could hope for was that his father would understand and accept his reasoning.
"Hmm," his father said as he worked his way up to as vertical a position as he could manage in the duct. "I think I have an idea of what it is you're trying to tell me, Niki. Hand me that spanner over there by the pipe, son."
Niki picked up the tool and handed it to his father. Was there acceptance in his eyes? It was hard to tell in the poor light.
"Thanks," his father said and started out of the duct. "Oh, and Niki ... it's all right, son. Just wanted to be sure you'd thought about the family line. Try to find the time soon, eh? Sure don't like those commercials, though---less, their agents. Remind me of bloodworms looking for another meal. There's something unnatural about that whole business, you know ... but you will do as you will do, eh, Niki?"
Niki stood in the heavy, clammy air, smelling heady of last year's activities, and watched the silhouette of his father walking slightly hunched, partly to clear the low opening at the end of the duct, partly for his cargo of years as Sochi's chief shell-mason. He'd said it true ... he didn't have enough years left to him. Niki bit his lip. He was right about Niki, too. Niki would do whatever he thought best. He had always been like that, and he felt he was sure he didn't fit into Pazian society ... at least not Sochi's version of it. He had no experience with the world away from Nurusha. He was, for whatever reason, different. The thought that he should leave returned like a small voice in the back of his head telling him to go, that time was passing and something needed to be done---and done soon. What needed doing and why was time so critical?
No one slept much in Sochi that night, and morning came all too soon. Especially for Niki. The meeting of the Operators was scheduled for early morning, and that meant Niki had to eat fast ... something he loathed. He liked to savor his food, to sip his massak slowly so the flavor worked its way into his nostrils as well as his mouth. He was forced to forego that luxury today.
Gulping down the last of his massak, he wiped up the drops that had landed on the table during the last of the increasing number of temblors and pushed himself away.
"Thanks, Mama. That was good."
"And how would you know? None of it stayed in your mouth long enough to taste."
"You're right, but I have to hurry. The Operators are meeting in---"
"I know, Niki. I know. Never mind, you go ahead. You don't want to be late."
"No, that I don't. I heard Astro was requiring more Operators on the surface this year. I guess that's what the meeting's about." He picked up the bundle his mother had put together for him the night before and tucked it under his arm.
"Are you ready to go under?"
"Oh, Niki, I'm never ready. You know that. According to your father, I'm the least capable Neather in Sochi ... maybe on all of Paz. He's always asking me if I've forgotten anything. You know why he asks me that, Niki?"
Niki knew she was going to answer her own question---it was her way---so he waited for her to finish.
"It's because he can't remember anything, that's why. He thinks if he asks me often enough I'll believe I had a lapse of memory and feel responsible for the things he forgets."
They knew it to be true and shared a good laugh.
"I have to go now, Mama. I've drawn the first two days, so I won't see you before we seal the shelters," he said softly and kissed her on the forehead. "See you in three days. Tell Papa I wished him well?"
"I will, Niki. You be careful up there." She turned back to her packing to hide the annual tears streaking her cheeks. She cried every year when Niki went to his job on the surface. He didn't look back, he never looked back.
Everyone was living under the pressure of heightened tension this year, and the reports from the Institute of Pazokinetics that the plates were shifting earlier and farther than at any time in recorded history didn't help much. Most of the people of Paz were housed in subsurface shelters during the Days of Disturbance, so increased seismic and volcanic activity was a major concern as large numbers were lost when those shelters collapsed or, in some cases, flooded with lava or hot mud. The potential for loss of life was terrifying. The job of the Operators was to monitor conditions, provide early warning for those housed in the shelters, and coordinate evacuation if that became necessary.
Sochi was to be watched over by twelve Operators, twice the ordinary number. As usual, Niki had applied for double duty and, as usual, it had been approved. Though the people of Sochi considered Niki to be a rather strange person, one who didn't act or think like anyone else, they knew him to be the most conscientious Operator the community had ever had. They felt more secure knowing he was on the surface protecting them from the horrors of Perigamia, while Niki delighted in the knowledge that he would not be burrowing like a shagrat.
Things were happening. Each new vibration told her something. After years of simulated launches, each clank, click, whine, and hum added to her feel of the ship.
Rammix is making it come alive. No more simulations, Alex. This is no drill.
Another switch cycled yellow.
Oh God.
"I thought that, after all the time I've had to prepare for this, I knew what I was going to say and exactly how I would say it. Now, sitting here, listening to my ship come to life ... well, it's just ... gone. I mean, what can I possibly say to you? You, whose ancestors slept through the better part of a millennium of human agony, defeat, struggle, triumph, and rebirth."
Even with the war still going on, rebirth is at least reasonably accurate.
"You, who have never known Earth, the mother of us all. The total of your living experience and your knowledge of who and what you are comes from whatever the colonizing team has given you. What, after nearly four hundred years on a planet that may be, for all we know, completely alien and inhospitable to us---to natural humans---what do you remember? Are you still recognizably human? I don't know. I've often wondered how much the gene mechanics changed you to make your survival possible. When we ... if we arrive, will we know you ... or you us?"
Oh, what the hell am I talking about? I don't even know if they will understand a single word of what I'm stumbling around trying to say. Did they retain the Commonspeak? Are they even there? Maybe the signals we heard were their dying gasps---electronic death throes heard across a hundred and thirty light years. Too bad the entire code wasn't in the records---maybe we could have saved ourselves a lot of trouble.
The electronic equivalent of a gentle chime called her attention to the panel. The final bank of operational system switches on the console had cycled yellow, and the first to turn green showed to her right. Rammix was traveling through the systems, methodically readying Hermes for the long push to Gamma Volantis. Checking, rechecking, then cycling up. When the whole of the lower panel showed a solid shallow-water green and Rammix was satisfied that everything was in order, there would be a pause; a pause for her to confirm before she issued the order to commit and gave Rammix the station-keeping override codes. Time for her to pull the trigger, as Lavan had put it.
She could sense the artificial sun in the bowels of Hermes, suspended in its magnetic gut, beginning to shine, driving heavy particles toward the open end of the guide field tube, where the laser ring would blast them into pure energy. Hermes would begin to move out of the solar system. Imperceptible at first, then, before you had a chance to swallow your terror, the exponential nature of that movement would make itself known.
Oh god.
She returned to her recording. Anything to avoid dwelling on the activities that were taking place in the ship's viscera. She felt the helpless-little-girl within her creeping to the fore. The small one she'd left behind after her father's death, when there was no one to shield her from her mother's centerless wrath.
Oh, please, leave me alone.
"I suppose the best thing to do is for me to try to keep this as simple as I can. If you have the technology to reach us and extract this from the Rammix, then you should be able to understand, or at least understand enough to make sense of it. So, let's start over. I'll do the best I can to provide details where possible. Not all the records survived the Dark Years, and the wars that followed didn't help much, so I can't tell you everything. Oh, for your information, this crystal is linear and whatever comes out is what we'll have to live with---well, you'll have to live with it.
"My name is Alexandra Guzman-Pax. My friends call me Alex. You'll find my body in compartment A-1 of the Cryopod Section located at the ... at the center segment of the ship. I was born in Sydney Complex, Sudpacifica Sector, on the planet Earth. The date of my birth was the fifth of October, 3332. I tell you that because, as efficient as all this has been, such information is not included in the ship's records.
"This recording is a tradition. All Lead Officers leave a message before a mission is committed, in case something goes wrong---which, in our case, is a strong possibility, failure being much more likely for us than for standard in-system missions. I imagine most LO's have something deeply philosophical to say for their last words. I don't. I can only say that we tried and that I'm sorry we missed you.
"The ship's computer is programmed to home in on signals detected in your system as long as there are transmissions coming from there. Otherwise, it will choose the body most consistent with signs of life and establish an orbit there. If that is where you found it, then it worked. Trials here have been successful, but a lot can happen between one star and another."
One hell of a lot.
"The reason I'm making this recording is to give you a brief history of the things you've missed in the hope you'll better understand who and why you are. Because I don't know what the colonizers chose to give you, I'll start with what led up to the Star Migration. Please, overlook any redundancies with what you may already know.
"So, here's how it began: An infinitesimal movement in the outer planets went unnoticed, or at least no one saw fit to comment on it, until Jupiter moved out of its well-worn groove. The culprit had to be found, given a number, and a name. I suppose there was a lot of fear at the time. Anything that could cause noticeable movement in that giant could easily screw up the whole system and lead to all kinds of things ... none of them good.
"They began to look in the direction their calculations said it should be. Four months later, the director of the Mars Outer Station Observatory announced they had found the source of an intense gravitational field. That was on 11 October 2219. Its distance was two hundred and forty six AUs from Sol and closing at three hundred and eighty-seven thousand meters per second.
"The thing was tentatively listed as AFO-8 and given the name Vaunt-Courier, no doubt chosen from a list by a student who had no idea what it meant or how prophetic it would turn out to be.
"Vaunt-Courier was moving so fast it took only one day to establish its track as a straight line, securing its AFO status. As many different theories were presented about its makeup and origin as there were presenters. A probe that was sent to investigate was destroyed before providing any useful data. The scientific community agreed on only two points; Vaunt-Courier possessed enough mass to disrupt the entire system, and it was going to make a perilously close pass with the sun. Their first guess was that the distance would be on the order of fifty million kilometers on 8 December 2219.
"Its path was inclined eighty degrees from the ecliptic, and its velocity was so great that it was decided it would pose a serious threat to Mercury and there was minor concern expressed about Venus. A consensus was reached and Vaunt-Courier was declared a dead dwarf star that had been ejected when a close neighbor went nova. No one in the common run of humanity gave much of a damn about what it was or where it had come from, but they all wished it would go away.
"By the first of November, Vaunt-Courier could be seen from Earth as a disk blotting out the stars behind it. It was coming like a runaway freighter, and none of the calculations, theories, or observations had the slightest influence over Vaunt-Courier's path through our fragile little system."
The face of Lavan appeared on the in-ship com. She looked drawn, worried, her usual girlish grin replaced by a thin, pink line.
"Alex?"
"What is it, Marta? Can it wait?"
Lavan didn't like waiting for anything. "No. No, it can't wait. Can we delay the launch?"
"The Cryopods?"
"No, I've taken care of that one. I found two suspect pumps in the control system. Can we have them replaced?"
There was no mistaking the concern in her voice, but Lavan didn't understand the systems as thoroughly as Pax did.
"What level, Marta?"
"Tertiary."
"Have Rammix set up a bypass to another line's backups in case the pumps fail. Tell Rammix to make it a random select. Anything else?" She hadn't meant to sound short.
"No, that's all." Lavan sounded hurt.
"Okay, Marta. I'll get back to you as soon as I finish my rock, okay?"
Lavan nodded the single nod she could get away with in free-fall and managed a part of a smile. The screen went blank.
Now, where was I? Oh, yes.
"Vaunt-Courier made its pass at forty-eight point nine million kilometers on the seventh of December and plucked Mercury from the system like an overripe grape. The orbit of Venus began to decay. Mars was at approximately the same physical distance from Vaunt-Courier. Its orbit was changed radically, but stabilized into a more elliptical path, bringing it a little closer to the sun on average---a boon to the colonies. They thought the sun had been spared, but on the twenty-third the first of the coming storms was seen developing in the photosphere. They hoped it was merely a temporary reaction. On the twenty-ninth, one of the prominences reached out two point four million kilometers and activity increased sharply, CME events also became more severe and commonplace. Concern over the stability of our star mounted.
"By the middle of 2220, all EMF-based communications came essentially to an end. All lunar and orbiting station workers were returned to Earth. The Martian colonies had to be left to fend for themselves.
"Speculation was that the passing of Vaunt-Courier had created magnetic disturbances in the sun's internal structure, and it was generally accepted that it would only be a matter of time before our once friendly star would murder us all.
"The project to save our species officially began on 10 October 2221. Several teams were put to work determining what was required to accomplish the goal, and fourteen stars were chosen as primary targets. We know there were alternates selected, but we don't know what they were.
"Solar disturbances continued to grow in intensity and frequency. Elaborate underground shelter-cities were constructed to protect the population. Because of their limited capacity there were choices and sacrifices to be made, a global triage.
"Engineers and scientists were split between expanding and improving the shelter-cities, by then known as Undercities, and working out the mechanics for the project. More quietly, because the moralists and religionists were raising hell over suspected genetic manipulations, geneticists were at work designing the seed biologicals, the Space Babies. That's where you came from. Still others were busy creating the genetic modifications needed for the planetary preparation teams.
"There is some doubt about the date, but in July 2222 the first group of planetary preparation teams were born or, more precisely, removed from their incubators. They would be raised and trained for one purpose; to ensure you had the best chance of surviving in your new home. They would be doctors, geneticists, engineers, scientists, philosophers, and everything else needed to create the foundations for your colony.
"Actual construction on the Interstellar Colonizing Units, later known as ISCUs, began on 1 December 2240 in a far orbit around Saturn.
"Solar disturbances continued to worsen, and underground living had become necessary most of the time. Surface life was mainly nocturnal.
"Loading of the cryogenic sections began in December 2251. Sixty-six thousand two hundred and fifty seed biologicals, as well as four hundred and eighty Level Two, and four hundred and eighty Level Three planetary preparation teams already in stasis were loaded aboard each ISCU. In the same month all hell broke loose on Earth.
"Members of the International Moralist Party, IMP, and fanatic followers of Religions of Terra (ROT) formed an alliance protesting sending engineered freaks as representatives of the human species. They stormed the compound housing of the Level One planetary preparation teams and seized control of Mars Central, where the mission fuel cores were being readied for transport to the waiting ISCUs. They began to destroy the fuel cores and threatened to pull the plugs on the planetary preparation teams unless real humans were sent, instead of the freaks.
"The rebel forces were crushed in a bloody clash with Surface Earth forces on 1 January 2252. They had been successful in destroying one third of the primary fuel cores before they were routed from Mars Central on 8 January.
"Final fueling and loading operations were concluded on 12 August 2256, and the launch schedule was set for 10 December 2256.
"The first self-sufficient subterranean city was completed in 2263. Solar disturbances were abating in number but intensifying in magnitude. Some believed this to be the harbinger of collapse.
"Although huge flares were still erupting, their frequency had stabilized to zero growth by June, 2800, and concern over internal damage to the sun waned. Earth had suffered a major depopulation since Vaunt-Courier's arrival, and many animal species had been irradiated into oblivion. The human species and most of the animals useful for food endured thanks to the existence of the Undercities. There was hope building that Earth would see a renaissance of human activity, hope that we would regain the surface.
"Records show that, in 2883, a man named Abraham Denning was the first to take up life on the surface, but no one knows if that is true. We do know that, by 2890, there were several communities on the surface, and the first one was Denning Village, presumably named after its founder.
"Reclaiming the surface was dangerous work and, in the early days, many people attempted to occupy existing structures. Most of those buildings would fall at a touch. After all, the newest of them was three hundred and fifty years old and suffering radiation decay.
"The first all-new surface city was dedicated on 10 December 2956 in honor of the seven hundredth anniversary of the Star Migration. It was named New Denver, after its ancient predecessor."
The station com lit up with the face of Commander Uri Yamaguchi. He didn't look happy, and it didn't appear like he was going to tolerate being ignored. Pax thought she would push her luck.
"Technology stood still in many ways during our time in the Undercities, which we call the Dark Years. In some ways we had gone backward. However, we plodded ahead in general---slow, to be sure---but there was progress.
"There were few people and communities were isolated, so we were free to occupy our time with things other than global strife, conflict, and damaging forms of competition. All the communities were different---so different that there was little to bind them, except Commonspeak, the human desire to relate and, of course, spread the gene pool. It has been observed that Commonspeak, a product of the late twenty-second century, was one of the keys to our survival."
"If you don't respond in ten seconds I will give the order to board your vessel, Pax," Yamaguchi said.
All right, he wasn't going to go away.
"Good morning, Commander. What can I do for you?"
"Pax, I have two men here who tell me you and your second officer assaulted them last night. Is that true?"
"Absolutely, Commander," Pax said. She used a tone she hoped he would translate as pride.
"They have filed charges with the adjutant's office, and the legals are demanding that you return to face those charges."
She'd always thought there was a limit to stupidity, but maybe she had been wrong.
"What? That's absurd."
"You heard me, Pax."
"You may feel free to tell them to go straight to hell, Guchi."
"Pax, please, don't make me do this."
"Do what?"
"Come get you, damn it."
"Oh, come on, Guchi. This is an SESC priority one project. You can't do that for anything less than mutiny and murder."
"I not only can ... I will. Station Security and the legal staff take precedence over all SESC directives in matters of violence. Now, wind down your launch program and come on in, or by Jupiter's ghost, I'll have you dragged back."
"What violence?"
"The meds say one of them won't be watching a ZG handball game for a couple of months, and the other guy will be vomiting everything he eats for a week. That's violent enough, Pax. Now, do it ... please."
"Look, Guchi, I'll make a deal with you. Are you listening?"
"Okay, Pax, let's hear it."
Pax toggled the Rammix return switch.
"Yes, Alex," the Rammix said.
"Proximity scan; three hundred meters, Rammix."
"Nothing within scan range, Alex," the Rammix responded.
"What are you doing, Pax?" Yamaguchi said.
"Rammix. Set proximity defensive test to two hundred meters and activate weapons system---full charge." Pax smiled at the image of a befuddled Yamaguchi.
"Systems set and charged," the Rammix said.
"Pax, you can't..."
Yamaguchi was obviously disturbed.
"I just did. If you value those two pukes more than your cute little station, then come on in. I think you have an understanding of what the Hermes can do, and we have totally zero to lose over whatever I do at this point. I remind you that the Hermes has none of the protection fail-safes of other SESC ships; all targets are good targets."
"But, Pax, the---"
"But nothing, Guchi. We are pulsing out on schedule. Wish us luck?"
"Pax, you---"
She turned off the com link and licked her dry lips. She didn't want anyone hurt, particularly not over two limp-brained morons, but nothing was going to stop her from pulling the trigger now. Hermes would leave as planned and on time.
I'll never get this thing done.
"All right. A few interested individuals decided to discover what had become of the Great Star Migration. Reclaimed and refurbished radio telescopes and one new array were turned to the known target stars. We listened for anything telling of success. On 7 November 3005 a signal carrying intelligence was heard at Fairbanks Observatory. It lasted three seconds---the most electrifying three seconds in recent history. It was also inconclusive. Several repeats were needed to verify that the signal, and the intelligence it carried was anything but random space noise.
"A month dragged by, and the excitement waned. On 29 January 3006 it was heard again---feeble, distorted, and fleeting, but it was the repeat needed to give some credence to the possibility that it was artificially produced and of human origin. The elusive signal was snared three nights in a row, then it disappeared. Over the following two years it was heard several times, and it contained elements of what little was known about the ISCU codes. It was coming from one of the target stars. It was the needed confirmation.
"On 28 June 3011 Surface London confirmed a second signal. What was originally a desperate attempt to save the human species with little hope of success ... had worked. Not once, but twice. Might there be more?
"By 3035 the population of surface Earth had climbed to 290 million. We were healing. An estimated 700,000 remained in the Undercities. Their culture grew increasingly estranged, distinct, and alien. Two of their main centers severed relations with their surface neighbors and refused to communicate with what they called the Hifolk. Few on the surface paid much attention; their eyes were turned in the opposite direction.
"Around 3040 many of the off-Earth mines were back in operation, and we reconnected with the Martian colonies in 3041. They had not fared well, but they had survived.
"Our reestablishing a presence in the system is owed to Lydia Seldon and what is known as the Seldon Drive. Thanks to her, the time required to reclaim our space-faring position had been reduced radically. Her propulsion system permitted a seventy percent increase in thrust over the old hydrogen plasma engines, and it was theoretically possible to achieve forty percent of the speed of light---given enough room and time. It hadn't been tried, but I doubt there was a driver in the system who didn't want to aim at a dark spot and flip the switch. In the meantime, tension between the Subs and the Hifolk continued to grow.
"In 3045, Rudolph Schenk produced a successful working model of the neutron injector that, when coupled to the Seldon Drive, allowed thrust to be maintained for prolonged periods without eroding the guide tube structure. The outgrowth was a small ship fitted with the Selden-Schenk Drive to determine how close to the speed of light we could get. On 24 July 3051, the New Earth reached seventy-three percent, and we suddenly found ourselves entertaining thoughts of contact with the Star Colonies. The time to reach even the closer of the two assumed successful groups remained staggering, but it was considered reasonable for exploratory contact.
"On the same day that the New Earth gave us reason to celebrate, the Subs undermined and sank a major farm implement plant in Sacramento on the Nevada Peninsula.
"The first major conflict with the Subs began in 3091.
"Although the search for signals had brought results that were the impetus for Project Find in 3116, the cost of the war held up any progress until 3150. A century later it was known there were no less than five successful colonies. The signals were old Earth-style telemetry, so it was suspected that the colonists, you, had made it back into space. I hope you have---it will make it easier to find you.
"The last big war, in 3257, brought the project to a halt until 3273. The Subs withdrew and sealed themselves off from the surface. The schism was complete and thought to be irrevocable by 3275.
"Another conflict erupted in 3340 and lasted 6 years. For twenty years we have been living in restless peace, interspersed with skirmishes and murder.
"So, here we are, on 10 December 3366, ready for launch. Our destinations were drawn by lots, and each of the crews is certain that their mission will be the lucky one. I don't share that feeling. I hope we come out of this alive at the other end and that each of us finds a successful and friendly colony that welcomes our arrival.
"We drew ISCU-9, that's you, and our target is Gamma One Volantis. Exactly 1110 years after your ancestors left the solar system, we will be on our way. If all goes well, we will be pulsing down into your system in the month of March, 3587---Earth Standard. If you are reading this, something has gone wrong and we have not survived. Please, accept my apology for not greeting you personally."
A shape hovered near him. It had no discernable form---just a shapeless shape that moved slightly now and again. Where was he? He was in a bed. Not his bed at home in Sochi, but it was a bed. He felt ... heavy. The shape moved and began to resolve into the form of a woman. He could see her, though out of focus, standing there framed in hazy light emanating from an invisible source behind her. She floated in a shimmering aura that lent a surrealistic mood to a scene not seen well at all. Was she even there? Was she real? Where was he?
She bent down over him and gently wiped his forehead with a cool, damp cloth. It smelled of alcohol and something else. His vision cleared a little. Just enough to tell him that she was definitely a woman, but not from Sochi. Of that much he was sure. He tried sitting up but couldn't feel his body. It was as if he were made of solid lead. He tried to speak. Nothing happened, and panic swept over him.
"Shh." She brought her face close to his, and he could see the drugged, blank emptiness of his own eyes staring back at him from hers. "Don't try to move. You're going to be all right, Mr. Kaznov," she said as she adjusted the sheet up under his chin. "You've suffered a severe spinal injury, so you've been chemically restrained. Don't you worry. This stuff is supposed to paralyze you, but by first light it will have worn off enough for you to move your arms a little. Don't expect too much, though. These things take lots of time, but you'll be up and out of here right after the Days of Disturbance. That's a promise. Now, try to get some rest."
Maybe it was the drug, but he could remember nothing at first. He had vague memories of watching the seismic monitor when the big temblor began, then a flood of thoughts inundated his mind. Memories, swimming, all jumbled together, colliding like the seas at the south end of Nurusha as they fought for their individual identities. They sorted themselves into real recollections and shot through his mind in a flood of sharp images out of order. Then, he remembered. The seismic sensor readings jumped off the scale and the automatic shelter unlock froze, trapping Sochi's inhabitants forty meters down. The Operator's shack moved three meters to the east, stretching wires until they snapped, and cut him off from the system. His attempts at manual control proved fruitless---all the cables had parted.
There was trembling, a rolling sensation, then rumbling as the main waves of the quake reached Sochi. The sensor was going crazy, then came the sensation of tumbling as the whole Operator's shack was tossed upward and inverted like a toy discarded in the street, cracked and useless. He made it to the Astro emergency alarm. How, he didn't know. Then a profound blackness and a nauseating, thrumming sound he just could not make stop swept over him and put an end to all memory. That was all, until now, whenever now was, a cool cloth being dragged across his brow and a distant, soothing voice saying, "Shh, don't try to..."
Only Niki and two other Operators survived the Nurusha disaster. On that day, Sochi died. Nurusha split, rent by incredible forces, and most of the island sank into the Southern Sea. His mother, his father, everyone. Eight thousand good people gone, just because the Fathers had decided here was a viable planet on which to plant their seed. They had known what the planet of Paz was like---they had lived on it for three generations, though some said there had been more before they inbred and disappeared, by genetically dissolving into the Pazian pool.
Damn them.
Niki once thought he liked being alone, but he had never been alone---not like this. When he was out on the boat he was disconnected from the island and its people, but that separation was always temporary because he knew he would return. He was never truly alone, not like he was now, and it was a most unpleasant feeling.
Time in the hospital dragged, an hour growing to four. As he became more aware of what had happened on the island, he grieved for a time, but not too long. On Paz you lived with the stench of the Grand Terminator's breath in your nostrils as he chased after you, snapping at you with each step you took during the Days of Disturbance, and every year at least one someone would disappear from your life. It was commonly known that one day, you, too, would disappear from the lives of others, but still it hurt, and a grieving was needed. Few said they met such losses without pain, and those who did, he knew, were liars of the worst kind, for not only did they not say it true to those around them, they deceived themselves.
Time passed and the body healed, but his mind grew more troubled as each day came and went. It was nothing he could describe---something that remained hidden from him---just more difficulty with sleeping and awful dreams, vivid but not remembered. Such dreams. Each night he would be brought out of his sleep more than once with a nagging feeling that he had forgotten something, that something important remained undone. A gut-deep stirring that he needed to finish some piece of work, but he had no idea what that work was. Yet, there it was---a command, not a suggestion---compelling him to do something. Something. But what?
The Psych people were very good to him as they patiently explained his trouble was quite common among Operators. All Operators, they pointed out, if they took their responsibility seriously, suffered PPCEGD. It had rolled off their tongues as though it were the most ordinary of facts, but none of them took the time to define what it meant, so Niki looked it up in the hospital's generous library. "Post Perigamian Catastrophic Event Guilt Disorder." Fine, that sounded reasonable, unnecessarily long, perhaps, but reasonable. No wonder they used the initials.
Essentially they believed he felt guilty, because he had it in his mind that there was something he could have done to prevent the terrible results of the Nurusha disaster; that he could have stopped a shifting planet from sucking an island under. His mind, according to them, was in the process of subconsciously searching for what that something might have been that would have saved all those people from destruction.
Yet he tossed, he turned, he awoke in a bed drenched with perspiration. He remembered his PPCEGD and grimaced. It is a convenient theory, he thought, but it is definitely not my problem. I don't have any doubt that there was nothing I could have done---absolutely nothing. I know this, not just intellectually, but emotionally. No, this problem is something different. I think the best thing for me to do is just not to say anything more about it to them.
They had strutted out their answers to him with the confidence of a flock of barkel cocks parading in front of the henhouse, and he knew, if he argued the point further, he would be kept in the hospital until he agreed with their diagnosis. No, he thought, I'll go ahead and suffer my PPCEGD as they think I should and get out of this shagrat nest like the rest of the Guilt Disorder ridden Operators.
It was day eighty of the new year by the time he was released from the hospital. His first thought was to return to what was left of Nurusha.
Maybe my boat is still in one piece. Maybe I can---no, none of that is any good. Everything is gone. Just---gone, and what purpose would it serve to go back? Go back to what; a broken fragment of an island to hunt fish that might not return to those waters for a hundred years? Stupid, that's what it is.
He was on the Continent. There were grand libraries where the complete Ancient Record was kept, and he was in a place where he could go see, even touch, two of the sixteen shuttles that had survived the settlement landings.
The Museum of the Ancients I read so much about actually exists here in this very city, right here in New London.
He couldn't return. There was nothing to return to, and everything in which he had ever had any real interest was in New London. He would need work, of course. He would have to pay for his library and museum time. He also wanted to buy his own copy of the Ancient Record to study in his own time, and that would be expensive. He had read a lot of it in Sochi, but there was so much more to learn. So much more to know.
Besides, what they released in the journals was always edited, and he wanted the Ancient Record, not some editor's impressions and opinions. So, he was off to the harbor. All he knew was fishing, and maybe he could find work there. A sense of urgency had invaded him.
Niki's number one problem with the idea was that he would have to find the harbor. It had to be west of him, but where? Never having been outside of Sochi, he found himself in a confusing, bewildering maze of avenues and alley-ways. This was not the village of Sochi. There were streets that went on forever to who-knew-where, and there were some that went nowhere. And there were vehicles. Some appeared to be the personal transports he'd seen in magazines but never believed anyone could afford. Back home he had treated the concept of personal transport as so much fiction designed to lure folk into the big cities. But ... there they were, on the tracks, eight or ten of them at a time. This place was nothing like Sochi where one venerable tracmech had served all the needs of the island. Albeit slowly, but it had served.
After an hour of asking directions of all he met and trying to sort out their conflicting answers, the harbor found him. As he rounded one last corner and was nearing total frustration, there it was; New London Harbor.
Pictures in the periodicals had done nothing to prepare him for what he saw---the immensity of it staggered Niki. About a hundred meters down, at the base of a sheer cliff, were boats---big ones---maybe twenty, twenty-five meters long.
Walking along the broad, open street that paralleled the cliff he was attacked by sounds and smells coming from hundreds of busy shops, open-air fish markets, and cafes dotted with brightly colored umbrellas to keep the glare of the still too close Vegamwun at bay while sweating clientele enjoyed all sorts of exotic foods at the outside tables. Some of the smells were offensive, not unusual during the hot times, but others beckoned seductively. Niki ignored them. The government's stipend for compensating Operators who survived the various tragedies of Perigamia was not sufficient to indulge himself in such extravagances. Niki needed work.
There---there, by the Ancients, is what I'm looking for.
A faded, badly painted sign on the front of one of the older buildings read, "GREELEY'S FISH BROKERAGE," and a smaller one, carelessly hand-drawn and taped to the window said, "Experienced Fishers Needed---Apply here." The ink had run and faded in the high humidity that would linger for several periods as Paz moved steadily away from Vegamwun, but it was legible and, he hoped, still in effect.
"So, what's your experience, Mr. Kaznov?" The rather tough looking man behind the desk leaned forward. He was playing with a small box on the shiny, black surface of his desk and staring at Niki. It made Niki uncomfortable.
"I do ... I did all the catching for Nurusha. I built and ran my own boat---and I did all the processing myself, sir."
"Uh-huh. Well, this isn't Nurusha, Mr. Kaznov. Ever work mackrawl and dormcarp?" The big man stood and moved to the window overlooking the harbor, his hands folded behind his back like those of a general surveying his troops tied at the base of the cliff.
"Mackrawl, yes sir. The dormcarp never travel that far south, but I've fought a lot of goldens, and they're meaner and smarter than dormcarp.... and their venom is terminal, no matter what."
"So it is, Mr. Kaznov. So it is." He turned to face Niki, bit off a piece of foul-smelling tarsac he had taken from the box and pointed a fat finger at Niki. "I have one position open here and you may just work out in it, but you'll have to strain gut for not much tickle. You have to start at bottom share like everyone else, working as helper for Mr. Mills on boat eleven. That all right with you, Mr. Kaznov of Nurusha?"
"Yes. Yes sir," Niki said, wondering what bottom share was but afraid to ask. "I'll be here at first light, sir."
"First light, hell. Get your fuzzy backsides down to the boat right now. Ask for Mr. Mills and tell him I sent you. Got it?"
"Yes, sir. Right now, sir. Got it." Niki threw the small bag containing all his belongings over his shoulder and headed for the lift that would take him down to the boat pad. He was filled with strange, contradictory feelings. He didn't think he liked Greeley, but he needed a job. He wasn't sure what a helper did on a fishing boat, but he was sure he could learn quickly enough. He would do anything ... anything to gain access to the museum and the libraries. Anything.
Boat eleven was one of the smaller ones, and a quick glance told him she was unloved and very much used and abused. Every fastening was weeping dirty, red-brown stains through dull white paint sloppily brushed over warped and checking planks of cheap clasca wood. The rails showed evidence of lines dragged a thousand times too many, and the telltale black shadows of rot spotted her in every corner.
Oh well, I guess this is going to be home for a while.
A huge, one-armed man was on the foredeck swinging a spiker at an unarmed but defiant carper. Each swing scarred the deck under the bird's well-timed hop, which was followed by a mocking squawk and another nasty deposit.
"Excuse me," Niki called out. "Excuse me, sir."
The man straightened, his loose belly hiding the knot in the rope he used for a belt. He and the carper glared at Niki.
"Yeah? What the hell ya want, gaf?"
"If you want to get rid of that carper," Niki replied, "all you have to do is whistle, like this." Niki aimed a shrill warbling whistle at the belligerent bird.
The man on the deck dropped his spiker, agape, as the carper cocked its head to one side, squawked, and flew off to make its deposits on number nine.
"How the hell did ya do that, gaf?"
"It's a sacker hunting call," Niki said. "Carpers are afraid of sackers, but they're too stupid to know sackers don't live up here. Too cold for them."
"Well, I'll be. That's a good'n, gaf. Name's Mills. Virgo Mills. What is it yer doin' down here?"
"Afternoon, Mr. Mills," Niki said, feeling relieved he hadn't had to ask for anyone. He hated doing that. "Mr. Greeley sent me down to talk to you, sir. He said I was to work as your ... um ... helper."
"Oh? He said that, did he?" Mills grabbed the rail and jumped down to the pad next to Niki. His agility and speed caught Niki by surprise, and he flinched involuntarily.
"Saw that, I did. One wing and fat, so ya figgered I'd be clumsy and slow, huh, gaf? C'mon ... follow me to the shack."
The shack was a small, square building at the end of the boat pad, its top festooned with antennae of every description, and large windows that made it look open all the way around. Niki wondered how such a structure could withstand Perigamia, but as they drew near to the door he saw it was hundred mill glass set in hard-bar and set-shell like the Operator's shelter on Nurusha. Mills let out a low, growling grunt as he pushed on the heavy metal door and the two of them entered a room packed with radios, radar equipment, and computers.
"Gimme yer C-card, gaf," Mills said while turning on one of the computers. He slipped the card into a slot on the side of the machine, and the screen instantly filled with Niki's complete Council record.
"Mmm," Mills mumbled. "Born, Paz one-eighty-six."
He entered some notations on a data pad, then returned to the screen.
"Yer a rare one, huh? Delta seed? Never met a Delta before. Why's that, gaf?"
Niki gave Mills a brief history of how he came to be the only surviving direct-line Kaznov Delta on Paz, while Mills, mumbling to himself, worked the data pad. Niki didn't understand why Mills had not met another Delta.
"Yeah, well, we'll talk about that later on, gaf," Mills said with a tone of mystery in his voice. "Here's some stuff ya got to remember. First, ya call me Virgo when we're alone and on the boat. I don't like 'sir," and I don't like 'Mr.' neither. Y'understand me, gaf?"
Niki nodded hesitantly.
"Yeah? Okay," Mills continued, busily entering notes in the data pad. "Next thing. Whenever that shagrat Greeley's 'round ya go back to 'sir' and 'Mr.,' right?"
Mills glanced up at Niki to make sure he was paying attention, and Niki indicated he understood.
"I'm sure he told ya bottom share was yer tickle. Ya can ferget that. Ya get standard fisher share from me, but ya don't tell nobody nothin', y'understand, gaf? We don't want no trouble 'round here, ya know."
Niki didn't know what the difference between bottom and fisher share was, but, from the way it was stated, fisher share was probably a lot more, and that suited him just fine.
"Still listenin'? Okay. There's another man on the boat. He's a full fisher, so he's 'Mr.' and 'sir' round Greeley, too. Otherwise, he's Mustafa."
Another look Niki's way, then back to the data pad.
"Says here yer name's N-I-K-I-S-H-A. That's, uh, Nikisha? How do ya wanna be called, gaf?"
"Everyone's always called me Niki. I guess that's it. Niki."
"Yeah? Well, yer not gonna be no Niki on my boat. Sounds too much like a garmouse in heat. Nikikikikikiniki," he whined in an atrocious mimic of a garmouse seeking a mate. "On the boat yer name's gonna be Nik. More man-like. Yeah, from now on, yer name's Nik." Mills paused briefly while he hammered away on the data pad, then continued, "Of course, ya know yer not gonna be called Mr. Nik, or whatever, by me or Mustafa. Nik, or gaf, that's it."
The session with Mills went on into the early evening, and Mills probed for a lot of information about Niki's family history and Nurusha. Niki didn't understand what all the queries were for, but he assumed Mills wanted to know as much as he could about anyone working on his boat. That seemed sensible, though some of stuff he wanted to know didn't seem all that pertinent.
"Okay, gaf. Sorry---Nik," Mills said. "Here's a thousand hard notes against yer share. Fifty of those'll get ya quartered at the place on this card. Ya go there and ya tell'im I sent ya. Don't go no place else, ya hear me?"
Niki said he understood and stuffed the handful of small metal pieces in his jacket pocket.
"Now, remember. Ya go to the place on the card and get a cube. I'll call ya when we're ready to go out. Maybe ten days, maybe a little more. Y'understand, Nik?"
Mills didn't bother to look up from his work on the data pad, but it was obvious that the meeting was over. As Niki walked away from the shack he heard Mills laugh and repeat his awful representation of a garmouse. Niki had heard garmice in heat before, and he didn't think they sounded anything like that.
Squinting in the dim light doled out by the meager street-lamps he could barely get the smudges on the card to resemble words.
HOTEL LA PAZ FRONTIER
28 Echo View Way
That ought to be easy enough to remember.
Niki slipped the battered card back into his pocket and set off in search of the address. He wandered darkened, deserted streets for two hours and found nothing that came close to the name on the card. It was getting late.
Under a flickering lamp on the corner near where he had stopped out of frustration, he spotted a couple engaged in conversation. He didn't want to bother them, but his wounds were still healing, and he needed to get off his feet soon. His first day out of the hospital proved to be more than he could handle. He approached them.
"Excuse me, please. I ... I think I'm lost. Could you tell me where I could find 28 Echo View Way?"
"Of course," the young female of the pair said and gave Niki a pleasant smile. "This is Echo. You're standing on it."
Niki felt the warmth rush through his cheeks and he knew he was turning bright pink. He hoped they wouldn't notice it in the pale, soon-to-fail light.
"But the sign says this is Amber Way," Niki said, pointing to the sign on the corner across the street.
"Yes, it does, but that's because we're on the north side of Flag." She looked to her companion for confirmation.
"Yeah, that's right. The place you're looking for is in the third square after you cross Flag. Oh, and mister, I can tell from your talkway that you're not from New London. You be careful on that side of Flag. Lots of badfolk roaming over in that quarter. Lots."
Niki thanked them for their help and assured them he would be cautious, then bade them good night.
The street lighting, though not particularly bright nor constant elsewhere, died completely on the south side of Flag, and it was still too early in the year for Vegamtu's help, so the darkness was deep and foreboding. Only Almug's dull orange glow and the brighter stars made it possible to tell one building from the other.
It was difficult to see, but the number on the gate of a walled-in complex was 28. After a bit of searching, Niki found the combox and pushed the button. The voice that responded to his call sounded harsh and a little angry.
"What? What? It's after twelfth hour, man."
"Evening," Niki said. "Mr. Mills told me I could find lodging here."
"You mean a cube? Mills, did you say?"
"Yes, sir. Mr. Mills from down at the harbor."
"I know who Mills is, damn it. All right. All right. Fifty notes---hard note only ... don't accept that phony paper crap---for forty days. No animals, no alki, no street commercials, no tarsac, no exceptions," the voice droned from the box. "Push the gate when you hear the click. Make sure it's closed behind you. Come to number four. First building, fourth door. Have the notes ready. I'm in no mood to witness Vegamwun come up."
In Nurusha there were no such things as cubes, so Niki wasn't at all sure what to expect. The key card the controller gave him was bent, and he had to fool around with it to get it to fit. He worked it into the slot, trying not to make too much noise, wiggled it around and was almost ready to give up when there was a loud clank and the door swung open on four stark white walls. A bed, rudely crammed into one corner, and a combination toilet/sink occupied the other corner of the same wall. Two chairs and a small table were dropped unimaginatively into the remaining space. There had been no consideration given to whether there would be any room to walk to the end of the bed. A V-screen and link adorned the wall opposite the bed, their mounting something less than professional. The entire mess was squeezed into a space roughly four meters long, maybe two meters wide, and about two and a half meters high. Its bareness was nothing less than ... distressing.
On my Ancient, the hospital was better that this.
He poked at the switch for the V-screen and stretched out on the hard-here, soft-there bed. The late news was already running, and the commentator, a lumpy-looking blonde, was recapping the statistics on the recent Days of Disturbance.
"...were destroyed," she drawled. "One of the major Nucanda iron mines will not reopen until after Minor Tides, authorities said, reducing production to a below-standard level for a minimum of one year."
Niki lay there, his eyes involuntarily opening and closing as she continued her indifferent delivery.
"Loss of life for this cycle has been set at one point three million; a new record. The government has announced its intention to provide mating subsidies for qualified persons during this year. One of our fine Council members, Low LIC Mav, was quoted as saying, 'The subsidies being offered are for commercial mating only. Production from pairing is too unreliable to qualify for this program. It must also be said that untracs will not be considered under any circumstances. Applicants must be of verifiable seed lot origin to take advantage of this generous financial support.' As a result of the Low LIC Mav's comments, it has been reported that prices on commercial mating industry stocks have shot up several points in the last two days and a number of hastily opened illegal clinics have been shut down by our ever vigilant Enforcement organization.
"In other news today, the High Council surprised everyone and passed, by unanimous vote, the ordinance against..."
Niki's eyes slammed shut, and he heard no more as the reporter continued, oblivious to her loss of audience.
Mills paced in front of a beautifully finished cashow wood desk. He stopped and looked at the ceiling. He was distraught with the way the conversation was going and that could be seen in his movements. "No. No, no, no," he said. "I told ya before, Mr. Washton, the gaf don't know nothin'."
Washton, a smart dresser, his long gray hair almost even with his brow, sat in an overstuffed mackrawl skin chair on the opposite side of the polished expanse of to-expensive-for-the-average cashow wood and peered at Mills through a cloud of silver eyebrows. The grizzled fisherman looked away.
"Please, Mr. Mills. I would appreciate it if you did not use language like that. You may refer to him as Kaznov, or the Delta, or almost anything else, but not---you know what I mean."
"Sorry, sir. My talkway, ya know."
"Yes, Mr. Mills, I am well aware of your colorful linguistic proclivities. Now, are you certain he is genuine, this Nikisha Kaznov?"
"Yeah, Mr. Washton. As sure as the gaf's---er---the Delta's credentials go, anyway. Ya oughta run a gen-test on 'im to make absolute certain. The stuff I asked 'im matched what's on the record, and I kept at 'im fer over three hours."
"You told me he was in the New London Free Hospital during the Days of Disturbance and the record there supported the information he gave you. Do you think," Washton rose and went to the window that overlooked New London's skyline and civic center before continuing, "we might obtain the needed data from that source?"
"Well, I s'pose so, but it'd be easier and less risky fer me to have 'im go in fer a full physioscan. Somethin' to do with goin' to work fer me. Like a med approval, or somethin', ya know?" Mills removed a mostly shredded rag from his pocket and blew his nose loudly, then sat down for the first time since he'd entered Washton's plush office. His brow wrinkled a little, and he continued, "Ya know, sir, it's pretty strange this gaf---sorry, Mr. Washton---habit y'understand. Anyway, this Nik just comes wanderin' in 'bout the same time we think the Delta lot's gone term. Only Delta I ever come across. Definite damned weird, don't ya think?"
"Yes, in a way, Mr. Mills. Coincidences do happen, but that is one of the reasons I have employed you. It is your job to be certain about such things before anything gets to this level."
Washton didn't trust coincidence. Not that he thought it impossible, but this one appeared to be a little too convenient---a bit too neat. He swung his gaze around from the window and glanced at the smelly giant dirtying one of his office chairs. He shuddered and tugged at his rumpled suit. The humidity wasn't helping with his penchant for neatness, nor was his visitor.
"All right, Mr. Mills," he said, crossing the room toward his malodorous associate. "You get him in for a full physioscan and give me the results as soon as you have them. No slips."
"No what? I send 'im to a doctor I know and I get a report. What's to slip?"
"This doctor ... can he be trusted?"
"Is a day twenty-two hours? Course he can be trusted. Hell, the shagrat's been processin' untrac fer twenty years. They'll hang ya fer that one, ya know."
Washton returned to the comfort of his chair and leaned over gleaming, gold-colored cashow, glared menacingly at Mills, then fished around in one of the drawers. Pushing a stack of small, gray metal blocks across the desk to Mills, he said, "Here is a hundredweight of hard note, Mr. Mills. Please, try to show me I am spending it wisely."
The door had not fully closed behind Mills when Washton grabbed the link and poked away at the keypad.
"Hello, Mr. Su? I believe I have good news for you. A Delta may be here in the city."
The image of a hard man with much too square features stared back at Washton in disbelief.
"Here, you say?"
"Yes, sir. Here in New London, and working for Mills, of all people. He signed on through Greeley yesterday."
"Sounds a little too slick, Washton. What are you doing to keep us covered?"
"We are having a genetic workup done by a doctor acquaintance of our rotten-smelling, Mr. Mills. He assures me the man can be trusted not to pass on information to the Council. It seems the good doctor has been involved in some shady dealing with the untrac element and would not want to draw attention to himself."
"Good. Be very careful, Washton. The Council is breathing on us, and I do not know how much more Vagnu can do to keep them at a safe distance. Do you understand my meaning, Washton?"
Washton hated working with Su, and lately it had been getting worse. One day soon, things were going to come to a place where he would have to do something about it.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Su. I understand completely. I will call you when I have the results from the gen-tests."
Su severed the connection with Washton from his end, without the courtesy of so much as a "Good-bye."
Damn him. Who on Paz does he think he is? By all the true Ancients, one of these days you will get what is coming to you.
Washton leaned back, folded his hands behind his head and read the "Riddle of the Ancients" plaque hanging on the wall in front of him.
---
"When the Threes have awakened to me,
They shall count revolutions with care.
In ten score revolutions plus four,
When you've reached apoapsis precise,
Mother's search for you will begin.
You shall gather the Fours to your side,
And through them shall uncover my cores.
It was they who were given the keys
To the secrets you'll need to succeed.
Trust them, guard them, be ever alert.
In ten score revolutions and ten,
If your silence continues 'til then,
And no signal I hear by that time,
I shall let my orbit degrade
'til I die in the star Gamma Prime."
---
How many times had he read that plaque? A thousand? Washton had lost count. Every time he read it he was certain of but one thing; the meaning remained ambiguous to him. Not to Su, of course. To Su the meaning was clear, absolute, and anyone who questioned his interpretation was either a blind fool or in need of further learning. For Washton, the entire thing continued to be an enigma. If Su was right, and their Delta turned out to be the genuine article, they would all be wealthy beyond their wildest dreams. If Su was wrong---they might all wind up being nothing but numbers to be counted in the Record of the Recently Termed. He cursed and rang for his secretary.
A monstrous, threatening gray shadow hung low over his head. It was demanding something of him---demanding him to be ready. Be ready. Be ready for what? The shadow began to fall. It engulfed him in murky darkness. Niki awoke in a pool of sweat. He was shaking. He wanted to scream for help, but couldn't make a sound. He wanted to run, but his legs wouldn't move. The sound of the V-screen brought him back to the now. He struggled up from the incredibly uncomfortable bed and slammed his palm down on the switch. The announcer, touting yet another government program for the 'good of the people' disappeared, and the room filled with welcome silence.
Niki was starving again. He couldn't help it, he always needed more food than his mother thought was good for him. It was a good thing he'd bought a bag of protsticks when he was down at the harbor, because there didn't seem to be any place to eat near the hotel during his walk the night before. He grabbed a handful of the tasteless, harder-than-stone bars of enriched protein and charged out the door. Today, he was going to the museum.
After leaving the hotel, he stumbled upon a restaurant within half a square. It was tucked away between two larger buildings, which was why he hadn't seen it before. The profound darkness had hidden it from his view.
Niki, in most ways, was a strong man of sturdy spirit, but not when it came to his hunger. There the line was drawn. The protsticks quickly found their way into his jacket's inner pocket, and he strode straight into the restaurant.
Finding a spot at the counter, he took a seat just as a man wrapped in a grease-smeared apron and equally dirty clothes raced by, one arm loaded down with a stack of dishes and the other juggling six large glasses between his sturdy fingers. Without a look, he barked, "Massak, man?"
"Yes, sir. Please."
The man vanished into the kitchen and instantly reappeared balancing four large dishes of shako and pag steaks with barkel eggs cooked four different ways on one arm. In his other hand was a pot of steaming Massak. Large drops of the massak splattered the floor with each step. He tossed the pot on the counter in front of Niki as he passed.
"Cups're in the rack. Snag one. I'll be back," he said.
The pot was filthy, burned in places, and cracked from the top to near the middle. Niki recoiled at the sight, but the smell curling from its open top was stronger than his revulsion. He took a cup from the rack behind the counter and carefully worked a stream of the powerful, pungent black liquid between the dirtier portions of the pot's rim into his cup. Lifting the cup to slightly below lip level, he allowed the steam rising from it to surround his nostrils and inhaled deeply. Niki sat there letting the vapor wander around and into his nose for a while before taking the first sip. Wonderful.
"What?" the waiter said.
"Pardon?" Niki was so engaged with the massak that he hadn't seen the waiter return.
"Whatta ya want, man?"
"Oh, sorry. Un, give me a shako steak---cooked heavy---and a double order of eggs, whipped, please."
"Langrin or barkel?"
"Barkel. Thank you."
"Stop bein' so polite. Heavy and whipped barkel. Be right back."
As quickly as he'd appeared, he was gone. Niki went back to smelling the massak. He had a place to stay, a job, notes in his pocket, and a place to eat. The museum was first on his list of places to visit. He might even spend a little time there before getting some new clothes. The two changes provided by the hospital were not enough, and they were far too tight-fitting for his liking, but they would suffice until he had satisfied himself with the museum.
A casual look around the restaurant reminded him of what the young man had told him about the quarter south of Flag. "Lots of badfolk..." he'd said. Not that Niki believed you could tell much about a person by their appearance but, still, they all looked rough enough to warrant the label.
Like the man seated next to him. Surly. Maybe even continually angry, both hands squeezing the heat from his cup, a foot tapping out the rhythm of unheard music. Niki decided to test his idea about there being a difference between appearance and reality.
"Excuse me, sir. Can you tell me how to find the museum?"
The man released his death-grip on the cup and pushed it away from him. He turned slowly and looked straight into Niki's eyes, his mouth contorting into what could have been the beginning of a snarl.
"Find the what? Do I look like New London's social director or somethin'?"
"Uh, no. No, sir. I simply wanted to know if you could direct me to the museum."
"Are you lookin' to tag me, or are you serious?"
Niki squirmed a little on the stool before answering.
"I wouldn't ... I mean, I'm not trying to tag you. I don't even know what that means. But I'm serious about the museum." Niki was living in a strange land now, and many of the words these people used were incomprehensible. Oh, it was the language of Paz, but their talkway was totally different from that of Sochi. Though he could understand most of what was being said, the idiomatic differences in Commonspeak eluded and confused him. "I just want to go to the museum, that's all."
"Okay, friend. But, before we go on, where do you come from? Your talkway is new to me."
Niki explained what had happened on Nurusha, how he had wound up on the Continent and now was stuck in New London. He told the man about his new job and the odd quarters in which he was living, contrasting his cube with his home in Sochi, while the stranger next to him listened attentively.
"Bring your breakfast and come with me," the man said and walked to one of the corner tables away from the other patrons. Niki, with a bit of trepidation, did as he had asked.
"Look, friend, I'm not really one of the Flag Quarter locals. I'm a reporter doing a piece on crime down here in the Flag. My name is Shan. Albo Shan," he said and extended his hand across the table to Niki.
"Morning, Mr. Shan."
"Please, call me Bo. Tell me more about this man who hired you yesterday."
"Do you mean Mr. Mills or Mr. Greeley?"
"Mills."
"I can't tell you anything about either one of them. I don't know anything more than I've already told you. Why do you want to know about him?"
"You are new here."
"I thought I told you that."
"And so you did. Okay. Let's say that Virgo Mills is one of the more interesting names on my list."
"Why? He seemed honest enough to me. He may be a little strange, but---"
"But ... he has his fingers in several rotten pies around the city. I can't tell you much more than that, not here in this place." Shan leaned out from the side of the booth and looked around the restaurant, then hunched down and lowered his voice. "Look, uh---what did you say your name was?"
"I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. Niki. Niki Kaznov."
"Look, Niki, this place is too public. Do you still want to go to a museum."
"Yes."
"Well, which one?"
"The Museum of the Ancients. I need to see them---the shuttles, I mean."
"Museum of the Ancients. Okay. I have a little proposition to make. Suppose I take you out there and we continue our talk?"
"If it wouldn't be too much of a bother, I'd like that very much."
"There's a price."
"How much?"
"Let's talk about that when we get there. Now, eat your breakfast and we'll go."
The sleek little transport cruised silently a few millimeters above the track, and Niki couldn't imagine at what speed they were moving, but it was fast. Shan hadn't said a word to him since locking on to the track, and Niki assumed it to be because it required all his attention to pilot the machine.
The eastern edge of the city was behind them by about fifteen minutes when he noticed a huge building coming into view on the horizon. If that was the museum, he was glad he hadn't tried to find it on his own.
"Is that the museum?"
"Yeah, that's it. Look, Niki, I'm sorry about not being more sociable, but I'm exceeding maximum speed for this transport by about fifty percent and the track mags don't hold well when it's going this fast."
Niki told him it was all right and that he had thought that to be the case. Niki had no idea what the track mags were, but didn't ask. He sat back to enjoy the rest of the ride in silence.
Something was pushing at Niki, driving him onward toward an unknown destination. He felt compelled, and a small voice in the recesses of his mind kept repeating, "Now. Now is the time, Niki. Soon ... soon you will know."
Know? Know what? Why can't you just leave me alone---leave me in peace?
At home he'd read everything he could find about the Fathers, the great machine that had brought them to Paz, and anything available that was related to the beginning of human life on the planet that took so much and gave so little in return. Most of what he'd read had left him feeling cheated because the writers glossed over detail while they embellished their versions of the story to fit some private agenda. Of course, he didn't know that with certainty, but he did feel it. In some inexplicable way, Niki was aware that---deep down where thought moved independently---he understood things, things he shouldn't understand. Now there was something else moving inside him, something that demanded he look more deeply. It was as if life itself depended on reading the rest of the Ancient Record, an unabridged one, and getting close to one of the shuttles. There, framed in the windshield of the speeding transport, the Museum of the Ancients stood. Inside that building the shuttles were waiting ... waiting for him.
As they separated from the track and veered off into the docking area, Niki was dumbfound by the size of the building---incredibly large and imposing. Once inside the lobby it was even more remarkable. Gleaming floors of a blue, polished stone reflected everything above---like the sea in a dead calm that would mirror Niki's boat and Nurusha's coastal features, but without the oily sheen the water gave its images---and metal decoration was everywhere. They would never have dreamed of using metals so wastefully in Nurusha; the stuff was much too precious for anything but useful tools.
Shan led Niki to a display of Vegamwun's system, a working model with all five planets going round and round in their long, elliptical orbits. It gave him a much better understanding of how it all worked than the pictures and diagrams in books he'd read. He stared at it, and the pure, simple beauty of the display made him think of Nurusha and what those long, beautiful ellipses had cost him. All that he had loved and valued had disappeared in a single stroke because of those sweeping, elongated arcs. The Fathers had known about those odd orbits. Those graceful curves---deadly curves. But they had chosen this system, anyway. Why?
"Look, Niki," Shan said. "May I have your attention for a few minutes?"
"Oh. Yes, of course. I'm sorry, Bo. I've never seen such---"
"Right. You didn't have stuff like this in Nurusha." He moved between Niki and the mesmerizing model. "But you're here now, so listen to me."
"I said I was sorry. So, what is all this about Mr. Mills? Why are you interested in him, and what could I possibly have to do with any of it?"
"As far as I can tell, you have nothing to do with it, but the Council won't see it that way. Want me to explain?"
"Please."
"This man, Mills, is involved with a group of people calling themselves the 'Twelfth Generation.' No one has any idea what that means or exactly what it is they're up to, but I do know they're digging around some of the shuttle crash sites---maybe even removing artifacts---and that's about as illegal as you can get."
"So? What does all that have to---"
"Wait. There's more to this. There is talk about overthrowing the government. Talk about cults and rebellion. Further, I have a source who tells me the Council has evidence that their computer control system has been broken into on several occasions, and they believe this Twelfth Generation group had something to do with it."
"Suspicion and innuendo, Bo. Pretty hazy stuff, to me. I would still like you to tell me what I have to do with any of it. Why do I have to worry about Mr. Mills?"
"Your problem, Niki, is that the Council will consider anyone connected with that group to be a part of it, and you may say whatever you want, but they won't hear it. Now, do you get it?"
"Not really. What is it you want from me?"
"I want you to do something for me that could prove to be of mutual benefit. I want you to collect some information. I want you to listen in whenever you can and take notes. Maybe record some things ... get pictures ... stuff like that."
"You mean," Niki said with a wry smile, "you want me to spy on Mr. Mills."
"Well ... yes. I guess that's the idea." Niki could see that Shan was embarrassed. "You see," he continued, "I want to learn as much as I can about this Generation business. What it's about, and who is behind it. I want to know who Mills talks to, where he spends his time, and where he's getting his hard note. Particularly where the note is coming from, because that's probably the key to unwinding the rest of it."
"Have you thought about Mr. Greeley?"
"Sure, right off. He was on the top of my list, but the man is cleaner than a mander eel is slick. He gambles a lot, and he loses a lot. I think he traffics tarsac---but he's not connected to the Twelfth Generation group. Virgo Mills is, and I want to know how and why."
"How would spying on Mr. Mills be of any value to me? You said this could be of mutual benefit, but I don't see it working for me."
"The Council is investigating the Twelfth Generation. As soon as you start working for Mills, they'll begin watching you, too."
"Me? Why me? I'm not involved in any of this, and I've never heard of this Generation stuff. That is, not until this morning---and I've never been to the Continent before," Niki protested.
"Look, Niki ... I know that, you know that, but the Council will not see it that way. As soon as your name shows up in the employment record of Virgo Mills, you will come under suspicion."
"Why?"
"Niki, you told me Mills gave you a thousand notes. The way Greeley runs his business he'd have given you just enough to get by until the boats went out, maybe even a little less. A couple hundred notes at best, and probably in paper, not hard note. Why would Mills give you a thousand, and in hard note? The Council will ask the same questions. Why would a fisher give a new helper so much hard note without seeing how he works, or even knowing if he will show up for work tomorrow? Would you do that? No ... you wouldn't, and neither would anyone else with a little sense. If the Council decides there's even a slight chance that the idea of a possible coup d'état is real, they won't be gentle with anyone---innocent or not."
Niki wasn't sure how he felt about spying on a man he had just met for someone who was as much a stranger to him as Mills, and all over something he didn't understand in the slightest. It seemed a little ... ridiculous.
"I can't say I'll do that for you, Bo. I'd like some time to think. I got out of the hospital yesterday at first light. I haven't been here a full two days yet, and you want me to get involved in some mystery about things I don't understand, with people I don't know." Niki thought for a moment as he watched a miniature Paz swing close around Vegamwun. "Give me a couple of days?"
"Sure, Niki. Sure. I didn't give any thought to how you would react. Sometimes I get to chasing something, and I forget about other people having their own lives. I'll tell you what. You take my card and give me a call when you're ready, all right?" Shan slipped his card into Niki's jacket pocket and continued. "Let me pay your entry fee, and you can spend the rest of the day here. Do you know how to use the publics?"
"Uh, no," Niki admitted. "What's a public?"
Shan shoved a couple of oddly shaped coins into Niki's hand and started for the door. "They're public transports. Use N2. It'll take you within two squares of your hotel." He stopped and turned to face Niki. "Don't forget, call me as soon as you decide."
Niki watched from behind the little revolving planets as Shan went to the desk, handed some notes to the guard, and pointed across the lobby in Niki's direction. This was it. He was inside the Museum of the Ancients with most of the day to himself.
The building was constructed to form a frame around the shuttles, with a ring of displays of artifacts and other things of historic interest. He slipped quickly through the entrance indicated in the directory and walked, unnoticing, past the various cases containing priceless, often indescribable relics, dioramas and models depicting the establishment of human life on Paz, until he reached the double doors to the shuttle display. The doors were solid metal, four meters high and three meters wide.
A guard, stationed to one side of the doors, stepped up and checked Niki's pass.
"Ever seen these before?" he asked.
"No, sir."
"Well, here you go," the guard said with a grand smile and tapped the pad in his hand. The doors swung open and there---there they were. Two immense machines poised on their landing legs, looking very much like giant, shining black kaughman beetles. Their landing pads were buried deep into the ground, attesting to their terrific weight and centuries of standing in one place.
Shuttles six and twenty-three, standing side by side, just as the Fathers had left them when their job was finished. So much metal. Niki was certain there was more metal in one of those shuttles than the combined mines of Paz could produce in a year ... and the Fathers had arrived with forty of them. Passing through the doors, Niki was overwhelmed by a feeling that he had been there before. That those metal creatures were nothing new to him. They were familiar.
"Excuse me, sir," Niki said to the guard. "Have these shuttles been opened, or are they sealed like all the others?"
"Never been touched, son. They're one of our sources of pride, my boy. In all the time the museum has been standing, we have never touched them. That is, other than for routine cleaning and polishing. Oh, they tried to find a way in before the government put all the shuttles under the Antiquities Protection Law, but they couldn't gain access. That, sir, is one of the beauties of our shuttles here at the New London exhibit. Our directors have made every effort to maintain them as they were found. You may ride the lift up to the walkway on number twenty-three and see everything from there. Well, everything that's visible from the catwalk, that is."
Niki thanked the guard and rushed to the lift. Thirty meters above the ground the lift vibrated to an uncertain halt, and he stepped out onto the metal grating of the walkway, turned left, and made his way up to the cabin at the forward end of the ship. He cupped his hands to shield his eyes from the surrounding light and could see through the windows into the shuttle's bridge. It was dark in there, of course, but the bright lights near the tops of the walls surrounding them provided enough to see what was inside fairly well. There were two seats at the front, and a row of six at the rear of a small compartment lined with panels bearing banks of instruments, switches and long dead lights. It all appeared complicated and ... and oddly familiar ... like he'd been in there before.
"Look, mama. That's where the pilot used to sit," said a youngster who had come out of nowhere, his nose flattened against the glass to Niki's left, and his pointing finger bent against the ceramic window.
"No," Niki said. "The pilot sat in the seat on this side, and his helper pilot was in the seat to his right. His helper was responsible for managing the inertial stabilization computer during high atmospheric entry, so he had to be close to that console in the corner." Niki pointed out the inertial control console to the boy.
"The pilot used those two handles there on his panel in front---see them---to operate the attitude control system when the shuttle was under manual control."
The boy, astonished, backed away enough to get a good look at Niki, then pressed against the glass as Niki pointed at the handles.
"See those two buttons on the tops of the handles? The one on the left told the computer to transfer control to him, and the one on the right is the manual override for the drag brakes. Everything was under computer control most of the time, but once in a while the Fathers needed to make the shuttle do something the computer wouldn't allow. Things could get really busy in there during insertion maneuvers."
"Say, mister, you sure know a lot about these things," the boy exclaimed. "Did you ever fly one?"
"No, only the Fathers ever flew the shuttles." But Niki felt confident that he probably could fly one. How? "I have merely studied them," he lied. No one ever studied them. They were all sealed, and there was no information on their operation in the Ancient Record that he was aware of, and none in any of the other available literature. Everything about the shuttles and the great ship, the La Paz, remained a mystery to the people of Paz---a dark enigma. So, how did he, simple fisher from a small island in the South Sea, know? All of what was churning in his head had been forbidden by omission from the Ancient Record, yet it was all---frighteningly familiar.
"What's that?" the boy asked.
"Where?"
"Over there." The child pointed to a line on the hull, about ten meters behind the shuttle's bridge compartment. The line didn't show well in the black surface of the fuselage, but it was rectangular with generously rounded corners at the top and bottom. The area was two and a half meters high and one meter wide and had a much smaller recess of similar shape on the forward side.
"Oh, that. That's one of the utility airlocks, sort of a special door. When they were in space they used it to get in and out---to do work outside."
Niki understood it all. Every bit of it. The fact that there were four such airlocks and that the main access was in the center of the docking ring in the shuttle's belly, just ahead of the main cargo hatch. He saw it all clearly in his subconscious, and he knew how all of it functioned. Not in precise detail, but ... still ... he shouldn't be able to fathom it in the way he did.
It was one of those dreams---real and important---a dream that demanded it be remembered. And it was a dream that vaporized the instant the sound of the link buzzed through it and returned him to his bumpy bed in the cube. It buzzed a second time. Funny, it seemed louder, more insistent, like his mother had done when he failed to respond to her first call. He managed to get to the link before it could rattle his nerves again.
"Hello," he said, his voice revealing his groggy state.
"Gaf. Where the hell ya been? Been tryin' to get hold of ya all the damned day." Mills glared back at Niki from the screen. He was wearing the expression of a parent scolding a child who had forgotten, conveniently, to do his morning chores.
"Sorry, Mr. Mills ... Virgo," Niki said. "I ... I was out doing some shopping." Niki thought it would be unwise to tell Mills that he had spent the morning with an investigative reporter who wanted him to spy on the man.
"Okay, gaf. We're not gonna be goin' out fer at least eight more days. The mackrawl've started their run, but they're stayin' farther north than usual this year." Mills shifted in his seat, shuffled some papers, then continued, "Anyway, ya gotta go in fer a physioscan. Yer in the book fer,"---Mills glanced down at the papers again, then went on,---"Yer in the book fer second hour tomorrow. Clinic's at 86 Echo. That's five squares south of ya. Ya got all that, gaf?"
"All right ... Virgo. Second hour tomorrow. But why? I mean, my C-card has all the information from the hospital, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, gaf, it does. This here's just somethin' formal fer the medical security papers, ya know? Government stuff, gaf."
There was something odd about Mills' actions on the screen, and his eyes never looked directly at Niki. Or was Niki letting the things Shan had said feed him information that wasn't there? Or could it be that Shan had said it true? Did he detect motive unseen, unspoken? He shrugged and conceded it would still be easier to assume the best, although he knew now, after his conversation with Shan, that he would not see Mills in the same way as before.
"I'll be there, Virgo. Night."
Niki watched as the screen faded. He would go to the appointment, of course. But why would they need anything more than what the hospital had already entered in the record? And what were medical security papers? He set the link to not respond to any calls and sank onto the thing that served as a bed, though he was beginning to think of it as a torture rack. Niki thought that the bed and its built-in lumps and hollows had something to do with his weird dreams. His spine was twisted and a nagging pain had taken hold. Niki decided he would try to return to the dream he was---for whatever reason---supposed to remember. His eyes closed---and the voices of his dream began.
Five men gathered in tightly around the small screen on Washton's desk and watched intently as the genetic code information played out. One after the other, the markers matched and glowed a brilliant blue. When the last of the two thousand five hundred and thirty-six spots winked blue, there was a collective gasp from all in the room.
Washton rolled his chair back from his desk and, in a tone of triumph, announced, "Gentlemen, we have a positive match. This man, Kaznov, is definitely the Delta for whom we have been searching. According to the records, he is the only direct-line Delta alive---and he is of the twelfth generation. He is ... he is a rare and precious specimen, gentlemen. Indeed ... the only specimen, and he will be ours."
Everyone attempted to speak at once, until Lon Su silenced them by soundly striking Washton's beautiful desk with a large stone paperweight. Washton eyed the jagged gash in his once perfect desktop but said nothing.
Bide your time, Mando. Just bide your time.
"We of the Twelfth Generation," Su began, "have no time for cackling and squawking like a bunch of barkel hens at feeding time. We have more than enough work of a productive nature to do without such foolishness."
Su moved in behind the desk, waved Washton from his chair like a Neather would shoo away an intruding shagrat, and sat down. A nasty smirk snaked its way across his square, flat face as he said, "Washton, I want you to get him away from Mills as subtly and as quickly as is humanly possible. His name, I trust, has not found its way into the Council employment record."
"No, Mr. Su, it has not. If you don't mind, why do you feel we should keep Mills from knowing what is going on? Mills is a Twelfth Generation member, is he not?"
"Yes, Washton, I do mind, but I shall attempt to explain it in a manner even you will understand. Mills is a simpleton, a hopeless, half-excuse for an imbecile---and besides, the man is barely one step up from being an untrac himself. It has come to my attention recently that his affairs are being looked into by one of the Journal's reporters, Washton, and if you were doing your job with the proper level of efficiency, you, too, would have known that before I had to tell you. At this time, and in view of what we apparently have here, the less Mills knows, the better it will be for all of us."
Su toyed with the paperweight, and Washton cringed. He slid it to the edge of the desk and laced his fingers together under his chin. Without looking at Washton, he continued. "Now, Washton, hear me well. I want you to make absolutely certain nothing---and I mean nothing---happens to this Kaznov that will in any way tend to repress his awakening or, the Ancients preserve us, threaten his continued existence. Is that understood, Washton?"
"Yes, sir. I understand completely."
"Good. I want you to get him away from Mills, and I want you to employ him in some way or another that will provide impetus to his awakening, but I don't want his name to show up in the Council's records. You will pay him in hard note, and you will pay him well so that he is under no external pressure from any obligations he may incur---and I want him living in something other than that nasty little cube your simpering idiot stuck him in. Do you understand me, Washton?"
He paused just long enough for Washton to indicate he was paying attention, then went on. "I think his awakening would best be aided by working at the Museum of the Ancients. Particularly something to do with the shuttles. You are, as we are all well know, devious enough to concoct some clever scheme, which will cause all that to happen without eliciting undue attention from the wrong people. I remind you, the government is looking at us closely, as Mr. Vagnu can verify. How you do what I am telling you is entirely up to you. Just remember, I shall be watching your every move."
Su raised himself from Washton's chair in the deliberate manner of an emperor in view of his subjects and faced the group.
"Gentlemen, are there any questions?"
"Yes, Mr. Su," a small, dark-skinned man said. "It is my understanding there is another group in New London that is searching for the Delta. Should we not engage ourselves in some way to be certain they do not discover we have him?"
"Ah, Mr. Lanno, you have, once again, artfully anticipated me. We really must get together for a game of Zagman as I believe you would be a worthy opponent." Su smiled warmly at Lanno while turning the paperweight over in his hand. Washton sucked in his cheek and chewed on its flesh.
"In answer to your question, Mr. Lanno, yes, I believe that would be a good idea. The problem is how to do it. Keeping the Delta's name off the record will prevent them from getting the information out of the system ... but he is on the local record because of his recent stay in the hospital. Anyone actively looking will eventually come across the medical entries and know he is, or was, here in the city. This is an issue I have been pondering since Washton first contacted me."
"Another group? That's the first I've heard of any others. What other group?"
Washton let his gaze stray from the stone in Su's hand to look at Villers. Villers had asked the question, and the issue was an urgent one, but he could see none of the urgency Viller's inquiry bore reflected in his expression. Villers was too calm. Why didn't he trust that man?
Su began lobbing the stone into the air and catching it mere centimeters before it struck Washton's precious desk. Washton chewed harder.
"For your information, Mr. Villers, there are two other organizations interested in our little treasure. One of them, the one to which I believe you were referring to, Mr. Lanno, is a ridiculous religious what-not that calls itself the Twelve Points of Light Mission or something on that order. They have been looking for some time now. We have little to fear from them other than their unseemly public displays that tend to call Council attention to all unlisted organizations---like ours.
"The other one---well, that's another matter that needs to be treated a bit more seriously. They are militant radicals who think the Riddle of the Ancients calls for a political awakening and reorganization. Because of their agenda they are automatically dangerous to everyone and to Pazian life in general. They are armed---much better than we---and some of their leaders are active Paz militia who are very well positioned. In many ways they are much better equipped to maintain their security than we are."
Su kept throwing the stone higher and catching it lower. Washton was beginning to draw blood from the lining of his cheek.
"I have tried on several occasions to infiltrate this organization and have only bodies to show for the effort. This latter group is far more threatening to us than that religious comedy of fools, and I do not want to mix it up with them if it can be avoided. Between those religious fanatics with their public displays and the seditious meanderings of the militants, we have much to be concerned over."
Su put down the paperweight and moved to the window where he looked out over the city as if he might find nefarious inspiration floating over the rooftops of New London. Washton released his cheek and licked at its mangled surface.
"Mr. Lanno, I would like to see you before you return to Nucanda. Come to my office after midday tomorrow, please. Are there any more questions?"
"Yes," the GoL Vagnu of the High Council said. "It is getting more difficult to keep the Council's investigation away from us. The GoL Hagman has come uncomfortably close on several occasions, and I have reason to believe that he has stumbled upon some of the altered record inputs during the last three periods. I think it would be a good idea to divert their attention to one of the other groups---a diversion that cannot be traced to us. Would that be possible?"
"I do not enjoy doing things like that, Mr. Vagnu. Awfully risky business, you know. Can you find the time tomorrow to meet with Mr. Lanno and myself? I have some other ideas I would like to discuss with you about the Council. We may also do some brainstorming regarding your thoughts on possible diversions at that time."
"That will be no problem. My schedule is open for the next few days, so my time will be my own ... for the most part."
"Very good. Is there anything else?"
Su paused to allow any other questions to be posed and, when none were forthcoming, said, "All right, gentlemen, we have much to do, so let us get to it. Washton, do not forget what I told you."
Washton didn't like that man at all. He was pompous, and he was arrogant. He was also a powerful, cunning, and exceedingly wealthy man---a man with whom it was best not to trifle. More than one of Su's adversaries had termed prematurely or disappeared to some forlorn corner of Paz, never to be heard of again. Washton didn't want his turn to come up too soon. Besides, as Su himself had so aptly stated, he was devious enough to solve that little problem as well.
All in good time---all in good time, Mr. Su.
Once the Delta had pointed the way to extract all that wealth from the Pazian soil, there would be no need to share with five others. Maybe Vagnu---he was seated high on the Council and would continue to be valuable. Lanno, of course, since he was already in the mining business. Yes, Lanno's knowledge and experience would be useful in the future. The others would be of no use after Kaznov gave them the cores and showed them how to run the equipment.
The three remaining directors, with him at the helm, would seize financial control of Paz in short order once they had the majority of Paz's natural resources locked up. Unfortunately, both Vagnu and Lanno were on friendly terms with Su, or so it seemed, and that complicated matters significantly. Washton had no allies. No one he could confide in or rely upon for aid. There was no one who could help him with what he planned.
Washton looked again at the gash in his desk, frowned, and punched some numbers into the link's key pad.
"Hello. I would like to run a screen ad through the remainder of this period..."
Within two days the ad began bringing results. Not the results he was hoping for, but it would only be a matter of time. He had placed the ad to run every quarter hour, and he knew that, if the awakening had stirred in Kaznov, he would eventually see it and the Delta would be his.
"Good morning. I am Mando Washton. How may I help you?"
The face on the screen matched the Council pic of one Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha.
"Uh, yes, sir. I saw an ad this morning about some kind of work at the Museum of the Ancients. Is the position still open?"
"It is. What we are looking for is someone to put together specific information on the shuttles for a research project we are running. May I have your name, please?"
As the Delta gave him his name, Washton's finger found its way into the blemish on his desk.
"Very good, Mr. Kaznov. Be in my office right after first light, say half past first hour, and I'll be happy to lay out the details for you." There, by cunning and stealth, even the wiliest sanger's weasel gets eaten---head first, with his eyes wide open.
Now that he had the Delta, he would need to get rid of Mills long enough to make it all work. Mills had to believe that Kaznov had left town with his deposit money and that no one knew where he had gone. Washton could handle all that through Sharp, who had control over information going into and coming out of the hotel. He was certain he would be able to manage whatever happened with Kaznov, once he had him in the office. What happened outside of the office was a problem he would also manage, once Mills was gone.
"Pasha," he said into the com, "get me Sharp on the link and tell him it's TG business. He'll understand. Thank you."
Washton looked up as the Delta entered the office. He smiled affably at the young man and said, "Good day, Mr. Kaznov. You are ... punctual."
"Morning, sir. I'm here about the position you were advertising."
"Yes, yes. Please, have a seat."
Washton was beside himself because, though consistently ingenious, his schemes didn't always play out this well.
"Would you like a cup of gillroot or massak?"
"Massak, please. I'm afraid I overslept and didn't get my morning cup. I've been having a lot of trouble sleeping the last few days."
"Good---I mean, it's good you like massak. My secretary is the best massak maker on Paz." Washton stabbed at the com button and said, "Pasha, please, a cup of your best massak for our young friend here." He turned back to the Delta and smiled broadly.
"Now, Mr. Kaznov, what we are looking for is someone willing to spend a great deal of time at the museum, taking pics, making measurements, and collecting as much detailed information about the shuttles as possible. Mind you, we know that won't be easy, since there is so little available to start with, but we don't mind taking a lot of time with this research. Our aim is to prove they were designed to be used in mining operations after the first settlement. Do you feel such a project would be of any interest to you?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, sir---absolutely, sir."
It was obvious to Washton that his Delta could barely contain himself and that his awakening had, perhaps, progressed farther than he assumed.
"Of course you would---I mean---well, there are few on Paz who could resist such an opportunity." That he knew because he had taken more than two hundred calls since the ad first appeared. "We pay---"
Washton's secretary entered with a large cup of massak and handed it to the Delta. There was a brief pause as the two of them made a little too much eye contact to suit Washton.
"Ahem ... as I was saying---that will be all, Pasha---we pay one hundred and fifty thousand per period in hard note. You needn't concern yourself with the taxes, we pay all government charges. All you need to do is get yourself out to the museum on a daily basis and do your job. Well, sound interesting, so far?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Washton. Better than a dream. But how can you ... that is, why are ... no, never mind. It was a stupid question."
"You were about to ask how we can afford to pay so much for this project, Mr. Kaznov, and I will be more than happy to tell you. We are funded by a very wealthy group of businessmen who are anxious to see their investments bear fruit. I am free to do anything, spend any amount, to accomplish that goal. Now, we have procured an apartment for you at East End that will put you within ninety kilometers of the museum. All the required fees have been prepaid---you just move in and enjoy. You will find it to be quite a nice place, comfortable and conducive to thought and work. We want you to devote all your energy to the project, and we felt we should remove as many obstacles as possible. Can you pilot a transport, Mr. Kaznov?"
"No, sir."
"Well, no matter. The public stops near there, and you can use it until you have learned to handle your transport. Oh, dear me ... I forgot to tell you that there is a transport included in the package. You will find it docked at your new apartment and, since you are not familiar with its operation, arrangements will be made for you to receive the necessary training in its use. The transport is a small one, but adequate for your purposes."
Washton had the only direct-line Delta on the planet right there in front of him. His finger again traced the shape of the gouge in his desk while he mulled over the possibilities sitting no more than a meter away.
"Well, what do you think, Mr. Kaznov?"
What was there to think? The Delta was a Teller moth, and Washton's offer was the brightest flame in sight. He knew Kaznov would grab the bait, and reeling him in was no more than a matter of turning the crank. His problem now was to keep Mills from finding out what had happened, although he still didn't understand why Su was so concerned about Mills. Sure, the man was a dolt and a lout, but he was also a member of the TG.
The Delta had not contacted Mills prior to his arrival, or Mills would certainly have called immediately and demanded to know what was happening. In spite of what Su believed of Mills and how revolting a character he was to Washton, he was no fool. Washton wanted Mills occupied elsewhere before the Delta could get back on the street. Things were already in motion, but the timing was dependent upon having the Delta under his control before he could activate his plan for Mills. He excused himself, leaving Kaznov in the office sipping and sniffing his massak.
"Pasha. Call Mr. Sharp and tell him we're ready."
"Yes, sir. Mr. Washton?"
"Yes?"
"Who is this man and what are we doing with him?"
"Never you mind, my dear. You just do what I told you and leave the rest to me."
Returning to his inner office, he found the Delta reading the Riddle of the Ancients on his wall and felt his first twinge of anxiety since putting his plan in action. He had forgotten to take it down before Kaznov's arrival and no one so early in their awakening should be exposed to the riddle. There was no way of knowing what strange ideas they might get.
"Do you enjoy rhymes and riddles, Mr. Kaznov?"
The Delta jumped.
"I'm sorry, sir. I didn't hear you come in. I don't know. I don't think I have what it takes to understand it---not this one, anyway. I'm sure it must mean something to someone, but not to me. No. I don't think I could warm up to it, sir."
Washton needed to get the Delta out of his office and away from the city---mainly away from the harbor.
"Now, Mr. Kaznov, I'm a busy man, and I'm afraid I must cut this short. My secretary will take you out to your apartment, so you'll know where it is, and then to the museum to give you an overview of what it is we are expecting from you."
The hours waiting for Sharp's call were almost more than Washton could stand. He liked things to be as tidy as possible, but all of this was a mess from the start and he couldn't predict anything with the kind of certainty he enjoyed in most of his dealings. He had to know Mills was taken care of before he could allow the Delta to return to his cube for his things, but there was a limit to how long Pasha would be able to detain him.
It was apparent the Delta was a considerate type and would want to call his previous employment obligation to inform Mills of his change of mind and return the advance Mills had given him. Three long hours passed before Washton's link activated and the always haggard face of Sharp filled the screen.
"Well?"
"He's on his way south."
"Thanks, Sharp. I owe you."
"You bet you do." Sharp raised a glass to his lips and drank in large gulps, the fluid pouring out both sides of his mouth and dripping from his chin. "Not feelin' good, you know. Fix it?"
"Of course, Sharp. I'll send Davro around with a bag tonight. Get some sleep---and remember, not a word to Kaznov about any of this."
"Yeah, sure. Remember ... the bag ... tonight."
Washton cleared the link and let his finger wander across the desktop until it fell into the gouge. Su. Wiggling his finger in the groove, a wry smile appeared on Washton's face. Now he could relax, and things would go according to plan without uncontrollable ... uncertainties.
Mills would be out of the area at least until the middle of winter, perhaps even after Halfyear. If the Delta hadn't awakened fully by then, well, it wouldn't matter too much what happened after that. Washton wasn't sure how long this awakening process of the Delta would take, but he was sure that, if there were no positive signs by then, the Delta was probably a dud and, since he was the only one, Su's interpretation of the riddle would have been worthless to all concerned. Kaznov's arrival in his office was encouraging, but it was not tested fact that an awakening was in process. There were signs, yes, but no proof.
For the moment he was free to begin contemplating what to do about Su, Prang, and Villers. Prang and Villers would be reasonably easy, but Su was another thing altogether. Su had a network of people built up around him, based on the very real proposition that he made enemies without effort and that many of those would happily term him at the slightest provocation or opportunity.
What Washton needed was a plan in which one or more of Su's plentiful supply of existing admirers could get their hands wrapped around the man's throat and squeeze with sufficient pressure to accomplish the desired effect---without implicating Washton.
Running his finger through the groove on his desk again, he chuckled as he considered the possibilities. It would be much more satisfactory to term the shagrat himself. He had the access. If he did the job right, no one would connect him to the deed, not even circumstantially. However, what could he do about the gentracs? Inevitably traces of genetically identifiable material would be left wherever one went, and the Law Apps genetic searches were thorough. Always thorough.
He would have to dispose of all the markers that had been taken throughout his life and replace them with the codes of someone else. Since he had a way into the Council's control files, that would be easy enough to do, but he would have to remember every marker he had ever dropped in order to get rid of the source records, too. Those Law Apps people were efficient. Even one marker that was located could ruin the whole affair. After the investigation was closed he could go back in, make the corrections to the files, and become himself on the record again.
There were few who actually liked Su, accepting his leadership only because of the power he wielded in the criminal arena and the fact that, if he wanted, he could buy the entire planet and have enough left over to retire on the island of Nufrans. People were afraid of that man, and rightly so. He could control almost anyone with hard note, and those Su couldn't buy would wind up in a lava bed or at the base of one of the many cliffs marking the boundaries of the plates that made up Paz's fragile crust.
Yes, he'd do it himself, and he'd do it in a way that appeared clumsy, even sloppy. Law Apps would have to believe from the evidence that Su had accidentally walked in on some petty criminal engaged in looting his home. In the ensuing struggle, poor old Su had become another statistic in the record. Yes, that would do it, and the idea had all the necessary irony to satisfy Washton's needs. The biggest crook on the planet gets termed by a bumbling neophyte in a battle over nothing. How fitting.
Once Su was out of the way, the general membership would accept Washton's stepping in without question and might even feel better with the upper structure reduced in number. They were getting restless. Not enough was happening to hold their interest---not enough to give them the confidence they needed to continue investing in the movement, and Washton knew he could fix that problem with little trouble on his part. He was already hearing some grumbling about watered-down, top-heavy leadership, which indicated to him that some change was needed to keep the group together.
A man in Vagnu's position couldn't afford the greater risk of being uncovered that the top job in the Generation would engender, so Vagnu would welcome his moving in to occupy Su's vacant seat. Lanno didn't have the time or the personality required for the job. He had his hands full with the Nucanda mine, particularly in view of the damage wrought during the last Days of Disturbance. Lanno would offer no resistance to the change in leadership, either.
Prang was wealthy, of course, but a worthless, spineless bloodworm who was about as popular as a shagrat in a Neather's cupboard. Villers, a man no one trusted, would not be welcome in the top slot. There was something about that man, Villers, that bothered everyone, something you knew was there but couldn't quite put your finger on. Those two represented no problem, and Washton fully intended to take care of them anyway, regardless of what happened with Su.
But Su---Su would be first. Washton was tired of being humiliated by the man who had put that gash in his desk.
"First pulse field initiated at 0750, Alex. Second field will commence at 1750. SESC 128 Alpha is moving into our track ahead. Range, five thousand kilometers. Commands?"
Guchi. The damned fool.
"Not yet, Rammix. Advise me when we are ten minutes from minimum avoidance."
"Yes, Alex."
Pax opened the station com frequency again and hailed SSC Chief Yamaguchi. A full three minutes passed before his image materialized.
Dimwitted psychological games.
Pax was beyond game-playing. She pulled the trigger on time---she was going to Gamma Volantis.
"Yes, Pax. What is it?"
"Are you responsible for pushing that freighter into our path?"
"I am. Listen to me Pax, shut it down and come on back. We can have this all straightened out in less than two hours. The legals tell me it's just a formality, but they are bound by regulations to bring you two before the commission, and I'm stuck with that. I have to do what they tell me."
"No, Guchi. You put the head jerk on. I want to talk to that imbecile before we all have to feel sorry for what's about to happen here."
"Aw, Pax, please. You have a two hundred year envelope you're working in. What difference is a couple of hours going to make?"
"As far as the mission is concerned, none. As far as I'm concerned, that's another story. During prep over here I've come to some startling realizations, Guchi, and don't bother asking me about them because, even if I felt like explaining, and I don't, there's no way you'd ever understand. Now, move that freighter."
"Can't, Pax. Sorry."
Pax ground her teeth at his response. They understood nothing. There was absolutely no way ordinary people could know. Pax was certain that all the Finders, in their own way and time, arrived at similar conclusions, conclusions that were---unavoidable. Maybe not in specific detail, but assuredly in basic nature. They had all been asked to give up everything that they had been, including their connection to Earth and all her cultural trappings (or should that be traps?) to make an indelible change, and every one of them had made that commitment with a willingness that could only be described as zeal. For the Finders, there would be no retrieval of a previous life. It would be ancient history, and so would they. All of the Finders would become living fossils of a time long past, in a history perhaps forgotten.
What sort of person would volunteer to do that? One who valued their ties, family, life-style, commitments, even Earth herself? Not likely. Explorers, ancient or modern, of Earth or the solar system, had the idea that they could or would return and that their discoveries, their findings, would be minimally heralded as at least interesting. Not so with the crews of the Finder flights. They were going out to make contact with engineered humans living in unknown, alien environments.
With the Finder missions there was no way to predict anything. Maybe the original colonists had been welcomed by an indigenous species when they'd arrived. Then again, maybe they had fought over something or other and won ... or lost. Perhaps they had become part of the food chain in their new home, and no one could know whether they had taken a high link in that chain, or somewhere ... else---near the bottom. Suppose it had been possible for them to crossbreed with an indigenous species and they'd melted away into something part human and part ... something else---something alien. The list of possibilities was endless, but one thing was now shining clear to Pax; none of the Finders could have been the least bit content with what had been their prior lives. They were all aliens at home and all at home with the alien. Would any of them be fortunate enough to discover whatever they sought at the far end? Unknown, but then, that was the whole idea, wasn't it?
"Move that freighter, Guchi."
The segments of the iris peeled back, and Lavan drifted through, crabbing slightly to compensate for the minute acceleration of phase one pulse. Pax switched off the audio transmit but left the video on, so Yamaguchi wouldn't think she had cut him off again, and waited while Lavan snapped her hardwire connector onto her shell.
"I've been listening in down there," Lavan said. There was a firmness in her voice Pax hadn't heard before. "You have the slightest idea why they're pushing us over something like last night?"
"Not even part of a clue, but I'm not shutting Hermes down."
"Good. Have you thought about how much it costs to move a freighter the mass of Old Ironsides? Plenty, I can tell you. Takes a crew of twenty to make sure she doesn't turn into a fireball during the preheat cycle---and she eats bundles of hydrogen doing it. She's an old line freighter from before the dark years. They used that one, Old Ironsides, as a roidlet collector when I was stationed in the Belt. What they're saying they want from us isn't worth that much---it's something else they don't want to tell us."
Yamaguchi looked impatient and tighter than a trumpeter's lips. Pax turned the audio back on.
"All right, Guchi. Suppose you tell me what's really going on, but I suggest you do it soon---before I put Old Ironsides out of her misery ... or worse."
"I've told you all I know, Pax. We have a crew of over---"
Another figure pushed Yamaguchi aside, and the chinless, hairless, colorless face of an SESC diplomat named Dominici came into view. Pax's opinion of the man was less than pleasant, stemming from their first encounter during the primary phase of training for Finder. To Pax, he looked like a melting wax dummy. His large, pale-as-death eyes sagging downward at the corners, the tip of his nose overhanging his upper lip, and his scalp, a firm-fitting, pallid helmet with faint brown spots, all served to heighten the illusion. When he spoke she was certain his pants were several sizes too small.
"Lead Officer Pax, Dr. Lavan ... this is Cultural Contact Council Director, Roland Dominici. We want you to shut down Hermes and return to the station. That is a direct order from Finder Flight Chief of Operations, Dean Whitaker."
"Tell us why."
"I'm not at liberty to---"
"Then get someone who is."
"I can't divulge---"
"You---of all people---should be more aware of what we can do than the JS9 crew is, Dominici, and we are prepared to do what we have to, so speak to me."
"I don't have enough information to give you any details, Pax."
"Pinch the details and stick them some place dark. Just give us the general idea."
"All right, Pax. All right. All I can tell you is what I was told. There is ... there is ... some kind of ... glitch in the program---it's for your own good---now, shut it down."
"You're telling me three have already gone and one is threatening to vaporize JS9? That we have contained only two of the six?"
"Yes, sir. That's about it."
"My god, I can't believe I'm hearing this, Whitaker."
Whitaker watched the color of the plump, loose-fleshed man overflowing the chair of the president of United Surface Earth change from bureaucratic bland to the pink of near vessel-bursting pressure and wondered how a jellyfish with such obvious lack of internal discipline had accomplished ascendancy to this high office.
"Mr. President, haven't you been reading our reports?"
"Yes, yes, yes---I have been reading your cursed reports, Whitaker, but what good are those stinking reports if we have four lunatic squads fanning out at sixty-eight percent of the speed of light, huh? What good are they?"
"That's fifty-nine percent, sir---and they're not lunatic squads. True, the gene therapy and mental conditioning has taken an unforeseen turn, but they're as sane as anyone else you would call normal. You're making it sound like some fiendish plot to take over a world they are trying to get away from and, from what I know of them, you could say they're trying with considerable enthusiasm."
"Isn't it? Isn't it, Whitaker? For all we know, you may even be the one behind it. They're yours, right?"
"With all due respect, sir---that is patently absurd."
"Absurd, is it? Sane? You call the openly hostile opposition to USE policies sane? Normal? Dammit man, they are dangerous ... and you know it."
Dangerous? Perhaps. Part of the gene therapy and mental conditioning was intended to enhance survival instincts, to make them a little more resistant to the stress of alien conditions. Designed to make them more capable, more fiercely human. So the outcome was a little on the extreme side. Certainly the actions of Pax and Lavan on JS9 had made that clear, but, to Whitaker, their actions were more desirable than passivity. As far as he was concerned, it was safer to have them out there than gnashing their collective teeth against Earth's frustrating status quo.
At the moment, the SESC had six hundred and two hyper-humans on their way back to Earth, and if they were successful in stopping Hermes it would be nine hundred and three. If Pax made dust out of JS9, the crews they had in custody would see it as a sign, a heroic symbol. What would be their reaction to that? Whitaker was opposed to the effort to detain Pax. The Hermes should go. And what about the two crews already contained? They, too, should go. They all should go. Perhaps even he should go.
"Mr. President, these people don't need to demonstrate their loyalty to USE. They do need to demonstrate a willingness to put themselves in harm's way and the toughness to survive the experience. If they do survive, and I stress the if, they're not going to organize the colonists, if there are any colonists alive out there, and lead an invading horde back to us."
"Oh? And where is your guarantee of that, huh? My advisors tell me they may do just that. Well, Whitaker?"
"Oh, for god's sake, man, listen to yourself. The closest Finder won't reach its objective until ninety years from now---maybe a hundred before they make contact ... if they are successful in finding a surviving colony. And if we assume everything went well for the original colonists, which is doubtful, they'll be technologically primitive by our standards---at best."
"So? What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"So, let's assume further that our people decide they want to convince the colonists that it would be worth their while to come back here and claim their birthright. For the sake of argument, let's say that they're successful in doing that. How long do you think it would take for them to get themselves into a position to actually do it? One ... two more centuries maybe, then another in transit. That's four ... five hundred years, Mr. President. Five hundred years before they could conceivably be back in our system, using the technology they may or may not be able to develop in the time available to them. And what would we have been doing during that time? Going backward? I think what I'm witnessing here is the birth of a new mental disorder. What shall we call it? Colonophobia?"
Whitaker had been subjected to the same preparatory treatments and therapies as the regular crews. He and several of his top officers had volunteered to serve as alternates on the off-chance someone dropped out or was injured beyond repair during the long training period. He had noticed no changes in himself that would indicate the problems envisioned by their spineless slob of a president and his obviously not-too-bright lackeys.
"I believe it would be the simplest and safest solution, sir, to put the other two crews back where they belong. And I suggest we do it as quickly as possible---before we suffer more serious difficulties at JS9 and at home."
"Mm-hmm. Well, all right, Whitaker. All right. I'll want to take this up with my staff before I make a decision. In the meantime, stay here in Mars Central and be ready to consult with my experts at a moment's notice. That's all, for now."
A back-handed wave and a, 'That's all, for now.' The decision, Whitaker knew, was going to be a continuation of the present paranoid policy. They were going to try to stop the Hermes, in spite of knowing it couldn't be done. He raised his two meters of heavily muscled body to attention, snapped a salute to the garden slug in the president's chair, and left. He had some things that needed his attention before the whole project, less four, came unglued.
When Pax looked at Lavan, what she saw was a little girl brandishing a mischievous grin that caused wrinkles to appear where there were none normally. She almost looked her age, until she winked and Pax was forced to laugh out loud. After regaining her composure she asked Rammix for the latest information on SESC 128 Alpha. The Rammix told her the ship, including her cargo train, was eight hundred four meters in length. She was run by a working crew of one hundred, plus a tech crew of twelve. She had no weapons and was made of old Earth alloys. The ship was unable to get out of her own way pushing an unloaded twenty-five hundred mass tons with an antiquated fusion plant that spewed every kind of dirty radiation known.
"What do you think, Marta?
"Call them and let them decide. That's all we can do. If they decide to stay, they'll have to suffer the consequences---that's all."
Pax nodded her agreement and had the Rammix make the connection. She didn't want anyone hurt. Not any of the innocents, anyway.
"Hello, Hermes, this is Ironsides, LO Martin Reese in the driver's seat. A very good morning to you. Nice day for a trip to a distant star, isn't it? To what do I owe the honor of this call to my humble hauler?"
"Have you checked your sensors recently?"
"Nope. The system's been shut down for repairs---again. Why?"
"You're in a direct line with our path out of orbit, and we have initiated first pulse. We can still maneuver around you, but your hull is going to be hit by a pretty heavy spray of neutrons if you're near those coordinates in six hours."
"Hey, now, that's serious stuff. I have plenty of plasma in the pot, and the blast tray is hot enough to take a couple of bursts without damage. I can probably swing this train around and be out of your way in two hours, maybe less. We're running blind, but it's nothing we haven't done before. How does that sound?"
"Stay right where you are, Reese."
Guchi, you raving lunatic.
"And you can take a long flight in a small universe, Yamaguchi. I'm not going to have my old girl crystallized for you or anyone else and, at last report, my crew can still make babies. My ship remains intact, and my crew stays productive. Got that?"
Where were you when I was looking for a real man, Reese?
"Rotten piece of work, Guchi. You knew they couldn't see us."
"Orders, Pax. As for you, Reese, you move that ship, and I'll see that you face charges."
"You go right ahead and do that. Facing charges is how I won the pleasure of running this old wreck. Pax?"
"What, Reese?"
"What is your first name?"
"Alex---Alexandra. Why?"
"And your destination?"
"Volans. Gamma Volantis."
"We're having our first in January, and we've been name-hunting. How does Alexandra Volans Reese sound to you?"
128 Alpha's twin tubes flared, and the clumsy assembly of freight boxes, pressure spheres, and bulky hydrogen mangler, all held together by a flimsy network of girders, wires, and tubes moved slowly off screen into the deep black of surrounding emptiness. Reese smiled at Pax from the com, a line of gleaming white on a rich chocolate background. A tear that was wandering around in his eye broke free and drifted out of view as he said, "This may sound a little stupid, but ... but I wish I was going with you, Alexandra. Do me a favor and say hello to the stars for me?"
"That's not stupid at all, Martin. I'll not only say it, I'll shout it---and as soon as we find something worthy, we'll name it for you."
Reese blew her a kiss, pushed a big thumbs up at the screen, then cut the connection.
"Pax, you're not going to get away from here. I think it is only fair to warn you that I've been given orders to shoot if you don't comply."
"Did Whitaker give you that order?"
"No, Pax. That one came straight from the president. Are you going to shut it down, or do I have to follow that order?"
Pax cut the audio again. What did the president have to do with Finder, and what glitch could possibly be worth all this?
"Well, Marta, what do you think?"
"Well-l-l, I think I like Reese, and I believe that idiot back there is going to shoot if we don't stop. Too bad we can't cycle up faster."
"Right. Too bad for Guchi. Rammix."
"Yes, Alex."
"Erase all SESC protocols. Go to full range defensive and lock aft particle pulse weapons on JS9's core."
"Status change complete. Target acquired."
"Thank you, Rammix. Stand by."
A quick scan of the panel showed phase one elapsed time as four hours, twenty minutes, and their velocity relative to JS9 was a blazing one hundred eighty-three meters per second. Not exactly what one could call a quick getaway. They were now a bit over fourteen hundred kilometers from the gaseous hulk of Jupiter and beginning their slow spiral outward, but still an easy shot for the station's weapons. Pax toggled the audio.
"It's your call now, Guchi. How do you want this to go?"
"Peacefully, Pax. Are you shutting down?"
"No."
"Pax."
"No, Guchi."
"Pax ... this is your last chance to---"
Yamaguchi's eyes flicked up to something above the com-cam and his color went pale as the dingy white bulkhead behind him.
"What the hell? Devreaux, give me..." Yamaguchi reached over and shut off the audio, and Pax watched as a series of silent orders were passed from him to others in the control compartment. Then the screen flickered, stuttered and went blank.
"What? What's going on over there?"
Lavan pointed to the aft monitor and increased its magnification. SESC 128 Alpha was backing down on JS9. Its only weapon was an ancient fusion plant, running at full power and aimed directly into the station's core, drenching it with dirty, man-made radiation. The shielding of JS9 was not designed to withstand such a concentration from the outside, and all the station's electronics were being bathed in the whole spectrum of old Earth technology at work. Reese's slow-motion maneuver had eliminated any threat from JS9 long enough for them to get out of range.
Not bad for flying blind, Mr. Reese.
Whitaker, in a perverse way, was pleased with himself. He'd argued his point long and hard---and he'd done it well, but, as he had expected, he lost. It was a foregone conclusion, but he'd presented the case for the Hermes, and the two crews being held in detention, rationally and logically. Most importantly, he'd kept his temper in check during the entire ordeal. He'd been aware, before being called in, that logic and a solid rationale would not play well in a room bulging with rampant paranoia, where everyone was busily dodging everyone else's shadow out of fear of what might be hiding in it. So, he'd been prepared for their stupidity---in more ways than any of them could begin to imagine.
Immediately after receiving a presidential level rejection of everything he'd said, including, "Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen," Whitaker pressed the button that sent a brief burst of radio energy to Deimos Outer Station, where his officers quietly, quickly seized total control. He took the next shuttle up.
Billings, his second in command, greeted him as he cleared the service airlock into the station's life support maintenance bay.
"Dean. Glad you could make it so quickly. We were worried that they might have nailed you to the floor."
"They probably would have if I'd pushed any harder. How goes it here?"
"One minor skirmish with some SSC boys on the main hangar deck, but they got smart and quit before anyone was hurt. Since then we've received two shuttles and processed one freighter. None of the people involved seem to suspect anything---so far."
"Let's try to keep it that way."
They rounded a turn in the passage and entered an elevator that would take them out to the one-g ring. The doors sealed silently behind them.
"Everyone's excited about this whole thing, but a few, myself included, are wondering about what the odds are of our getting away with it. Any comment?"
Yes, what were their chances? It was a good question, and it deserved an equally good answer, but Whitaker didn't have one. Not yet. There were too many unknowns involved. Particularly when it came to relieving the three military transports of their hyper-human cargo and transferring them to the first New Earth Class cruiser that lay under heavy guard, awaiting its maiden voyage.
The operation was going to require perfect timing. They had to get all the personnel off the station and headed planetside at the same time they disabled the Deimos Control Complex. After that, all their vulnerables would be dangling in full view of the entire system. There was nothing they could do about that---other than run like hell.
"Right now, I'd say that our chances are not too bad. When we start moving, our odds will drop to a point dead center between nil and zero."
"That's blunt enough. So, I guess we try harder, right?"
"That's about it. Do we have communication?"
"All secured and Finder modified."
"Okay. When we bottom out I'm going to send a note to a girlfriend. You get the others ready for action. The longer we sit here, the worse our already rotten chances get."
"Rammix?"
"Yes, Alex."
"What is the current deployment status of military ships capable of reaching us before breakout?"
"Two Denver Class cruisers at Titan Station, and one New Earth Class fast cruiser at Deimos Station."
"That's all? There's nothing else within range?"
"No, Alex. Nothing else is listed, and I have not monitored any communications indicating intended ... There is a scrambled message coded for you on Finder two-one."
"Two-one? What the hell? Play it, Rammix."
"Dr. Lavan is here and the message is coded for you, Alex."
"It's all right, Rammix. She's with me."
"As you wish."
Pax settled into the form-fit cushioning of her shell as the third pulse inertial effects began to give some real sense of weight, while Lavan jockeyed herself into a position allowing her to see into Pax's faceplate.
What do you want, baby-face?
"Alex, it's almost time. We need to be getting---"
"I know. Let's see what we have in this message first."
"It's probably just Yamaguchi wanting to show us his impression of a station security commander going into an uncontrollable nervous melt-down."
"Maybe. Shh---here it comes."
Both their faces paled as Whitaker's strong, chiseled features filled the screen. Until recent events, Pax had had some rather strange feelings about that man---the sort that made certain parts of her anatomy tingle. Now, she was hotter than ordinary anger could describe. She couldn't help noticing that the tingle was still there ... only stronger.
What do you want, you traitor?
There was something different in his expression, but she was unable to decide what it was.
"Pax, whatever you do, don't stop. Don't listen to anything anyone from SESC tells you because they will be lying. Assume all SESC personnel to be hostile to you, your crew, and your mission. I want you to have your Rammix go to full range defensive, now, if you haven't already done it, and I want you to be prepared for anything. There are two cruisers out at Titan Station that can reach you before breakout. Destroy them ... If you have to. Your Rammix will probably tell you there is one here at Deimos Station as well. It would be a good idea to have your Rammix remove that one from the list and log it as a friendly. Anything else that moves is a target.
"The government has detained the BetaTri Australe and Procyon Explorer, but the other three have managed to reach breakout, and they are on their way out of the system. We are going to try to send the others out as well. If that is successful, I'll be seeing you. If not---well, it was good knowing you. I wish you good speed and clear space. Whitaker out."
"Well, I'll be damned," Pax said, trying not to let her voice quaver.
"Uh-huh."
JS9 was a speck of light on the monitor when they aligned with it on their second pass. This was the last time the station would be visible as they spooled off on their departure tangent the next time around. Pax wondered what the SESC was going to do to Reese, then tapped Lavan's helmet lightly.
"Time to go to sleep, mommy?"
Lavan nodded.
Niki was grappling with ethereal non-memories and ghostly shadows of a past that could not have been his own. He was having difficulty coping with the indiscriminate, out-of-order changes happening in his mind. Old, familiar memories were being disassembled, then reconstructed and supplanted by things of which he had no comprehension. The main problem was, they all felt as though they were a part of him that belonged, even though he knew better.
Dreams that were somehow not dreams invaded his conscious now, often skewing reality so much he had to sit down and wait for the feelings to pass. Always the dreams. He couldn't close his eyes without seeing things he had never seen---could never have seen and didn't want to see. Bits and pieces of mysterious half-knowledge that he was sure could not belong to him drifted in and out of focus. They were looking for places to attach themselves and were finding those places with increasing frequency, his life now a confusing jumble of himself and his real history mixed with someone else's ... someone alien. It was most exasperating when he and the other existed simultaneously and competed for control. Niki was becoming lost within himself and, added to it all, there was Pasha Valdar. Pasha didn't realize it, of course, but they were deeply in love.
Niki, keenly aware of it, didn't have the courage to tell her after only one day. Maybe she would figure it out, then she would tell him, and he wouldn't run the risk of appearing a complete fool. Meanwhile, he would revel in the feeling it gave him. The feeling was two-sided because it delighted and frightened him at the same time. And---strangely---he found he didn't care about her seed lot. Very odd. Very disturbing.
The entire day passed in a wild fantasy as waves of emotion swept over him. It was a day to wallow blissfully in, like a garmouse in the fresh, wet mud of Quarteryear. There wasn't a single living creature happier than a garmouse in new, warm mud. Dulling it all was a nagging guilt over his not caring about Pasha's seed lot. Both Niki and the other who insisted on taking up residence in him didn't have the slightest concern that Pasha Valdar was from the wrong line. That thought bothered Niki---not that she was wrong lot, but that he didn't care.
Niki didn't trouble himself with packing the few things he had, nor did he turn on the V-screen for fear the noise would dilute the feeling he carried. There would be plenty of time to pack in the morning. She, Pasha Valdar, would be picking him up at midday tomorrow to take him to East End.
Niki settled onto the bed and twisted his body to fit between the hard spots, then allowed his eyes to close so he could look at her again. The vision came easily, drifting in on a tide of emotions never experienced in his prior life, and he didn't want to lose them because they were warm, exciting ... and forbidden, frightening ... magically comfortable.
There she was, a little vague, but definitely Pasha. Her skin, a rich cashow golden brown, was smooth and supple. Her eyes, very dark, large, tilted slightly upward, infinitely deep, were set in a sensuously exotic face wrapped in a frame of the blackest of black hair falling in tight, shining waves to her shoulders, then overflowing down her back and cut square at her waist. By all the true Ancients, she was beautiful---absolutely the most lovely woman on Paz, of that he was quite sure.
Tonight he knew he was going to sleep, and he did, but not as he'd hoped. His vision of the lovely Pasha faltered, rippled, and faded into a great, gray behemoth named La Paz, plunging through the black emptiness of space at an impossible speed. Voices, oddly distorted, sang to him without tune, like the priestly chant of the Halfyear ceremonies, "We are coming ... be ready. We are coming ... be ready. We are coming..."
Niki awoke with a start. He was late. He had slept a full three hours longer than he'd intended, and he was tired, desperately tired, with a dull, dragging fatigue.
For the love of the Ancients, there's no reason for this. I slept all night and half the day.
Hustling about the cube, Niki unceremoniously stuffed a bag with all his belongings, and even those things that didn't want to fit managed to disappear. He bolted out the door, late ... late. Pasha would be there any minute. He stopped briefly at number four to return his key card and tell the controller he could keep the unused rent, then rushed out the gate into the street. He didn't have time to assume a nonchalant stance---she was there in the dock, waiting for him.
"Sorry, I'm late," he said, half falling into the transport and dragging the bulging bag onto his lap.
"Great day, Mr. Kaznov," she beamed at him. "You're not late---I'm early. I thought I'd take you to get something to eat before we go to East End. That is, if you don't mind."
"Mind? That sounds fantastic, Pasha," he said, enjoying how her name sounded coming from his mouth. "I didn't have a chance to eat this morning."
"I can see that, and I know a wonderful little café that's almost on our way," she said while taking her place on the track.
"How did you know I hadn't eaten? Have you been waiting that long?"
"No, I just pulled in before you came out the gate. But ... just look at your hair, silly." She laughed with a unique gurgling sound and swiveled the mirror to his side of the transport.
During the ride, Niki came to the conclusion that everyone in New London drove their transports to the limits of good judgment, Pasha included. But they managed to get where they were going safely, so he said nothing. Pasha maneuvered the transport in behind the restaurant and into a hidden service bay, then to a small docking area near the back door. He wondered why she hadn't stopped out front where all the docks were empty but decided not to ask.
"Come on, Niki, this is it," she said cheerfully. "I have a friend here I'm dying to have you meet. Oh, I'm sorry. It is all right if I call you Niki, isn't it? Mr. Kaznov seems awfully formal, don't you think?"
"Why, yes, of course it's all right. And I'll call you Pasha." He loved the sound of that name and how it felt rolling off his tongue. Pasha.
"You already did, silly. Now, come on." She guided him to one of the corner booths ringed by a soft surround of light fabric and sat down across from him.
Niki felt romantic. Anyway, he thought that was what it was. Inside the curtained enclosure the light of a too-bright Vegamwun softened and changed color to a brilliant, radiant gold that played on her hair like Almug's reflection on the waters of Vahstok Harbor. Her beauty overwhelmed him, and he blurted out, "Pasha, have you, uh ... do you ... I mean, are you paired or promised?" He felt stupid and clumsy. "I mean, is there a male in your life?" Niki was trying, but his limited social experience was making it all come out wrong and a warmth was growing in his cheeks.
Pasha responded with a gentle smile and moved her head slowly from side to side. "No, Niki, not yet."
Before Niki had the chance to make a complete fool of himself, the curtain parted and a woman about Pasha's age stepped through. She was dressed in a long blue robe of a material that resembled the curtain around the booth and allowed the soft light to pass through, revealing her firm nakedness. Her robe kissed the floor and was topped with a hood drawn in tightly so only her face was clearly visible. It was a nice face, serene and kind---a face Niki instinctively felt he could trust.
"Great day, Pasha," she said with a velvet-smooth voice he found disarming. "Is this the man you mentioned? The one who came to your office?"
"He is, Sister Trina," Pasha replied. "Sister Katrina Del Antaris, it is my pleasure to present Mr. Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha and, I hope, our new friend."
"Welcome, Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha. I have some questions I would like to ask you. I hope you do not mind."
"No," he said hesitantly. "No, I don't mind at all," he lied. Since he'd arrived on the Continent there had been questions from all sides---and he had few answers. The only one who didn't do that to him was Pasha, but she had access to Washton's files and he figured she didn't need to ask much of anything.
"Fine," Antaris said, taking a seat next to Pasha. "Nikisha, have you been having some strange, inexplicable dreams lately?"
How did she know that? He had mentioned it to no one he could think of, except while in the hospital, of course, and he vaguely remembered saying something about it to Mr. Washton. Maybe that was it. Maybe she worked at the hospital, or had access to hospital records for some reason. Or could it have come from his visit to Mr. Washton's office?
"W-well, yes. I suppose you could say that. Sort of strange, anyway. Why do you ask?"
"Dreams," she continued, "about places you have never been. Seeing things you could never have seen. You are having great difficulty getting any sleep---understanding things you should not. The visions you have had, voices you have heard are unsettling to you."
Everything she said was being couched as a statement of fact, as if she could see what was inside his head. He felt uncomfortable and threatened by this soft-spoken woman.
"Do ... do you work at the hospital?"
"No, Mr. Kaznov, I do not work at the hospital. I am correct, am I not?"
"Yes, but how do you---"
"When you were in the museum, you went to see the shuttles and you felt comfortable with them. They were not simply familiar, you actually understood things about them that no one on Paz could. Our best scientists have theories and ideas about them culled from years of study and research, but for you, Nikisha Kaznov, what you know is fact. There is no doubt in your mind that what you have seen is not merely a guess, but revelation---your suspicions confirmed."
Rings of Ahriman. This isn't stuff from the hospital. How can she know these things?
"Uh, yes, you're right. But ... but how do you know all that? I haven't told anyone about---"
"It is all right, Nikisha. Do not be alarmed. I am no mind reader, nor am I a witch." Her gaze remained fixed on him, her eyes soft and understanding. "First, let us have some massak and rolls. Afterward ... I shall tell you all about how I---we have knowledge of such things."
The curtain opened and a very young girl wearing a similar robe, but yellow in color, entered with a tray. "Great day," she said while she set a large pot of massak and a plate filled with all sorts of sweet rolls on the table. "Will there be anything else, or do you wish to order later?"
"Later," the mysterious woman, Antaris, said. "Right now I want to speak with our wonderful guest. Mr. Kaznov is the Four, Lira."
The girl bowed slightly, smiled warmly at Niki, and retreated from the booth. As the curtain floated closed behind Lira, Pasha took Niki's hand in hers and squeezed it affectionately. Niki felt a warmth rush through his whole being.
"Nikisha," Antaris began, "do you know the Riddle of the Ancients?"
"No. I can't say that I've ever heard of it. What is it?
"It is written as a poem, the meaning of which is obscure until the enlightenment begins. It is then that it will make sense---unfortunately, different sense to different people."
She waited a moment as though she thought Niki might have something to say, but he was without words. The woman was talking about things for which he had no response.
"There is, however, a minor problem," she continued. "The enlightenment is imperfect and incomplete in most of the Gammas. The majority have remained, for lack of a more descriptive term, asleep. In them there is no inner understanding, no difference from the rest of the people on the planet. A few of us, like Pasha and myself, have undergone major changes, have seen and grasped these strange and mysterious happenings more clearly. Sadly, we have no way of being able to say how close we are to a full awakening, either."
Pasha's grip on his hand tightened, and she smiled.
"What ... what is this enlightenment ... this awakening you're talking about? I'm afraid you've lost me somewhere."
"Nikisha, that is part of the problem. Whatever I may tell you will be nothing more that my impression---my interpretation of what we have been going through. We think we know what the secret of the Riddle of the Ancients is, but there is no way we can be certain. We also think we have an understanding of the connection between the riddle and the Ancient Record."
"So? Tell me what you think it is."
"That is something of a long story, Nikisha, but I shall attempt to make it as short as possible. We believe Paz was---is---an experiment. All of us are taught that we were brought here by the Fathers on a ship called the La Paz. That is common knowledge. The Ancient Record also tells us that they arrived here about three hundred and fifty-five years ago. The first of the generations was born a hundred and forty-three years later, by the Record."
Antaris sipped from her cup, and her eyes questioned Niki.
"Go on. So far you've only told me what every school teaches the onners. I mean, aside from the experiment thing, that is."
"All right, Nikisha. The Riddle of the Ancients speaks of the Threes and Fours as---"
"Of course. I have seen it. A copy of it is hanging on the wall in Mr. Washton's office. I read it, but it didn't make any sense to me."
"Yes-s-s," Antaris said. "Washton and his circle of friends are one of our myriad problems, but we can discuss that at some other time. The Riddle of the Ancients talks about the Threes and Fours as if they were distinct from one another, as if there were something different about the Fours that sets them apart from the Threes. Something very important."
"You said I was the Four when you were talking to that girl, uh, Lira," he injected.
"Yes. The Riddle of the Ancients tells us that we, the Threes, are to look to you, the Fours, for the information we need to complete whatever it is we are supposed to do. That you will know what that something is, and why it must be done. The riddle also tells us we are to protect you and make certain you are returned safely to ... somewhere, but we do not know where, either. We believe you, Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha, will soon have the knowledge of where we are to return you and how we are to accomplish it. I suppose all of this sounds a little ridiculous to you."
"Ridiculous? No. No---I think I may have an idea about where all this is leading; at least that's the feeling I have. I couldn't tell you right now but ... but I have a sense of what it is you're talking about. Some of what I've been seeing is beginning to make sense to me so, please, continue."
"All right, Nikisha. When I realized what was happening to me, maybe six years ago, I scouted out others who were having similar problems, and we started holding meetings. Like a mutual support society.
"It was devastating to some and debilitating to others, so the group caught on and grew rapidly. We discovered that there was a danger in it, too. We were becoming something separate from what could be called the Pazian norm. We were becoming ... freaks, if you will. That is when we---it was actually Pasha---had the idea of turning our loosely knit group into a religious cult on the surface. What better way of masking our differences than by displaying them openly as part of a strange belief system? Many cults have sprung up here and there. Soon, in the eyes of society, we were a band of fanatics, harmless fools engaging in some kind of simple-minded and mysterious ritualism, like the others. Suddenly the people around here no longer feared us but laughed at us instead, and that was good.
"So, tell me, Nikisha Kaznov of Nurusha, what is it, exactly, that you are seeing in your dreams and visions?"
"Not much that I can be specific about. I'm sorry, but I'm telling it as true as I can. As you said, when I'm with the shuttles I am more than familiar with the mechanics of them. You know, how they work and what can be done with them. But when I'm not right there next to them, it all fades---goes away. You won't believe this, but when I'm there, I swear by the true Ancients, I ... I know I could fly one."
Antaris clapped her hands together and laughed. "No, no, no, Nikisha, we have reason to believe you. You are among friends. Please, go on."
"Okay. There ... there are a lot of different dreams, but they all have the same theme. I see the La Paz, or something that's representing it, and the message I get is that it's coming---it's coming here, and I have to be ready. Ready for what? I don't know, really. I have feelings. Strong, driving feelings that I have to read the entire, original Ancient Record and powerful feelings---the really deep kind---that I need to be with the shuttles. There's something very important to me about them. That's why I answered Mr. Washton's ad, so I could spend time with them."
Niki's massak was cold and an oily scum covered the surface. Antaris called for a fresh cup and begged him to go on. Pasha's hand was warm and comforting.
"I don't think anything has ever scared me much, but I think that's because, until this began happening, I could see, touch, and control things---or I could avoid them. But this ... I'm afraid. I don't feel at home anywhere---and that's not because I'm not in Nurusha. I'm never comfortable. I'm starting to see things and hear voices when I'm awake, and real doesn't mean what it used to. Do you ... know what I mean? Am I being a coward?"
Pasha squeezed his hand again and said, "No, Niki, you're not a coward. It has been terrifying to most of us. My enlightenment was filled with ideas and memories that were completely alien to me. Before I went to work for Mando---Mr. Washton---I worked in a factory with Trina. Both of us noticed what was happening to the other and recognized it for the same thing that was taking place within ourselves. The sleeplessness, the disorientation and the confusion, and we were there for one another. We helped one another get through it. But you, up until now, have been alone. It's understandable and reasonable that you would feel uncertain and afraid. Who wouldn't?"
"Well, now I feel a lot better," Niki said, laughing wildly. "I thought I had an irreversible case of P-P-C-E-G-D."
Antaris looked puzzled and leaned heavily on the table. "What do you mean, Nikisha?"
"Nothing, Miss Antaris. It's a private laugh from my stay in the hospital." Niki managed a nervous smile and directed it toward Pasha, then continued. "Are you aware I'm the sole survivor of my family's Delta designator?"
"I am. Pasha has provided us with the information from Washton's files. And, for your information, we searched the record thoroughly and found that there were five hundred lines formed from the Delta three lot. Your family line was two eighty-one. Of the five hundred, only the two eighty-one has survived and that makes you, Nikisha Kaznov, the only direct-line descendant of the Delta seed lots. You are the only true Delta alive on Paz, my friend."
The thought that he was the only Delta distressed him greatly, and he felt a heavy weight descend on his back. He would have to produce onners soon, preferably all males to carry the line into the future.
"If I'm the only one of the Delta designators---something I find hard to believe---how will it be possible to complete whatever it is we're supposed to do? I mean, there were a lot of Delta Ancients, but only one of that group, Delta three, survived the landing. I don't think the Fathers anticipated that. Suppose it can't be done with just one Delta. Then what?"
"I am not sure, Nikisha," Antaris said with a thoughtful glance at the ceiling. "I am confident we shall find a way. One advantage I can see is that no one will want any harm to come to you, and that, I suspect, is a very good thing. For now, let the dreams come, embrace them, and follow your feelings. You will find it much easier to live with if you do not fight it. We have a job to do, and I believe we shall know what to do and how to do it when it is time."
The day had nearly drawn to an end before they left the restaurant. Niki now had some idea of what was going on in his private little hell, and that provided a small measure of relief, though he was struggling with the realization that he was the only Delta. Pasha and he, by default, had grown closer through the day, which made him feel a lot better, although he was still concerned over his not caring about her not being of the right line.
Finally, alone in his new apartment, he could begin reading the copy of the complete Ancient Record that Antaris had entrusted to him---with the admonition to guard it with his life. He had a lot to learn, much to think about, and an as yet unknown business to take care of. From what he had learned during the day, thanks to Antaris' candor, he was far better equipped to deal with what he now understood to be his period of enlightenment.
She also had done a good job of explaining Washton's underlying reasons for showing an interest in Niki. And Antaris? He believed her and in her. She was blunt and honest, a person who always said it true at whatever cost. What she had told him and the manner in which she had said it made him decide to work with her and the group she called the Twelve Points of Light. From this time on, Washton could only be given tidbits of information---enough to keep him interested so that he would continue to fund Niki's period of enlightenment, because Twelve Points didn't have the backing to pay for what he had to do. Washton did.
Niki was embarrassed by his failure to recognize some of the clues Washton had dropped while they had been together in his office. When Antaris had spoken about the Washton-Mills connection, he remembered a comment Washton had made about not understanding fishing. Washton hadn't checked the Council records and hadn't asked to see Niki's C-card, so there was no way he could have known of Niki's work history. He also had asked no questions about Niki's background before accepting him in his employ. Most unusual. Of course, had he noticed things like that, he wouldn't have spent the day with Pasha's hand in his, either.
Sometimes, Niki, it pays to be a little dense.
Antaris had given him a lot of stuff about the Twelfth Generation. The information had been gathered by people like Pasha who infiltrated their organization. In general the group was made up of greedy, unprincipled people whose understanding of their enlightenment and of the Riddle of the Ancients centered on manipulating the wealth of Paz through controlling her natural resources. They were bent on gaining a political stranglehold on Paz by taking over the financial base of the planet; a base that was largely in the hands of the mine owners, particularly the owners of iron mines in the north, like Nucanda. From Antaris' point of view, that made them dangerous to Twelve Points, to themselves, and to all of Paz.
Niki slid the chip Antaris had given him into the V-screen and pulled up a comfortable chair, paid for by Washton, to watch something Washton wasn't aware existed---indeed, no one on Paz knew it had been found. Up came the first page ... and Niki's adrenaline climbed with it.
"How in the name of the Ancients did they get their hands on this?" It was involuntary, a reflex, and the sound of his voice bouncing from the walls gave him a start.
Niki was looking at an unedited, original copy of the Ancient Record. This was something that everyone believed to have been destroyed in the landing or lost at one of the crash sites. What the Fathers had intended to give them was, in reality, sealed in a vault along with a guide to its use and understanding. The version found in that vault was missing complete sections by design, and large portions had been erased from almost every page. But what he was viewing now contained the entire Book of the Law, as well as something called the Ship's Log and a section listed as the Technologies of Earth and their Application. Niki was in possession of something that was supposed to have vanished at least two hundred and ten years ago. Where had they found it, and how had they been able to take possession of it?
No wonder she told me to guard it with my life.
Niki advanced through the chip and stopped on a random selection. He began to read.
PLANETARY DATA SCAN
Ore deposits---Mineral distribution: RDR
What Washton and his people wouldn't do to get their hands on this. There are deposits all over Paz. We must have missed something or failed to use some technology the Fathers had outlined in the Ancient Record.
Niki grew more excited with each passage, each graph and map that came up on the screen. It was ... beyond his comprehension. In the first three pages of the section he'd selected there was enough information to revolutionize life on Paz. His mind was reeling, his heart pounding. He scanned the chip, lingering here and there when something caught him by his curiosity, until it was very late.
Unwillingly, he tore himself away from his reading. He had to be at the museum when it opened in the morning. He could not give Washton any reason for concern or suspicion. Niki also needed a safe place to keep the chip, and now he had the idea of exactly where that should be.
On the forward side of the utility airlock was a small pad recessed into the hull material. As he studied the square formed by the sunken area, a picture of a key pad formed in his mind. A bit difficult to see at first, the picture developed slowly into a sharp, clear image of fifty small keys with strange symbols on them. They were not visible to anyone looking, but Niki could see them, and he was sure he understood what they were for.
"One-nine-three-sigma-offset-plus-one," he mumbled quietly to himself as he pressed different locations on the pad.
What was that?
A sound---a muffled whir and three soft clicks. Niki glanced down at the entrance to the exhibit and saw no one except the guard by the doors. The guard yawned, and his chin fell to his chest, massak draining from a cup dangling at the end of his right hand's index finger.
Niki returned to the pad.
"Two-five-offset-plus," he said, poking away on the unmarked panel. There was a quiet buzz, and letters appeared in subdued red light at the top of the pad.
PURGING---ACCESS READY---TWELVE HOURS
The sound of argon hissing out of the several purge ports at various locations on the hull was hardly audible, but to Niki it was as loud as the rushing demon winds of Perigamia. He cast a worried look over his shoulder and noted that the guard's chin was planted firmly in his chest, rising and falling in a slow, regular rhythm.
He stood quietly, watching the pad while going through the motions of taking measurements---just in case---to make certain the lighted notice would turn off, in spite of his knowing it would. The letters winked out, and Niki moved a little farther aft, near the leading edge of the shuttle's stubby wing, where he located another pad and entered a different code sequence. A notice over the pad came to life.
SYSTEMS ARMED---KEYED TO ACCESS
A vibration traveled through the catwalk, then nothing. If all went well, he would enter this shuttle and attempt to begin the startup process. An uneasy sense of doubt hit him as he waited for the notice to die, and he shuddered. These machines had sat silent through centuries. Could they be alive after all this time? And, if they were, would they be in any condition to fly? How could they still be functional?
Niki knew they would be fine.
Reporters often resort to techniques that can be considered ... well, let's say they can be thought of as teetering on the edge of the legal envelope for the sake of getting a story. And Albo Shan was not one to miss a story. Law Apps went to extreme lengths to make certain their transmissions could not be intercepted by the general public, but they had not taken into account the likes of Albo Shan.
They stirred their signals liberally, used frequency shifting, and all kinds of digital trickery to maintain secrecy. Albo Shan had made himself an expert at digging Law Apps signals out of their scrupulously manufactured secret mumbles in the air. He was at home, a particularly nasty tasting RapiCook dinner on the table before him, and listening to his slightly illegal fast-scan monitor when he heard the call go in. With a substantial amount of fancy track hopping, he managed to arrive on the scene before the second surface patrol pulled into the dock of a vulgarly ostentatious mansion belonging to Lon Su. That is, belonged to Lon Su, a man who had just been placed in the termed column.
Whenever one of New London's prominent figures termed in an unnatural manner, it was news. When it happened to be the wealthiest man on Paz, whose connection with crime on a global level was suspected but had never been proven, it was big news---and Shan was going after it.
The leader of the I-team that was investigating the scene in the library room, where poor Su's body had been found, told him that the victim had been termed by a sharp blow to the forehead. The murder weapon was a large, stone paperweight, and the fatal blow had been delivered with such force that it had completely caved in Su's skull.
According to his servants, Su had a loathing for anything made of stone or wood, an eccentricity to which his all steel, bronze, and copper home attested. They said he would have nothing made of stone in his home. The officer Shan was talking to told him that, because of Su's aversion to anything but metal, they believed that the weapon must have been brought in by Su's assassin.
Why would some petty thief, intent upon removing the contents of someone's home, do anything like that? Why carry a paperweight, of all things, to the place where you're going to commit a crime, term someone with it, then leave it behind? That doesn't make any sense at all.
The only evidence Law Apps had was the weapon, a piece of material presumed to have come from the assassin's clothing, and a shred of skin they had found on the paperweight and which, they had determined, was not Su's---at least they didn't think it to be, but the laboratory would clear that one up quickly. The skin, if it didn't belong to Su's hide, was good for genetic tracing, but the paperweight and fabric were too common to be of any use in the investigation. At the minimum, Law Apps would be able to limit their search to a specific seed lot, general description, sex, and blood group---if not the specific individual through marker-matching. That was, if the intruder was not an untrac. If that turned out to be the case they would be out of luck. When pressed, the officer said, "Well, Shan, you know how it goes. They always forget something. Always. Whatever it was, we will find it."
According to the I-team, the investigation was shaping up to be a classic case of a thief caught in the act and reacting badly. Many valuable items had been taken from the home and, if it hadn't been for the termination plus one other item, they would have written it that way. Along with the valuables, all of Su's chips had been removed. No records, no music, no V-stuff, no notes---nothing. Su had been known to have the most complete library on all of Paz, yet all of it had been taken. Nothing of his collection had been left behind, not even a blank chip.
It seemed clear that the individual who had done this had a much greater interest in the chip files than the valuables, and had tried to make it appear the term was incidental to a common robbery. The I-team leader told Shan it looked like "...a clumsy attempt to make it look clumsy."
Shan was a past master at digging up information on people, sometimes embarrassing stuff. For that reason he knew people in many places important to his work who were indebted to him for his silence. Some of them were in Law Apps, and a couple of calls netted him a list of Su's known acquaintances in and around New London. It was a long list and frustration was beginning to set in until---until he noticed a common thread. Most of the names on the list were also on his list of members of the Twelfth Generation. Had Lon Su been involved in that, too?
Why not? The shagrat had his cold nose in everyone else's fuzzy, why not the Generation?
As Shan entered the office of Akker Greeley he was met head-on by an overly tall man with exceptionally pale skin who was rushing out the door. The odd appearance of the man caused Shan to respond automatically and he clicked his microcam. He didn't want to forget that face. The guy had come close to knocking Shan down as he raced past in the narrow opening.
Shan stepped up to the receptionist's desk and said, "Hello. Is Mr. Greeley in?"
"Who's askin'?"
She was much to large for her clothes in various places and wore far too much makeup. Shan chuckled inwardly. The only way he'd be able to recognize her without the paint would be thanks to a perfume that could gag a bloodworm.
"Albo Shan, from the Journal."
She pressed the com with a long, bright yellow fingernail and spoke into the set. "Mr. Greeley? I got a gaf out here from the Journal. You wanna see him?"
"Yeah," a gruff voice answered. "Send 'im in, Rada.
"Mr. Greeley says you can go in."
Shan didn't say anything to her about his standing there while Greeley said he would see him. She probably wouldn't understand the meaning of redundancy, anyway. As Shan entered Greeley's office he was immediately aware of the strong, pungent odor of tarsac. Illegal and a bad habit, but not why he was there. Still, it was worth a note for future reference; his suspicion of the man trafficking in the stuff was close to being confirmed. Besides, one never knew what might come in handy someday.
Shan could tell, before he'd said a word, that this was not going to be easy.
"Good day, Mr. Greeley. My name is Albo Shan, and I would like to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."
"You in my office, or what?"
"Excuse me?"
"Look, gaf, Rada said you were from the Journal. The Journal's a news gatherin' outfit, right? So, old Akker here puts two together with two and comes up with the notion that maybe you got questions or you're sellin' subscriptions, which I don't want, or ad space, which I don't use. So, if I didn't want to answer your questions you'd still be out there in the outer office, right?"
"Right. Well ... um ... you have a man named Virgo Mills operating a boat out of your harbor, and ... um ... I'd like very much to talk to him. Do you know where I can find him?"
"You, too, huh? I don't know why he got so popular so fast, but the key word here is that he operated a boat out of my docks." Greeley jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the docks. "You see a boat down there with a big eleven painted on its side, Mr. Shan?"
Shan moved to the window for a better look. "Um ... no," he said. "No, I don't."
"You can go down to the pad and count 'em if you want. It's not there. He pulled out of here ten days ago without droppin' so much as a word to anyone. Not a word ... just started up and left."
"Do you have any idea where he went?"
"The sign out front says this is a fish brokerage. We don't read palms, massak scum, crystal balls, or nothin' else, Shan. Like I told you, he didn't say a word to nobody but, if it'll do any good, I watched 'im go, and he went south out of here. I heard he was seen down around Point Scoter sometime today---around fifth hour, they said."
"There was a new man hired on here---a young fellow named Niki Kaznov. Do you know where I can find him, or did he go with Mills?"
"Nik? No. He was here one day and never showed again. I don't know where that one went, either."
Greeley straightened a stack of papers on his desk and managed to give Shan the impression he was becoming bored with the conversation.
He looked up at Shan and said, "Funny, though, I figured that one would work out where most don't. Serious type. Unusual these days, eh? Thought I finally had a reliable one there, but then, what the hell do I know?"
It was obvious to Shan that he would get nowhere with Greeley, so he decided to try the hotel where Niki had been staying. He was sure Niki was no longer there, but the controller might have some idea where he could be found.
He pulled into the dock in front of the La Paz Frontier and cut the systems. Sitting there in the dock, he found himself wondering why Niki had never shown up at the boat. At the time they had talked, he'd been under the impression that Niki was excited about his new job. And what had Greeley meant by, 'You, too?'"? Shan knew the Enforcement people hadn't made a connection between Niki and any of this group because he'd checked. They hadn't turned up the name of Mills, either. If someone was looking for Mills, he could be onto something important.
Like that fellow flying out of Greeley's place today? Why didn't I ask?
"What?" the box on the gate said.
"My name is Albo Shan, and I work for the Journal. I want to talk to the controller."
"Yeah? Aw'right. Push the gate when you hear the click and come to number four," the box droned out.
Shan walked through the dismal surroundings of one of the more typical multi-unit cubers in New London to the door of number four. Paint was peeling off the face of the all-steel security door, revealing the dull red of rust inhibitor and the even duller red of rust. He knocked lightly.
A voice he recognized from the box spoke to him from the other side. "You the guy from the Journal?"
"Yes. May I come in? I would like to talk with you."
Shan waited while several locks were disengaged. Considering the location, he could understand why. The door opened slowly, a little at a time, as if the person inside were waiting to see whether Shan would try to jump him.
A bloodshot eye appeared in the opening. "You got identification?"
Shan held up his press card to the eye.
The door swung open, and the owner of the eye said, "Hello. Mr. Shawn, was it?"
A tattered, dark green robe hung poorly from the man's emaciated frame, and the smell coming from inside caused Shan to step back a little.
"Yes, sir. The name's Shan. May I come in?"
"Sure. Aw'right. S'cuse the mess. Haven't been feeling too good last coupla days. Think I ate somethin' putrid, you know?"
The controller pointed to a semi-clean spot on the couch against the wall with a V-screen over it and said, "Sit down, if you can find a spot to dock yer butt," while he pushed a stack of junk off a chair by the table and took a seat himself. "So, what can I do fer you, Mr. Sham?"
"The name is Shan, sir. Anyway, I would like to have your name for the record, and the name of the owner of the hotel."
"Uh-huh. My name's Davil Sharp, and the owner's a guy named Mando Washton." He grabbed a glass off the counter behind him and took a swallow. "Why?"
Mando Washton was one of the names on his list. It appeared he might just make some progress here. "Just for the record, Mr. Sharp, in case the bosses want to know my sources. There was a man staying here by the name of Nikisha Kaznov. Do you have any idea where I could find him?"
"Oh, yeah, I remember that one. He was here a coupla days. Then, one day, he just flew outa here. Didn't even wanna balance the tickle. Just shoved the key card in my hand and said I could keep the overage. Weird one, that guy was."
Sharp took another swallow from the glass, then continued, "But I never knew nothin' about 'im, and he didn't say nothin' about where he was goin', so I don't know where he went. Left outa here with a pretty lady in a fancy transport. Real slick lookin' lady. Not one of the Flag ladies, I can tell you that. That's all I know. You want some water? It's filtered stuff, not that city crap."
Shan thought it was a real stab in the dark, but he believed in the idea that asking was the only way one could ever learn anything. "One more thing, Mr. Sharp. Do you, by any chance, know a man named Virgo Mills?"
"Virgo? Sure. We've been friends a long time, but he's not in town right now."
"I'm aware of that. I just came over here from the harbor. Do you know where he went?"
"Uh-huh. That's a strange one, too. You sure you don't want some water?"
Shan shook his head and Sharp went on. "Mr. Washton asked me to give Virgo a message a few days back. Said he wanted Virgo to go down to Booker's Bay to pick up a barge and take it to, uh---oh, hell, I don't remember. Down to, uh, that big city at the south end of the Continent. You know which one I mean?"
"Nutroit?"
"Yeah. Yeah, that's it."
"So, what's so odd about that?"
"The only barges we got in Booker's Bay gotta come north. Far as I know, we don't have no business at the south end."
"Thank you, Mr. Sharp. You've been very helpful, and I appreciate your taking the time to talk with me," Shan said while extracting himself from the sagging couch.
"It's aw'right, Mr. Shanser. Any time."
It wasn't worth the effort for Shan to correct Sharp again. What the hell? Why was Niki acting so strangely? He'd seemed such a nice fellow. Why hadn't he called if he was in trouble? Shan would have been glad to help. He wondered if Niki might have become involved in some way, although he found that idea hard to swallow. As far as Mills was concerned, if he was all the way down in Nutroit, he would be gone at least until Minor Tides, unless he flew back. And the big, albino-like fellow at the brokerage? He made a mental note to look at the day's take later that night and popped the pic-chip out of the microcam.
"I'm sorry, sir," the receptionist said. "My boss is away on a business trip. Would you like to leave a message for him?"
Shan thought for a moment, then put on his sincerest face. "Yes---well, maybe you'll be able to help me and we won't have to bother Mr. Washton. You see, I'm looking for a friend of mine, and I was told he had come here. Niki Kaznov is his name. Has he been here?"
"Niki---Kaznov? Just a minute, Mr. Shan." The girl, an exceptional beauty by his reckoning, brought something up on her screen. "Ah, yes, here we are. There was a Mr. Kaznov applying for a position with the company as a researcher of some kind. According to this, he was here ten days ago. Does that help?"
"Did he get the job?"
"That information isn't in the file, sir, so I would imagine he didn't. On the other hand, it isn't unusual for Mr. Washton to investigate applicants thoroughly ... and that takes time. If you'd like to speak to Mr. Washton about it, I can make an appointment for you---say, in about eight or nine days?"
'Real slick lady. Not one of the Flag ladies,' Sharp had said, and this woman certainly matched that description. The name plate on her desk said she was Pasha Valdar. Shan would look up that one when he got home.
"Yes. Uh, on second thought, no ... never mind." Shan had the feeling he was being played with like a garmouse in the claws of a particularly mean shavecat and decided to back out before he was eaten alive. "I'll check back later. When will Mr. Washton return?"
"He didn't give me a specific date, sir. He went on one of his Outlands mining trips to Nucanda and told me he would return in seven or eight days. If you like, you can check with us again in about nine or ten days. He should be here by then, but I wouldn't want to guarantee that."
On his way out of the building, Shan worried himself over what he had found---which wasn't much. If Washton had been out of town when the termination of Su had been carried out, there might not be any connection to be made, but he seriously doubted that. The connection was there, he could feel it. Sometimes reporters feel things, and he was certainly feeling something now. The coincidence of Mills's departure and Niki's applying for a job on the same day did not escape him. He decided to do some checking to see if he couldn't account for the whereabouts of one Mando Washton for the last few days. There had to be a connection---he knew it. Then, there was Niki. Where was he, and what was he doing?
A teacher from one of the local schools was dragging a gang of ogling onners through the museum, and part of the group was up on the catwalk around twenty-three. Niki saw no way to get up to six to start the opening sequence from there without being observed crawling around on the hull and wing, so he opted to wait. After several minutes of pawing, kicking, scratching, and making greasy handprints on all the windows, the onners and their teacher returned to the main floor. As the screams and giggles subsided into the background, Niki boarded the lift.
Niki took a quick glance toward the entrance and saw the guard in pursuit of one of the boisterous onners who had something in his hands, something that must have belonged to the museum. He turned and stabbed another code sequence into the key pad.
Let's find out just how good these so-called memories are.
ENTRY SEQUENCE---REMAIN CLEAR OF DOOR
Niki checked the area to make certain the noise of the opening outer door hadn't attracted anyone's attention, then stepped into the yawning utility airlock. The outer door closed and sealed automatically. A dull red light barely gave him enough vision to make out the inner door's control handle. He grabbed it, hesitated a moment in apprehension, then twisted the handle. It resisted a little but finally turned, and he was ... inside. Niki didn't know when one of the Fathers had last been in this shuttle, but he was certain that he was the first human being who had passed through that door in over two hundred years. He stood there in the deep shadows of what little light bounced its way down the passage from the cockpit windows and shivered in the cold air, afraid to move.
He fumbled around until his hand landed on the light control. He punched at the button, and the passage filled with warm, subdued light---a little too yellow---that lessened his fear. The odor was stale, but that was to be expected. At least it didn't reek of human leavings and activities of past years like the Neathing shelters did.
Niki walked forward to the cockpit and settled into the pilot's seat. It felt terribly uncomfortable when he first made contact with it, then startled him as it began conforming to his body. In front of him, on the control panel, was the next important step in the startup procedure. He reached forward, lifted the protective lid, and with slow, careful pushes of his finger entered the code he could see floating in his head. Nothing happened.
The screen above the pad remained black, the only sounds coming from his labored breathing and pounding heart. Maybe he didn't recall the code sequence correctly. Was his enlightenment going to fail like that of so many of the Gammas? He closed his eyes and tried to envisage the sequence more clearly. A distinct, faint click entered his ears, and his eyes popped open. The screen at the center of the panel flickered, then came to life.
MASTER DIAGNOSTIC IN PROCESS
STAND BY
By all the true Ancients, this is really happening.
Niki could hardly wait to tell Pasha. Two days had passed since he'd last seen her, and he couldn't get her out of his mind. The message on the screen changed.
FAILURES AT H21G, KG88T, ...
A huge list of failures scrolled across the screen faster that he could read them, but it didn't matter. Everything was automatic from this point on, and it would either work, or it wouldn't. There was nothing more he could do about it, the machines were running autonomously.
ALL FAILURES LOCATED---REPAIR SEQUENCE INITIATED
STAND BY
The failures had also been anticipated. Even though the shuttle was sealed and filled with inert gas, the mere fact of having sat idle for so long ensured both mechanical and electrical problems. Automatic maintenance had been programmed into their independent systems and, at ten year intervals, the machines checked themselves, and repairs had been made as required for the standby state. Niki had started the master system, and the shuttle was now changing from its standby to fully operational mode.
He hadn't bothered to remember when he'd started this series of events, but he was aware a lot of time had elapsed. The sky above him was dark, except for the glow of Vegamtu and Almug. A gentle, feminine voice spoke to him from the panel.
"Specify your seed lot origin code," it said.
"Uh ... Delta three dash two-eight-one," he said, hoping he had said it correctly. The talkway of the voice was quite strange to him. Could that be a source of trouble?
"What is the name by which you are currently known, Delta three dash two-eight-one?"
"You ... you want to know my name?" Niki asked incredulously.
"Unless you wish me to call you Delta three dash two-eight-one, yes."
"Nikisha, uh, Niki Kaznov."
"Welcome aboard, Nikisha Uh Niki Kaznov."
"No, that's not correct. My name is Niki." In time he would learn, he reassured himself.
"Correction noted. Welcome aboard, Niki. Is that now the correct entry?"
"Yes. That's it. Niki."
"Thank you, Niki. Initial startup sequence is now complete, with status at all locations inside operational tolerance. Operational failure probability is less than four percent. Do you want me to begin the mechanical, preflight startup, Niki?'
"Er, uh, no ... not yet. I'm ... we're not ready yet." Ready for what, he wondered. "We need to keep your condition secret---unnoticeable from the outside. Is that possible?"
"Yes, Niki. Such a situation was anticipated. Please, place your left hand on the screen in front of you and your right eye on the cup to the right."
"Um, why?"
"You will be recognized by hand print, voice print, and retinal scan for security purposes."
"Oh, all right."
It was a slightly awkward position for him but he managed. This cockpit must have been designed for a tall, thin person because it all seemed too tight and everything was a bit too high, he thought.
"Thank you, Niki."
"I ... need to sleep here tonight. I can't leave until tomorrow. Is that a problem?"
"No, Niki. Full security surveillance will be maintained while you are dormant. How long do you wish to remain in your dormant state?"
"Let's see ... uh, the museum opens again in eight hours or so. Man, where did the time go? Uh, make it seven hours. I need seven hours."
"You will be awakened in seven hours, Niki. The time goes where it always goes, Niki. Into the past. You will find your quarters in compartment 8-C."
"Is ... is there a name I'm supposed to call you?"
"Refer to this system as 'Twenty-three.' All systems respond to their respective unit number."
"Twenty-three, is it possible to activate the other shuttles from here, or do I have to go to each one of them?"
"Any system may be activated from any other system. Do you wish to proceed with preliminary startup procedures for all systems at this time?"
"Yes. Yes, I do. Start them all now and set them to your current condition."
"Yes, Niki. Startup has begun for all responding systems. Do you wish a list of systems that are not responding?"
"No. Not now. I'll get that from you, later. Now---I need to sleep."
Still groggy from another fitful night, it took Niki some time to figure out Twenty-three's visual scanning system. Using the local area scanner, Niki waited until he saw the guard leave the shuttle display floor for his morning cup, then stepped out of the airlock onto the catwalk. The door sealed silently behind him, and it looked as if it had never been opened.
That's good.
Niki had been in the museum so much in the last few days he figured no one would notice if or when he entered through the lobby. He wandered around on the catwalk for a while trying to look as if he were doing what he always did. When the guard returned he would take the lift down, exchange some early morning banter with him, and leave. He was starving. He'd had no food or drink since the morning before and hadn't thought to ask Twenty-three if there was anything on board, though he didn't imagine anything would be any good after two hundred years or more.
"Niki. Niki?"
It was Pasha's voice calling him. What is she doing here, he wondered? She wasn't supposed to be free until tomorrow after midday, but there she was, standing by the guard's station, looking anxious.
Something must be wrong.
When the lift reached ground level, she was there waiting for him, and, before he could get off the platform, she jumped up and threw her arms around him, drawing him tight against her.
"Niki," she said into his ear, "we need to talk. Can you come with me to Twelve Points, right now?"
Washton and Lanno sat side by side, trussed up firmly like two bales of human hay bound to a steel bench in the center of a large, empty room. A solitary lamp, hanging from an unseen ceiling, shone down around them in a tight cone of white, its boundary marked by a pall of recently disturbed dust. From the surrounding gloom came the sound of whispering, but nothing could be seen beyond the small circle of cold light on the gray stone floor.
Lanno's head was cocked at an unnatural angle because of the displaced axis in his neck. Trails of dried blood traced thin lines of reddish brown from his ears down the sides of his crooked throat and expanded into large blotches on his collar. Both eyes, grotesquely swollen, framed in deep purple tinged with blue and green, were nothing more than slits weeping a yellowish fluid, and his nose hung limply to the right side of his face in testimony of the severe, carefully applied beating he had been subjected to for several hours. Lanno sat, shored up by his bindings, mumbling gibberish into the sullen darkness.
"Well, Washton," a hard voice said out of the black beyond the boundary of light. "You're down to two chances of telling me what I want to know."
The clack of heels on dull gray stone echoed around the room as the voice moved about in the darkness.
"Your first opportunity is now. You give me what I want, and in exchange I won't term old Lanno---both of you will be free to go. If not, I'll give you a chance to see the manner in which you'll be termed through a demonstration on your limp, babbling friend."
There was a long silence. Then, "If, after the demonstration, you still refuse to talk, you will be treated to a similar end ... but much more slowly and painfully administered by my able assistant, Dr. Kadin. Did you know that he is an expert in such things? It amuses me to watch him work. Such knowledge of the nervous system---such precision in delivering pain. A true artist he is. Have I made myself sufficiently clear, Mr. Washton?"
"Yes. Yes. I'll tell you what you want." Washton's words dropped from his dry throat as the barest whimper of a whisper.
"What's that, Mr. Washton? Did I hear you say you will cooperate?"
"Yes, yes, yes---damn it---I'll cooperate." Washton's broken voice bounced off the bare stone, and reverberated around the chamber. "The man you want ... the man you want is Nikisha Kaznov."
"And you're sure he's the only one?"
"Yes."
"Where can we find this Nikisha Kaznov, Mr. Washton?"
"He's ... he's working for us at ... at the Museum of the Ancients. I got him an apartment in East End. Two-ten Fissure ... near the Feynman Center. Now, please, let me go. On my Ancient, I won't say anything to anyone about this."
"Do I understand you correctly? Are you giving me your word of honor, Mr. Washton?"
"Yes. You may do ... do whatever you want with Lanno. I won't say a word. Just let me go---please," he pleaded.
"Thank you, Mr. Washton," the other said evenly, softly---coldly. "You've been most cooperative, and you'll be happy to know that the Paz Cadre always rewards its cooperative friends, Mr. Washton."
More hollow echoes of heels on the dusty floor, more whispers. "Sergeant," the voice said in a loud, more authoritative manner. "Burn both of them, but don't let Washton suffer too long. That's the least we can do for such a brave and honorable man who has contributed so much to the cause." His remark was followed by a maniacal laugh from beyond the light and a steel door slammed in finality.
About three hundred meters from the warehouse in the Nucanda Lanno mining fields hovered a large air transport of the type used by the militia. It reflected the light of a comfortably smaller Vegamwun that had barely violated the southeastern horizon, pushing long shadows across the barren, craggy surface of Nucanda Territory.
Six men dressed in the dark gray uniform of the Paz Cadre approached. The air was sharp and crisp, the kind of briskness that snaps at your nose but doesn't quite justify heavy clothing. Temperatures fell fast at the northern and southern extremities of Paz as she journeyed toward the far end of her orbit, and it wouldn't be long before the howling ice storms began.
One of the men, the leader, judging by the amount of polished copper dangling from the breast flap of his uniform, raised a hand and the group stopped as one man.
"Sergeant," he said, forcing his words over the undulating, chest-pounding roar of the waiting vehicle's fans, "I want you to contact Ops in New London. Give them the info on the Delta and tell them to secure his apartment---now. I don't want to lose this one, and I want to be sure we get a shot at grabbing him before he has a chance to go under. If we don't get him now, we may not have another opportunity. Now, go."
The sergeant snapped a salute and moved off double time to an AS-rover south of the hovering transport. Turning to his junior officer, he said, "Lieutenant, this is going to be uncovered quickly. Take your squad to Nucanda Center and monitor what goes on. If it looks like it's turning sour, set up whatever damage control seems appropriate. I don't want it to get out of hand up here, and I sure as hell don't want to be caught out in the open before we're ready."
"Yes, Colonel," the young officer replied. "You want us to do a cleanup on the mess back there?"
"No---I think not. Just eliminate any signs of our presence." He looked into the rising Vegamwun, its bright white disk reflecting off the dark tint of his glasses, and said to no one in particular, "I want them to be identified. I want the Generation to know they're at risk. Who knows, we may even be lucky enough to get the credit for Lon Su because Washton was so damned good at covering himself."
He bowed his head into the grit being thrown out by the high pressure air beneath the transport and, with a thin, emotionless smile, made his way to the boarding ladder. As he placed his foot on the bottom rung, a vicious, animal-like growl of a laugh issued from his pursed lips. "Fools," he muttered. "All poor, damned fools."
The small group he'd left in the landing area broke ranks and moved off to their respective duties like dark gray shadows succumbing to first light, while two piles of ash and charred bone lay smoldering on a cold stone floor beneath a steel bench framed in a circle of harsh, white light.
Twelve Points was packed to overflowing, and they were greeted by the sound of a hundred hushed voices coming through the closed curtains of all the booths where people leaned their words across tables, trying to make their individual points without disturbing the others who were doing the same.
During their trip to Twelve Points, Pasha had related the details about Lon Su and the visit from Albo Shan. From the sound of it, things were heating up and, by Pasha's account, the members of Twelve Points were now voicing their concerns over the possibility of having Council investigators, maybe even Law Apps, looking over their shoulders soon.
Antaris appeared from one of the booths in the front of the restaurant and ushered them into the kitchen, away from the din. She was wearing that intense look Niki had come to know meant she was concentrating on something that was bothering her.
"I am so glad you came, Nikisha. It is, I fear, time for you to vanish."
"Wait," he protested. "What do you mean 'vanish' and why now?"
"Pasha has told you about what has happened?"
"Yes, but Lon Su might have been termed by one of his own people and, from my experience with them, that's a distinct possibility. I don't think that's reason enough for me to go into hiding."
"Niki," Pasha said calmly. "It's more than Lon Su. Albo Shan is aware of who you are, and we believe he has made the connection between Mr. Washton and Lon Su. Oh, he may not be a direct threat, but what he knows, or thinks he knows may get picked up by the seditionists, and that could spell the end of us all."
Pasha looked desperate, tired and beautiful. Wrong line or not, he loved her.
"Well, maybe. Still, I don't see the reason for so much worry. I mean, after all, Bo isn't the enemy. It may be true that he has figured out who I am---but he couldn't know what I am. Now, could he?"
"Unfortunately, Nikisha, the answer to that question is that he may," Antaris responded. "Mr. Shan has built himself an impressive reputation. The word is, although I am sure it is exaggerated, that he has solved more crimes than Law Apps and Enforcement together. Whether this is true is beside the point, and, as Pasha said, he is not the problem---whether he is right or wrong, it is what he has in his head that is the problem."
Antaris poured massak for them and said, "The seditionists continue to operate in ways we do not understand. We have no knowledge of the ways their organization works, who is in charge, or where their backing comes from. We are sure about what it is they want and, like everyone else, they know you are the key."
The key. The key to what? Niki had used a lot of his time searching for the answer to that question and was no closer to it than when he had begun this enlightenment business. The dreams remained too cryptic, the memories vague and elusive, his thoughts too confused. He had been a fisher---a good one. Now what was he? Now, he was an unwitting recipient of another piece of the Fathers' legacy, and he'd been catapulted into a role with no script, no direction. He was playing out his part on an unlighted stage with other characters mysterious and dark. The dreams---he had to unravel the dreams.
"So, what is it you're suggesting, Trina?" he asked.
"I am not sure, yet. You are probably safe for the moment, but we need a plan and we need it soon."
She paused while she toyed with her long, red hair---something she always did when deep in thought. Finally, unwinding the strands of hair from her fingers, she continued. "We need ... we need to find a way to keep you away from potential harm and the possibility of abduction. We need a place for you to stay that no one else will think of, until we understand what it is the Fathers want us to do. Then maybe we can come up with a way to do it before our troubles get too deep."
Antaris played with her hair again, and Pasha wrapped her arms around Niki's waist, a welcome advance in their relationship. Niki felt the warmth flowing across his face again.
"All that has happened over the last few days has made another portion of the Riddle of the Ancients clear to me, and I have spoken to the others about it. We must protect you at any cost, and every one of them out there," she said, waving her hand toward the kitchen door, "is prepared to do so at the cost of their lives---if it should come to that."
Pasha drove a deliberately circuitous route to Niki's apartment in East End to be certain they weren't being followed, while Niki sat quietly, steeped in his own thoughts. He felt very humble and desperate. His life was upside down. How much simpler it would have been if Nurusha hadn't died. None of this would be happening. Sure, there would be the memories and the dreams, but he'd still be on an island far off in the Southern Sea. There would have been no stimulus to percolate it all up so close to the surface, to make it so real. He could have told old Balwin about his dreams, and Balwin, as always, would have had ready answers. Balwin had had ready answers for everything. His answers were usually wrong, but Niki could always use them to sublimate his problems.
Damn the Fathers and their stupid games---their riddles and their memories.
Pasha turned off Feynman onto Fissure. The lights in Niki's apartment were on. Thoughts of Nurusha and old Balwin vaporized as Pasha drove by without slowing. There were figures moving around inside, and one, close to the door, could be seen plainly. He was dressed in a dark gray uniform that Niki didn't recognize.
"Law Apps?" he asked.
"No, wrong color," she said as she turned onto Bohr Boulevard, then tensed and turned to look at Niki. "The chip? What did you do with the chip?"
"It's safe."
"It's not in your apartment?"
"Huh-uh. It's locked away in shuttle Twenty-three. Better than any safe on Paz." Firing a glance over his shoulder he could see nothing to help identify who was in his apartment. "I take it you think it's the chip they want?"
"No. There are only two people---three now---who know it exists. They're after you. I don't know how they found out where you were living, but they did. Seditionists, I would assume."
"Rings of Ahriman, now what do we do?"
"I don't know."
Pasha drove around for an hour, and Niki thought about the chip. More specifically, what she had said about it. If only three people knew about it, then where had it come from? It was authentic, he was sure of that, but how was it that it had come into their possession?
"Pasha?"
"Mmm?"
"Where ... where did you get the chip?"
"We found it at Crash Site Seventeen. Um, three years ago, I think."
"Found it? How? How did you find it?"
"Why, Niki?"
"Doesn't it seem a little coincidental that you, of all people, should find what could be considered the most important document in our history---and a critical element in this enlightenment business?"
"I've never thought about it in those terms, Niki, but now that I am ... maybe it is a little odd."
"Odd, all right. So, how did you find it?"
"Trina and I took one of those group tour things---you know, eight hundred notes for five days? Five days, everything included, to the Claska Copper Works, but we weren't interested in the copper. We took it because of the side trip to Site Seventeen."
"Uh-huh, but exactly how did you find it?"
"I don't remember all the details, Niki. I only remember we found it in a ravine that ... no, wait ... I do remember." She had reached the edge of North End and dropped off the track at a charging and maintenance bay used by people before embarking on one of the territorial tracks north and east from the New London city line. She pulled into a charging dock and looked over at Niki. "Thinking back on it ... it was very strange."
"Um, how so?"
"Well, for one thing, out of all the people who took that tour, only five made the trip out to Site Seventeen. Then, there was our guide---he was really weird. Tall. The tallest and thinnest man I have ever seen. Pale. Pale as death, with an almost ridgeless face---you know, almost no brow---small, narrow and straight nose ... stuff like that. It makes me shiver just thinking about him. A creepy guy."
"Go on."
"Funny---feelings that strong after all this time. Anyway, he was big, strong looking, maybe even a little mean, and his eyes were colorless---no, not colorless---sort of pink. Pink eyes ... awful."
"And?"
"He singled out Trina and me for some reason, but he talked to Trina more than he did to me. At the time I thought he was attracted to her. He took us around to the far side of the wreck and showed us a ravine that was a product of the last Days of Disturbance. He told us that, if we were quick about it, he'd turn his back while we looked to see if anything had been dislodged from the wreckage. He said if we found anything we might want to take it for a souvenir and he wouldn't see anything. That's where we found the chip---in the ravine. It was almost as if he'd led us to it. Funny---we didn't think about it at the time."
"The Council Guards, where were they?"
"I don't know. There were no guards around while we were there."
"Uh-huh. And this guide, how do you suppose he knew there might be something in that ravine?"
"I don't know that, either. Maybe he didn't. Maybe he was just trying to be friendly, or guessing, or something."
"'Or something' is more like it, I think."
"Niki, you're not suggesting---"
"I'm not suggesting anything. I just think it's a little strange, that's all."
"We wanted to ask him about it but he left on another rover before we had a chance. You think he put it there, don't you?"
"Maybe---maybe not. It's just interesting. And four know of its existence, not three."
Niki looked out at the stars, and a restless feeling shot through him. An insistent feeling that there was something he had to do, and time was running out. Vegamtu was climbing higher, shining brighter with each passing night. It wouldn't be long, not long at all.
"Niki?"
"Huh? What?"
"Don't you think we ought to talk about what to do with you?"
"Uh-huh, I suppose we should. Maybe one of the hotels?"
"Not a good idea. C-card, remember?"
No, he hadn't remembered. To get a room he would have to use his Council Identification card. How did the untracs do it?
"Can we get a counterfeit made?"
"At eleventh hour and thirty?"
"Guess not. What, then?"
Pasha leaned across the console and laid a hand gently on his leg. Niki flinched. In Vegamtu's pale silver light she was all the more lovely. His throat suddenly went dry, and his palms began to perspire.
"Niki," she began, her voice soft as the single petal of the tamaran flower, "they probably don't know about me, yet. Would you feel comfortable staying at my place for a few days? That is, until we can come up with something better."
Better? What could possibly be better? He swallowed hard, and it hurt. His voice, when he found it, came out like the croaking of the thorn toads that had invaded Sochi every Quarteryear as they migrated south to the shoals for the coming winter.
"Well-l-l, if you think it's all right---sure, I guess."
Stupid. I get a chance for a romantic opener and that's all I can say? Stupid.
"Niki," she said sweetly. "Aside from being a rare Delta, you're one in a million. Are you in love with me?"
"What?"
"You heard me, silly. Answer the question."
"Well, I ... I think ... I mean I---"
"You think what?"
"Yes, I ... I think I am."
"You're undecided about it?"
"Well, of course I'm sure ... I mean I---"
"That's better. Not terrific, but better. For your information, I've known it for quite a while. I hope I'm not being too assertive for you, but I want you too, so why don't we go to my place where we can discuss what to do about it in more pleasant surroundings?"
His voice was gone, and he had turned a bright red, but it didn't make any difference to him. It had happened. She had told him what he'd wanted to hear coming from his own lips but was unable to say. He was paralyzed, and he didn't care. Then ... he recoiled inside. She was the wrong line. Damn it---she was the wrong line.
Shan was met by two Enforcement officers and the Deputy Medical Examiner for the region as he stepped off the air transport in Nucanda.
"Mr. Shan?" one of the officers inquired as Shan's feet hit the ground. "I am Sergeant Gant and this is Chief Investigator Steen of the I-team. This gentleman is Dr. Wau from the Coroner's Office. Will you come with us, please?"
"Good day, gentlemen," Shan said. Then, turning to Dr. Wau, "Is there some reason why such a high-ranking official is here, Dr. Wau?"
"Oh, yes, Mr. Shan, there most certainly is," Wau said. "It's just a bit complicated, so I shall explain it all to you on our way to Law Apps, if you don't mind."
The four of them moved quickly across the landing pad to a waiting Council transport. The short walk to the transport took long enough for Shan to realize that he shouldn't have forgotten his jacket.
"Getting cold, isn't it?"
"Yes, Mr. Shan," the one named Gant said. "The snows should begin in a couple of periods, maybe less. Ah, here we are," he replied as he reached down and opened the rear door of the transport. "Watch your head, please."
Gant locked onto the track for Nucanda Center, and the transport sped off into a building wind. Wau turned to Shan and said, "Mr. Shan, two days ago you called here inquiring about the whereabouts of a Mr. Mando Washton. You were advised at that time he was here in Nucanda, but that Apps was unable to locate him. Is that correct, Mr. Shan?"
"Pretty much," Shan replied. "That's the reason I'm here. I'd like to talk to Mr. Washton about his relationship with the late Lon Su of New London, as I told them when I called. Why the interest?"
"Because, Mr. Shan, he and another poor fellow, Dag Lanno, have joined Mr. Su in the Big Beyond---not that anyone is grieving about that one. You knew of their previous association before they became permanent constituents of Pazian soil." Wau shuffled around in his seat and continued, "I hate these government transports. Not in the least comfortable. So, let's see---oh, yes---anyway, the manner in which they departed was not pleasant. Not pleasant at all, and certainly not the way I would like to go. There was barely enough remaining of them to identify. Thankfully, I had plenty of bone to work with."
Wau waited a thoughtful moment, wiggled a bit more in his seat, then said, "Not as thorough as one would have expected when considering the lack of any other evidence. It was almost as if they wanted us to know who the victims were. Can you think of any reason for that, Mr. Shan? Why they would want us to know?"
"No. No, I'm afraid I can't." Wau had surprised Shan, and he didn't want it to show. "Hey, Sergeant Gant, can you turn up the heat in here?"
"See what I mean, Mr. Shan? Not at all comfortable, these government transports. Nor can we. Maybe it is not us they wanted to be informed as to the identities of their victims. Perhaps they wanted to pass a message to someone else? A warning? What do you think of that idea, Mr. Shan?"
"Why does a shagrat dig three tunnels when it only uses one. Makes the same amount of sense to me. Besides, I knew nothing of this before now, and you still haven't told me why all the interest in me?"
"Mr. Shan, the only reason you weren't picked up by Apps before making the trip up here was the difficulty I had in finding a marker for Mr. Washton. The other mound of ash had one here in Nucanda Center. He was easy."
Wau fidgeted in the seat. "Your Mr. Washton had replaced all the markers on file for him with the map of another man so that we would not be able to associate him with the crime he committed in New London---so that he could not be tracked by the traces he would leave here and there. In Lon Su's house, for example."
"All right. I can see why he would do that. But what is it you want from me?"
"I am coming to that, Mr. Shan. Anyway, as I was about to say, today at sixth hour---while you were still in the air---not a natural thing to do, you know---flying around in the air like that."
Wau couldn't seem to hold still, and his constant movements were getting on Shan's nerves. "There, that's better," he said. "So, where was I? Oh, yes, Law Apps found a match at Shipton Business College where he had lectured on the importance of integrity in negotiations---from his Council record, I found that one to be quite amusing. Anyway, it turns out he was the pleasant fellow who did Paz the favor of removing Lon Su from our midst. He did it with a paperweight. Can you imagine that? A paperweight, of all things."
"Yes, I can. I was there during the initial investigation. But I still don't understand what all that has to do with me. Why are we going to Law Apps? I have all the information I need now."
"Yes. Yes. You may have all the information you need, but Apps does not have what they need, Mr. Shan." Wau slid around on the seat until he was perilously close to winding up on the floor. "They, and I, want very much to talk with you. They believe you know more than you have been willing to say and, frankly, Mr. Shan, so do I. What is it like, Mr. Shan? You know, flying about up there?"
Niki awoke to the sound of Pasha's singing in the kitchen. Such sweet music. He felt the most refreshed he'd been in periods, having slept most of the night without a single bad dream. He rolled out of the bed and staggered into the kitchen where Pasha was pouring two cups of the best smelling massak in the history of Paz.
"Morning," he beamed at her.
"Great day, Niki. How did you sleep?"
"The best I have slept in a long time. Not one dream."
"Uh-oh. Not good."
"Huh? Oh, that. Don't worry, I'll have more of them---I know."
"Good. I don't want Trina to break us up because you're sleeping well." She laughed that wonderful melodious giggle, and Niki felt the warmth rush through him again.
"Why are you up so early?" he asked. "Don't you have the day off?"
"Not this morning. I need to be there for the men from supply, and Mr. Washton may call. Once he does, I'll come right back. Promise." She looked at him over her shoulder with a mischievous grin and said, "When I get back we can review last night's activities. I think we need more practice."
Niki blushed crimson while she giggled and handed him his cup. Then his mind flashed back to the men in his apartment.
"Pasha," he said, his tone serious. "Do you think it's safe to go in today? I mean, with what happened last night---"
"Of course it is, silly. I'm a secretary, and I have no knowledge of my employer's affairs outside of the business." She smiled for him and said, "You, Mr. Kaznov, are worried about me, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. What if the men who were in my apartment go to your office? What then?"
"Oh, Niki. If they do, it won't be in the middle of the day. If they know about Mr. Washton, which I seriously doubt, they'll already have gone through the office, and I'll have to call Enforcement to report the crime. When they finish investigating, I'll have a mess to clean up, that's all. So don't worry. I mean, I think I like being fussed over, but it isn't necessary, and I'll be all right, believe me.
"If you say so, but I'll worry anyway. Do you think I can go out to the museum this morning?"
"I don't think so, Niki. Why don't we play it safe until we have more information about what's going on, huh? I'm sure we'll have some answers in a couple of days, then we can figure out what to do, all right? In the meantime, take a nap. Dream a little just to make Trina happy, and I'll be back as soon as I can get away from the office."
She took his cup from him, set it on the counter and pulled him to her. "Nothing but the direst will keep me away from you. I warn you, Niki Kaznov, you're going to get tired of me."
"Mmm," he moaned. "I don't think so---not today, anyway." He cradled her head in his hands and kissed her tenderly. "Be careful, huh? Call me if anything even feels wrong?"
"That's not such a good idea, either, Niki," she said, looking into his eyes. "If they're listening in on the office link it would give us away. Be patient, my sweet. I'll be back before you know it."
Niki loved the smell of her, the feel of her. His father would have been delighted to see this---though he would have had fits about the improper genetic coupling.
Poor Papa.
"All right, but I'm not going to like it."
In the recesses of his mind there was a growing, nagging and gnawing uneasiness about her being away. Out there anything could happen, and he would not be able to do a thing to help her. He was a simple fisherman from a small island village---and now his old self seemed a lifetime away from him, shrouded in the mists of time gone by. His new being---elated by this woman called Pasha and wanting nothing more than to be with her for all time---was terrified of the future.
"Listen to you now, silly," she laughed. "Wasn't it you last night who was saying you didn't see the reason for our concern? I'll be fine, you'll see. Now," she said and pushed away gently, "I must go or I'll be late, and I'm never late. Must not do anything out of the ordinary, you know."
He watched as she went out the door, waited until he heard her transport pull out of the dock, then felt suddenly, completely empty. Now he knew what his father had meant about the woman you care for becoming a part of you. Part of him had pulled away from the dock and gone. Empty. Alone.
Niki remembered his father's comments about the difference between real pairing and commercial mating contracts. His father had been right---this was the most powerful emotional experience Niki had ever had and it was ... painful. He closed the door reluctantly and tried to make himself comfortable in front of the V-screen. After all, it would only be a few hours, and there were plenty of programs available here in the city.
It didn't work. Pasha had been gone no more than an hour, and he was already going crazy. One short hour and he was suffering deep anxiety. He tried to tell himself the feeling was justified in view of the fact that bad things were happening---things very much out of his control.
He rose from the chair and silenced the hero's diatribe with a slap at the switch as the villain went down to his well-deserved end. He made his way to the bedroom and threw himself onto the bed, face down, thinking a little nap would help the time pass. Sleep came quickly, but there was no mercy found in it because the dream pounced on him just as quickly.
He was flying one of the shuttles over a coastline of high cliffs, similar to those around New London, but not quite the same. They were an odd shade of green and not the white, chalky cliffs of the New London City area. The green was that of tarnished copper, all the way down from a grassy plain at the top to where the rock plunged into the waves. There were blackened spots in the cliff wall, sharp and distinct, but too far off to make out any detail.
Flying in closer, the blackened spots revealed themselves to be entrances to caves, but they were not caves in the ordinary sense. No, these caves could not have been formed by natural means. The openings were rectangular, the edges sharp, as if cut by high-energy lasers of the type the mining companies used to excavate their tunnels.
The caves were located midway up the cliff. A voice told him to get closer, and he obeyed. Once in close he swooped down from his position off the cliffs and landed on the edge of one of the openings. The walls of the shaft were smooth, copper-covered, and there was lettering on them in an unknown language near the entrance. Niki, frustrated, clawed at them and hammered his fists against the wall of green copper where the writing was. The words remained unintelligible.
"By the Ancients, damn you," he cried out. "Tell me what it is you want me to know. Tell me what to do."
His voice echoed down the shaft, coming back to him turned inside out, and the letters began to ripple as if written on the surface of a copper-colored pool into which a pebble had been dropped. On the wall in front of him the letters changed slowly into recognizable shapes of blood red.
"The cores you seek will be found in this place. Go deep into the third labyrinth where a chamber lies hidden beneath the floor of another. It will be marked by three pads. One of the pads functions and the others are---"
The lettering began to ripple again, fading into indistinct gibberish.
"No," Niki cried. "Don't do this to me."
The familiar gray behemoth, La Paz, replaced the fading words on the wall. As it raced through the cosmos, and the voices sang to him, "We are coming, we are coming ... be ready." The dream was becoming reality. He could feel it. He was being changed. He fought back against the force of the vision as it pressed down on him. He didn't want to be different---he just wanted to know. But his struggle was to no avail. Niki lost his grip on the edge of the cliff and sank into the dream like the flotsam of the Southern Sea was sucked down the maelstrom that formed at the south end of Nurusha during the Days of Disturbance. And the dream went on and on and on...
Rammix started processing data at a distance of three years. At one year it started the reanimation sequence for the crew, an operation that required eight months of minute changes in temperature and chemistry specific to each of its biological charges. Rammix filed a note for future study, regarding the possibilities of standardizing biologicals, then carried out its orders to the letter.
At the same instant the damage assessment program was activated for the last pulse-down period, gathering the information its Alex biological would require to make those repairs that the Rammix system could not accomplish.
The Rammix discovered major erosion damage in the particle collector array, carefully weighed the pros and cons of reduced efficiency against expending fixed fuel reserves, then opted to disconnect the array and convert all propulsion to the onboard fuel supply.
The twelve long-range navigation drones were no longer of any value, so Rammix sent out the destruct signal. No sense in having twelve, eight mass-ton objects traveling at point five-nine c colliding with anything. After detonation there would be debris, nothing more than one standard mass-gram, traveling off in all directions. Some would impact somewhere, sometime. That was a calculated risk. Most would wander harmlessly out of the galaxy, some would end up as food for hungry stars or other deep gravity wells, and a small portion would make craters on airless worlds, satellites, and rocks. An estimated one-thousandth of one percent would create spectacular displays as they exploded in someone's atmosphere.
Upon crossing the programmed Gamma system threshold, Rammix jettisoned the forward shield cone that was riding uselessly behind after the braking maneuver had been performed. The cone unit was slowed to what Rammix considered a safe speed, then it, too, was destroyed. Piece by spent piece, Rammix reduced the Hermes to the efficient in-system machine it would need to be to perform its coming duties.
Her first awareness was a gentle humming, followed shortly after by a burning pain at her ankles, knees, hips, wrists, elbows and throat where she had been subjected to mechanical manipulation every sixth week for---for what---two hundred and twenty years? Oh, no. No, no, no, that was wrong. Relativistically adjusted it was a mere one hundred and seventy-seven or so years. Pod tests had never felt like this. Had they made it, or was this part of some massive malfunction? A painful beginning to a painless end?
Her eyes were closed, sealed with a protective fluid, but the light filtering through her eyelids filled her head with a stabbing pain. She tried to swallow.
Oh god, bad mistake. Come on, Rammix, let's get this over with before I go nuts.
A voice echoed in from the blinding whiteness, and if she could have flinched, she would have.
"Don't say anything, Alex. It could damage your larynx, and I'd have to build you a new one. If you can hear me, squeeze your eyes a little, okay?"
Lavan. Lavan and her staff had been scheduled to be brought out two months ahead to monitor as Rammix revived the rest of the crew. While she concentrated on closing her eyes harder, she wondered if anyone had thought about what would have transpired if Rammix had made a mistake while bringing out the medical staff. At first nothing happened, then she vaguely felt the edges of her eyes wrinkle in response.
"That's good, Alex. Well, boss, as much as I hate to admit it, that mechanical magpie of ours has done a pretty good job as a babysitter. We've had some problems, but we'll go into that later. In the meantime, remember what I told you. Don't make a sound for at least two days. I'll let you know when it's all right. Now, relax, and I'll be back in a couple of hours to get that gunk out of your eyes."
The sound of Lavan's feet padding away told Pax that Hermes was slowing, and, from the labored cadence, she knew the negative acceleration was still high. Things were going according to the program. She relaxed, and sleep began to sweep through her consciousness. No, she didn't want to sleep. She wanted to be awake, to know what it was like as her body came back from the near-dead. Her protest was too weak, and sleep overtook her---there was nothing she could do to resist. Sedative?
"Hello, darling. Where on Earth have you been?"
"Oh, hi Mom. I've been on a long trip to a far, far away."
"Well, I'm glad you could come back, dear. I was beginning to worry. It's getting late in life, you know. Would you like a big, really cold glass of milk and a cookie?"
"Sure, Mom, I'd like that a lot. Where's Dad?"
"Oh, I'm sorry sweetie, your father won't be here tonight. See, he was gutted at the Allenby Outlet last night. Now, be a dear and sit down while mommy gets your milk.
Pax sat in the little wooden chair painted with daisy patterns in impossible colors her father had made for her when she was five. Metal clamps shot out and grabbed her ankles, knees, hips, elbows, and wrists. A braided rope of her mother's hair snaked around her throat and tightened, pulling her head against the high back of the chair.
"Bad move, little girl," Rammix said.
"Now, try not to scream," Lavan added. "You'll ruin your larynx."
Her mother returned and set a frosty glass of milk topped with a giant oatmeal and raisin cookie on the table and smiled.
"Oh, now look. Poor dear, you can't reach them."
"Watch out, little girl," Rammix said. "According to my calculations, this biological entity shows a high probability of wanting to bring your functions to an end."
"Shut up, Rammix," Lavan said. "You're scaring her."
"Stop it, Mom."
"Stop what, sweetie?"
"Stop trying to hurt me. I won't let you do it any more."
"Oh? And how will you stop me, dear? Run away again?"
"Mom, I'm warning you. Stop it."
"Well said, little girl," Rammix said. "I must advise you, however, that plans made by biologicals are often flawed. Would you like me to run out some options for you?"
"No, thank you, Rammix."
"Leave her alone, Rammix. This is her dream, and she'll take care of it in her own way. Won't you, Alex?"
"Who's Rammix, dear?"
"A friend."
"You? You have a friend? You never had any friends when you were here, sweetie. Remember?"
"Mom, I'm not going to tell you again. Stop it."
"Stop it? Stop it? You little witch. You steal all my money, fool me with a worthless insurance policy, and you're telling me to stop it?"
"That's right."
"I'll stop it when I'm damned good and ready. Now, where did I put that knife?"
"Mother, listen to me. You---are---dead. D-e-a-d. You have been dead at least a hundred and thirty years. Do you understand? Dead. You're past tense. Bones and dust. Crap to crap. R-I-P."
"Oh, ho-ho, trying to fool mommy again---aha, here it is---with nonsense? Well, I've got you where I've always wanted you. Don't you think I saw how David looked at you when you were born? How his attention always went to you before me? You seduced him with those big gray eyes and curly yellow hair when you were a baby. Then you wiggled your rotten little fanny at him later. Well---he's gone, and you can't get away with that any more."
It had been there in her subconscious all along. The why of her mother's violent behavior toward her was a stew of lousy, psychotic jealousy. A jealousy reaching out over a hundred and thirty light years to kill her spirit and smash her will. She wasn't going to be successful this time. Not this time, by God.
Pax conjured up the entrance to the Undercity, and they were transported to a dense eucalyptus grove. A huge mound of dirt and leaves rose in the center, and a rusted steel door sealed the opening in the mound. Scattered before the massive metal door the skeletal remains of a man stood out in sharp contrast---stark white against the browning leaves.
She reached down and retrieved the skull reverently, cradling it tenderly in her palms. Tears streamed from her eyes as she gently laid a kiss on it, then thrust it out toward her mother. Her mother recoiled to avoid being touched by it. She was still clinging to the knife.
"This is my father. He loved us both. Did you know that?"
"He loved you---not me."
"If that's true, why did he stay with you? He could have taken me any time and left you to wallow in the muck of your self-pity. He didn't have to stay."
"You little snot. You can't ... talk to me like that."
The knife fell to the ground.
"I'll talk to you as I please. You're mine, damn you. A memory. A complex set of electrochemical connections. An imagining. A nightmare from a dead past as dry as the bones of my father. I'm going to a new life. A new world."
"And what do you plan to do with me?"
"Something I should have done a long time ago. I intend to put you where you belong, Mother."
Pax tossed the skull to her mother, who, taken by surprise, involuntarily caught it and instantly burst into searing white flame. The light from the flame drove shots of unbearable pain into Pax's head as it burned brighter, hotter. The image of her mother writhing in the flame collapsed and melted into the sand at the mouth of the Undercity entrance, but the white brilliance persisted for a time before dulling to a deep red.
"All right, Alex, you can try opening your eyes. I warn you, don't expect too much for a few minutes, and it's going to be painful, even in this red light. Don't say anything."
Pax looked out over the neatly arranged rows of crisp brown and yellow dress uniforms assembled on the shuttle deck and smiled.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back."
Some feet shuffled and hundreds of smiles were beamed back at her.
"I gathered you here for three reasons. The most important of them is to pay our respects to the ones who are no longer with us. As was expected, we have suffered stasis casualties. We have eighteen dead. Their names have been posted in the Rammix. To those of you who were near to them, I want you to know that I'm truly sorry about your personal losses.
"SESC protocol dictates the dead be consigned to space. We are not going to do that. All of my crew is going planetside, and our dead will be given proper burial there. We'll all land together."
A quiet, respectful applause rose from the group, then subsided as Pax raised her hand.
"We have an additional thirty-one organ failures who are awaiting regrowths, and six more for appendage replacement. Dr. Lavan has advised me that most of them will be back among us before we make planetfall, and the others will follow shortly after.
"Damage to Hermes has been relatively minor on the whole. We will have to put up with zero g conditions for about a month after negative acceleration is completed, unless one of our more clever engineers can come up with a way of spinning the rings before the thrusters are repaired. We're also going to have to double up some of you because K-section has been holed and will require about five months to repair."
That comment brought some mumbling and a lot of head-turning from those scheduled to be berthed in K-section.
"People, please. It's only temporary until we can reconfigure some of the other areas on board. Thirty days---no more, I promise. Now, I've saved the best for last. The Rammix report on this system shows five planets around Gamma One. The fourth planet is our destination. Life has been confirmed, technology confirmed, human signature confirmed. However, the eccentricity of orbits in this system is high, and we are going to be making insertion near the planet's apoapsis, so get out your warm clothes. Rammix tells us that, even though the planet is under an active greenhouse, it's going to be very, very cold when we touch down. Any information you may want or need may be obtained from the Rammix. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Gamma One component of Volans. Dismissed."
"You wanted to see me, Alex?"
Pax peered over the top of her desk monitor where information on the planet was being continually revised as new data became available. Lavan was standing in the door, her loose-fitting fatigue blouse open to the fourth button revealing that the spray of freckles on her face was, in fact, the prelude to a waterfall that washed down over her chest.
"Yes, Marta. Please, come in and close the door. This is just for the two of us."
"Oooooo, I smell mystery. I love mysteries. What's on your mind?"
"I ... I want to be a mother, Marta. I want a baby of my own."
"You what?"
"Seriously. I know I can do it."
Lavan leaned back against the bulkhead and rubbed at her chin.
"You are serious, aren't you? Okay, stop by the lab tomorrow and we'll get started on it."
"No. Not yet. I want to do it on planet, after we have established ourselves there. And I want to do it the old-fashioned way."
"What? You mean with a man and all that?"
"I don't think so, no. Let's say I'm undecided on that part of it. What I meant was, I want to carry it. Give birth, breast feed and all that. What do you think?"
"Professionally, or personally?"
"Both."
"Professionally I can see nothing wrong with it, although I don't see why you'd want to subject a perfectly good body to all that stress when it isn't necessary. On the personal side, I think you ought to turn yourself over to the psych people for an evaluation."
"Why? Because I want to do something that's been perfectly natural for who knows how many millions of years? Not fashionable, right?"
"No, it's because you're talking about something that's been perfectly unnatural for over seven hundred years."
"Ridiculous. When I was growing up, I remember quite a few who did it."
"Uh-huh. Out of carelessness, ignorance, or both. Of course, that's just my opinion. What you want is the important part. Besides, we can transfer it if you change your mind. There is one thing that's puzzling me, though. Why do you want to do something you told me you'd never do? And why are you thinking about it now?"
"The wicked witch is dead, Marta. I feel better about myself than I have in over two hundred and fifty years. That's why, and don't bother asking, because I'm not going to tell you about it."
"Nice joke, but you're really only thirty-five and a half. Is it the 'bittersweet' thing?"
"Mm-hmm."
"Okay, I won't ask. Shall I change the subject now or go away?"
"A change of subject would be nice. I'd rather not be alone for a while. Not yet."
"Okay. What do you want to talk about?"
"Anything. You pick it and I'll follow along."
"All right. I've been watching the data coming in on this planet that we're headed for, and it sounds like a close approximation of a hellhole."
"Hellhole or not, we're committed. This is it."
"True. That is, unless the locals have developed enough to help refit Hermes for another trip."
"The locals could turn out to be a bigger problem than the planet, Marta."
"Oh?"
"Think about it. We can assume they have to have been engineered to make it easier for them to survive in what you called a hellhole, but we don't know how or to what extent. They could be almost anything within the available spectrum of imagination. We may be treated as invading aliens. That's something we won't be able to say until we try to make contact with them."
"Wonderful. Okay, let's assume the natives are not delighted to see us. What's our response?"
"There are a number of possibilities. Technologically we should be several long strides ahead of them. Perhaps enough to tip the balance, even though they undoubtedly will outnumber us. Our technical advantage should enable us to establish a base somewhere on the planet. From there we could work toward some sort of accommodation satisfactory to the locals and us."
"Uh-huh. Let me make it more difficult. Suppose they have comparable capabilities and are really put off by our arrival. What then?"
"If it's that bad, their larger moon has an atmosphere with almost Earth-standard constituents. It's thin, but we can survive without resorting to pressure gear. There is surface water and plenty of ice locked up in the poles. Rammix says it's probably a lot like Mars after all the terraforming, just bigger, warmer, and with liquid water already available on the surface. We could set up on that moon and raid the planet for things we can't get or make out there."
"Oh, that's good. We make it so there may never be an acceptable relationship. I thought we came out here to establish contact with a colony, provide information to move them ahead, and generally be the good guys to our long lost family---not to be the raiding alien horde from THE BIG MOON."
"And that may be how it plays out, Marta. Our status at the moment is that we can't predict much of anything until we have more information to work with."
"Well, at least there's one thing worth celebrating."
"What's that?"
"We haven't been greeted by any of Whitaker's worst-case scenario disasters. Someone is home, after all."
"You're right. That one is worth a toast. On the other hand, we still have to make that first contact, and all we can do in the meantime is play speculative games. I have Rammix working on a reasonable number of possible ways this might play, and producing solution sets weighted toward peaceful resolution. That way, whatever this first contact turns up, we'll have a ready and rational plan for our response."
"You know, Alex, when we started all this I would never have put that much confidence in the Rammix, but now---I caught myself referring to it as 'him' yesterday. It's almost as if it's developing a personality."
"Interesting. I've done the same thing more than just a few times."
Pax's attention was taken by new information rolling out on the monitor between them. At first she was so shocked she could say nothing, but as it began to fill the screen, she found her voice again.
"Oh my god. I don't believe this."
"What? What is it, Alex?"
"Rammix has detected another vehicle that appears to be setting up for orbit around the planet."
"A ship?"
"That's what it says. And it's a big one."
"So much for our technological advantage."
"Not necessarily. Rammix?"
"Yes, Alex."
"What's the nature of the vehicle?"
"There is not enough information available for identification. I have determined the propulsion system to be hydrogen fusion, and it is responding to fixed base telemetry emanating from the surface of the major planet of the Delta element. If the trajectory of the vehicle remains unchanged it will make orbit in twenty-four days."
"Size?"
"Minimally, five hundred meters long by thirty-five meters in diameter."
"Do you know anything else about it?"
"The telemetry is consistent with Old Earth signals. I do not have enough information to decipher the code being employed. I am building a data base for detailed analysis."
"Nothing more?"
"Not at this time, Alex."
Shan had gone to Nucanda to get more information on Mando Washton and returned to New London with far more than he had thought he would get. There had been a price exacted for his further enlightenment, but, all in all, it wasn't such a bad deal. The people at Law Apps had questioned him intensely, relentlessly for two hours---not the most pleasurable experience of his life---but they'd fed him more than he was able to give them. The ploy was simple, and it always worked. He'd played dumb, which had made them explain exactly what it was they wanted. In their explanations was the information he needed to fill in the blanks in what he already knew.
He was now aware that the government was looking for people involved in a group known as the Paz Cadre---the first he had heard of that one---and that their intelligence gathering on the group was sadly lacking. He had also learned that there were three groups, not the one he had originally thought, and he'd managed to get the names of two of them. Not a bad haul for two hours' work.
There was an ongoing power struggle, and it had turned lethal long before the essences of Washton and Lanno mingled with the Pazian atmosphere. One of the groups---which one was unknown---was in possession of something the others were after---a person---a person worth terming people over.
With the information Law Apps had so willingly given him, it didn't take much thinking to add two and two and come up with four---Niki Kaznov. Niki had secured a job with Mills who, in turn, was connected to Washton. Niki had visited Washton to discuss employment even though he was already in the employ of Mills. Washton had then ordered Mills to the southern tip of the Continent to retrieve a nonexistent barge on business that Sharp assured him they didn't have. Lon Su, a man who Shan was certain was tied to the Generation, had been termed by Washton. Washton, along with Lanno, had come to a nasty end shortly thereafter at the hand of what Shan surmised had to have been the Paz Cadre. In the midst of all that, Niki had disappeared. It all fit, except for Niki.
Why were they all looking to get their hands on a simple fisherman from one of the most isolated islands on Paz, and what was the other group? Shan had to assume that the unknown group had somehow latched on to Niki, but why? It was a continuing mystery but Shan was willing to bet his life that it had something to do with the fact that Niki was a Delta---the only direct-line Delta---according to what he had been able to dig out of the record. None of what he'd gathered from his interrogation pointed toward any reason but, whatever the reason, it was abundantly clear they were all deadly serious in their quest.
It was also clear that the government was unaware of Niki or his importance. Shan was sure that Niki had been cast in a pivotal role of some sort, and that Niki might or might not be cognizant of it. He had to find Niki. He had to warn him, if he didn't already know what was transpiring, or find out what was going on if he was. There was one hell of a story lurking in the morass, and Shan was going to get it.
When he entered Washton's office he tripped over a set of file chips strewn about the floor. The place looked like a storm had blown through it, and the girl at the front desk appeared strained. She was talking on the link when Shan made his clumsy entrance, and he startled her. She cut the connection and looked up at him.
"Oh, great day, Mr. Shan. I thought I told you Mr. Washton wouldn't be back for at least a few more days. Why are you ... never mind. If you want to talk we'll have to go into the hall."
Shan guessed he had telegraphed his question because she continued without a pause.
"Enforcement insisted nothing be touched in there until they have a chance to look it over."
"So, what happened here?"
"I don't know. I think it was probably vandals. There's more of that happening every day, you know. Anyway, there doesn't seem to be anything missing---just a bigger mess than my kitchen's usually in---and they broke everything breakable."
"Do you really believe vandals did this?"
"I think so, yes. Thieves take, vandals break, Mr. Shan. Now, what may I do for you?"
Her attitude bothered him, particularly her cool manner in view of the mess inside. She didn't appear to be reacting to the violation of her office in the way one would normally expect. Was she Generation? The destruction in the office, was that a calling card---a warning?
"I'll bet Generation's having a fit about this."
"Who?"
"You know ... Generation."
"I wouldn't know about that, but I can tell you I'm upset about it, and I know Mr. Washton is going to explode when he hears about it. They destroyed his desk, and there's nothing he loves more than that desk, except maybe himself."
Either she was very good, or she didn't know a damned thing. Shan thought he would try a more direct approach and hit her with a shocker at the same time. Maybe that would break her loose.
"Listen, Miss, uh---"
"Valdar."
"Yeah. Miss Valdar. There's no way I can do this easily, so I'll say it straight out."
"That would be refreshing."
Snide hen.
"Right. Anyway, I hope you weren't too close to Mr. Washton. I know he was one of the leaders of the Twelfth Generation and that---"
"Was? Twelfth Generation? What, exactly, is it you're trying to say, Mr. Shan?"
"You do know about the Twelfth Generation, don't you?"
"No, Mr. Shan, I don't. But you used the past tense. Has something happened to Mr. Washton?"
"He was termed up in Nucanda. They fried him crisper than a Halfyear shako offering. Now, I need to find Niki Kaznov, Miss Valdar, before anyone else does. Where is he?"
"Termed? Mr. Washton?"
From the look on her face Shan could see she was genuinely disturbed, shocked. Maybe he had been reading too much into her behavior. Still, no one was innocent in his eyes until all the information was in and he had that feeling about little Miss Valdar. Her innocence, feigned or not, didn't fit the situation.
"Why? Why would anybody want to term poor Mr. Washton? Do they have any idea who did it?"
Poor Mr. Washton?
"Paz Cadre. At least that's my take on it."
"What is---Paz Cadre?"
No tumble---nothing but shock, disbelief, and no response to the Kaznov try. Maybe she didn't know anything.
"A lot of very bad badfolk, that's all. Listen, I'm sorry. I guess I was pretty crude. Let's try this in a different way. Do you know anything at all about the Twelfth Generation and how Washton may have been involved in it?"
"No. He doesn't ... didn't discuss his private life with me or anyone connected with the office. I don't think he did, anyway. When ... when did it happen?"
"His remains were discovered by Law Apps two days ago, along with those of a fellow named Dag Lanno. I'm sorry I was so insensitive, Miss Valdar. Please, forgive me, and thank you for your time. Oh, and I hope you don't have any trouble finding other employment---the economy's a little tight since last Perigamia. Here, take my card, and if you hear from Mr. Kaznov, have him call me. It's ... very important."
She remained silent as Shan made his way to the lift.
"Down. First floor," he said and, before the doors closed, he could see her standing in the hall, his card dangling from her fingers. Silent. He could be wrong about her, but he doubted it.
Getting her address was a simple matter of using his not quite legally acquired Apps access code for the New London Records Library. Name, address, family history, gene map, link code, and other pertinent data were cross-referenced there in every conceivable combination. Only untracs weren't in the records, but that's why they were called untracs. The people without a history. The unwanted---or wanted---result of illegal and indiscriminate pairings and careless encounters of wrong-line lovers. There were more untracs being born every year, and it was estimated that over eight percent of the population now fit into that category. Someday Shan would do some digging, maybe do a series on the whole sorry mess.
He sat in his transport and stared at the entrance to the building across the street.
All right, Pasha Valdar, let's see what you do now.
After two hours of impatient waiting, the Enforcement boys came out of the building. She followed about five minutes later and backed her transport out of the dock. Shan, holding well back, discreetly followed.
She wasn't going home. She lived at South End, and she locked on to the eastbound track at Cashow, then began jogging north and east. About ten squares away from her office she pulled off the track and stopped in front of a pub-link. Shan slipped into a dock half a square away and fired up his snooper. He'd never mastered the art of reading lips, but the snooper's super sensitive dish could snag normal conversation out of a room crowded with yowling onners at an easy two hundred meters, so he would be able to hear what she had to say, and her end of the call could be just as informative as hearing both sides of the conversation.
"Hello, sweetheart."
Sweetheart? There wasn't anything in the records about her being paired, or otherwise attached.
"No. Listen to me because this is important."
She was using the privacy connection so Shan could hear nothing of the other party to the conversation, but whoever "Sweetheart" was spoke for quite a while.
She laughed and said, "Meet me at the restaurant as soon as you can."
Sweetheart responded.
"Yes, I'm on my way now," she replied.
Another pause while Sweetheart said something and she laughed again. Shan liked her laugh. It was different---but it didn't make her innocent.
"Yes. Yes, I will. I love you too."
Love? A pairing that wasn't in the record. Shan smiled smugly as he thought about how that feeling of his almost never led him astray. He turned up the gain as she lowered her voice and spoke to Sweetheart again.
"No, that's not a good idea, and right now I have to get rid of that reporter, Shan. He's following me, and he's parked about half a square back. He's probably listening in with a snooper. Bye."
Damn it.
He followed people all the time. It was all part of the job, and he'd given up counting how many he had tracked years ago. None of them had spotted him that easily. He was right to doubt her, and she was definitely up to something. She was also spending time with someone without Council sanction. That wasn't much in itself, but it was further measure of her character.
Who is this Sweetheart?
Shan had always thought he was good at his work, but this Valdar was proving to be a challenge. He tried to stay with her, and he used every trick he knew, but each turn and track transfer only made him fall farther behind, until she was no longer in sight.
Where was she going? There were hundreds of restaurants in the city. Averaging her direction changes, he determined she was working her way steadily north and a little east. Shan scrolled up a list of eateries to the north of town. There were thirty-five from Central out to North End. He had already reached Aldrin Avenue, so the number of possibilities had been reduced to twenty-two by the time Valdar gave him the slip. Shan decided there was nothing more he could do but try them all.
Pasha was out of breath when she entered Twelve Points, having run three squares from where she'd docked her transport. Antaris was in the process of turning the lights down to half illumination---the universal signal to any would-be clients that the kitchen was closed---when Pasha grabbed her shoulder and spun her around.
"What? What is it, Pasha?"
"We have to talk."
She told Antaris about the office, the Enforcement investigators, and what Shan had said about Washton, Lanno, and the Paz Cadre.
"Shan knows a lot more than we thought, Trina."
"Yes, he does, and it is far too much, I think. It will not take him long to put things in their proper order---after that, we will be in the open."
"From the things he said, he probably doesn't know about Twelve Points."
"Maybe not, Pasha, but we should not make assumptions like that. This man, Shan, is persistent, and he undoubtedly smells a story that will push him even harder."
"Niki stayed with me last night," Pasha said, avoiding any eye contact with Antaris. "I thought he'd be safe there. With Shan digging around, though, I'm not so sure any more."
"Uh-huh. Where is Nikisha now?"
"He was at my place, but I called him on the way over here and he should arrive any time."
"Did Shan know it was Nikisha you called?"
"No."
"That's good. Do you think he has an inkling Nikisha is involved with us?"
"No. Based on what he said, I don't think he knows we exist, but I'm certain he thinks I have something to do with the Generation, particularly after our little track race this evening."
"Uh-huh. Now is the time to find a safe place for our Delta. Shan probably already has your address, and when he gets tired of visiting North End restaurants he will be going there to see what he can find."
Antaris took a look around the restaurant, then told Lira to close up, and Pasha was chewing on the 'our Delta' remark. It reduced Niki to a commodity, a thing, a possession to be stashed away---hidden from those who would steal it. She didn't like the sound of it---but it was true.
"You like this Nikisha Kaznov a lot, do you not, Pasha?"
"Niki? What makes you say that?"
"I am not blind, and do not answer questions with more questions. Do you?"
"No, Trina, I don't like him a lot. I'm very much in love with him."
"Ah---well, now---that is interesting and a little bit dangerous. Do you understand why it is dangerous?"
"Yes."
"Good. Keep it in mind." Antaris tossed an impish grin at Pasha and continued, "When he was with you last night ... did you two, uh---"
"Trina! Even if we did, I wouldn't tell you."
"That is fair. I apologize, and I suppose I should not be so nosey. How was it?"
"You witch," Pasha said, laughing hysterically. "It was marvelous. There, satisfied?"
"Uh-huh, and I have to tell you it is about time."
Pasha lifted the window blanker, partly to see if Niki was getting off the Public that stopped across the street, and partly to hide her blush from Trina. As the Public pulled away she could see two women, too drunk to do much walking, zigzagging their way around the corner to the south, but Niki was nowhere to be seen.
"I'm worried, Trina. Can you send one of the others to check my place?"
"Of course, passion pie."
"Trina."
"I can call Dun. He lives close---but I do not think that will be necessary."
"Why not?" Pasha protested.
"Because marvelous just walked through the kitchen door."
No bush weasel on Paz, having the good fortune to come upon an unsuspecting barkel hen feeding in a thicket, could have moved as fast as Pasha. She was out of the booth and in his arms before the door closed behind him.
"Where have you been?" she demanded.
"I took the B8 out to the Southeast Quarter and walked from there."
Niki bent down and kissed her, then smiled at both of them. The smile was something more than friendly recognition.
"Pasha. Trina. I know now. The Enlightenment. I know what it is we are to do. Well, most of it, anyway."
Antaris jumped out of the booth and threw out her arms.
"Nikisha," she said, "do you tell it true? You are fully awake?"
"I don't know about fully, but I know a lot more now than I did this morning. This morning, after you..."
He gave Pasha a questioning look.
"She knows."
"This morning, after you left, I took a nap and had a dream that wouldn't stop. When I can tell you about it, you're not going to believe it. Fantastic is all I can say. Anyway---"
"So, tell us about it," Antaris said.
"No, Trina, not yet." Niki held Pasha tightly and guided her to the booth. "I love you," he said into her ear with his lips so close they brushed her flap. She giggled and pushed him away playfully.
"Trina, before I can tell you what I've learned, there are several things we need and people we must have available to accomplish all that has to be done."
He laid four stacks of paper on the table, turned for her to read, then gently put his hand over hers.
"Trina," he said softly. "There's a chance we may not be able to take care of everyone. The Fathers hoped to lose no more than six shuttles during the original settlement, but they lost twenty-four. Each of the shuttles can carry no more than fifty people at a time when the cores are---"
"The cores from the Riddle of the Ancients?" she interrupted.
"That's right, and we have to move ninety cores with sixteen shuttles. I don't know how many trips we'll be able to make before we have to leave."
"Leave? Leave what?"
Niki ignored her question and the equally puzzled look Pasha had on her face. He motioned to Lira who was putting up the final blanker.
"Yes, sir?"
"Lira, bring massak for all of us and something for yourself as well. I'd like to have you at the table with us."
Niki turned back to Antaris and said, "It may be that many will have to remain. Your job is to decide who among those of Twelve Points have attained the highest levels of awareness and make a list with the most aware at the top, the rest in descending order."
"But---"
"I am aware of how much you care for all of them, and I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but you're the one who knows them best. Can you do it?"
"Yes, I can do it. If that is what must be done, then I will do it. I have the notion that you are saying we are going somewhere else and that we will be leaving some people behind. Will I be taking the place of the Grand Terminator by making this list? I mean, will those who remain be in jeopardy?"
"No, Trina. No. Some will be lost because of what we must do. We will all be taking the same risk, but those who stay behind will merely continue their lives on Paz as if nothing had happened---except they will be living with a maturing awareness and there will be nothing they can do about it." He was being deliberately vague, but it was essential she produce the list.
"What do you mean when you say, '...on Paz?'"
"Yes, Niki, what does that mean?" Pasha insisted.
"Later. First we need to take care of this," he said, slapping the lists on the table.
"All right, Nikisha, you are the Delta. When do you want me to begin?"
"Tonight. This must all be done quickly. We have much to do, and there is very little time before the La Paz comes for us."
"The ... La Paz? What is this, Nikisha? And where are we going?"
The questions needed answers, and he probably should not have mentioned the La Paz, but the work needed for the preparation demanded they move with haste---time was not on their side. He knew he couldn't keep it from them much longer, but this was not the proper point or place.
"Please, Trina, everything in its order, okay?"
Niki took Pasha's hands in his and looked deeply into her eyes for the understanding he hoped he would find there. Instead, what he saw was confusion, bewilderment---perhaps fear. He increased the pressure of his grip in reassurance.
"Now, my love," he said in a low voice. "Are you ready for your job?"
"Depends on the job," she whispered in response and managed to work up a weak smile.
Niki knew it wouldn't be wise to let either of them know how unsure he was, too. They were frightened, and any sign of uncertainty on his part would only make things worse. Niki modulated his voice deliberately into a soothing tone and measured his words carefully.
"I have a list of things we need. Since you do all the purchasing for Mr. Washton---"
"Did."
"Did?"
"Mr. Washton was termed. I'll tell you about it, later. You were saying?"
"Termed?"
"Never mind, Niki. For now, anyway. The list?"
Niki slid a stack of papers across the table to her.
"These are the things we need, and we need them as fast as we can get them. Sorry, I didn't make chips. You'll have to sort through this by hand. Now, what happened to Mr. Washton?"
Pasha ran a finger down the top sheet, stopping on various items to read, and ignored his question.
"Eight thousand liters of V-70 hydraulic fluid?"
"The shuttles won't work without it," he said. "To be completely honest, they may not work with it, either."
"But ... three thousand liters?"
"Minimally, right. For the last time---what happened to Mr. Washton?"
"He was ... termed by the seditionists while he was in Nucanda with Mr. Lanno."
"Who did---"
Lira set a tray on the table and sat down beside Antaris. Niki decided not to push for more about Washton while young Lira was there and pulled one of the steaming cups close, letting the vapors wind their way into his nostrils.
"Yes, sir," Lira said. "What is it you wanted me for?"
"Lira, you're the youngest of this generation of the Gammas, aren't you?"
She was fresh, her flesh smooth and clear of the marks of life. Her hair, long, silky, shining clean, tumbled over her shoulders in blue-black waves covering the tiny protrusions of someday breasts. She was youth in all its unused perfection.
"Yes, sir, I think I am." She looked to Antaris who nodded her confirmation.
"I understand you're also one of the brightest."
Lira blushed and looked down at the table.
"Without doubt," Antaris volunteered.
"Well, Lira, the Fathers have given us a job---an important and incredible task. Part of it will be to leave everything behind, all that is comfortable and familiar. We are to leave it behind us and step out into the open jaw of the unknown. Tell me, Lira, will you be ready to go when it's time?"
She didn't have to say a thing for her eyes told him all he needed. They sparkled with the fire of life yet to be lived, and in them he could see adventure, curiosity---and a wanting.
"Oh, yes. Yes, sir," she said with the quiet and absolute sureness only the young possess. "Where are we going?"
"Yes, Nikisha," Antaris added. "Where?"
"In time ... in time I'll tell you about it. Right now it's enough to know you're ready, Lira. You'll all understand ... soon. In the meantime, it's best you---none of you---knows where or when."
Niki could envision what the reaction would be if the average Pazian were to become aware of what they were going to do, and he was also cognizant of the fact that it was best no one had the knowledge he now possessed until time drew short enough to preclude any organized response or unintentional slip of the tongue in the wrong place.
"I can only tell you this much---we must conclude all of our preparations by the beginning of the Halfyear feasts. Shortly before that time, I'll tell everyone the whole story."
"What did you mean when you said they may not work with it?"
"What?"
"You said the shuttles may not work, even with this hydraulic fluid," Pasha reminded him.
"Oh. Well, they've been sitting idle for over two hundred years---some of them almost two hundred thirty years. They were programmed to do periodic maintenance on themselves, but they've had limited resources and there are certain things they just can't do. A lot of the systems rely on hydraulics to function and, if the seals are bad, we may not be able to replace them in time."
Niki was the only Delta, and only the Deltas had been given the memories required to run the shuttles. He was going to have to provide instruction to other members of the group at locations where the shuttles stood---a difficult task at best and a dangerous one at least, but it was the only way he could see to get as many as possible off Paz. He couldn't do it alone.
Outside the small circle of people he needed to help him, no one could be allowed to have the information that he was preparing the shuttles for operation. It was bad enough he was known to exist and worse that his interest in the shuttles was now, apparently, widely understood.
There was a distinct advantage to being the only living direct-line Delta. Everyone believed the Delta to be the key to the outcome of the enlightenment and that meant they all wanted him---alive. He didn't have to fear for his life, but, with all those people looking for him, he was definitely limited when it came to his movements. If it were possible for him to get to the other shuttle sites without anyone discovering what he was doing, they would continue to concentrate their efforts in the New London area, and he would be free to operate without interference.
The majority of the shuttles were in remote locations where his exposure would be minimal. They were guarded, of course, but things would be much easier than in places like New London, where the ancient ships were part of a controlled display.
I have to get back to Twenty-three, but how?
How much information did the Council have on Twelve Points? Not much, he thought, and they'd be much more concerned about the Generation and that Cadre bunch, to be sure, with whom violence had replaced reason. The cult had not been a bad idea at all.
What had transpired during the last few weeks had shown the Generation to be fragmenting from within and under attack from without. The seditionists obviously believed he was involved with the Generation, and the Council, if they were aware of his existence, probably did, too. It wouldn't be long before one or both of them discovered that not to be the case, and then Twelve Points would be in peril. Something needed to be done. They needed a way to cause everyone concerned to believe that Twelve Points were nothing more than religious extremists with no connection to him or awareness of his presence---that Twelve Points had not the slightest idea who, or what, the elusive Delta was. If this could be accomplished, both factions and the Council would remain distracted by their own agendas long enough for Twelve Points to finish the work laid out by the Fathers so long ago.
Niki now knew he would never again be a fisherman. Not here, anyway. And he had a new way of thinking about the Fathers. The resentment was still there, and he continued to curse them for the confusion and turmoil they had handed him, but there also was a growing appreciation for what was beginning to look like a grand plan with a scope well beyond his simple way of thinking. They had been doing a job, just as Twelve Points was about to do, but the Fathers had bungled it by not laying it all out in a comprehensible form in the first place. His dreams and the Ancient Record were beginning to reassemble the plan of the Fathers enough for him to grasp what had to be done and maybe ... maybe the Twelve Points of Light would do it better this time.
Niki pulled a battered card from his pocket, snugged up his collar to keep the chill from trickling down his back, and with some difficulty read the number as he punched it into the pub-link pad.
Shan had to be dealt with. His probing and suspicions could bring down the flimsy shroud that, thus far, had shielded Twelve Points so well. Term him? No, he couldn't think that way. Sure, if it was necessary to defend against an immediate threat ... but Shan---Shan was just a good man imbued with excessive curiosity and a zeal for his work. Something would have to be done about Shan, and Niki thought he knew what that something had to be.
Niki smiled affably at the startled Albo Shan who stared back at him in disbelief from the tiny screen.
"Evening, Bo. I believe you've been looking for me."
Shan's pale, surprised eyes stared out of the small square at the top of the link, lips moving, but with no sound eschewing. He blinked several times, then cleared his throat.
"Niki? I've ... I've been trying to find you for days, man. You're in trouble, I think. Where are you?"
"I can't tell you that, Bo. If you want to see me, go where we first met at first light tomorrow. Wait for my call. And Bo, don't mention this to anyone."
"Why? What's happening?"
"Never mind that, just be sure you haven't been tracked---and be there. You'll get further instructions then. Oh, before I close this contact---I appreciate what you've been trying to do, but be very careful because there are many who would do you harm if they were aware you have any connection to me. I'll see you soon, Bo."
Before Shan could respond, Niki cut the connection and walked slowly back to Twelve Points, pondering his next move while small clouds of his breath assimilated into the cold night air and Vegamtu pushed a vague shadow along in front of him.
The frigid fingers of the north Pazian plains found their way through his carper down jacket and, although he had pulled it tightly around him, it was no defense against the resolute wind. Shan ducked into the entry alcove of a building behind him, but it afforded little relief as the breeze swirled in tight, confused circles through the recess, finding every opening in his puffy armor with unerring accuracy. It was cold---bone-jarringly cold in Ganeden, the fourth city he had been instructed to visit in his effort to meet Niki. Each time he arrived at an appointed place he would be led around a haphazard circuit and ultimately provided with a fresh ticket to another location. The ticket and an envelope containing instructions would be jammed into his hand at the last moment, leaving him barely enough time to make it to the pad before the flight departed.
As he stood there trying to duck as much of the wind as he could, three figures wrapped in loose-fitting blue robes approached from upwind. Shan recognized their garb. They called themselves Witnesses, but they were really recruiters for a religious gang of halfwits who referred to themselves as the Twelve Points of Light. Shan watched them drift toward him, their robes billowing and vibrating in front of them, making them look like pregnant Cooper's whales swimming in formation. It was hard to tell if they were men or women or both with their hoods pulled down over their faces. The only thing he was certain of was that they were Twelve Points people.
One of the three flapping robes stopped in front of the alcove and spoke in a voice loud enough to keep his words from being whisked away completely on the howling wind.
"You Shan?"
"Yeah, I'm Shan," he replied. "Is this it, or am I being taken on another tour?"
"This, Brother Shan, is it," the voice shouted from beneath his hood. "Please, follow at a distance. No closer than a square. When we make a turn we will slow until you are able to see us. When you come to a building with a bright red front, stop and enter the alcove there. Do not continue to follow us. Is that understood?"
The other two guides remained flapping in front of the alcove, shuffling and swaying to maintain their circulation in the cold. Around their hood openings, where their moist breath had not been allowed to escape on the wind, ice had built up to form a rigid ring. The frozen breath refracted and reflected the light of a visibly weaker Vegamwun and shimmered along the edges pulled in tight to protect their faces. Blue apparitions wearing vertical haloes, he thought. Shan nodded, and the one who had spoken to him joined the other two, and they hurried off downwind. Shan shivered and yanked at his jacket, then, when his guides were about a square away, he stepped reluctantly back into the biting wind.
The sign on the building vibrated and banged against the wall. It was difficult to read since it was worn nearly clean by the incessant scrubbing of windborne sand.
GANED N O L SUPPLY
WE MAK IT SLIDE
Shan was glad the buildings of Ganeden had not been designed by the architects of New London, where the wind calmed to a whisper during the cold part of the year. They would not have thought to provide any protection from what he was enduring. He pushed into a small corner of the alcove to wait for his next contact. Was it getting colder? The wind had blown another half hour away to the east, and he was just about to give up when a voice spoke to him from the doorway.
"Brother Shan?"
"Yeah, yeah, Brother Shan. Now what?"
"Please, come in.
Inside it was dusk dark, with just enough light to see robed figures moving in front of him. They motioned, and he followed. Their robes, long and full, gave them the appearance of blue ghosts gliding across the floor. The room, filled with boxes, crates, and drums looked like a warehouse of some kind, but what light there was was too dim for him to read any of the labels.
What the hell are they doing here?
"Please, Brother Shan," his guide said, and pointed to an opening in the wall.
Shan entered, the door clanged shut, and the lift immediately began its descent. When it came to a halt he had counted ten standard floors. Ten standard floors beneath the blasts of cold, abrasive wind relentlessly scrubbing the surfaces of Ganeden.
Waiting outside the lift was another group of blue-covered guides who led him down a long hall that ended at a massive bronze door. Shelter? Could be. Many of the northern communities once provided central Neathing shelters that were used by all the people in the area who had not dug their own. Of course, that had been a long time ago---before the rule of the single family shelter was adopted.
The door swung open, and light from beyond struck the walls of the passage. They, too, were lined with solid bronze plates. Definitely a shelter from the old days. Three blue robes surrounded him, and a sharp, stinging sensation grabbed him by the back of his neck as the needle sank in. Instantly he felt he was falling, spinning. The air smelled of garlic, his tongue swelled, and everything in view went off in different directions---the walls melting around him. He was aware of being picked up and laid on a hard surface that turned out to be the bed of a cart, which carried him along a passage to another room where he was transferred to a box on a waiting tunnel car. The small light at the front of the car reflected off copper colored walls in a rectangular shaft, and the cars wheels made a clickety-clackety sound as they passed over gaps in the rail segments that had been laid down a very long time ago. Shan thought it might have been two hundred years or more since shelters such as these had been built---then everything went black.
"How much did you give him?"
"Five cc's, sir," a robed figure replied. "It ought to be enough to keep him out for the rest of the night."
"Fine," Niki said. "Put him in the transport while I get the other material ready."
Shan's limp body was draped across the rear seat of the transport when Niki returned with a small package under his arm. Niki laid the box on the floor beside the heavily drugged Shan, closed the door, and climbed into the passenger side in front.
"We have it all, love," he said and closed the door. "Let's go."
Pasha deftly lifted the transport above the ice-covered ground at the end of the tunnel and locked on the express track for North Coopersland. She turned and looked at Niki with what Niki had come to know as a troubled expression.
"Niki, what do we do with him if he doesn't want to cooperate with us?"
"It's hard to believe he won't. There's a story here, and that's what he wants. I don't think we need to worry about cooperation, love."
"I guess that's true. But what if he decides we aren't doing the right thing? Suppose he concludes that we're not acting in accordance with the Book of the Law?"
"I don't think he will, but, if he does, I imagine we'll have no choice but to hold him until it's time. Then we can let him go, and it won't make any difference. He will still get his story, missing a lot of the detail, and we'll be gone."
"I hope we don't have to do that. Things are complicated enough."
Pasha eased the mag-drive forward, and the transport disappeared quickly into the steely glow of Vegamtu.
Villers lay on the floor, his blank, unblinking, glazed eyes turned to a ceiling he would never again see while his home was systematically, meticulously dissected by silent men in dark gray uniforms.
"Found something, Lieutenant," one of them said, peeling back a patch of loose, flaking paint on the bathroom door.
"Give it to me," the lieutenant demanded as the man liberated a tiny record chip from beneath the paint. "The Colonel wants to see anything we find before we make our report."
Chip in hand, the lieutenant moved quickly to the library where Colonel Tazh was digging through Villers's files with the impatience of a starving shagrat on the trail of a Neather's recently tossed garbage.
"Sir?"
"What?" Tazh snapped.
"We found this microchip on the bathroom door. It had been painted over, sir," he said, and extended his open hand out to Tazh.
Tazh snatched the chip and turned it slowly in his fingers as if he could read its contents. An out-of-place thin smile briefly interrupted the rock-hard face, and he chuckled.
"This has to be it. Painted into the bathroom door, eh? Clever," he said and sauntered to the computer in Villers's bedroom, stepping casually over the cooling corpse. He flicked a spot of the coating off the chip and slid it into the slot on the side of the machine. Tazh's expression soured as the chip's contents scrolled across the screen.
"Ancients be damned," he said. "Lieutenant, we have a big problem here."
"What is it, sir?"
"Oh, not much. We've termed a special investigator from Law Apps, that's all. Damn it, man, I thought this guy had been checked out thoroughly."
The young lieutenant moved in closer to get a look at the display but didn't say a word.
"Wait a minute. What's this?" Tazh said, stopped the computer on a section where the word 'Cadre' appeared several times, and rammed his fist into his palm.
"The rotten gaf had a line on us, too, Colonel," the wide-eyed lieutenant exclaimed.
"Yes. Yes, he certainly did. This means changes. Look, I don't have time to go through this now, but I want to be sure I see it before I talk to the Old Man. Not a word about this to anyone, Lieutenant---and clean up this mess. No body, no stains, no gentracs. Just ... just make it all disappear. You got that?"
Alone in his apartment, Tazh turned on the computer and inserted the chip. "Now, you shagrat son of an untrac, let's see what you thought you had on us," he mumbled to himself as the first page rolled up on the screen.
Nine hours later Tazh pushed his chair away from the console and rubbed at his tired eyes. The chip was loaded with damning data on every member in the upper echelon of the Cadre, and it contained detailed info about membership numbers, armament---every damned thing. He reached for the link pad and stabbed in the numbers.
"General Lang," he said to the woman on the screen. It went blank briefly, then lighted with the image of a somewhat heavier-than-is-healthy face that was showing signs of advanced age, but with a fire in its deep-set eyes.
"What is it, Tazh?"
"Two items of interest, sir," Tazh responded. "First, we have termed a Law Apps man. Name, Villers. It was an honest but grave error. The crew cleaned it up, so it may go unnoticed for a few days. No longer than that, though."
"Yes---an unfortunate mistake. One that could cost us. Second?"
"We uncovered top priority information in last night's action. If you will remain hooked in, I'll transfer it when we've finished.
"Yes, Tazh, I'll do that. Bad news about Law Apps. I was hoping to avoid any direct confrontation with them until we had the Delta in our possession. What is the scope of the material you picked up?"
"In a word, General, we are ... exposed. It is not clear if Law Apps has the information yet, but, from the way they work, I'd rather play it safe and assume they do."
"Recommendations?"
"Put our search for the Delta aside, or at least reduce those efforts and proceed to the next stage. If we happen to find the Delta in the process, good, but I think the idea of being defeated before we begin is, at the very least, totally unacceptable. I don't believe we should wait, sir."
"All right, Tazh," the General said, drumming his fingers on the console. "If it is as you have indicated, I believe I agree with your assessment. I'll study the information and get back to you right away. Go ahead with the data transfer."
Not good---not good at all, Tazh thought as he poked at the transfer key. Knowing the General couldn't get back to him for at least a day, he decided to take the initiative and tapped up another number on the link. A drawn, bespectacled face shrouded in an unkempt mop of silver hair appeared.
"Dr. Kadin," Tazh said. "We have trouble."
"Oh? And what trouble might that be?" Kadin removed his overly thick glasses, a reward for experimenting with the venom of the golden, and wiped at them with a soiled rag he'd yanked from his shirt pocket. It was one of those absent, nervous habits---like tapping your fingers on a surface, or scratching an ear in the belief it was conducive to clear thought.
"Law Apps is on to us in a big way, Kadin. Last night we termed one of their operatives. It's time to begin repositioning ourselves."
"And who was responsible for this concentrated burst of stupidity?"
Tazh examined Kadin's image and thought he saw amusement.
You sick son of a shagrat, this is serious.
"Forget the responsibility. There's no time for that now, just gather up all your records, and I mean all of them, and meet me at your office at twelfth hour. Don't be late."
He cut the connection with Kadin and began emptying his desk. Apps might have his name, but as long as there was no hard evidence they couldn't touch him. Not directly, anyway. Not openly.
On his way to Kadin's office Tazh pondered the possibilities, weighing one thing against the other to reassure himself that his plan of action was the best course to follow. Nothing could be left lying around anywhere. Not one person could remain who would be able to link him to the Cadre.
By the time he had separated from the track, he had decided his only potential problem revolved around one man. He pulled into the rear docks at the bottom of a towering building in the heart of Southwest Quarter. To avoid having his presence recorded by the dock reader, he landed his transport in the center of the maneuvering lot and braced himself against the cold as the door opened. A light on the fifteenth floor told him Kadin was already there.
Kadin rose from his desk and twisted his mouth into an unnatural half smile, half grimace---perpetually nervous---and extracted that nasty rag of his. He wiped furiously at his glasses. The act made him feel better.
"Ah, welcome, Tazh," he said and flopped back into his chair. "And what kind of repositioning were you talking about, Colonel?"
Tazh seated himself across the desk from Kadin and folded his hands under his chin before answering.
"I'm assembling our forces for the assault here, Kadin. I want to make absolutely certain all of our records are destroyed---those that are of no particular consequence to our future efforts, that is. Other records, such as yours, are to be moved to the Keep. Absolutely nothing can be left around to jeopardize my coming victory over the Council of Paz."
"Your victory, Tazh? You have become the supreme commander overnight?"
"Our victory, then."
"Come, come, Tazh. I've known for several years you have no intention of allowing the General to live beyond Phase Three."
"Maybe so."
"Aha! Am I to assume that you have found the Delta?"
"No."
"We don't have the weapon, then. You intend to go up against the combined forces of the Council? Apps, Enforcement, and the Militia? And you don't have the weapon? Astounding, Tazh. Such audacity. Such ego."
"That's right. In my opinion, we will be victorious without it. Apps and Enforcement are poorly prepared for any major engagement, and the Militia---the militia is a ... fun tag. Most of the Militia is ours---you know that. Plus, we have surprise working for us."
"But we don't have the weapon, Tazh."
"No."
"Tazh, surprise will be gone after the first shot. Without the weapon and the Delta your forces will be evenly matched---and you expect to be successful? You amaze me."
"We will triumph, Kadin. Apps and Enforcement have never been under fire, and I doubt their resolve after the first blood runs in the streets."
"Listen to you, Tazh. Just ... listen. None of your forces have ever been under fire either---and that includes you. Isn't it interesting how we play with titles and believe them. You are a colonel in the Cadre, yet you have never been on the dealing or receiving end of a weapon, except to play games in the backlands and shoot at imaginary targets that can't defend themselves---that won't shoot back." Kadin, wiping wildly at his glasses, looked up at Tazh through the milky film covering his eyes and squinted to see. "I ... I call myself a doctor, but I don't deal in cures. I mete out pain, instead. What kind of a doctor is that? What I call myself and what I am are not the same. You call yourself a colonel, but what are you---really?"
"I am the man who is going to lead the Paz Cadre to victory in New London, Kadin---of that you can be sure. The search for the Delta has not been abandoned, just de-emphasized. We will find him, and the weapon will be ours."
"I suppose. Has the General approved this---this move you want to make? I mean, are they aware of the problem, and do they concur with what it is you intend to do? I recall the last time we did a little something without proper authorization---it's not going to be like that, is it?"
"Yes, they are aware of the problem and no, it will be nothing like the last time, I assure you. At this very moment the General is reviewing all the information. So, my old friend, have you brought all your records?"
Kadin raised a small chip case off the desk and said, "It's interesting to me how much of the collected guilt of the human race fits into one of these. Did you know that in here there are over---"
He saw the muzzle blast. The dull orange flash of a popper was unmistakable---he'd just never seen it from this point of view before. He heard the muffled pop that gave the nasty little pistol its name as the expanding gas of the low-energy propellant escaped between the wad and blunt barrel, but he didn't feel the twenty small darts enter his body.
The effect of the venom was almost instant and sent searing flashes of white light through what little vision he had remaining to him as the poison went to work on his central nervous system. A scorching heat was building throughout his body. He tried to stop it---the twitching---but his body would not respond. His lungs filled to near bursting with a sudden, involuntary gasp. He couldn't move, couldn't speak...
Tazh pried the case from Kadin's trembling, rigid fingers and smiled a thin, cold smile. Tazh picked up Kadin's glasses and slipped them onto his contorted, agony-filled face. His skin felt as if it were stretching tighter and tighter over his bones and was about to rip itself free. Kadin wanted to curse Tazh, but he was unable to make his lungs work. He knew he would be term in a matter of minutes. Tazh spoke to him and it was like hearing a voice from the end of a long tunnel.
"Strange I've never noticed that before, old friend, but those glasses make your eyes look twice as big as they actually are. So, as I said, this time will not be like the last---not at all."
Tazh turned and walked calmly out the door, chuckling in his low, animal-like growl, then began to laugh as the door closed. Kadin lay convulsing on the floor while darkness closed in on him.
Shan awakened, but not with the feeling that accompanies a good night's sleep. He was spinning, falling out of control on a cot in a cold, empty room lit by a single bulb against a ceiling so dingy it absorbed most of the light before it could escape to the rest of the room.
While searching to be certain all his parts were still attached and in their proper places, he discovered a tender spot on his neck and couldn't recall why it was there. Satisfied that his body was still intact by actual count, he then launched into trying to remember why everything was numb---a memory that returned slowly, grudgingly. Shan thought he should be angry, but, instead, he was giddy, almost foolishly happy---a too-much-spayberry-wine light-headedness without the pain. He tried getting up from the cot and laughed himself back down to its relative safety. The floor was moving more than was safe for standing.
The security surrounding Niki had convinced Shan that he need not be so concerned about the man's safety. He was also certain that Niki was aware of the danger that sought him. He relaxed to enjoy the effects of whatever it was they had given him and began to contemplate what a fantastic story was within his reach. Niki would not have done this to Shan if he were not going to provide him with the story---a story maybe worth a book. Maybe a series with enough impact to net that literary prize Shan had been chasing all his life. A broad smile formed as the potential sank in.
"Have all the leaders arrived, Trina?"
"Yes, Nikisha. Dolf of Nuperz has not come in as yet. He should be here before you are ready to begin, however."
Pasha stood behind Niki, her arms draped over his shoulders, her hands stroking his chest gently.
"You know, I think I should be a little jealous," Pasha said. "I mean, you couldn't even give me a hint of what this is about before the rest?"
"My love, to tell it true, I wasn't completely sure of that myself before my sleep on the way here with Shan. Now ... I know. Now ... I know." He smiled up at her and patted one of her hands affectionately, then cradled his head in her bosom.
"So, what is it?"
"Not now, love."
"But---"
"No, not now. I want Shan to---um, speaking of Shan, he should be coming around soon, shouldn't he?"
Niki attempted to stand, but Pasha pushed him back into his seat and resumed stroking his chest.
"Luto," she said to a young man leaning against the door. "Go see if Mr. Shan is conscious. If he is, and he is able, bring him here, please."
Luto nodded politely and disappeared into the hallway. Before Niki could speak, Pasha whispered into his ear, "It's called delegation, my sweet. Sometimes you do it and sometimes---you don't. You need to learn to do it all the time, or this enlightenment will prove to be your ruin ... and I don't want you ruined."
She spoke it true. He always tried to do too much at once, and it had begun to take its toll. He knew more as things came into his mind faster with each passing day. Niki no longer needed the dreams and visions, though they remained the most concentrated source of his growing knowledge. He had changed---but it wasn't just him. All of them moved to a different rhythm than the society into which they had been born. They had become something new to Paz, something alien to their one-time brothers and sisters---a people apart---and much more than they had been. It could be seen without looking. Especially true for the younger ones, like Lira and that fellow Luto. They spoke about things in which none of them had experience or training.
They all had been given something different, something beyond the general process of the enlightenment, something that both excited and frightened the recipients. Awesome gifts handed to them over the centuries by their Ancients. Gifts that mirrored to some extent what they had been doing in their ordinary lives---as if they had been working, from the day they were born, for a shadowy program that crawled around in their unconscious minds, trying to blossom, attempting to take control of the animal in which it lived. As if the trends of their daily activities were influenced by hidden instructions, difficult to read plainly but strong enough to guide the program's host. What made the young ones different from the rest was the fact that they had no life experience to build upon---the image in the mirror had not yet formed fully, but dance in the glass it did, nonetheless.
Niki had discovered that even his life as a fisherman had been somehow associated with that dark program. As Niki the fisherman, he had to be a voyager---a loner to a large extent, disconnected from the people, his kin---traveling into the unknown each time he cleared his mooring lines from the dock by the breakwater. Each time he and his little ship slipped out into the Southern Sea to struggle with things bigger, stronger, more dangerous than he in their natural element, he became an intruding alien from another world. What the Fathers expected of him now was largely the same---on a grander scale and in an element far more alien and dangerous, true, but it was equivalent. The thought intrigued Niki.
Niki's attention was drawn from his private musings as Luto entered, supporting a shaky and weak Albo Shan.
"Niki, Mr. Shan is awake and angry," Luto announced.
"I am not---angry," Shan responded instantly. "I may be a little warm about being treated like a side of shako, but I am not angry."
Niki sent Shan a friendly, apologetic smile.
"I'm sorry, Bo. I tell it true, and if I'd thought there was any other way, I wouldn't have done this to you. Luto, get some food and drink for my friend. Please, have a seat, Bo, before you fall."
"I'll fall if I damned well please, thank you very much."
"Suit yourself, but I think the wiser course would be to sit."
Shan started to take a seat, then stopped in a stooped position, waving like tall salgrass in a strong breeze. His eyes narrowed as if trying to see something against a bright light.
"Where is this place and who ... who the hell is that person?"
"You're in the North Coopersland common shelter, Bo. To which person are you referring?"
Shan lifted himself into as upright a position as he could manage, raised a drooping arm toward Niki and tried to point, but sagged slowly back into his original bent-grass stance.
"That one. The female with the ... no, no, never mind. I know that one. Yeah ... I know you. You're good, you know that? You're really good. That's ... that's Pasha Valdar, everybody, and the man with her is Niki ... Niki, the simple fisherman from Nurusha. By my Ancient, if that isn't the best one yet."
The wind blowing Shan around changed direction, and he fell back into a seat, his arms hanging limply by his sides, his chin bouncing on his chest as he said, "So, is anybody going to tell me what the hell is going on?"
Obviously the effects of the drug had not yet worn off.
If old man Clark had not decided to take his onners out to the cliffs at the southern end of New London to watch the fog roll in---another sign of the changing of the seasons---the body would never have been discovered. Only the voracious fish would have known of his fate.
An I-team from Enforcement worked their small boat in among the treacherous rocks at the base of the cliff and dragged what little remained of the corpse into the fragile craft at eighth hour forty. They barely managed to beat the dense fog into the harbor where the ME was waiting.
At tenth hour the ME withdrew the genprobe from the carcass and read the data on his monitor. In the murky gray swirling around him he rocked back on his heels and keyed the computer to repeat the test. The genetic data on the monitor rippled, but nothing changed. He kicked at one of the loose clasca planks in the pad and released a heavy sigh.
"Well, what did you find?" the I-team leader asked.
"One of our own, Maglin. One of our own."
The doctor packed up his equipment, tagged the remains, then motioned to two officers standing close by.
"Take this to MedCenter," the ME said, pointing at the grisly mound on the pad. "I'll be along shortly." He punched in the Law Apps code. "Get me Harko, and make it quick."
The Law Apps building exploded into a storm of activity the likes of which hadn't been seen since the C-card forgery affair of 198. Buried deep in the bowels of the building nested a small office from which the local Sector Chief coordinated all of this activity. From him emanated commands that made things happen.
Brand Harko, New London's Chief Investigator, Northwestern Sector, didn't want to believe what the ME had told him, but when he'd finished reading the formal report, he was forced to accept the preliminary ID as fact. Gene maps were rarely wrong, so rarely that you could use the word never. He slammed his hand down on his desk.
Damn it.
With one kick of a powerful leg he propelled himself to a work station three meters behind his desk and picked up a stack of paper files.
I told you to watch your ass, damn it.
In the entire history of Law Apps only three agents had been lost in undercover operations, until Villers---he was the fourth. But Villers was more than a name---a group of numbers in the records, he was a close friend, and he had been sent into the situation that termed him on Harko's command.
He had assigned Villers to infiltrate the Generation because reports were coming in from all over Paz of swindles, most of them minor, that were adding up to a conspiracy of major proportions. Any one instance was insignificant by itself, but put them all together and it was enough to develop fiscal difficulties for many of Paz's important manufacturers, and those could result in their being taken over by the Generation or one of the Generation's many shadow corporations.
When Harko had given Villers the investigation it had become a big tag around the building that Harko's favorite agent was going on a paid vacation---even Harko had thought of it as a pretty cushy setup at the time. Go in, get some information on petty illegal trading, bogus financial transactions, material theft, and get out. Of course, Villers had to have a fair budget to work with so he could fit in, which was where the paid vacation theme had originated. But it was supposed to have been a simple operation that would take no more than a few weeks. Those few weeks had turned into two years.
After Villers had found a way in, which had cost Apps a large stack of hard note, it had been only a short time before the true and startling depth of the Twelfth Generation's dirty dealing became apparent and demanded a more penetrating probe into their activities.
Villers had been granted nearly unlimited freedom in his investigation, and Apps had come under pressure from the Council to justify their expenditures. Harko had steered them away and created phony reasons for why the money was being spent, because there was no way to know how far the Generation reached into the government. It was obvious they were in pretty deep, and the sensitivity of Villers's cover was such that, if anyone other than Harko had known what Villers was really doing, it could have got him termed. Villers, like a stubborn shagrat on the scent of fresh garbage, had continued digging deeper and his reports had become seductive. After a year, Villers was operating with an almost free hand, able to do just about anything, go anywhere, and spend whatever he needed. The financial burden of the probe forced Harko into getting more creative with the books and, as the character of the Generation unfolded, Harko pushed Villers to get more involved, to dig even deeper.
Increased involvement had meant less contact with Apps. Villers' reports were farther apart but juicier. All contact by link had been cut off and personal meetings were reduced to less than once every twenty days or so. It was about then that Harko began feeling he had made a mistake. He didn't like losing contact with his men in potentially dangerous situations, so Harko had suggested to Villers that it would be a good idea to send in another man to act as a convenient go-between. Villers had said that would be more dangerous than letting him go it alone, and Harko had acquiesced. Now---Villers was gone.
It had been long known that all of Paz was populated by small, isolated groups of people who believed, in one way or another, that their seed lot was superior to the rest. They were known as geneticentrics and were accorded no more than a passing glance from Apps because, more often than not, they would disintegrate slowly through inertia, poisoned by a backup of their own bile. But the Generation was different. They had long range goals that ran contrary to the Fathers' Book of the Law, and they were on their way to being hazardous to the continued stability of the economy.
The Fathers had set up the Pazian government by designing it around the outlines of the Ancient Record and the Book of the Law, and deviations were frowned upon. The Generation, Harko was certain, was out to topple that and replace it with their own concept of law. Sure, the element of geneticentricity entered into the Generation, too, but it was not their main thrust. They were intent upon gaining control of Paz through the fabrication of a financial stranglehold. Once in control of resources and manufacturing capability they would be in a position to dictate Council policy and decisions through economic pressure. All that had been uncovered early in the investigation.
Now Villers had been dispatched at the hand of another fanatical group, only this one was armed with lethals and exceptionally dangerous at an entirely new level. Though Harko had been aware of their presence for less than three periods, he had formed an execrable mental picture of the Paz Cadre---one he found to be totally outside the boundaries of decent human behavior.
Harko had wanted to call Villers in as soon as Villers told him a little about the information he was sitting on, but Harko's desire to get them all at the same time had overridden his common sense. If Villers had been called in, he would still be alive, and they would have obtained what they needed to bring down the Cadre and the Generation without risking an all-out war. The I-team had found where they believed Villers had hidden the chip, but all it indicated to him was that Villers had been a little careless. Harko needed that chip.
He thumbed through the files and arranged them into three stacks, then punched some numbers into the link pad. The presidential seal came up on the screen, followed by an aging, dour-faced clerk.
"Central Government Offices. How may I help you?"
"Yeah. This is Chief Investigator Harko of Law Apps in New London," he said quietly into the mouthpiece. "Get me the president's Advisor on Global Affairs, Criminal Division. I'll wait."
Harko hated dealing directly with bureaucrats, because they were egotistically difficult and incredibly slow. He knew he could rely on a substantial delay before his callback, so he opened up the paper file he had on the Twelve Points of Light and began to read.
From what he saw, he concluded they had to be a loose collection of cashow nuts. They had a large membership scattered all over the planet, geneticentric like the others, and were waiting for what they called their Deliverer. Delivery from what?
Nonsense.
He was about to close the folder when his eye was caught by something on one of the sheets that he had either overlooked or written off as unimportant before. Now he was sure he had found a nugget worth pursuing. He opened the file again and laid it out on the counter, then pulled over the thick folders on the Generation and Cadre.
Well, I'll be damned.
All three were geneticentric, but in the same lot line---all Gammas. A connection? Then something Villers had said came to mind---the Generation and the Cadre were looking for Delta lot people. Was this Deliverer a Delta? Maybe---but why? There had to be some other common element if they were all Gamma lot and all searching for Delta lot people. The link chime interrupted his train of thought.
"Harko," he said without looking up from the papers spread out over the top of his desk.
"Hello, Chief Harko. My name is Lina Duch, Global Affairs. What may I do for you?" the image of a slinky-looking brunette with ripe peach-colored skin said.
Harko wondered why the pretty people were invariably advisory staff members.
"Ms. Duch, several incidents have occurred in the last few days that I believe should be looked at by Central Government and---"
"Yes, yes. What are they?" she interrupted. "We are quite busy, Chief Harko. Busy, busy, busy, you know?"
"Well, ma'am, what I have for you may be the beginnings of a global war. Now, do I have your attention?"
No major conflict of any kind had disrupted the peace on Paz in all human history. There had been minor skirmishes, like the Copper War of '53, when the planet had seen thousands termed over a struggle for control of the rarest metal on Paz, but many more lives were lost to the annual passage around Vegamwun so it was considered trivial by comparison. In this case, he might as well have dropped a palm bomb in her lap. For the next forty-five minutes she said not a word as Harko outlined the information they had gathered and elaborated the conclusions it engendered.
When he had finished, she just sat there, staring out from the screen for a moment. She cleared her throat and said, "But, Chief Harko, we've never had a major war."
"Then, why do we have the Paz Militia?"
"Well, I've never---"
"We have a militia because the Fathers knew there was a possibility that we might need it one day. Now, that day appears to be on its way. What do you have to say?"
"I will report this to the President immediately. How ... how long before you expect this ... this Cadre will make a move against the government, Chief Harko?"
"Understand, Ms. Duch, all that I laid out for you is conjecture on my part. They may not intend to attack the government at all, but I believe they intend to---and will. When it will happen---I don't have the slightest idea. It could be tonight, for all I know."
She kept him a few minutes longer, asking questions about how his information had been gathered and a few other details, then told him he would be hearing from the President's office very soon.
Harko shuffled the files around on his desk and thought about how quickly a threat to the status quo could get the attention of a politician. How far it would go beyond her he couldn't predict, but he hoped it would get to the President and thus to the Council for some kind of action. They might take it seriously, or they might dismiss it as the ranting of a frustrated little Sector Chief who had been passed over for promotion too many times---and they would be right, to a degree. He felt he deserved that promotion, but there were many folk hanging on the top branches of the tree who believed his heavy-handedness and independent methods were not suited for the more responsible positions in upper administration, where tact and diplomacy were considered important---two qualities Harko didn't possess.
In the oath all Law Apps personnel were required to restate, on the day after the Halfyear celebration and while connected to the Sensortum, there was a clause that said a person was bound to the work of upholding the spirit and the letter of the Book of the Law above any consideration of self. If the machine detected any deviation in your senses that would leave doubt regarding your dedication, you were out on the street with two months' pay and no future in law at any level, save working as a security guard somewhere. For Harko, the Sensortum had not so much as twitched in his thirty years of service.
Now, in deference to that oath and to make certain that there would be some sense to be garnered from the loss of his friend, he was going to be sure his sector was well prepared, even if the rest of Paz chose to sleep through what he saw as an impending disaster. He reached over and stabbed at the com.
"Yes, sir?"
"I want all division heads and I-ones in the briefing room immediately." Harko thought briefly, then added, "And get me genetic records on any Deltas---global."
He was going to find out who it was they were after---and why---even if he had to lock up every Delta on Paz. That person, he reasoned, would hold the answers to a lot of questions that might otherwise go begging. He also hoped the Paz Cadre was as important an issue as he assumed it to be, because that would go a long way toward easing the guilt he felt about Del Villers. The com beeped, and a records clerk he knew came up on the screen.
"Yeah, Sax, what did you find?"
"Chief, I don't need to send you all the files on the Delta lot. There's only one. Name's Nikisha Kaznov. Born in Sochi, Nurusha, Paz one-eighty-six. Want the day?"
"No. It's not important. Go ahead."
"Blond, blue, light comp, hundred and sixty-two centimeters. Ninety-five kilos. No distinguishing marks visible, but he has a long, lateral scar on the abdomen about a centimeter above the navel from a mackrawl tentacle wound and walks with a limp, right leg, from the same incident. Fisherman, obviously. No other work record. He was brought here for medical treatment after the Nurusha disaster. Last known contact was New London Hospital. Released at first light on day eighty of this year. He disappeared after that---no further record."
"You're sure he's the only one?"
"Oh yeah, he's it. There are over sixty-three thousand splinters, but he's the only direct-line. You want the splinter files?"
"No, huh-uh. These people are extreme genetinuts. He has to be the one. Send me down a paper on that one, and thanks, Sax."
"I'm here to serve, Chief. Oh---Wills asked me to tell you the men you wanted are all in briefing. Night, Chief."
Only one Delta on Paz? Harko found that interesting and decided to find out how it could be.
Why is there no record after day eighty? He has to have done something around here in all this time that requires a C-card call---there has to be something.
The Keep was a strongly built ancient communal shelter constructed on the original New London town site about a hundred kilometers north of the new city and alongside the two hundred meter cliffs of the Cafferty Bight. Buried in the side of Mount Cafferty, it was supplied with fresh air through a network of tunnels leading to numerous chambers and escape routes, several exiting through the cliffs in the Bight that overlooked the deep waters of the Western Sea. Vent tunnels at such inaccessible locations meant they could seal up the rest of the Keep in the event of an attack. It had lain abandoned for more than a hundred and eighty years, and no tracks had ever been run out to it. Its existence had been forgotten as the new city grew into one of the main population centers of Paz. Tazh felt secure there, under the grassy slopes leading to Mount Cafferty.
During the last five years Tazh had seen to it that the shelter was fortified and armed. No one could penetrate the Keep, of that he was certain, and it now served as headquarters for the Northwestern Sector. The Keep was his brainchild, and he lavished the Cadre's hard note on it to make it the most formidable of their installations on Paz.
Tazh stood beside the forward stabilizer of an air transport sitting in the tunnel that opened out on a panorama of lush green down the Cafferty slope to the edge of the forest. To the south, the lights of New London had already melded with the fog that rolled in over the city and created a glistening dome. It appeared to move and pulse. Tazh enjoyed the scene and smells that entered through the partly opened hangar door. New London would be his city, soon.
Two days ago Tazh had been informed that Apps had dragged Villers's cold trunk from the harbor. He was certain they would suspect the Cadre. He believed they already had the stuff they'd found in that shagrat's apartment and he was sure that it was no longer safe for him in the city. Kadin's office had been sterilized, and he had closed his own on the pretext of a prolonged vacation at the equatorial resort town of Nuhono Loo on the Continent's southeast coast. Anything that was even slightly incriminating was now lodged in the safety of the Keep.
Tazh turned from the outside panorama so he could see the activity around the transport, another of his masterpieces. It was the eleventh to undergo conversion to a fast attack craft that was not dependent on tracks or cushions of air---an awesome machine carrying the most recent lasers, Packer bombs, air-to-air and air-to-ground missile systems. It would also accommodate fifty armed troops, enabling him to mount surprise raids anywhere, anytime, and in any weather. It was powerful---beautiful, and deadly.
"Colonel," a voice called out. "General Lang is on the com. He says it's urgent and he's waiting for you, sir."
Tazh loathed having to hold the old man's hand when he should be out getting ready. In many ways Lang was useless, but Tazh needed him during the initial assault, because only Lang had the connections necessary to make it all come together. After it was over, well, that would be another story. He started toward the waiting figure in the passage. It was a long way down from the tunnel, and he had plenty of time to think before facing Lang, who was probably heading into a nervous breakdown over Tazh's actions.
After this is over I'll have to introduce Lang to my friend, Kadin.
Lang looked ... perturbed.
"General?"
"Tazh, what in the name of the Ancients do you think you're doing?"
"Getting prepared."
"Prepared is one thing, but what you're doing is something else. Any movements on such a scale are bound to attract attention, man."
"I suppose," Tazh said coolly. "It appears you'll have to step up the schedule, too. Apps found Villers's body---there was enough left to know what happened to him---so I'm sure it's merely a matter of time before they understand what this is about, if they don't already know." He paused to pull up a chair, then continued. "Anyway, if we wait, they will pick us apart one at a time and you will lose control of this sector before we have a chance to do anything. As it is, if they decide to respond, they'll have to do it in force and expose themselves to casualties I don't think they're willing or able to take."
Tazh studied the face on the monitor and, written there, he saw a little man who thought he had power and control, wrestling with conflicting ideas over what to do about his Colonel Tazh. Good. Tazh delighted in Lang's obvious confusion and waited for his answer.
"Well, Tazh," he said finally. "I've ... I've already held a meeting with staff, and we are agreed to move everything ahead, based upon your recent actions. Same plan as before, with some minor changes that your activities have forced upon us. I don't mind telling you, no one is happy about what you have done. In the meantime, I want you to go quiet until First Day of the Halfyear Festival. Will you do that much for us?"
What else could they do? There were no other options open, and they were at least smart enough to recognize that. Halfyear Festival was not quite soon enough to suit Tazh, but it would have to do. Otherwise he could lose their support and, when the time came, he needed the entire Cadre involved. Otherwise his victory over New London would be short-lived, and he could see no point in that.
"Yes, General, we can shut down here in three days and remain static until First Day of Halfyear. Much of what we need to do can be accomplished here in the Keep at this point."
"Good---good," Lang said. "Staff is working up the details of the advanced battle plan now, and it will be sent to you as soon as it's completed. Study it and stick to it. Oh, and Tazh, please, don't do anything more rash than what you have already done until we are ready."
"No, sir. Is there anything else?"
The screen went blank, and Tazh leaned back in his chair, satisfied that there would be action soon. No one knew how much he anticipated the day he would reveal his greatness. He, Tazh, would show Paz what it meant to be a Gamma. The seat of power---of rule---now lay within easy reach.
He was confident of victory in the Northwestern Sector, and, even if the Cadre failed on other fronts, he would be the leader of an empire that included the major mining and manufacturing centers of Paz. The rest of the sectors, weakened by conflict, would succumb eventually, after he had choked them off from that which made life on Paz bearable---he would have it all under his control in less than two years. He was going to be the supreme ruler of the planet, and no one could keep him from it---his destiny would be realized, and Paz would be raised to the glorious place the Fathers had foreseen.
That thin slit of a smile formed on his lips as he played it through in his mind again. First, he would eliminate that subhuman cancer, the blight on the Pazian soul that was worming its way into everything. There would be no room in his empire for the untrac who, by passing himself off as true human, was diluting the purity of the race, weakening it through rampant reproduction. Mating with true humans indiscriminately, deceitfully, and producing a class of non-onners that flooded the planet with their no-line filth. Left unchecked it would be no time at all before they made up the majority, and that was not going to happen on his planet.
Twenty-two days to wait. Here in the Keep they would have everything in readiness in less than half that time, because he'd had the foresight to begin his preparation well in advance of the rest of the Cadre. Tazh had eight thousand troops trained and ready, eleven air attack vehicles, a hundred ground assault transports---and he had weapons the rest of the Cadre lacked, devastating weapons that Kadin's sadistic imagination had provided without the General's knowledge. He was ready---ready for the coming battle, and the struggle only he knew would come in the aftermath. Once he had ripped the heart out of the Cadre and stepped over its bleeding body, he would take his rightful place as the supreme leader---the Emperor of Paz.
From their position at the edge of the Cafferty Slip they could see the craggy, forbidding rise of the Mount Cafferty cone, its stark blackness softened by gray wisps of fog boiling up over the cliffs. Lower, the ebony mountain yielded to the force of insistent life, first reluctantly, then in an explosion of green that, even through the mist, was as brilliant as any emerald. Where they lay, pressed flat into the tall salgrass, the tree line thinned and gave little cover for the thirty who followed.
Niki pulled the high-powered SED from a pouch on his side, adjusted the light gain down a few notches, and brought it up to his eyes for a better look. The main entry tunnels were plainly visible, and there were several uniformed men stationed at each of the giant doors---a large air transport's nose section showed in one of the openings where intermittent flashes of laser welders silhouetted more men moving around inside the gaping hole in the mountain's side.
"So?" Shan inquired. "What's up there?"
"More than we bargained for. Looks like five men at each door and a lot more inside."
"Apps or Enforcement?" Luto asked, pulling himself forward for a better position.
"From the color, I'd say, neither. Probably Cadre soldiers." Niki handed the SED to Luto. "Here, you take a look."
Luto looked into the instrument, frowned, and handed it back to Niki. "Cadre for certain," he said as he rolled onto his back and stared at the lightening gray sky. "They're all carrying weapons---every one of them." Luto turned his head and looked at Niki with an expression of frustration.
"Well, what do you think, Luto?"
"I think it's going to be first light in a few minutes, that's what I think. We won't be able to make it to the doors, and, even if we could, we wouldn't be able to get past those guards. It'll take us all day to get around to the fault ridge and most of the night to work our way up to the vents."
"And that would be a wasted effort anyway, Luto. They're sure to have guards up there, too, or they've sealed the vents. In any case, I don't see any way in from the mountain so---"
"Wait a second here," Shan interrupted. "What's happening? Why are we here?"
"We are here," Niki said as patiently as he could, "to inspect the cores and get a feel for what we---"
"The reactor cores?"
"That's right. Without the cores we can't achieve our objective. We have to determine that they are still here and that they are functional."
"Yeah, well, you know I'm only here because you promised me the hottest story in the history of Paz. I'm not here to get termed along with the rest of you. And what's the end objective? What is it you plan to do with the cores, once you have them?"
"No one is going to be termed today as long as we're careful and quiet. If you want, you can wait here---what we're going to have to do is risky---and don't bother yourself about the end objective, you'll learn soon enough. In the interim, it's a good idea if you don't know too much."
"So I don't wind up like Washton and Lanno, huh? Okay, okay---I hate this---what's risky?"
"We're going to traverse the slip out to the edge of the cliff," Niki said. "Then, we're going to work our way down about half way to one of the main vent shafts."
"You're tagging me, right? That's Cafferty, the highest cliffs on Paz. Two hundred meters straight down, Niki. Two hundred meters down to dormcarp heaven. And, besides, how do you know you're going to find a shaft on the face of that cliff."
"I saw them in a dream, Bo. Now, are you coming, or are you staying here?"
"In a dream? He saw them in a dream, Luto." Shan was silent for a moment, then continued. "Well-l-l, I won't get my story out here, will I? I guess I'm coming---I guess." Shan looked out to the hard, blue-green line marking the end of the Continent and the beginning of the Western Sea. Vegamwun was driving back the fog, but towers of light gray continued to shoot skyward and tumble back to the ground where the small group huddled, cold and wet. The sharp smell of salgrass and salt filled the air, while late season hold-outs blew off from the reaching branches of almost naked trees to loop and soar in defiance of gravity.
"Luto, drop back and tell the rest what we're going to do---and remind them to stay below the edge of the slip."
As Luto descended the face of the slip, Shan crawled around and placed himself between Niki and the line of Cafferty Bight.
"Okay, Niki. How do you propose getting down there?"
Niki's answer was just a smile, and Luto, who had returned in time to hear Shan's question, gave him a shrug accompanied with a wink.
It took the small band a little more than an hour to work their way out to the cliff line. Niki, holding Luto's powerful hand tightly, leaned out as far as he dared and was pleased to find the face of the cliff was not as vertical as it had been in his visions. But it was covered with a slimy mold---the copper green in his dream---that glistened with droplets of water planted there by the fog that continued to boil up from below, though it had thinned enough for him to make out the whiteness where the sea pummeled the base of the cliff.
It would be impossible to climb down without lines. There were no handholds, no ledges, and no cracks that he could see. Niki stepped back a safe distance from the edge and looked over his group.
"All right. The trees are too far away, so half of us will have to stay up here to provide an anchor for the line."
"Niki," Shan said, "there are no openings in this cliff. I studied this area for a story on ancient communals, and none of our pictures showed anything down there."
"You didn't look close enough. There are vents in the face of this cliff. Trust me."
Niki tossed a coiled line over the edge and handed the other end to Luto who carried it to the biggest, heaviest man in the group.
"Tie this around your waist and dig in. The rest of you who are staying, grab a spot and hold on."
"We'll go down one at a time," Niki said. "As each man makes it to the shaft we'll give two hard tugs on the line so the next one will know to start down. Does everyone understand?"
All nodded, and those who had the line began digging in their heels and taking double wraps over their forearms.
"Good. Please, everyone, be careful. The face of this cliff is really slick. Now, we'll need at least five hours before we'll be able to come back up. Haul the line up after the last one is down and take cover in the trees over there. At twelfth hour, throw the line back down and make sure it goes over where it is now. If there is no sign of us by fourteenth hour, get out of here and wait for us in Ganeden."
Niki passed a full turn around his waist, took a half turn on his forearm, then disappeared over the edge into the lingering grayness.
"Alex."
"Yes, Rammix?"
"I have made a positive identification of the other vehicle."
"That's impossible, Rammix. How can you identify a ship from a system we've never been in?"
"It is not from this system, Alex. The ship I have been observing is Interstellar Colonizing Unit Nine."
"What? Are you telling me a ship that launched almost thirteen hundred years ago is still functional?"
"Yes."
"Impossible."
"There is no error."
"You're certain it's not just the hulk of ISCU-9 trapped in a long orbit."
"There is no error. The vehicle is responding to a beacon signal emanating from the surface of the Delta component of this system and has made thirty-four minor course corrections since first detected. Its path will put it in a far orbit about the Delta component. There is no error."
"Oh God."
"Please repeat, Alex."
"Forget it, Rammix. It's just an allegorical reference I tend to make occasionally. You wouldn't understand."
"As you wish. Do you want information regarding this vehicle?"
"Uh, yes, of course I do. Load what you have at my station and Main Engineering. I want to discuss this with them before I make any decisions."
As she worked her way through the passages leading to the engineering section, Pax squeezed nervously at the exercisers Lavan had given her to help regain the strength in her hands---hands that still felt tender and numb after sixty days. Lavan had offered her some drugs, too, and Pax knew they would work wonders, but she hated taking things like that, particularly since she'd made up her mind to go through with her motherhood idea. Five more squeezes, and she was standing at the door to Main Engineering. Slightly startled at having arrived so quickly, Pax pried the exercisers from her fingers and shoved them into a pocket on the side of her off-duty smock.
"Good morning, or afternoon, or something," Marcus White said from his data board where he was reading the information the Rammix had sent down.
"Hello, Marc. What's the verdict?"
"No verdict. Not yet, anyway. Fascinating stuff, but there's too much missing."
"Such as?"
"Most importantly, we don't have the codes, so we can't set up a dialogue between Rammix and ISCU-9. Rammix is working on it, but it's slow going, even for him. Secondly, and this is the part that's interesting, we don't have any clues as to why this machine is still around. From Rammix's early contact data, that thing was in an orbit outside this star's brood of dirt-balls by about twenty units."
"So what?"
"So what? Look, this system's so screwed up gravitationally that nothing can remain in a natural orbit outside the fifth planet."
"And?"
"And that means ISCU-9 had to actively adjust its track pretty frequently to stay out there. I have some ideas about that, but, with our informational starvation diet, they're just wild guesses. Lydia's on her way down to have a look at what we have, and maybe she'll be able to straighten it out."
"How would you account for its being active after all this time?"
"Hey, that's the only thing about it that doesn't bother me. Twenty-third century technology was pretty damned good, you know. In a lot of ways they were more advanced than we are. A little, anyway."
"That's ridiculous"
"Is it? Remember, Alex, before Vaunt-Courier came in and scrambled the system, they had a long, unbroken run at making things work. In addition, they were so desperate to get their germs to another system and so sure they were all going to die that they threw all the materials they had at those ships. That's why roid collecting was so important to us; they went out and stripped most of Earth's resources to---"
"Hi all," Lydia Crane, Hermes' head astrophysicist said in a charming singsong as she bounded into the compartment. "I just love half a g, don't you?"
"Only for moving furniture and wild sex," White said.
"Sorry, Marc, I expected that. Looks like you've finally lost your shock value. So, where's the data on our ancient and errant interstellar ark?"
After a harrowing descent, Niki found a grating closure for one of the vents. It was covered in the same slime as the rest of the cliff and would not have been visible in even the best of photos. His experience during the descent told him that there was no way anyone would be able to go back up the same way, especially since the fog would get more dense in the later hours and make the face of the cliff even more slippery. This could become a no-return track, and he couldn't inform the others.
Dangling from the line, Niki worked at the grate in an effort to force it open. It was large, heavy, covered in green scum and corroded but, finally, after prying and pulling, it swung clear and exposed a gaping hole in the rock about two meters square. He let himself down carefully until his toes touched the bottom edge of the vent's floor, then swung himself out and into the shaft.
Niki thought that if he didn't pull on the line the men above would understand and not attempt the descent. It didn't work. Within moments the first pair of feet was dangling, kicking above the entrance and, one after another, they struggled their way into the shaft, puffing and panting from the exertion and stress of knowing what fate awaited them if they lost their grip.
"Luto," Niki said, his words barely heard over the sound of the Western Sea's constant pounding at the Continent. "Take three and go ahead. The rest of us will follow two minutes behind." Niki looked out over the edge to the sea below and continued. "When you reach the first cross duct, go right about fifty meters and wait."
"Do you want me to let you know when we get there?"
"No. The Cadre may be monitoring. Keep your lanterns from swinging around and aim them as low as possible---no noise."
Luto turned to the main body gathered at the edge of dim light and dark shadow. He picked the men he wanted with him by a touch on the shoulder. "Follow me---and be quiet."
As they moved off down the shaft, Niki watched the dim rectangle being cast against the walls by Luto's lantern. He checked the time.
"All right, everyone, form up and move in about ten meters. No noise."
"Uh, Niki?" Shan said, laying a hand on Niki's shoulder.
"What, Bo?"
"I ... I don't think I can make it back up the cliff."
"None of us can, Bo. We're going to have to leave here through one of the upper vents."
"But, you said they'd be sealed."
Niki looked at Shan in the diffused light of Vegamwun, now riding fairly high in the east, and saw the signs of real fear in his eyes. Their situation was not a good one, and Niki had serious doubts about getting out without being discovered, but he couldn't let that uncertainty show, particularly not when it came to Shan. Shan's presence was the price Niki paid for the man's cooperation, and he knew at that moment that it had not been one of his better decisions.
"Sealed on the external plates, Bo. We'll be approaching from the inside, and we will get out, trust me. Remember the shafts you were sure weren't here?"
"Right. Are we taking the ... cores with us?"
"No. They weigh ninety tons each. The shuttles were designed to do that job for us, and they're equipped to extract them from above. You'll see. Anyway, it's time to get moving."
Pasha entered the code Niki had given her, following his diagram carefully since none of the keys were visible. The airlock pad on Twenty-three replied:
ACCESS DENIED
"Ancients be kind," she said under her breath.
"What is wrong?" Antaris said. "You have the right code, do you not?"
"Yes, but there's nothing on this pad to tell me if I'm touching the right spots, Trina."
She tried again, this time being exceptionally cautious about following Niki's diagram.
ACCESS DENIED
"Damn it."
"Now, there is a first. I have never heard you use language like that. Listen, why do we not move around the museum for a time and try it again, later?"
"Why?"
"Do you see those three men down by the entrance?"
"Uh-huh. What about them?"
"They were standing there when we came in, and they have been watching everyone who comes up here. I do not know who they are, but I think it would be a good idea not to give them reason to take notice of us."
Perhaps Trina was right. There was quite a crowd at the museum taking advantage of the four weeks of free use before the beginning of Halfyear, and they had to get into Twenty-three without being seen. Groups kept shuffling off the lift in waves, and each successive wave would press their faces against Twenty-three's cabin windows while others brought handmade arrangements of flowers shaped in the form of the traditional double helix and draped them over the hull or scattered them on the wings as a sign of respect for the Fathers and their gift to the people of Paz, the Book of the Law.
Being on the catwalk too long was bound to attract attention from someone, so Pasha nodded to Antaris and, at the next opportunity, they went down on the lift to take a turn around the museum.
After an hour of wandering through the outer display area, they returned to Twenty-three. Passing the guard at the entrance, Pasha noticed the same three men had moved a couple of meters to the right of the door and were continuing their vigil over the lift, scanning the catwalk occasionally. Who were they? She didn't recognize any of them from the people she knew in the Generation. Maybe they were nothing more than additional security for this opening day.
ENTRY SEQUENCE---STAND CLEAR
"I got it!"
"And none too soon," Antaris said. "One of those men is headed for the lift."
The airlock's outer door closed only a second before the lift reached the catwalk, and an angry-looking man stepped off onto the platform, then returned to the rail overlooking the entrance where the other two were waiting.
"You sure they came up here?" he shouted.
"Yeah, I'm sure," one of the men replied, and the two by the doors started for the lift to join him.
"We can't go into the cabin. They may be looking for us and we can be seen through the windows," Pasha said.
She edged her way forward in the dark passage until she could just see around the edge of the after cabin door. There, noses flattened against the glass, were two faces, their eyes probing the interior.
"They're there, all right. If they don't see anything they'll probably think they were mistaken and give up."
"I think not, Pasha. The big one was watching us all the while---never took his eyes off us that I noticed---so he knows that we were on the platform and that we did not come back down. I think we are trapped in here until Nikisha can come up with a way to get us out."
"Do you have any idea who they are?"
"It does not matter who they are."
In the dimming light Pasha saw a smile march cross Antaris' face.
"What's ... what's funny?"
"No one has entered a shuttle in over two centuries, correct?"
"That's right. Why?"
"And we are trapped inside a shuttle that not even the best of our scientific minds has been able to penetrate, is that not so?"
"It looks that way."
"It is, therefore, safe to assume that no one else can possibly get in here?"
"No one, except Niki."
"Good. Then why do we not have some fun while we are here?"
"What?"
"I would enjoy seeing their expressions when they realize we are in here and there is not a thing they can do about it. We have work to do that cannot wait, do we not?"
The two of them walked into the bridge cabin, talking and smiling as if it were normal for them to be where they were. Three faces were now at the windows, engaging in an animated, silent discussion, and hands were gesticulating while the two occupants of shuttle Twenty-three laughed and talked as if there were no one around.
"They're what?" Tazh shouted at the image on his screen.
"They're inside the shuttle, sir."
"Who's in the shuttle, damn it?"
"Two ... women, sir. I scanned our records, and one of them is definitely Pasha Valdar, a woman who worked for that Washton fellow. The other may be Katrina Antaris---the one who runs the Twelve Points of Light."
"You stay with those two. Don't let them out of your sight for a second---and don't arouse any suspicion. Just keep an eye on them."
"Sir, the museum is closing in twenty minutes."
"So? Use your head, man. Wait outside. Hide in the bushes---climb a tree---I don't give a damn what you have to do, just don't lose either one of them." Tazh was livid. He cut the connection and immediately punched in another number.
"Get Lang---now," he demanded.
The half-asleep face of General Lang came up on the screen. If anything, he appeared a bit angry as he said, "Tazh, do you know what time it is?"
"Right now I don't care what time it is. "We have two people inside a shuttle, and they're not ours. One of them is from the Generation, and the other is the head of Twelve Points. They've joined forces, Lang, and they obviously have the Delta or they wouldn't be in there."
"There's no mistake?"
Tazh held back a laugh and bit off a large chunk of tarsac. "No, General, no mistake. I'm sending in an attack force to take the museum and to hell with your First Day of Halfyear."
Lang was suddenly awake. "Well ... I agree, Tazh. A situation like this calls for immediate response. It can't be allowed to jeopardize our plans, but ... but calm yourself, man."
"What the hell do you mean?" Tazh protested. "How can I calm myself when someone's about to take all we planned and toss it in the Nurab Deep?"
"Tazh, look ... is it possible for you to put a ready-team in place around the museum and wait?" Lang looked haggard. "Wait to see if they attempt to move it. If they do, then blow it to pieces. Intelligence tells me the New London Sector has been mobilizing during the last few days, and if you move on the museum now, you'll be faced with a full and ready Enforcement force."
"All right. All right. I can get a group in the area in two hours, but if anything goes wrong we'll be going on full assault status here. Are you prepared to back us up?"
"Yes, Tazh. I sent the signal while we were talking and, if it blows up on you, we'll be ready."
On my ancient, you'd better be ready. I don't want to go into this alone.
Harko was beat. He'd been up all night studying everything available on the behavioral characteristics of geneticentric personalities in the hope he'd find some traits he could use to help predict events---some common thread that would tie them all together. There was nothing that applied, and all he had to go on that seemed universal was that they were all Gamma lot. Outside of that---they all went their separate ways.
As far as Nikisha Kaznov was concerned, Harko felt he knew more about that man than he knew about himself. Born to a pairing on Nurusha, he was the son of a shell mason father and an artist mother. He was brilliant, of that there was no doubt, having scored in the high two hundreds on the Pazian Universal Exam. He had been offered every scholarship there was but had scorned them all in favor of becoming a fisherman. Somehow, that made no sense to Harko, but it had been Kaznov's choice, and that was that. He was the only surviving direct-line descendant of the only Delta seed to make it through the landing of the Fathers.
Nurusha had been destroyed in the last Perigamia and Kaznov had been brought to New London, then disappeared. Why had he disappeared? How? He must have had help to do that, but help from whom?
To hell with it---I can think about that one tomorrow. Right now I need to get some sleep.
He gathered up the files, stacked them neatly at the end of his desk, and headed for the door. The sound of the com pulled him back.
"Harko."
"Glad you're still here, Chief. We just got a report from an Enforcement patrol I thought you'd want to hear."
"Go ahead," Harko said wearily, "but make it fast or I'll go to sleep right here and now."
"Fifteen minutes ago a standard surface patrol called in from the Museum of the Ancients for information on a transport that's sitting in a dock out there. It was a computer check, so no one knew what was happening until I decided to clear out my watch. Chief? You awake?"
"Yeah. Go on, I'm listening."
"Anyway, I caught a glimpse of this name as I was scrolling through tonight's inquiries and---"
"I don't need the entire history in detail, just tell me what you have."
"Okay. There's a transport registered to Washton Global Enterprises sitting in a dock out there."
"Washton Global? Are you sure?"
"Yes, sir---absolutely, but that's only part of it. The assigned pilot for that transport is Nikisha Kaznov. Weird we didn't pick that up before. What do you think of that?"
Adrenaline gushed into Harko's system as though a dam had burst, and sleep was now the farthest thing from his mind.
"Is anyone on it? Have they moved it?"
"No, sir. Sax told us to watch for anything that showed up with either of those names attached to it a couple of days ago, so, when I saw that inquiry, I pulled the surface patrol out. It gets better."
"How the hell can it get better? What else?"
"I dispatched an air patrol to run a light scan of the area, and they found a transport sitting about three hundred meters west of the museum in that little forest out there. Three occupants. I think maybe we have your man, boss. Want them picked up?"
"Damned right I do. Gas them from the air before the surface people move in. I want all three of them, alive and undamaged."
Before the screen could go blank he had the three files and Kaznov's work-up spread out on his desk again, with the case chip up on the other screen.
"Well, well, well," he said to himself. "I've got you now, Mr. Kaznov."
Sitting in the pilot's seat was ... spiritual ... exhilarating ... strange. It was an odd shape and size with bends and pads in the wrong places at first, then its motors whirred and it conformed to her perfectly. When she had taken her place, it was like putting her shoes on the wrong feet. Were the Fathers ... different? Physically different?
Pasha and Antaris had given the computer what it requested, being careful to be specific, as Niki had warned her, and now she felt as though she and Twenty-three were old friends.
"Twenty-three."
"Yes, Pasha."
"Activate the core beacon at tenth hour."
"Tenth hour relative to what, Pasha?"
Pasha thought for a moment, then realized the computer would be using whatever time standard the Fathers used, and she had no idea what that might have been.
"Twenty-three, give me a tone at the end of a five minute period from the time I tell you to start."
"Yes, Pasha. Ready."
Pasha watched the seconds flash away on her watch until an even minute came up.
"Start," she said.
When Twenty-three sounded the tone, Pasha's watch indicated exactly five minutes had elapsed.
"Good," she said quietly. "Five minutes is five minutes."
"Yes, Pasha, five minutes has always been five minutes."
Niki had warned her the computer was literal.
"Twenty-three, when I say, 'go,' I want you to count one hour and seventeen minutes, then activate the core beacon."
"Yes, Pasha. Ready."
"Go," she said, settling back in the pilot's seat. All she could do now was wait and hope that everything worked the way it was supposed to, though she had little doubt. Twenty-three was a remarkable machine, and when the time came it would transmit the signals to turn on the locator beacon, then Niki would find the cores. The big problem now was, how to get out of the shuttle without being caught by those men, whoever they were.
Noises down in the tunnels and ducts reverberated through the whole system until they died, their points of origin impossible to determine. Distorted sounds of shouting and the pounding of feet came to Niki's ear from somewhere. Had they been detected? He didn't think so, because there was no evidence of an alarm system in the ducts and he'd made it a point to look for anything out of place---anything that appeared too new. So far, there was nothing, and the only evidence of activity was their own tracks pressed into the muck that covered the floors of the tunnels everywhere. After their passing, the semi-fluid stuff closed back in and removed any evidence that anyone had been there.
"We'll wait here," Niki said. "Sit and relax---the beacon should start in about ten minutes."
Removing the heavy pack from his back, Niki slid down the wall of the duct until he was seated on the floor. He could feel Shan who, through the entire trek, had remained attached to him as firmly as a nervous shadow.
"Are you all right, Bo?"
"Yeah, sure. What was all that noise?"
"I don't know. A minute ago I thought I heard some kind of machinery, but there's nothing now. At least they're not down here looking for us."
"A-S rovers," Luto said from out of the darkness. "The machinery you heard was the sound of A-S rovers---the kind the Cadre has. I've seen lots of them up in North Coopersland."
"Cadre? Are you sure?"
"Yeah. The mining companies have a few big ones, but they're babies compared to those A-S rovers the Cadre uses. You can tell by the tone of their vertical fans. It's like a low rumble---really deep, you know?"
"Why are they up there in North Coopersland?" Shan asked.
"Almost uninhabited up there, and that gives them lots of room to train in. The terrain is a mixture of everything---except forests---so they get a sample of a lot of different conditions to play in."
"So, what are they doing down here?"
"It's a staging area, I'd guess. Maybe even a headquarters for this region. Those guys need large, isolated places to keep their equipment out of sight, and this place is perfect. It's close to New London, but far enough away so they can move stuff around without being noticed. The closest track is forty kilometers south. This shelter and the town site were abandoned after Mount Cafferty grew up out of their shako fields and sprayed lava all over the place. Took out half the shelter doing it. The place has been forgotten---like it never existed."
"So, Niki, you want to get these cores of yours out of a place that's crawling with badfolk who'd be delighted to term us all? This story had better be good."
"Oh, it is, Bo. It really is, you can trust me on that. And don't worry, they're concentrating on what they have to do in the time they have left. They're not thinking about us, and the last place they'd expect to find us is here."
"Yeah, what makes you so sure?"
"Their activities are being guided by the same forces that have driven the Generation and Twelve Points. They have to be ready to do whatever they intend by First Day of Halfyear, and that doesn't leave them much time. We can expect to see a lot more movement from them in the next fifteen to twenty days."
"Yeah---well---as long as they keep their movements out of these tunnels..."
Shan's comment drew a muffled laugh from the group, then there was silence, except for an occasional voice or footfall caroming along the walls of the shafts from somewhere above. Niki checked his watch, removed a small box from his pack, and set it on the floor between his legs. He turned it on, and the tiny screen's blue-gray glow emitted just enough light to make out the ghostly shapes of men seated on both sides of the duct. He checked his watch again. Thirty seconds---if Pasha had made it into the shuttle. Niki stared at his watch as the seconds went by, then, almost exactly on time, the box emitted a beep and the screen's color changed to pulsing green---the beacon was on.
He rose, shouldered his pack, and started off down the shaft with the others close behind. He watched the green glow and its changing rhythm that guided him as he closed the distance to the cores with each step. A half hour later, Niki stopped in one of the large tunnels that crossed the duct they were following. The tunnel was streaked with shafts of dull light streaming from a large area vent some twenty meters to his left.
"Luto," he whispered. "See what's on the other side."
Back pressed against the wall of the tunnel, Luto moved slowly toward the grating. Peering through the rectangular openings, he searched the room beyond, then worked his way carefully, quietly back to the group.
"Empty chamber over there, Niki."
"Good. The cores are beneath the floor of that chamber, and somewhere in this shaft, or the cross duct ahead we will find the opening. Everybody down on the floor and feel for a seam. A couple in the cross-duct to the right and left, too."
"Did you see that in a dream?" Shan queried nervously.
"No, Bo, I didn't---Twenty-three told me about it."
"Oh, fine---dreams and talking shuttles," Shan muttered as he fell to his knees and began groping about in the slime.
Had there been adequate light, Niki would have been pleased by the expressions of calm confidence on the faces of his little band of unarmed commandos. All, that is, but Shan, who was absolutely terrified.
The search for the opening continued for over an hour before Shan proclaimed proudly, and a little too loudly, that he had found it.
"Shh," Luto hissed. "Remember what you said---you don't want to be termed along with the rest of us. The people on the other side of that grate would be more than happy to do just that."
The noise of the hatch opening wasn't particularly loud, but Niki's perception of it gave him the feeling it could be heard throughout the shelter. He wanted all his men in under that room before a search of the shafts could be launched.
"Everybody, into the core chamber---quickly."
Niki waited until everyone was below, then clambered down the ladder into a cavernous room with forty-five raised, circular lids dimpling the floor. At the base of the ladder he tapped a pad, and the hatch over his head closed, the muck on the floor above flowing slowly back in to cover any trace of their having been there.
The High Council members, all wearing exaggerated frowns, sat behind a long bench on the dais, while on the floor before them stood the tribunal judges in a ring around Harko, the accused. They, too, wore expressions of extreme disapproval as they exhorted him for his use of drugs without the express permission of the LIC Council representative in his sector.
"You must bear in mind, investigator Harko, that we are a civilized society that operates under the strict code of the Book of the Law. The Fathers did not want us to treat our citizens with such blatant---"
An insistent beeping echoed through the Council hall and one of the tribunal judges glowered at Harko.
"You must refrain from having your com interfere in the administration of justice, Harko. Interruptions of this nature are ... well, they are impudent and rude, that is what they are. Now, are you going to answer that infernal thing, or not?"
His eyes were reluctant, his head refused to move off the pile of papers, so he fumbled blindly until his hand found the key pad and stopped the beep.
Lousy, rotten dream.
"Yeah," he mumbled, his face still buried in papers from the files scattered over his desk.
"Chief, we have the three men you wanted." He paused briefly, then said, "None of them are the man you were looking for. Chief? You all right?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm just trying to wake up. Are they in the building?"
"No, sir. Should be here in about five."
Harko struggled into an upright position to have a look at the officer on the screen. He appeared to be concerned.
"There's more, Chief, and I hope I did the right thing. I had an air patrol make another sweep of the area, and he reported five large rovers moving into the region from the north side of the forest. I ... I pulled all the surface patrols out of there, because I didn't know what those rovers were up to or where they had come from, sir."
"It sounds to me like you exercised good judgment. I would have done the same. These rovers ... did the pilot say how big they were?"
"Yes, sir. That's why I pulled everybody out. He said they were twenty-four meters by sixty-five. I've never heard of any rovers that big, sir."
"Neither have I. Thanks ... and you did the right thing. I'll be going over to Interro now to wait for our trio. If anyone needs me, route it through."
Big rovers? Harko didn't know they made them that big. Sure, the mining outfits had some, but they were on the order of half that size---and none of them were anywhere near New London. So, what were they doing around his sector and to whom did they belong?
The three men were wheeled into the interrogation room about twenty minutes after Harko arrived. They were strapped down on the interrogation tables, and the doctor in charge started each of them on an IV of truth juice, which would find its way into their bloodstream and take effect quickly. Oh, one could beat the juice a little, but not enough to keep the truth from being dragged out of even the most well-guarded recesses of the mind.
As the drug trickled through the tubes, tissue was taken from each of the men for analysis in the Genlab where their identities would be determined. Harko moved to the table where the largest of the three lay motionless, looked down at his blank expression and chuckled as the tribunal scene from his dream replayed.
Well, here's hard evidence for the tribunal.
"Can you hear me?"
"Yeah," the big man said, his eyes reflecting the patterns of the ceiling tiles in his enlarged, black pupils.
"What is your name, friend?"
"We're not friends, and I'm not telling you anything, you untrac scum. I don't have to give you anything but ... William Malrabi. My name is William Malrabi."
"Ah, that's much better." Harko smiled and softened his voice. "Now, William, what were you and your friends doing in the forest by the museum tonight?"
"Sleeping. That's all. We were sleeping ... watching the ... what the hell are you doing to me? You can't do this, you know? This is against the ... this is ... we were watching the women to make sure they didn't get away."
"The ... women? What women, William?"
"No. Not going to tell you ... not going to ... two in the ... two women in ... the shuttle. We were watching to see that they didn't get away."
"The shuttle? One of those at the museum, or was it something else?"
"You lotless maggot of a bloodworm. You ... in the museum. Yeah, in the museum. They got in ... got in the shuttle. They got inside ... to hell with you."
"William, William, you don't need to be so angry now. I'm here to help you, but I can't if you don't help me. So, how did they get into the shuttle?"
"I don't know. We didn't see them do it---just saw them in there, that's all."
"All right, William," Harko said smoothly, gently coaxing information to the surface. "It's all right, my friend. Now, I need to know who you're working for. You can tell me that, can't you, William?"
"That's none of your concern, damn you. No, I won't tell you that. I'm a Gamma man. You know that? I'm a Gamma, and we don't ... Cadre, damn it. Paz Cadre. I am Paz ... can't tell you any more. It'll end me. No more. I ... won't say any more."
"William, please. What will end you?"
"None of your business. I can't tell you that."
"Who are the women in the shuttle, William? What are their names?"
"No. No. No. Shagrat son of a ... aaaaaah. No more. Please, no more. Too hot."
"William, I need to know the names of the women in the shuttle. Who are they, William?"
"One is ... no. No ... no ... no ... I'm not going to ... Generation and Twelve Points ... gone together. Won't be long now. Won't be long."
Malrabi's head was moving wildly from side to side as if he were in tremendous pain. Harko had never seen anything like it. Then he noticed the other two. They were writhing similarly, convulsing, and his first thought was that something had gone wrong with the juice.
"Hey, Doc," he shouted at the com. "Get in here, quick."
Harko spoke softly to Malrabi again. "Who are the women in the shuttle, William? I need their names."
"One is Pash ... aaaaaah. No---" Malrabi's body began convulsing with sharp movements as though someone were administering shock.
The doctor entered the room and stood near Malrabi's head.
"What the hell's going on with---"
He didn't get to finish his question. The top of Malrabi's skull came off and disemboweled the doctor instantly. There were three muffled pops and the interrogation room was sprayed with bits of bone and brain tissue. The three decapitated bodies twitched a few times, then lay death still while the doctor, who had been standing in the spot where Harko had been only seconds before he called for help, lay on the polished stone floor with both hands held tightly over a wound that refused to stay closed enough for him to get his breath.
In his earlier days, Harko had worked the same crummy details as anyone else, starting from a lowly officer on the square, progressing to I-team detective, then on to an Enforcement Investigator. He thought he had seen all there was to see. But nothing in his experience came close to paralleling what had happened in the interrogation room. Happily, the doctor's wound was not as severe as it appeared and, for that, Harko felt slightly better, but the other despicable act of cold carnage made him sick. He wondered if the Cadre planted explosive charges in the skulls of all their people as inducement to loyalty. Or was that pleasantness reserved for operatives such as the three messily beheaded individuals in there where the orderlies were cleaning up the gore? At that point it didn't matter too much---he had to get a grip on himself and move before it got to be too late, if it wasn't already. Too late for what he couldn't be sure, but time slipped by, and if there were any truth at all in what Malrabi had said---and the juice made sure there would be---things could get very much out of hand in a hurry if he hesitated.
He dispatched I-team units from Enforcement to investigate the possible presence of two women inside one of the shuttles. The officer to whom he gave the order smiled at him from the monitor and looked like he was about to make some comment when Harko's expression hardened. He cut the connection at the end of his crisp, "Yes, sir, Chief Harko."
The information Harko had extracted from Malrabi was disjointed, incomplete, and nebulous, but, working at the intuitive level, Harko figured that whatever the Cadre was contemplating would be put into practice---and soon. As for there being any alliance between the Generation and Twelve Points, he remained skeptical. Why? What would cause them to unite when they were as dissimilar as Echo and Almug? The only sensible reason he could come up with that had any merit at all was that they had been forced to enter a mutual protection pact, the Cadre having already eliminated several members of the Generation. But that, too, blew off on Halfyear wind, because none of the Twelve Points people were being subjected to the Cadre's brand of affection. It didn't sit well in his mind. No, there had to be something else at work---something to do with Kaznov, perhaps?"
"Pasha."
"Yes, Twenty-three?"
"Eight individuals are approaching."
"Let me see them."
A small monitor over her head flickered to life, and the eerie greenish images of eight armed men in Enforcement uniforms appeared. They were moving straight for the lift.
"Twenty-three, security mode, please."
Pazians were not accustomed to such profound darkness. On Paz there always was some light---sometimes faint, like during the Days of Disturbance, but there was light. Inside the shuttle there was none as Twenty-three darkened the windows, blocking the metallic glow from a nearly overhead Vegamtu, then darkened all the instruments and devices inside the cabin, leaving Pasha in a totally black void. She felt alone and terribly naked to a danger she couldn't name as she groped and stumbled her way back to the passage, then dragged her palm along the partition, counting doors until she reached eighteen. She tapped lightly on it with a fingernail, and the door opened to reveal Antaris, silhouetted in dull red, standing with one hand planted on her hip.
"Now what is happening? Twenty-three refuses to give me any light but this awful red thing, which makes me look ... grotesque."
Pasha squeezed past Antaris and pulled the door closed.
"Enforcement people are here." She moved across the small compartment and took a seat on the netted surface of the sleeping flat. "I put Twenty-three in security mode so we don't have to worry about them---I don't think we do, anyway."
"The only thing I can say about that is, relax. People have been picking, probing, and trying to cut their way into these machines since the last of the Fathers went term, and they are not going to be able to do it tonight, either."
Antaris moved over to a small panel on the forward bulkhead and turned to face Pasha. She was right, Pasha noted---the red light didn't do her any favors.
"I have made a marvelous discovery, Pasha. Do you want to hear what I found while you were up there talking to your new friend?"
"Sure I do---what is it?"
"I do not know, exactly. Music, but nothing like what we have here. You may not be ready for this."
"Trina."
"Well, all right, since you insist."
"Well?" Pasha said impatiently.
"Twenty-three."
"Yes, Trina."
"Entertainment, please."
"State desired category from the menu."
"Music. Classical. Bach. All selections to be historically sequential and set the volume at two."
"Volume two is not possible in secure setting. Will one suffice?"
"Yes, yes---just do it."
The compartment filled with sound---beautiful sound---sound like Pasha had never heard. She sat, spellbound, her body involuntarily trembling as rich musical tones caressed her and flowed into the depths of her.
"Trina ... that's ... that's wonderful. Why don't we have anything like this? Those sounds, they're so ... so smooth, so ... I can't tell you what I mean."
"I could not find the words for it, either," Antaris said with a smile. "Now, if we had some water I would make us some massak, if we had some massak."
"Massak is the surname of Science Officer Addler Massak. He is not available. There is currently no water on board, but it may be extracted from the atmosphere, if you wish."
The two women stared at one another as the strains of Bach continued to wash over them. Outside the shuttle, Enforcement officers milled around looking for any signs that someone had entered the craft, and all of them took turns shoving their faces against the glass of the forward compartment windows while others aimed powerful lanterns inside. There was nothing to be seen---and nothing to be heard.
Harko slammed his transport onto the eastbound track and pushed the throttle past the forward detent. I-team reports indicated there was nothing---no one inside the shuttles and nothing out of order, but he knew the juice always worked---that's why they used it---so he had to satisfy himself by taking a personal look. Malrabi might have been able to lie under other circumstances, but not when in the clutches of the drug. Harko was being haunted by vivid flashbacks to the incident in the interrogation room and some time out of the building could help that, as well. He had to get some sleep---he was beginning to hallucinate. He thought he saw a deep shadow moving against the darker backdrop of gnarled trees in their winter nakedness, scratching at the dark sky with skeletal fingers north of the track, but when he looked in that direction there was nothing but Vegamtu's whiteness reflecting off the thin layer of ice collecting on the tortured, bare branches.
He shrugged and bore on down the track. Ten seconds later his transport's radar alarm growled and he was thrown forward against his shoulder restraints as the computer automatically seized control and went into collision avoidance. A black on black apparition shot across the track from his left and disappeared into the jumble of trees to his right. The earlier report had been correct because Harko had just seen one of them close up---huge and moving at high speed in the general direction of the museum.
"One to Central."
"Central."
"Do we have any air patrols near the museum complex?"
"No, sir. Both are down in Southwest Sector, and it'll take half an hour to get them out there."
"That'll have to do. Tell them I want a light sweep of the entire area made every thirty minutes---and tell them to contact me directly after they've made their first pass. One out."
From now on he wanted to know where those rovers were. He was certain they were Cadre, and they weren't out for a casual drive in the country---they were out there in the forest because of what Malrabi had said about watching the women---women who were supposed to be inside one of the shuttles, shuttles no one had ever been able to penetrate.
The aged curator of the museum tottered up to Harko in an imitation of running and breathlessly addressed him.
"You are---you are the man from Law Apps? The man in charge of those mindless, barbaric savages?" he said, pointing a quivering, crooked finger at the shuttle display doors.
"Yes, I'm Chief Harko, and those are my mindless barbarians."
"Well ... sir, will you please tell them to stop?"
"Stop what, friend?"
"They are in there with a Barnet laser attempting to cut into shuttle number twenty-three, and they are ruining our display. Just you go in there and look at what they are doing."
"They're only following orders, sir."
"Orders? Orders? Whose orders?"
"Mine."
"Yours? You know they cannot be cut. That has been tried before." The old man was nearing a state of hyperventilation as he continued, "They are making marks on my display. We had the only pristine display on Paz, and now---now they are ruined. Look at them. They are using a Barnet on them. What gives you the authority to destroy a Pazian treasure?"
"I've been authorized by the High Council to do whatever is necessary to further the investigation of a crime we believe to be in progress---a crime involving things much more important than those shuttles---and we believe some of the perpetrators are in that shuttle."
The curator, half crying, half laughing, shouted, "Someone inside the shuttle? That is blatantly absurd. The best scientific minds on Paz have tried for two centuries to find a way in and have met with total failure. How is it even remotely possible someone has entered one of them now?"
"I can't answer that---but we have credible cause to believe someone has done it. Now, sir, I have to tell you to take whatever people you have out here and go home. This facility is officially under Council control."
He gave the aged curator a stern look intended to intimidate and handed him the papers declaring the museum closed until further notice.
"By the holy helix, man, you cannot---I mean we have, uh ... the opening of Halfyear has..." he stammered, shaking the papers in Harko's face.
"Go home, now," Harko said, "or you'll be charged with interfering in official Council business."
He watched as the elderly fellow, head bowed, hobbled away toward the exit muttering obscenities under his breath and waving the papers wildly in the air. At the door, he turned and looked at Harko with what could only be described as hatred.
"The ... Book of the Law ... permits this sacrilege?"
"Yes, friend, it does---according to the statutes established by the High Council."
"Then what I have heard is true. The clouds of revolution are forming on the horizon, and it is time for the Council to be taken from its lofty perch."
"Those are seditious words, my friend. Please, go home and try to understand."
This was one of the things Harko didn't like about his job. The curator was a good Pazian, trying to protect something of immense importance and value to the people, and probably didn't mean all he'd said. He should be angry, Harko thought, because there had been many times in recent history that the mighty hand of the Council had come down on some business or activity and tossed it in the Nurab with little apparent reason. Maybe---maybe it was time for some changes. Maybe.
Harko followed the light issuing from the shuttle display. He had never been here---had never seen a shuttle other than in pictures. He had been born and raised in the Outlands of Bergsland where such things were studied, of course. But there were no museums, no shuttles to visit and, for some reason, when he had come to New London, there had never seemed to be time for anything but work and occasional visits to his onners. As a result, he was not prepared for the emotional impact of the scene he entered.
The entire area was surrounded by a hundred portable lights of blue-white intensity. In the center stood two dark, mechanical leviathans with men, who appeared as minuscule blood sucking antler worms, crawling around on their backs. The shadows being cast in all directions lent an air of mystery to the scene. Everything was seen in shades of gray against a stark black background, save the painfully bright green beam of a Barnet laser trained on the side of one of the metal beasts.
"Excuse me, sir. Are you Chief Harko?"
The voice startled him and snapped him back to his immediate problems.
"Uh, yeah, I'm Harko."
"Sir, my sergeant wanted me to tell you that we haven't made so much as a dent in either one of these things." He tossed a thumb casually in the general direction of the shuttles and continued, "We've managed to scratch them up a lot, but that's it."
"Have you tried blowing a hole in them?"
"No, sir. We thought about it, but the sergeant wanted to wait for your approval before we did it."
"Okay, let's---"
"Apps One, this is Air Three," a voice said from the communicator strapped to his arm.
Harko turned to look at the young officer standing by his side. "Go ahead and tell your sergeant I said to blow a hole in it. Air Three, this is Harko."
"We've finished the first sweep, Chief. You've got five big rovers formed up in a ring around the museum about a kilometer out from the complex. Hard to tell the exact number of people down there, but our count indicates at least four hundred and fifty on the ground with probably more inside."
Four hundred fifty against nine? Not good odds---not good odds at all.
"Central?"
"Yes, Chief."
"Have you been monitoring this?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. I want you to stay with us on this. How many people do we have available at Enforcement right now?"
Harko knew there wouldn't be many, but there might be an adequate number to hold off an attack long enough to get Council help before they were overrun. There was also the possibility that they were out there watching, like Malrabi and his two friends were, but the gamble was too great to be acceptable. Better to have the odds as even as they could be, on the off chance that those people and their giant machines were there with different purpose in mind.
"A hundred and twenty-six, boss."
"Sax?"
"That's me."
"Okay, Sax. We'll have to live with those numbers. I want them all out here in battle dress as soon as possible, Sax. Send out the heaviest stuff we have and request support from Council---say three hundred on standby."
"Expecting a war?"
"You could say that."
"Okay, Chief---call's going out now. If we commandeer the Publics, they'll all be on site in about forty-five minutes to an hour."
"How many air patrols can I get out here to add to the two I already have?"
"Only three. The others are all down for repairs, as usual."
"Okay, Sax, send what we have. Rotate them however it works best to maintain continual surveillance over this area. If anything moves, I want to know about it immediately."
The data displayed on the device Niki had brought with him from Twenty-three; all the cores were within acceptable tolerance for use. Standing in the chamber and looking at the cores it was obvious that the Fathers were technologically advanced over the people of Paz, but that didn't seem right. If the Fathers had provided the original Pazians with their knowledge, what had happened in the meantime to cause the disparity? Of course, it could only be the missing sixty percent in the Ancient Record---that had to be the reason. The Fathers hadn't wanted them to have all the technology in the beginning. Why?
Located in the wall next to the entry hatch was a receiver into which Niki inserted a chip from the shuttle's library. The screen came to life, and the cover slid back into the wall, revealing a control panel and key pad.
"Ready to receive transfer codes," a mechanical sounding voice said.
Niki pressed the chip load key on the panel and watched as the transfer codes scrolled by on the screen. Thousands of sequences flew by, and the area to the right of the screen was alive with flashing lights as the information flowed from the chip to active memory in the core chamber computer.
Shan, still glued firmly to Niki, busied himself taking pics and recording what he was seeing in a sort of verbal shorthand that Niki couldn't understand.
"What's happening now, Niki?"
"There's a transponder in this room that will transmit information to the shuttles so they can locate themselves properly to retrieve the cores. It also transmits activation and guidance information to the La Paz."
"Some setup."
"That it is. I don't know how it does it, but it's all been thought out, and the computers are programmed to accomplish the whole process automatically. The Fathers had enough foresight to realize that, even if their scheme worked, we might not get enough of the implanted memories to perform adequately---and from what I've seen, they were right."
"Yeah. It wouldn't do much good if you started up a shuttle and drove it into the ground."
"No, not much."
"The computers do it all?"
"Not all. I'll have to do the startup and fly us clear of the museum, then Twenty-three can guide Six out. The Fathers had no idea we'd put a building around them, and their preprogrammed instructions would put Twenty-three and Six into the wall."
"Transfer complete---systems activated," the voice said.
Niki took out a second chip and inserted it.
"Fortunately, the others have been left in the open. Those, I hope, will all get here by computer guidance."
"You hope?"
"There's always a chance of failure."
"Oh, fine---with me on board."
"It was your choice to be here, Bo."
"Yeah, I know, and I wouldn't miss it for anything. You sure you know how to fly that thing?"
"When I'm there, yes. Out here---I'm not so sure. No one completely knows or understands any of this. Not even what's happening to us---but we can't stop it from happening, either. We're all---"
"Flight data input complete," the computer said. "Twenty-four units not responding."
"How many cores can be carried in one unit?" Niki asked.
"Each unit is fitted with two internal storage bays and one operating core in the reactor case."
Good, we'll be able to take them all. Now, how to get out of here?
Tazh, chewing savagely on a piece of tarsac, its dark green juice trickling from the corners of his mouth, sat at his monitor as information from the field units poured in. The response of Enforcement to their presence was pushing him into an uncomfortable corner, and confrontation seemed imminent. He couldn't bring the rovers back without revealing the Keep, unless he shot down Enforcement's aerial surveillance. If he did that, the conflict would certainly begin. He was sure they would have alerted the Council already, so, no matter which way he turned, a major engagement would result.
It all boiled down to either launching an offensive he was not at all sure he could win or taking up a purely defensive posture at the Keep. Neither option was in the least bit acceptable, because he couldn't be certain Lang had told him true. It was entirely possible that Lang merely said what he knew Tazh wanted to hear to keep his own precious schedule tidy---and to keep Tazh from acting too hastily. Well, Tazh would find out shortly what was truth and what was fiction.
Lang's face came on the screen. "Yes, Tazh, what is it now?"
Tazh explained what had happened through the night and how the current situation appeared to be heading to an unavoidable confrontation.
The old man's face twisted into a hard scowl. "Tazh," he began, "your position is strategically weak, and if you engage them now you will suffer heavy losses. It will require a full day to get significant support to you from Nuperz." Lang stroked his chin, then continued. "Their air units have limited range---no more than five hundred kilometers with a full load of fuel. I believe your only viable option, if we expect to get out of this without engagement and revealing your location, is to send your rovers southeast into the Vaskez Desert."
Tazh thought for a moment and, as much as he disliked the idea, he had to admit that Lang was right.
"All right, General. I'll give the order immediately." He turned to the officer seated beside him. "Captain, go to Ops and pass that along."
"What about the shuttles, Tazh? Has there been any activity from them?"
"We don't know, General," Tazh said as he turned back to Lang's image. "There is a large contingent of Enforcement in and around the museum, so I believe it's safe to assume there hasn't been any movement. They're either trying to get into one or waiting to see what happens."
"Why would they be doing that? Is there something you have failed to tell me?"
"Yes, sir. Our field agents were captured in the area and, by the time we were aware of it, it was too late to deactivate them. They probably detonated when the juice hit them, but how much they may have told Apps before they blew is unknown."
"You have placed us in an ... awkward position, Tazh. Tell your rovers to take cover around Pelter's Rock and hold there. They will be reinforced within two days. I have sent the Pel's Field group in to strengthen the line along the desert edge. We can't afford to have Council troops free to flank your group from the southeast."
So, Lang had told him true and things were going as planned, which made it all the more embarrassing for Tazh, because his actions had come desperately close to ruining the entire plan.
"All right, General. Thank you for your assistance."
"Continue surveillance of the museum, but try to be a bit more discreet, Tazh."
Lang's image vanished, and the field data came up on the screen again. Five dots representing the rovers were converging on a point east of the complex. The character of the surface out there would allow them to travel unimpeded most of the way to the Vaskez line, about seven hundred kilometers southeast of the museum. It would take two hours or less, and with any luck they would be in the shelter of Pelter's Rock before first light. This would be a tactical retreat. There was nothing cowardly in that. His only regret was that he hadn't thought of it first.
"Excuse me, sir," a soldier said from the open door.
"Yes, what is it?"
"Well, sir, I don't know if it means anything, but I've had reports from all over the lower levels of noises in the ducts. It may be carpers trying to nest in there again, but I thought I'd better tell you about it."
"Damnable birds. Start the exhaust fans and blow them out. If anything's heard after that, set the fans to minimum and gas the ducts."
"Yes, sir. You want us to search the ducts after we gas them?"
"Not unless you've found the diagram. We could have people down there for days, trying to find their way out. Just gas the ducts for a half hour, then blow out the debris. If you hear any survivors, do it again."
Those birds kept trying to nest in the shafts---they'd been doing it since Tazh had taken over the shelter several periods ago. There was an open vent somewhere, but no one had found it. It was the only rational explanation he could come up with for the problem, but he liked to imagine the stinking birds could adjust their natural frequency and pass through walls as they damned well pleased. Carpers were like that.
It was good to be in a position of authority. You gave an order and knew, without question, it would be carried out---just as it was now. His ears signaled the onset of negative pressure in the Keep. The exhaust fans were purging the ducts, and within five minutes the air would be moving through them at more than seventy-five meters per second. He had an image in his head of one of those nasty birds, trying to hook its claws into the metal clad tunnels to keep from being blown out, and laughed his vicious growl.
Pax entered the briefing room where she had ordered a shuttle team to gather. The Rammix had started a tactical display showing ISCU-9 and the Hermes as they converged.
"Good evening, people. I see Rammix has already begun the entertainment."
There was muted laughter as she took her place at the side of the screen.
"We've decided to attempt to board this vehicle, ISCU-9, ladies and gentlemen. Rammix reported new telemetry being transmitted from another location on the planet, so we assume the ship is returning for a reason. We don't know why, but Rammix has not yet been able to communicate with it. Maybe, if we can gain access to the ship's onboard computer system, we'll be able to get some answers, which is why you're here. In thirty-four hours we'll be in shuttle range, and I want you to get those answers for us.
Danielle Trane, the shuttle's pilot, shot a glance at the screen, then looked back to Pax.
"We don't have much solid information on those ships, do we?"
"No, Dani, we don't. That's why I called your team for this one. You were the top team during training, and I need the best for this job. We have some of the original plans for these vehicles---but they're far from complete."
"Are the docking rings compatible?"
"Unknown, Dani."
"Wonderful. What do we know about its defensive systems? Do we know what will trigger it into killing us?"
"No. We believe it has accepted our signal and knows we are friendlies."
"You think? What will it take to know for sure?"
"Rammix is working on that. At the moment, there is an eighty percent probability that it has accepted our signal."
Shaul Lindermann, EVA Chief, stood and faced Trane with his hands casually hanging by their thumbs from the corners of his pockets. "Dani?" he said.
"What?"
Pax thought she detected a look of anger on Trane's face.
"Eighty percent's pretty good, I think. It doesn't matter if we can't dock with the thing. A couple of us can go over and do it manually if we have to."
"What did I tell you before we came down here?" she fired back at him.
"Well---I figured if we can't dock, I'd just go over and knock."
"Excuse us, ma'am," Trane said. She grabbed Lindermann by an elbow and dragged him out the door and into the passage.
Pax looked at the six who stayed behind. A couple were snickering into cupped hands, there was one full width smile beaming through a red face, one had leaned back, arms dangling, counting blemishes in the overhead paint, and another who had turned herself completely around to face the other bulkhead.
"Come on, people, this isn't a simulator. What's going on here?"
The one facing the bulkhead turned her seat back to the front of the room and ran her fingers through her hair.
"It's ... a lovers thing, ma'am."
"Lovers thing?"
"Yes, ma'am. They agreed not to do anything that posed more risk than what their contract calls for. You know, so they don't get hurt or killed over something outside the agreement with SESC---something stupid."
"And you? How do you feel about it?"
"Me? I'm Shaul's EVA partner. He goes, I go. He doesn't go---I might go anyway. Sounds exciting. But I wouldn't worry too much, ma'am---he'll go and so will Dani."
"What's your name?"
"Lana Sorenson, ma'am."
"All right, Lana---how would you like to go out there and bring them back in here?"
"I guess you've never had any experience with this kind of thing, ma'am. It's best not to interfere---unless you want to lose something valuable."
Sorenson was right. Pax had never had any experience with this kind of thing.
The GoL Vagnu had learned early in his political career that the best way to get what he wanted from his fellow Council Judges was to schedule hearings that infringed on their leisure time or carried them beyond midday meal by about two hours. This current session had begun at first hour, and it was now approaching the fifth-hour mark. The other eleven Council Judges were shifting around in their seats, toying with bits of paper and glancing regularly at the clock on the wall. It was time.
"In conclusion, my colleagues and distinguished members of the High Council of Paz"---a collective sigh of relief was heard from the bench---"the Paz Cadre has shown a blatant and often vulgarly violent disregard for the principles of the Fathers and utter contempt for the Book of the Law. We are faced with an insurrection of global proportions which, if permitted to grow unchecked, will mean the complete---as in total---destruction of civilization as we know it and the beginning of dictatorial rule."
Vagnu paused to assess the impact of his presentation to that point and found eleven indifferent expressions on the bench, with eyes flicking more frequently toward the clock.
"It will affect the lives of all our citizens, one hundred ninety-seven million of them, not to mention the elimination of every position of political authority we now have."
That did it. Eleven sets of eyebrows responded to his last comment---he had gained their attention.
"The events of last night were a warning---a warning that the Paz Cadre is about to launch a full scale uprising and, when they do, it will be global, they will not confine their assault to Nucanda, or Nuperz, or Freeland, or the Continent. It will be everywhere and the consequences ... unimaginable."
It was getting better. They were beginning to hang on his words---he could see it---feel it. Of course, Harko asking for three hundred troops to be put on alert had helped set the mood, and the fear of losing their towers of power clinched it. If he could just get them to recommend action be taken against the Cadre, the Generation could get back down to business. Time was growing short.
Since Su and Washton had been eliminated, he had carried the full load and his chances of exposure were increasing with time. The opportunity for the diversion they had needed all the while had been handed to them on a copper plate by the very people the Generation had feared the most. The Cadre had unwittingly cooperated in easing the way for the Generation and had placed their organization in a very bad position. Vagnu slipped another chip into the computer and continued.
"What you see before you is a chronology of all events leading up to last night. Impressive, no? Here are the official reports from Law Apps on the three major aberrant organizations on Paz. Of the three, note the threat levels indicated for each. The Paz Cadre is shown to be ninety-eight percent potential, followed by the Twelve Points of Light at thirty-five and, finally, the Twelfth Generation at a meager six percent. Clearly, after last night, the threat level of the Paz Cadre should be upgraded to one hundred percent---their actions should be considered as hostile, threatening, and an invitation to war."
Vagnu stepped around behind the hall's presentation table and threw the cover off with intentional flourish, unveiling the items he obtained from Law Apps for this hearing. In his right hand he raised an odd, pistol-shaped device and waved it in the air over his head.
"This---this is a Cadre weapon for close quarters fighting. It was taken from a prisoner yesterday who participated in the incident at the museum. Any person struck by but one of the twenty projectiles fired from this ... device is terminated ... immediately and painfully. The projectiles are coated with an extract synthesized from the venom of the golden, and we all know what that means. It is safe for them to use because the coating oxidizes rapidly in free air, chemically changes into an inert form in five seconds or less."
Vagnu replaced the pistol with a larger, more menacing weapon and threw it up to the bench.
"That, my distinguished colleagues, was recovered from a Cadre transport. It is powerful enough to penetrate an armored Council transport at a distance of one kilometer and vaporize its occupants. One kilometer, gentlemen, and handled easily by one man. Just being near the path of the pulse from this weapon will reduce what was once a living, breathing Pazian to a pile of ash. Think of it---this devastating power in the hands of madmen."
He had them. One at a time they stepped down from the bench to approach the table for a closer look at the collection on display, and Vagnu, enervated, continued his presentation even as they did so.
"Here we have a facsimile of one of their large rovers, assembled from air patrol scans and a reliable eye witness report. Last night five of these were seen moving at a speed better than three hundred eighty kilometers per hour---over rough ground. Our rovers are less than a third this size and can reach no more than three hundred kilometers per hour over flat sand. We cannot hope to compete with them if they are allowed to organize. Should they be given the time to take the initiative---we are doomed. Doomed. If, on the other hand, we strike first, while they are spread out over the planet, we may do enough damage to gain the advantage and avert a global war. A war, I must tell you, we have little chance of winning."
The GoL Hagman approached Vagnu, his expression set and stern.
"Are you suggesting we travel a path contrary to the Book of the Law, Vagnu? That we initiate a preemptive strike?"
"I suggest nothing," Vagnu flared. "We are the High Council, and together we advise the president, and she confers with the appropriate committees and makes the decisions. Our job is then to act on their decision---we do not suggest to one another. Do not read more into my words than what I have said, because I am a GoL, not a General. I can merely present the argument as I see it and offer logical conclusions for consideration by the whole High Council, GoL Hagman."
"I see," Hagman said. "Then this is all naught but presentation, albeit skillfully engineered, of a situation you would have us consider as the High Council of Paz. Pah! I have known you for many years, Vagnu. Why do you choose this time to insult the intelligence of all who sit on the Council, man? We, too, have been watching these events unfold, and we have seen no planned, organized overthrow shaping up in the backlands of Paz. What we have seen are three groups of deviants, suffering from a common malady, who are tearing at each other like a pack of starving sanger's weasels."
The GoL Tomas, standing close by and studying the popper in his hand, said, "My dear GoL Hagman, I think, perhaps, in light of last night, we should give a little more credence to GoL Vagnu's argument. Although I agree with you on the point of law---as narrow and restrictive as it is---we must also consider our survival and, of course, the wellbeing of our citizenry. Even you will concede that the law was not given to us as a device to aid us in committing suicide, and I, for one, would rather think of you as a distinguished colleague and not an extinguished one."
Tomas acted as Defender of the Law in the Council, and his words made a visible impact on the rest of the Judges. He turned the pistol in his hand and pointed it menacingly at the GoL Hagman.
"Consider this, GoL Hagman," he said. "By the Book of the Law, all the weapons in our first line arsenal are not lethal---by design. True, they can bring about a termination, but that only under circumstances out of the user's control---while this damnable device is a weapon of deliberate destruction and in many ways worse than our second line equipment."
Hagman backed away from the muzzle.
"All right," he said. "The moral and ethical sides of the issue I understand, but there exists no legal precedent for what Vagnu suggests---presents---to us. Remember that we took no part in the Copper Wars other than to hunt down and prosecute participants whom we could prove responsible for crimes defined in the Book of the Law, and, ladies and gentlemen, the violent settlement of arguments is not contrary to the law unless the results of such violence are unlawful termination or debilitating injury."
"That is true," the GoL Tchanuk offered. "However, I submit that the evidence and the history of these Paz Cadre people points to the unassailable fact that their intent is to do both and that their argument is with us as well as their demented counterparts. Further, we have adequate evidence of terminal crimes already committed by the membership of the Paz Cadre and the Twelfth Generation---sufficient evidence to issue hanging warrants for the leadership of both groups. I don't know about you, GoL Hagman, but if someone is going to point one of these things at me," she said as she snatched the popper from Tomas's hand and waved it over her head, "I am going to do my best to make sure Vegamwun is never seen by that person again."
Throwing the pistol back onto the pile of weapons on the table, she glowered at Hagman. "As far as I am concerned," she continued, "the whole affair is disgusting, and I would move to hang the entire sick lot of them---leadership and general membership." She picked up the model of the rover and examined it carefully. "GoL Vagnu, have we determined what these large weapons---if weapons are indeed what they are---are capable of ... what they can do? Do we know their purpose?"
"No, GoL Tchanuk. They may or may not be weapons, though they bear a strong resemblance to that pulse rifle on the table. If they are pulse weapons, using their size as a comparison with the rifle we already know the power of, their effect would be, in a word, awesome."
All was proceeding better than he'd hoped it would and, excepting the GoL Tchanuk's remarks about hanging the entire lot, he was pleased---but he would have to work up some argument for taking the Generation out of the hanging aspect, and he would have to find some way to remove himself a bit farther from the Generation---if he wanted to avoid reuniting with his Ancient at the end of a coarse line in the near future.
The GoL Mandell went to the bench and rapped her gavel loudly. "We are beginning to succumb to base feelings here," she said firmly, her gaze fixed on Tchanuk. "I move to take an hour for food and reflection and to reconvene at seventh hour for further discussion---and, if we have time, we will entertain motions of resolution for a vote on recommendations to the president."
Consciousness and pain came to Niki in waves---consciousness slowly, pain quickly, with intensity. He was groggy and dizzily disoriented, his vision blurred and intermittent, black, then gray, then blinding white and back to black.
Gas---they had gassed the ventilation system. He remembered now---he and his friends had heard the drumming pulse of the fans building to a high-pitched whine as they pushed air ever faster through the ducts and tunnels until the pressure was too great, and his little band was forced to seek refuge in one of the cross ducts. After the rush of air abated, they had waited in case the Cadre men were listening for a resumption of whatever sound had prompted them to purge the system---then the gas had come.
Niki could still smell the sickening sweetness of the air that had filled the tunnels, his tongue swelling in a painfully parched mouth, impossible to swallow, then vertigo lasting what seemed an eternity, followed by blessed nothingness.
He could make out nine ethereal shapes in the duct with him. Bodies---the bodies of his friends? Were they term? He could see well enough to tell there were nine shapes---but there should have been eleven. Where were---who were the missing two? He heard a groan, then another. He sensed movement. Finally, vision came back to him well enough to resolve the shapes into separate entities with some detail, eight were twitching, moving. Unable to discern who they were, Niki tried to speak but he had no voice, it still belonged to the gas.
How long have we been out? Damn it, where's my pack? I can't afford to lose my pack.
Feeling around the area near him, he found it at arm's length and pulled it to his side, a painful and slow process. He removed the beacon locator and depressed a small, red button hidden beneath a protective cover.
There, at least Twenty-three is aware that I'm alive.
He extracted a fish wafer from a pouch on the side of the pack and popped it into his mouth. The taste was horrible, but the water with which he forced it down felt good in his sore, parched throat.
The cross-duct where they huddled was filled with bright light, and he knew they had to be close to one of the upper, outside vents. He tried again to speak and, with a low, almost guttural grunt, he cautioned the others to remain as quiet as they could, then asked them to identify themselves. One by one, raspy voices called out their names---the last to answer was Luto.
"Niki," he said. "I think Lahk Sing is term. He's not breathing at all, and I can feel no pulse. He's gone."
Luto pulled himself over to Niki's side and put his huge hand on Niki's shoulder.
"Shan and Rahman are missing. Did you see what happened to them?"
"No. I don't remember much of anything after we crawled in here. Are you sure Sing is term?"
"Yes. He was the last one in and that put him next to the tunnel. I ... I guess he just got too much of the gas."
"Uh-huh. Too bad, he was ... he was ... never mind. How about Shan and Rahman, they did get in here with us, didn't they?"
"Sure. I pushed Shan in, and Rahman was right in front of him."
"How's your vision, Luto?"
"Terrible. Yours?"
"Same."
"Well, we can't stay in here, that's for sure, Niki."
"I know, but I can't feel anything except what hurts."
Luto said it true, they had to get out of the ducts, but Niki's body wouldn't obey even the simplest instruction. Sluggish, sick, and riddled with pain he pushed until his legs straightened. Sharp stabs of grinding agony began in his ankles and worked their way up, terminating as a concentrated ache in his groin.
"That hurt, didn't it?" Luto said with a weak smile.
In other circumstances it might have been funny, but at the moment Niki was experiencing a good deal of trouble maintaining his temper and holding down a deep grief over the one they had lost. Sing had been one of his young ones---one of his brighteyes who had barely seen his fourteenth year. Why had he allowed him to come? He could just as easily have found something for Sing on the surface, and he would have done it as willingly as he had worked his way down that cliff. Niki's fault---all his fault. He sat silently for a moment, then rotated to face Luto.
"Luto, are you certain Sing's term? There's nothing we can do?"
The expression on Luto's face was as sad as Niki had ever seen it, and he nodded slowly, saying nothing.
"We'll have to take him with us---can't leave him, you know? We'll bury him in the clearing east of the rover. It's pretty there---green all the time, even at Minor Tides."
Luto nodded.
Niki leaned out from the wall of the duct to look up the main shaft. He could see nothing. His vision was improving, slowly. He dragged his numb body toward the light in the larger tunnel and peered around the corner. The brightness drove pain into his eyes, and his head felt like it would explode. There, not more than five meters away, was the grating, and beyond the grate lay the dark gray slope at the lower end of the Cafferty Cone. They were closer to freedom than he had thought.
"Luto, go back up this duct a few meters and see if you can find Shan and Rahman. I'm going to open that vent cover."
Moving with uncharacteristic clumsiness, Luto slowly, haltingly became one with the hazy darkness in the inner part of the duct, while Niki eased himself out into the main shaft and fought his way up the smooth, steep surface to the vent outlet.
To his surprise, there were no guards at the opening, and no alarms attached to the inside of the grate. Was this one that they had forgotten or missed? He listened for a few minutes to satisfy himself there was no one beyond his range of vision, then started pushing hard on the grate. It wouldn't move. He tried again, harder---still nothing.
They've sealed it from the outside? Why would they do that?
Niki turned around and put his back against the grate. With a powerful shove he put all his strength against the grate. It didn't budge.
One more time.
He pushed until his legs felt as if they were ablaze. Nothing. He had been concentrating so hard on the grate he hadn't noticed that Luto was standing there, watching him and smiling broadly.
"Well, don't just stand there, give me some help here. Did you find them?"
"Yes. They're fine. About that grate, though, I'd be glad to help, but I'd rather push against the side away from the hinges. That is, if you don't mind."
No one could say exactly when it had become audible. The first to discover that something was happening were the men stationed on the catwalk where the mounting vibration came in through the soles of their shoes as a high frequency movement. The inaudible vibration built to a mechanical hum with high-pitched overtones that pulsed in and out of hearing range. The vibration in the skin of the shuttle caused the mounting clamps to disengage, and an active Barnet laser crashed to the catwalk, driving the Enforcement team off the platform in fear for their lives.
By the time the lift reached ground level, the hum was reverberating around the walls of the shuttle display, while the pungent odor of ozone filled the air. The hair on their bodies stood stiffly in the highly charged atmosphere, and sharp, blue-white arcs played along the landing gear struts between the hulls and ground. In the time it took for the men to reach the display doors, the hum had become a crackling, snapping, undulating roar, drumming against the walls and shattering thick windows of tempered glass.
The Enforcement men retreated to what they thought was a safe distance from the museum. There they formed up in a loose cordon as plumes of white vapor rose into the chill of just-past-midday air and drifted away in a cloud of shimmering ice crystals.
The sound of the com drove a wedge between Harko and a fitful half-sleep. He fumbled around on the floor and found the source of the noise.
"Yeah. Harko."
"Sorry to bother you, Chief, but something's going on at the museum."
"Like what?" he said, rolling off the couch and pulling on his trousers at the same time, while the officer related the details of the call from the crew stationed at the museum.
"Does anybody out there have any ideas about what caused that?" he asked while attempting to button his shirt with one hand and gain control of his unruly red hair with the other.
"No, sir. The guy that called made it sound like the Grand Terminator dropped in and began swinging---the shuttles just started making noise and belching steam, or whatever. I took the liberty of calling the Astro station in Nuperz, and they're flying a team up here now." He glanced at his notes on the console and continued. "They're flying them straight to the museum and should arrive by eighth hour. The guy at the museum said it was about fifth hour when it all started."
"Okay," Harko said. "If anybody's looking, I'll be at the museum."
Fitful sleep or not, Harko felt much better. He pushed the transport down the track toward the museum at full speed plus. So the shuttles weren't as dead as everyone had always thought them to be. But why? What reason lay at the bottom of this, and how did Kaznov fit into the pic?
Harko set the transport to automatic. The East End line fell behind, and he watched the information that they had gathered the night before scroll up on the small screen on the dash in front of him. There had to be a way to weave a fabric from the multitude of loose threads. All he needed to do was find how the threads best fit together.
The three groups had surfaced within a few years of one another, around the year Paz two hundred, but, like any disease, they'd probably been incubating for some time before that. At the time the first reports had been logged, each of them had a character that had remained unchanged since. They hadn't evolved in the manner that was normally the case for randomly developing movements. Generally, movements like these would tend to grow in different directions. The basic premise upon which they had been formed might be constant, but the expression of their ideas always mutated with time, often twisting the basic premise as well. Only one of the three had changed, but it was merely an altered theme and the premise stayed. They had all begun within a short span of time---three actors coming out on stage as if on cue. That was the first of the threads.
The second thread was the fact that they were unique among groups sharing behavioral traits in that they did not change with age. He had enough for a small knot, but not a tapestry.
All three were geneticentric, and the gene pool of preference was the same. All Gammas. All of them direct-line descent. Thread number three.
The fourth thread for his cloth was a little harder for him to understand, common or not. They all wanted Deltas. Maybe ... maybe they needed the Deltas. Since there was but one Delta who was direct-line, they couldn't all have their own. Perhaps they didn't know there was only one of them to be found. That was reasonable---no one at Apps had been aware of that until he'd requested the records. There were multitudes of every other seed lot, and there would be no reason to think the same wasn't true of the Delta lots.
On the other hand, he couldn't recall ever coming across a Delta in his work, and if these groups were actively looking for one, the searchers would have realized that Deltas were rare. All of them were able to tap the system, of that he had little doubt, so it was conceivable that they might have known of the Delta shortage long before he had stumbled over it. Allowing for their geneticentric bent, why would they want to introduce a different seed lot into their midst? The Kaznov issue remained an enigma, but it was still the fourth thread.
They were all heading in what appeared to be different directions, that was---on the surface. But, having thought it over, he wasn't too sure about that, either. It seemed to him they were all going in the same direction---each with wildly differing motivation---but the same direction. Bound for a common place. What they wanted remained distinct, apart, different, but the place where the three trails converged was the museum and the shuttles. Why the shuttles? What was there about those machines that drew those people to them? Maybe the what was as different as their goals and was only important in understanding their motives. The where was important---the fifth thread.
All three were global. They had started out that way, with connections everywhere, activities at all points on the planet---instantly. As far as the record was concerned, every geneticentric or deviant behavioral group had had its start as a local organization with little direction and grown to be not much more than regional, rarely spreading out to fill a Sector before they collapsed for various reasons. Thread number six was their instantly global structure and amazing cohesiveness.
An idea was taking shape in his head, a disgusting, ugly idea that made Brand Harko shudder. He was feeling violated, deceived, and cheated. The reason for that was because he thought a cruel, cynical tag of high technology was the net result of his life. If what he was thinking turned out to be true, he was nothing but another piece of a sick game instituted by the Fathers and that...
"Central, this is One."
"Central."
"Is Sax around?"
"Yes, sir. Hang on a sec and I'll punch him up."
The screen went blank for a couple of seconds, then the image of Sax appeared.
"Yeah, Chief."
"Listen, Sax, I want you to pull up all the records we have on these three groups. In the list of known members, I want to know what generation they are, using their Ancient as number one. Then, I want to know who was the originator of each group. That one may be a little tough---just look for the first and loudest voice to show up in the record. After that, get the lot numbers of the membership---not the individual Ancient designators---just the lot numbers. Know what I mean?"
"Sure, boss. Is that all?"
"No, but it'll be enough for the time being."
The destination proximity warning came on, and he took over control for docking at the museum. He could see a huge, flat cloud of ice crystals hanging over the building and trailing off to the east.
"Careful with that."
"Lana, I know what I'm doing."
"Oh? Worked on one of these before, have you?"
"No."
"Then, how can you know what you're doing?" Lana Sorenson chuckled.
"Lana."
"It was a good question."
"Mm-hmm, but right now what I need you to do is rotate that bar in my direction. Slowly, huh?"
Sorenson wrapped the mechanical hands of her shell around a short bar protruding from the edge of the docking ring and pushed it toward Lindermann while she kept a watchful eye on the meter.
Maintain constant rotation speed and let the pressure vary as required, Lana, just like I told you, Lindermann thought.
When the bar reached thirty degrees from the vertical, the force applied dropped suddenly to near zero.
"Force dropped, master."
"Good. Keep it coming until it seats," Lindermann said, holding his light steady on a saddle clamp in the side of the ring.
The rod settled into the recess of the clamp's base, and the top half of the clamp swiveled out of the ring to lock it in place. Sorenson detached the mechanical hands and drifted back.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"Nothing's happening, Mr. Mechanical Genius."
"I can see that, Lana."
"Have any incantations?"
"Any what?"
"Magic words that open doors, Shaul."
"Not today, but we could cut that cover plate and get at the internal wiring to---"
"Oh no, you don't. We try anything like that and this thing could go defensive on us."
"Right. Where would I be without my conscience?"
"In a lot more trouble than you're in already, that's for sure. So, we go back, or what?"
"Maybe. Hang on a sec," he said as he switched to the shuttle's frequency.
"Dani, my dear?"
"I know, I've been monitoring. No luck, huh?"
"No. Not yet. Is there anything we've missed in the record? Anything at all to do with the entry codes? I found a panel over here with a keyboard in it that's probably intended for manual access."
"Yeah, I saw it. Whatever you do, don't go playing around with it."
"Aw, Dani, you know me."
"That's right, I do---so, don't play around with it."
"Yes, dear. It's dangerous moving around over here. Nothing to latch on to. We'll try another airlock, if you want---but under screaming protest."
"Your zeal for doing your job is noted, Shaul. Here comes the read. One second."
Lindermann studied the pictures he had made of the panel's keyboard while he waited. It looked pretty straightforward to him.
"No, Shaul. Nothing on the access codes."
"So, what do you think, professor?"
"Let's get back to the Hermes. Maybe we can figure out something and try it again. No sense risking a good EVA shell by guessing."
"She does love me, Lana. You heard her, right?"
"I heard her say something to the effect that EVA shells are expensive. Is that what you mean?"
"Twenty-three, what's all the noise and vibration?"
"The reactors have been activated, Pasha. The vibration is the result of all mechanical systems being brought on line. The vibration is being transmitted and amplified through---"
"That's enough. A simple response will be fine."
"Yes, Pasha."
"What do you think, Trina?"
"I think all that noise scared them to Nuperz and beyond."
"Twenty-three, is there anyone in the area?"
"Specify what is meant by 'anyone', Pasha."
"Person, man, human being---anyone."
"Forty positive readings at three hundred meters. An additional one hundred and forty-three at five hundred meters on all points."
"Not quite Nuperz," Antaris observed, "but at least they are not inside the museum."
"Which one of us is going for food and something to drink with a little more taste than this stuff from the atmosphere?"
"I will go," Antaris said. "I need the exercise and a real toilet. I doubt I will ever get accustomed to these things the Fathers used."
"All right, but hurry. We don't know how long it'll be before they get the nerve to come back."
Pasha stayed on the catwalk while Antaris scurried through the empty frames where the entrance doors had been. She was worried about Niki. He had been gone longer than anticipated, and nothing was happening as they had planned. For all she could tell, he could be waiting outside for an opportunity to slip past the Enforcement people who had the museum surrounded, or he could be injured---maybe dead. There was no way to know and, in the meantime, they were trapped in the shuttle with no food. She looked anxiously over the rail and saw Antaris, arms full of brightly colored boxes, running for the lift.
"Pasha," she shouted. "Be ready to close that door---I have been seen."
Pasha stepped into the airlock and put both hands on a red and white striped handle. The sound of running feet and the shouting of men echoed through the area as the guards made a desperate attempt to stop the lift before Antaris reached the catwalk. They were successful in halting it a meter short of the platform but not quick enough to keep the athletic Antaris from jumping up onto the walk before they could get it reversed.
"Close that damned door," she shouted as she dove into the chamber.
Pasha yanked the handle down and, as the outer door sealed, stared at Antaris in wide-eyed amazement.
"What? What are you staring at?"
"You. You were fantastic. I ... I didn't know you could move like that. I'm impressed."
"Yes, well, I have never been chased by men like that, either." Antaris straightened her clothes and arranged the boxes neatly in her arms. "I meant, I have been chased by men before, of course, but not like that."
The two shared a nervous laugh as they made their way back to the forward cabin. The men outside were certain they were in the shuttle, so it made no difference if they could be seen. The excitement of the moment passed quickly, and Pasha's thoughts returned to Niki. Where was he---how was he?
"Twenty-three."
"Yes, Pasha."
"Is there any way to know how Niki is?"
"No, but the transponder is bearing three hundred forty-eight degrees at a range of one hundred sixty kilometers and closing at one point three meters per second."
"How long until he arrives?"
"At the current rate of closure, thirty-four hours, eleven minutes, sixteen point nine seconds---rounded to the nearest tenth of a second."
"Pasha, I think you ought not talk to that thing too much."
"You may be right. Twenty-three, give me information about Niki's---well, the position of the transponder every fifteen minutes." Now it was time to discover what Antaris had in those bright little boxes. Pasha was so hungry no amount of nervousness was going to keep her from eating something---anything.
"I'm starved, Trina. What did you get?"
Antaris smiled and said, "You are going to love this. We have three boxes of misk juice and four cases of lovely lammik candies." She opened one of the cases of lammik and laughed loudly. Pasha joined her. Both of them hated lammik with a passion, and the juice of the misk plant wasn't much higher on their list of favorite flavors.
"Is this all that was down there?" Pasha asked as she grabbed one of the candies and stuffed it in her mouth.
"Limited selection, and this is all the inventory. We may have to ration this junk," she said a bit more seriously. "No telling how long we may have to live on this stuff."
Antaris was right, but Pasha hoped the situation would change soon. She wanted Niki back, and she wanted to get the job done. No one but Niki knew what the timing was for the La Paz and ... She looked at the various lights on the panel and realized Twenty-three would have that information. Surely it wouldn't bother Niki now if she knew as well.
"Twenty-three."
"Yes, Pasha."
"Where is the La Paz?"
"There is no record of that name."
"The ship. The ship you came from."
"That would be I-S-C-U Nine."
"I-S-C-U Nine? What does that mean?"
"Interstellar Colonization Unit number nine."
"Where is it?"
"It is currently in the process of establishing an orbit around this planet. The orbit will be secured in two hundred sixty-three hours, forty-one minutes."
"Pasha," Antaris began, "do you suppose there is any---"
"Transponder bearing three hundred forty degrees. Range, one hundred fifty-eight kilometers. Closing at thirty-three meters per second."
"Oh, good, they're in the transport, Trina. Isn't that---I'm sorry, Trina---but isn't that wonderful? What was it you were saying?"
"I was wondering if there was any way of getting a message to him to warn him about our guests?"
"Twenty-three, can you communicate with Niki? Can I talk to him?"
"No, Pasha. He is equipped with transponder only."
"Well, that's out," Pasha said, her disappointment obvious. "Maybe we can do something to attract his attention before he gets too close. Start a fire, or something."
"How? We are unable to get out of here to do anything."
"No, but maybe Twenty-three can help."
"That is a possibility. It would not hurt to ask."
"Twenty-three. Is there anything on this shuttle that can be used to start a fire outside?"
"This unit is equipped with six particle beam canons, four high-energy lasers, twenty ATT missiles, and assorted hand-carried weapons in the armory for use by shipboard personnel. All shipboard weapons are capable of elevating temperatures to combustion levels in any material."
"That's it, Trina. We can start a fire in the forest on the north side of the track."
"If you say so."
The report of an approaching transport was of little concern to Harko. It had to have come from the north, because they'd sealed this track at East End. The only intersecting track was the North Coopersland express route, and traffic flowed routinely between Pel's Field in the east and the North Coopersland mines.
A loud click, sounding like an oversized door latch, and a whine were superimposed over the hum from the shuttle and pulled his attention away from the officer next to him. Unable to move, he watched as a large panel near the forward compartment of shuttle twenty-three swung upward and outward, followed by something that appeared to him to be the largest laser tube he'd ever seen.
What the hell?
The flash momentarily blinded him as the beam neatly bored its way through the one-meter-thick inner and outer walls of the complex and torched a long, straight line of trees on the north side of the track. The heat inside the shuttle display immediately rose to an extremely uncomfortable level, and the area filled with a thick, choking smoke from the molten set-shell. The blast had lasted no more than a fraction of a second, yet it had set the north side of the building and a full kilometer of forest ablaze.
Just as quickly the weapon vanished into the shuttle's hull, and the panel closed over it. If Harko hadn't witnessed the entire scene he would never have known it was there. The bright glare of the laser lingered in his eyes, making it difficult to see much of anything, and closing his eyes exacerbated the problem. With his less than half-vision, Harko groped and stumbled from the building, gagging on the toxic fumes.
Outside the building, Harko looked back to see a tower of blue-gray vapor rising, twisting, mingling with the thick, black smoke from the burning forest. The unnatural cloud trailed off to the southeast on the upper level wind. The heat of the rising columns clashed with the freezing air, adding to the violence of the swirling, red-hot ash as it climbed and cooled in the ice haze above. A small transport hurtled by at a hundred plus and punched a hole in the smoke that was blowing across the track and beginning to invade the docks.
After that demonstration of power, Harko was certain he didn't want to tangle with the shuttle. With all the tools at their disposal no one had been able to do anything more than scratch those machines, and he doubted the idea of blowing a hole in one with explosives would prove any more effective. All he could think to do was to keep anyone else from getting to them, but that would only work if the machines stayed put. He had no guarantee that they would do that.
For now, he would maintain a cordon and hope the High Council would agree to give him the help he needed. As far as the president and the Pazian Militia were concerned, he thought the chances of getting anything from them were pretty slim. They wouldn't act until they were sure their offices were in jeopardy, and then only if it looked like some political advantage might be in the offing.
"Apps One, this is Central."
It was Sax, maybe with the information he wanted.
"Go ahead, Sax."
"What the hell happened out there? Fire One and Two just tore out of here headed your way."
"A fire, Sax. You have what I wanted?"
"Yes, sir, and it's pretty strange. Want a copy?"
"Yeah. I have a chip in, but go ahead and give me a verbal synopsis."
"All three groups became recognized entities between one-ninety-seven and two-oh-one." Sax paused while he scrolled more material up on his monitor. "Now, here comes the weird part. All three groups are made up of seed lot numbers broken up into---"
"Wait a minute," Harko broke in. "Let me guess. They're divided into three sets of eight lots."
"Not quite, boss, but close. It's three sets of four, but that's not as strange as this; everybody assumed all the categories were made up of the same number of lots, something like Alpha one through twenty-four, and that's true for all categories but Delta. The only Delta lot on Paz was Delta three.
"Now, get this---I really had to dig for this stuff---there was only one Delta Ancient, Delta Three dash two-eighty-one. The accepted story has always been that the shuttle carrying the Delta lots crashed, which is why there was only one surviving seed line. Not true. That Ancient was brought down here all by itself on its own shuttle with a special group of the Fathers."
"Why?" Harko interjected. "Why was it brought down alone?"
"I was coming to that. We don't know. That part of the Ancient Record was edited out. Wiped clean. There's no other mention of it anywhere, and I've scanned it every way I can. Nothing. I've even checked all the archival material, including folk tales and the like. It's as if they didn't want anyone to have that information."
"Okay, we'll go over that, later. What else?"
"Here's the juicy stuff, Chief. You wanted to know who the original organizers were, right?"
"Yeah, Sax. Do it, damn it."
"The Twelve Points of Light was easy. They never tried to cover up. They did change, but I'll tell you about that in a minute. Anyway, the founder was Katrina Del Antaris. She's a Gamma One.
"I think you'd better find a secure place to sit for the next two. First, the originator of the Paz Cadre is one General Bagdel Frank, the leader of both the Cadre and the High Council Guard. The original---"
"What?" Harko interrupted. "Frank is Paz Cadre? You'd better be damned sure of that."
"You know me, Chief. I'm the best records research man around. Yes, I'm sure. It was almost impossible to find, but he missed a marker set. Four years ago a guy named Arcturo Lang was treated for burns in the Outlands of Linken. The hospital there wasn't tied into the Council's system then, so nobody checked on him. We've known Lang was running the Cadre, so I looked into the details of the injury---same name, you know---anyway, I was looking for Arcturo Lang, but I came up with Bagdel Frank's gencode. It was a perfect match."
"Damn it. That means the Cadre knows everything we do every time we contact the Council."
"It's worse than that, boss. It's not one ranking official---it's two. I saved the best for last. The two of them are working against one another, and neither of them knows it. Everyone thought that Lon Su was the founder of the Twelfth Generation, and we were all wrong on that one, too. A man calling himself Kan Haber was the original Generation man who disappeared early in their history and was replaced by Lon Su. I followed up on this Haber guy and verified he was a real person, but there was something not quite right. Kan Haber was an Epsilon Two.
"I dug deeper and found the real Kan Haber disappeared on a trip to New London. Vanished. Not a thing about him showed up in the record anywhere, but his onners were being well taken care of. Good onners house, best schools, food, clothes and all. So, I chased down the financial record and came up with the Lawmaker In Council, Dathan Vagnu---known now as the Guardian of Law Vagnu of the High Council. I didn't find any evidence, but I think the GoL Vagnu is the reason Mr. Haber is no longer with us and that he used Mr. Haber's name during the early days of the Generation. Vagnu's a Gamma Nine, which fits the profile perfectly. Su was a Twelve. A little more checking put our Vagnu in all the right places at the right times since year two hundred. Oh, I forgot---Frank's a Gamma Five.
"All the members of these groups that we have records on are twelfth-generation Pazian, counting from their Ancients. Boss---it's almost as if someone flipped a switch."
"Yeah. That may be exactly what's happened, Sax. You said something about the Twelve Points of Light changing. What was that about?"
"Oh, sorry. When Katrina Del Antaris started holding meetings, they were focused on a cultural, moral, and intellectual renaissance. She was promoting the idea that Paz was entering a time of change and that there was a general moral and ethical decline in our society. You know, untracs and stuff like that. She said a new order was coming and that it was time for the people to be prepared. A year later, she built the cult thing it is now. That happened right after some indignant citizens burned one of their meeting halls and some of her people were attacked at another gathering. That's the meat of it---the boring details are on your chip."
"Good, Sax. Thanks for your usual thoroughness. I have plenty to think about."
"Like the sign on the door says, we're here to serve. Central out."
'Plenty to think about' was an understatement. Two of the worst were high and powerful---in positions where they could do terrible things to his society, the one Harko was pledged to protect, and he was watching a couple of women who could conceivably do some good. Where was the sense in that?
"Central, this is One."
"Central."
"I'm closing down this operation. Recall the air patrols for duty in the city, and I'll take care of the ground assignments on this end. One out."
Harko rounded up the two sergeants and laid out the revised plan. He would leave three men on duty at the museum twenty-two hours around the clock and hold a ready team at the East End station in case anything happened at the complex. He couldn't see any reason for a larger presence. After all, if they decided to move the shuttle there wasn't a damned thing Harko and his men could do but watch it go.
The fire teams finished their work in the museum, and Harko made his obligatory tour of the damage, then signed off the record so they could go home. It was a mess, but the actual damage was not bad, considering what had happened. The holes in the walls were about half a meter in diameter and smooth as glass---of course everything between the two walls had similar holes burned through. The raw power of that laser was something he would not soon forget, orders of magnitude hotter than anything he'd seen on Paz.
Looking through the upper level window of the museum at the shuttle, Harko could see the two women talking calmly and laughing in the security of the forward compartment of shuttle number twenty-three. Harko couldn't touch them---and they knew it.
I wonder what's going on in their minds---and what's in those boxes?
Vegamtu's glaring white brilliance, haloed, diffused, and subdued to a soft, iron gray by a dense layer of ice crystals suspended in the upper atmosphere, gave the frost-encased trees a grotesque, surrealistic appearance. They reached upward in twisted agony like so many black skeletons. The large and lazy moon, sharing nearly the same position as Vegamtu in the glistening steel of the night sky, was hardly competition for the minus-nine magnitude star, Almug's dull orange appeared to be more like a discolored smudge of rusty shadow than a warm glow.
Through the dry, brittle brush covering the ground among the trees a small band of men advanced cautiously toward the eastern wall of the museum. Luto raised the SED to his eyes and signaled them to stop.
"I count three, Niki, but there may be more. There's one at the south wall, one at the north, and another hanging around in the docks. Can't see what's happening on the west side, so I don't know if he's the only one."
"Think we can get this hook up to the top of the building? It's a good twenty-five meters to the lower ledge. The whole thing is set-shell, so if we can get a prong to dig in anywhere it should hold well enough to get us over the wall."
"Yeah, well-l-l---who's going to toss it?"
Niki thought of himself as strong, certainly stronger than the average Pazian because of his years diving for and fighting the powerful fish of the Southern Sea, but Luto's strength was easily double his own.
"Why, you, of course."
"Thanks a lot. You know if I don't get it up there on the first try, this is going to make one hell of a racket when it hits the ground and they'll be on us in a second."
"Then you'll have to be sure it sets the first time---unless you can think of some other way."
"No other way I can see."
"Then, it's a chance we have to take."
Luto gained the eastern wall without being seen, took the heavy grapnel in one hand and gave the rope about a meter of slack, then grasped the coiled remainder loosely in the other. He let the hook drop to the end of the slack line and began to twirl it in a vertical circle, slowly at first, then faster and faster with each revolution. Niki kept the SED trained on Luto---he held his breath. Luto took one step back and heaved upward with all his strength. It went up in a graceful arc, cleared the top of the wall with but two centimeters to spare and landed with a clank that Niki was sure would bring the Enforcement people running. Niki sprang from the brush and rushed to Luto's side, and they put all their weight on the line. It caught, gave way, caught again, slipped a little, then sank in.
Luto grasped the rope, put his foot against the wall and began climbing. Niki watched nervously until his friend vanished over the top of the building, then motioned the others in from the border of grisly trees. Niki was the last up to the roof. From there he could see the long, black scar that stood out in bold relief against the shimmering silver of the ice-covered trees to the north that had kept them from driving right into the docks and the hands of the waiting Enforcement men. Something terrible had happened here, and the smoke they had seen billowing from the building only heightened the uneasiness he felt as he hurried to the inner edge of the roof. When the shuttles came into view the SED went automatically to his eyes. Relief flooded him.
Sprawled across three seats, the lithe body of Antaris lay sleeping. Pasha was in the pilot's chair, apparently talking to Twenty-three. Then he became aware of the cold---the cold of Halfyear that gripped him and told him time was running out faster than they were getting things done. The close call at Cafferty had not just delayed them, it had termed one of his friends, and if the gas had lingered in the tunnels a few seconds longer, all of them would have met the same fate. Now they were up against the other two groups, the government, and a schedule that was stretched beyond acceptable limits.
With some abandon the men slid down the line to the interior of the shuttle display, and Luto stood at the bottom, reminding each of them as their feet hit the ground that there were armed Enforcement officers just outside and that most of the doors and windows had been blown out---they wouldn't be safe until sealed inside Twenty-three.
Niki skirted the crumpled wreckage of a Barnet's laser on the catwalk and laid his hand flat against the key pad.
"Access, Twenty-three," he said quietly.
A soft hiss accompanied the opening of the outer door, and the weary, half-frozen travelers entered the security of the shuttle. The reunion was briefly loud and affectionate, then somber as Niki explained what had happened in the shafts at Cafferty---how Lahk Sing had been termed, and that they had taken the time to bury him before returning to the transport.
While everyone stood around stamping feet and rubbing cold, numbed hands, the two women related their experience with Enforcement and explained in excited tones how the fire, intended to warn Niki's group, had been started with a single blast from one of Twenty-three's weapons.
"Nikisha," Antaris said. "All the records of Twelve Points are hidden in my home. Is there any chance we can retrieve them?"
"Is it important?"
"Yes. Everything up to the hour before we came out here is in them, including what you told us of the Fathers' plans and what you discovered about your history."
"Trina, I told you to---"
"I know, I know, but I wanted a record for the new ones to know, to understand, to not be like us---so they would have what we did not."
"All right, Trina. It's done and we can't change it." Niki thought for a moment, then continued. "I suppose we could get someone on the outside to go for them."
"How?" Pasha asked. "We're trapped in here and this is a machine of the Fathers. There is no link."
"Precisely, love. Twenty-three's a machine of the Fathers, and it was they who gave us what technology we have---or have built on---so it's not beyond imagining that we could use Twenty-three to make the connection we need, right?"
"I am not so sure, Nikisha. There is a big difference between putting a hole through a wall and making a link," Antaris said.
"Yeah, but our links came from them," Luto said.
"Twenty-three. Is it possible to tap into the local communications system?" Niki asked.
"If it is broadcast omni-directionally or there is a line of sight signal within reasonable proximity, yes, Niki. If it is laser or wire-carried, no."
"All long distance communications are microwave, which means that the connection for the museum is part of that system, Nikisha," Antaris said.
"Good. Twenty-three, begin searching all signals obtainable."
Signal after signal was sampled and rejected. There were air transports, publics, service people, Law Apps, and all manner of digital automation chatter, but nothing sounded like a link in use until...
"...last night. We found their genetic traces about ninth hour and tracks from one of the upper vents..."
"Is this a signal you wish to investigate?"
"Yes, Twenty-three," Niki said. "But don't set up to transmit---I want to listen only. If it is split, try to find the other side of the exchange and include it when you find it."
"...and then down to an area off the track to North Coopersland where we found evidence of a small transport having been hidden in the forest. Damn it, General, if we hold off much longer, we'll be in deep trouble here."
"I am aware of that, Tazh---and you are already in considerable trouble. My sources tell me that Enforcement has withdrawn from the museum and there are no aerial units working the area. Three men have been stationed there and they are rotated on six hour shifts so they have an overlap. If you wait until eleventh hour and thirty you'll encounter three, but you'll have to be quick---make sure they don't get out a signal, because there is a ready team at East End that could be there in fifteen minutes."
"I understand. They'll never know what hit them."
"Good. And Tazh, from what I have been told, the others have the weapon. If you can't get into the shuttle, destroy it. We can't afford to have it used against us."
"Understood."
"Forces from Nuperz will be making contact with the rovers at Pelter's Rock at fourteenth hour, and troops from Pel's Field are now deploying along the Vaskez line from the track south to Anderson gorge. It is a few days early---I hope you are happy, Tazh."
"Oh, I am, General Lang. I am indeed."
"By the way, Colonel Tazh, a request for Council aid was submitted by Law Apps and was turned down, so we don't have to worry about that complication. By the time the politicians get off their asses, they will be working for us."
The hiss of a vacant frequency filled the compartment, and the occupants sat in silence, stunned by what they had heard.
"Do you understand what we were just listening to?" Antaris said in a low voice. "That was Paz Cadre---they are preparing an attack---they are going to slaughter a lot of innocent people, starting with those three young men out there," she said, pointing out the cabin windows. She looked at each of the silent group, then back to Niki. "We cannot allow that to happen, can we?"
"No, Trina. We won't let that happen," he said with a trace of anger in his voice.
"Twenty-three."
"Yes, Niki."
"Sort back through your scans to the one I told you was Law Apps dispatch and set up to transmit on that frequency."
"Yes, Niki. Transmit ready."
"Dispatch, this is shuttle Twenty-three."
"Central dispatch," a startled, slightly nasal-sounding female voice replied. "Who is this and what are you doing on a restricted frequency?"
"Never mind that. I need to speak with the man who was in charge of the museum detail today. Just tell him the people in the shuttle want to talk to him and that we will be waiting for his response on this frequency---and tell him it's urgent."
"This frequency is restricted to Dispatch Traffic Control. Investigators do not use this frequency, sir."
Niki didn't respond.
"Sir? Are you there, sir?"
"Volume to minimum, Twenty-three, and alert us when someone calls for shuttle Twenty-three."
It was eighth hour twenty when Harko realized he hadn't rerouted the team from Astro and that they would be at the museum in a few minutes. He poked at the com.
"Communications."
"There's an air transport on its way to the museum from Nuperz Astro. Get hold of them and tell them to come directly to Central---and send Wills and Marsey over to meet them."
Harko began a hasty straightening out of his office. It wouldn't do to have guests of their stature confronted with his normal clutter, and then expect them to make the leap of faith it would require to accept him as the organized fact gatherer he was supposed to be. He'd try to look the part, even though he felt uncomfortable with it.
"Chief?"
Now who the hell is it?
"Harko here."
"I have a call waiting for you from Central Dispatch. She says Shuttle Twenty-three has an urgent message for you. Want me to put it through?"
"Yes."
He slapped his hands together and laughed. Then ten anxious minutes plodded by, and Harko had gone through the motions of straightening out his office for the second time before his com beeped.
"Harko here."
"Mr. Harko, this is---"
"Quiet. Don't say anything more about where or who you are. You have a pretty fancy computer over there, don't you?"
"Yes, we do, but---"
"Good. Have it duplicate this scramble," he said and counted to ten and back several times with the scrambler running. "Are you able to understand me now?"
"Yes. We hear you clearly."
"Good. I don't want anyone to hear this but us. Are you Nikisha Kaznov?"
"What? Is that important?"
"It's vitally important to me. Are you Kaznov?"
"All right, I am Niki Kaznov. What I have to tell you is extremely important, and we've only a couple of hours to do something. Paz Cadre's coming here at eleventh hour thirty to take out your men and attack the shuttles. We can defend ourselves, but we won't be able to help your men unless you tell them it's all right for us to take them in---or send more officers out here. The latter will only get a lot of people hurt, because there's nothing you can do against the equipment they have and I'm sure they outnumber you."
"You'd take Enforcement men in ... into the shuttle? Why would you do that? Why should I believe anything you have to say, Kaznov?"
"I don't want to argue with you, and I won't attempt to justify myself, either. If you want our help, we are willing. We don't want to see anyone hurt over things they're unable to understand or accept and that aren't any of their concern, anyway."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Will you listen, damn it? The Paz Cadre is bent on gaining control of Paz and they're going to do it by force, while we, on the other hand, merely want to leave. The time has come, and Halfyear is going to bring tremendous upheaval here."
"And?"
"And we're willing to help you as much as we can with the Paz Cadre, because they are willing to destroy millions of Pazians to get what they want. What you do about the Twelfth Generation is up to you. The rest of it ... you wouldn't understand."
Harko bit at his lip. There it was---his chance to make some choices he had been mulling over for several hours---decisions that could have an eternal impact on Paz. The people in the shuttle were not an evil---he'd arrived at that conclusion a long time ago---and they were offering their help. According to the Book of the Law, he should do everything he could to stop them, apprehend them, and make sure they were brought to trial for their crimes---but he couldn't do that. It would be a waste of vital time and would be misdirected, anyway.
"What would you say if I told you I understand more than you think, Kaznov?" he challenged.
"It's not beneficial for either of us to ramble about things that are not pertinent to the current situation, Mr. Harko. If there's time afterward, I'd be willing to sit with you, face to face, and discuss it. Right now your problem is not why we're doing this, but the fact that there's an army out here preparing to pounce on you---and that they don't care who gets termed."
"Go on."
"As I see it, we have the advantage since it is you who needs us. Now, do we talk about important things, or do you want to engage in useless intellectual repartee?"
Harko chuckled. This was no simple fisherman and he didn't waste words. Harko's suspicions were confirmed, and he really wanted to sit with this man. Maybe Kaznov could help Harko accept the reality of who he was in this genetic stew that was being stirred by forces unknown.
"All right, Mr. Kaznov. I was just probing a little. It's in my genes to dig for stuff, if you know what I mean. Do you know the individuals involved?"
"Call me Niki, please, and no, I don't know them. We overheard a conversation between someone named Tazh---Colonel Tazh---and a fellow named Lang. From what we heard, Lang must have people in high places, because he knew about your operation out here, your rotation schedule, and your ready team at East End."
There must be holes everywhere. How can I defend if they know everything I'm going to do?
Niki's voice continued speaking from the com, and Harko sat drumming his fingers loudly on the desk.
"...moving people in to deploy along the Vaskez line south to Anderson's. Other troops are going to be meeting up with Tazh's rovers at Pelter's Rock at fourteenth hour. I don't know why they'd be going all the way out there unless they're planning to squeeze you from three sides by bringing up people from Nuperz. That's all the information we have. I can have our computer send a copy of that conversation and the frequencies if you'd like."
"Yes. Do that. That would be helpful. Oh, and you may call me Brand. What do you know about their numbers?"
"Nothing. Based on what I've seen, I'd say you may be looking at thousands."
Thousands? Harko couldn't count on the Council, the Militia---even his own people.
"What is your suggestion?"
"Pull your men out of here, or tell them to get in with us. I know, it's in your genes to assume we want them removed to make things easier for us. Believe me, we can leave here any time we want and your men could do nothing to prevent it. Getting them out of here will save their lives, and that's our only motivation. We'll take care of what comes this way and along the Vaskez, if it's necessary."
"That's all?"
"No, you'd better start looking for some help you can trust---you're going to need all you can get."
"All right, Niki. I'll pull my men out, and I'll trust you to do as you say. You had better have told me true because, if you haven't, I'll find a way to get to you---that's a promise, Niki, and don't get any wrong ideas about why I'm cooperating with you. In my view, you're a destabilizing element that needs to be dealt with---and that's all. The sooner I get you out of the mix, the sooner I can defuse the others. As long as you're around, I have a problem."
"Sure, Brand, whatever you say. Remember, don't send anyone out here, because we won't be able to tell the difference and I don't want to be responsible for harming any innocents."
Harko very much wanted a chance to talk with this Nikisha Kaznov under different circumstances, but he was aware that it would be unlikely. He wanted to know more about this lone Delta, this simple fisherman who sounded more like a combination of intellectual and commander, whose voice exuded an unusually high degree of integrity and confidence that Harko found refreshing---compelling.
"All right, Niki, you have my word. I'll do my best to keep the Council and Enforcement out of the way and concentrate on straightening out the mess with the Generation. But, please, if it's at all possible, I'd appreciate having a chance to talk with you."
"I think I'd like that, Brand. Night."
Harko stabbed a finger at the com panel and a weary, bedraggled Sax appeared.
"Get all your material on Dathan Vagnu and Bagdel Frank into case presentable form. Don't fabricate anything, but make it as damning as you can. Exaggerate where necessary, but don't be obvious. I want to see both of them in the Terminator's booth before the end of Halfyear. Oh, and give me a set of genetics on all our Senior and Level One Investigators. Not a word to anyone---understood?"
"Sure, boss. Your wish is my tickle."
"This is serious, Sax---not a single syllable."
"Yes, sir. This is great. Who would ever have thought there'd be high intrigue in the records office?"
"Sax?"
"Yes, sir?"
"Shut up."
Pax, being mindful of her footing, because of the meager eighth g, paced the hangar deck as the shuttle started its approach to the number three docking ring. She wasn't happy about not having the information that ship could have given them. When she'd learned about the crew not being able to penetrate it, she'd searched all the records again. All the stuff the Rammix had in its formidable memory, even side bars and anecdotal commentary, was combed for any mention of anything that even alluded to entry codes. There was nothing.
It was blind luck that the recognition codes were similar enough for ISCU-9 to accept the Hermes's presence in the same galaxy without powering up for a fight---a fight she knew the Hermes would win, but at great cost. Now, there they were, side by side in astronomical terms, with the same destination and timetable. She pondered the odds against that and found the answer to be nothing short of laughable.
Lavan had been watching her for several minutes from the compartment's open door. She moved slowly toward Pax in her cautious let's not aggravate the vertigo, and the movement of her soft yellow smock caught Pax's attention.
"Hi, Marta," she said as she turned almost too fast.
"Want something for that?"
"For what? Oh, you mean my pacing."
"No, I mean the tension behind it."
"I'm fine."
"Oh, I can see that."
"Seriously. I'm just a little hot about things not going the way I want them to, that's all."
"Alex, let's go somewhere so we can sit and talk. I think that might help."
"Not now, Marta. I have to debrief the shuttle crew when they come aboard."
"Alex, I know you. You've been in constant contact with them since they separated from the Hermes, and you've heard everything they said, seen all that they saw, and played back the condensed record several times. Why do you think you need to talk to them now?"
"You're right."
"I know I'm right. So---do we go?"
"Uh-huh. Let's get some coffee before Rammix shuts us down for the coast in."
"You mean before it sets me up with a prolonged case of the dizzies. Too bad nobody's found the gene for that one."
"Medication?"
"None of them work on me. Anyway, let's get that coffee. Can't think of many things I like less than sucking stuff---especially hot stuff---from tubes."
Pax measured her stride to stay with Lavan as they made their way to the lounge. She enjoyed Lavan's company, her irreverent sense of humor, and her penchant for telling it as she saw it---both in marked contrast to her innocent-little-girl appearance. Maybe that was the key to her charm.
"Why don't you grab a table while I get the coffee?" Pax said. The lounge was full of others who had anticipated the coming fall into orbit, and there were only a couple of tables left. Besides, knowing Lavan, in this minute amount of inertial gravity, she would probably lose her coffee on the way.
"With pleasure," Lavan said.
The coffee was hot, though a little bitter, and the conversation, as always with Lavan, was pleasant and wandered over a broad range of topics. Pax almost forgot the ISCU-9 problem that annoyed her so much.
"What ever happened to the old idea of artificial gravity, Alex?"
"Artificial ... gravity?"
"You know ... fifth force and all that."
"I guess the same thing that happened to wormholes and time warps. Why?"
"It's my only hope. Couldn't help noticing that we're down to less than twenty minutes and none of our super-hyper-brilliant engineering staff's come up with the goods to get a spin on."
"It's a little late, now. Maybe next time."
"No next time, Alex. By the way---crummy segue---have you noticed that we've changed?"
"How do you mean that?"
"We're not the same people."
"Of course we're not---we're a hundred and thirty light years from home. We---"
"That's not what I'm getting at, Alex."
"What then?"
"I mean we are basically, fundamentally different people than we were when we entered the program. At first I thought that it was ridiculous, but a couple of my memories about how certain members of the crew would react to things weren't gibing with what I see in the same people now."
"Like?"
"Short fuses, for one thing. Oh, not hot tempers---but less tolerant and quicker to react. It's not attributable to the stress of our new situation but more---this isn't necessarily negative---more basic animal. Anyway, I ran through some of my early records, about a year into the program, and saw very different people than I'm seeing now."
"I haven't noticed anything different in me."
"You wouldn't. I didn't either. But I am different, and so are you---so is everyone else. If I hadn't worked so closely with all these people and kept profiles on them, I wouldn't have noticed anything."
"Are you saying the gene therapy---"
"That's what I'm saying. There is something more than what we were told. We don't make decisions or process information in the same way we used to."
"And that bothers you?"
"Only in that I feel like I've been raped at the molecular level. As for the mission, it's probably a good thing, but I would have appreciated it more if someone had summoned up the gonadal grit to tell me about it up front."
"I don't know if I can believe what I'm hearing."
"No? Alex, what made you decide you wanted to be a mother?"
"I don't know. I just felt better about myself, I guess."
"Look, Alex, I've been piecing things together, and I have a much better picture of what you're about. The person sitting here now is not the person I know from the training program. Tell me about the bittersweet thing."
"There's nothing to tell---nothing that's important to you, anyway."
"Who was the wicked witch, Alex?"
"Just an insignificant entry in a history chip that won't play in today's system. Now, drink your coffee. We start to fall in seven minutes."
At tenth hour fifty Tazh finished briefing the officers who would be in charge of the small strike force and returned to the Operations Center where he would keep an eye on the action. He seated himself at his console as the digits on the wall changed to eleventh hour exactly. Alarms started to rattle their irritating clamor through the chambers and passages of the Keep.
What the hell?
Hundreds of men rushed through the facility trying to get to their assigned emergency stations while huge, steel doors automatically rolled closed, sealing them into the Keep. Suddenly Ops was filled with anxious faces peering into monitors at consoles all around him. Tazh brought up the tactical sensor array and studied it to be sure that nothing had come in through the security grid. It showed the buffer zone to be clear---no intrusion. There was no air traffic an no one on the ground---so what had set off the system? All the equipment had been subjected to a thorough test earlier in the day, a routine he had insisted on from the beginning to be certain their security zone could not be violated. Everything had proven to be functioning perfectly. Something was wrong.
"Sir," a voice crackled from the com. "The entire western section is sealed off."
"Sealed off? What's sealed off and how?"
"All passages to the western section at every level are closed, sir. Some sort of doors have sealed the entries to the west."
What? There weren't any doors in the tunnels, only on the main entries from the outside and at the internal compartment closures. The passageways had been open and clear when work was started on the Keep over five years ago. Doors might have set off the alarms, but where had the damned things come from?
Tazh raced down the corridor west from Ops and, about a hundred meters along the route, ran up against a door in his path. He'd just spun around and headed back to Ops when he was knocked off his feet and sent sprawling by a tremendous jolt, followed by a rumbling vibration that lasted two minutes. Plate movement at this time of year? During Perigamia, certainly, but not nearing Halfyear. The Fathers had chosen these sites for their stability during the worst time of the year, and so the arrival of the Cafferty Cone had come as a surprise to everyone. But Cafferty had lain dormant for two hundred years. Now, approaching Halfyear, even the least solid ground on Paz moved very little, if at all.
The lights in the passages were dim and flickering when he entered the Operations Center. He found several consoles overturned, their entrails arcing and snapping in the weak emergency lighting, and the air was foul with smoke from electrical fires and the stench of burning flesh. Two men, their faces frozen in horror, their bodies contorted into impossible positions, lay smoldering on the floor, and a third sat trembling in a corner, his face colorless, and incoherent mumbling coming from his mouth. All the others were gone.
Cowards.
"What happened here?" he demanded of the quivering man who, when Tazh spoke, attempted to press himself farther into the corner and covered his head with crossed arms. Tazh wanted an answer, but the only reply he got was a series of unintelligible whimpers from the darkened corner.
"I ask for true Gammas and they give me---this?"
The main control and external sensor arrays remained on line, and Tazh assessed the situation quickly. Six of the main generators were down, which accounted for the emergency lighting, and all four main entry doors were now locked in the open position. Still nothing appeared on the sensors. It was not an attack, that much was clear to him, or else there would have been something on those screens, yet all the chambers west of the Operations Center had been physically removed from the system. What could have caused this, and why hadn't those doors been noticed during the reconstruction?
The shaking and rumbling began anew, and Tazh was forced to hold on with both hands. Rock and cement dust filled the room as it shook violently, and loose equipment danced amid sparks from parting cables. It was unlike any seismic activity in his memory, and, being a Pazian, he had experienced a lot of that. This was more reminiscent of his days working in the mines when the ore cars, fully loaded, rumbled along the tracks to the surface---except this was more pronounced, more violent.
"Colonel," a voice shouted from the com. "I ... you've got to see this, sir. The ground around the west end is ... is moving. All of it, and it looks like the whole damned thing is coming up---just lifting right up, sir."
"What station is this?"
"Sorry, sir. Entry two. There was a really wild thump a minute ago, and the shaking got so bad it sprung the doors open up here. Anyway, right after the thump, the ground over there looked like it was boiling. Then it stopped. This time---the one that just happened---the whole area around the west end came right up out of the ground around it. Right now it looks like it's a whole meter up from the rest, and it's still coming."
"I'm on my way up," Tazh shouted as he wheeled around and went into the passage at a full run. The man in the corner continued to tremble and whimper, his eyes vibrating like a cornered shavecat.
Why doesn't anything ever go right?
If he wasn't having to put up with old Lang's indecisiveness, it was the government or the cowards under his command. The only reliable thing he'd found, outside himself, was the predictable stupidity of the government.
The Keep continued to shake around him as he made his way to the second of the main access doors. He stepped out onto the shaking entry pad and looked west. The ground out there was churning like water boiling in a pot, and dense clouds of dust lifted skyward in a beige-colored imitation of steam. The area was now a good two meters above the surrounding level, its steel-colored sides diving straight from the top of the artificial mesa into the ground below. A lone sentry stood near the entrance with a SED pressed to his face, staring at the elevating real estate. His mouth was moving but issuing no sound.
"Twenty percent, damn it," Tazh shouted above the welter of discordant noises.
The startled sentry dropped the SED to the pad. "What, sir?" he said, stooping for the instrument at his feet.
"I assigned five men here. Where the hell are the other four? They run?"
"No, sir. They got trapped behind the door when it popped open---didn't have a chance," the man said, pointing at the pool of blood under the edge of the giant steel cover plate.
"Give me that SED," Tazh snapped and viciously snatched the device from the sentry's hand. What he saw caused involuntary shudders to snake their way down his spine. A section fifty meters on a side was now standing two and a half meters above the original level, and most of the dirt covering was gone. Immense gray cylinders were protruding from the surface by another three meters. Something about them was familiar to him, but he couldn't dredge up the details to fill in the missing pieces ... something familiar and ... important.
"Security, are you operational?"
"Yes, sir. We got scrambled around down here, but we're up and running again."
"Any ideas about what the hell's going on here?"
"None, sir. Not a clue."
After activating the core elevator there would be very little time before the Cadre people figured out what was happening. When they did, Niki knew they would do whatever was possible to prevent him from getting at the cores---including destroying the cores. There was no time for second thoughts nor room for doubt, the retrieval had to commence immediately, and Twenty-three had to be the first shuttle on the scene, because the others would be unmanned and defenseless during the procedure. Twenty-three was needed for protection and guidance.
"Twenty-three."
"Yes, Niki."
"Are there instruction files for weapons operation in your system?"
"There are complete training files for all operations pertaining to this unit."
"Bring up the files and begin active startup procedures."
Twenty-three's engines roared to life. The cabin was vibrating and full of noise. The entire area around the shuttle lit up with a blue-white glare as the vertical thrusters blasted the ground below with a fiery hell. The gargantuan machine shuddered a little, then the landing pads pulled clear of the ground while Niki manipulated the controls as if he had been born with them in his hands. He was ecstatic. He could fly the shuttle---but, he reminded himself, on more than one occasion he had discovered the hard way that there was a difference between soaring confidence and reality, that something he thought he knew and what was happening were substantially different. Here, there was no room for error---disaster waited in the wings for the slightest mistake, the tiniest hesitation or indecision. Beads of perspiration formed on his forehead.
He twisted the vertical thrust control slowly, carefully to the right while, simultaneously, maintaining pitch and roll through deft movements of the stick in his right hand and adjusting yaw with a delicate toe dance on the pedals. Twenty-three ascended, the rush of super-hot gases inside the display area blowing out the remaining windows and incinerating the building and its contents. Twenty-three rose above the walls of the gutted museum and thundered over the charred skeleton of a once beautiful building. Smoke and flame rolled around it while it hovered and fed Six the commands required to position that shuttle behind and slightly to the right of Twenty-three for the flight to Mount Cafferty.
"Where is weapons control, Twenty-three?"
"Primary weapons management is located on the port side, center console."
"Already here," Luto called out. "Training program is running now."
Niki rotated to count heads. Luto was at the main weapons station, and Antaris had taken up the other. Pasha was seated beside him and the seats behind were filled with others of the group, the remaining three pressed against the aft bulkhead, their fingers clutching whatever they could find.
"Twenty-three, are there more safe seats?"
"Yes, Niki."
He was going to have to remember to be more explicit. Such errors could prove important ... even crucial when time was short.
"Where are they located?"
"Tactical and navigation stations in compart 7-D at the aft end of the main companionway and up two levels."
Niki flicked his thumb at the ones by the bulkhead and said, "Go," then turned to Pasha and winked. "Am I learning?"
She smiled.
"Twenty-three, resume control and begin retrieval mission. Activate all other units, now."
The sticks went limp in his hands when control transferred to Twenty-three's computer and notices flashed on the screen verifying each critical function had taken place properly. The loud whine of hydraulic pumps rolled in over the deep rumble of the engines as the landing legs were sucked up into the fuselage. That was followed by a series of clicks and clangs when the landing gear locked in place. His restraints tightened around him, and an acceleration notice flashed on the screen. Niki grinned. The Odyssey was beginning.
Below, the smoking, melted ruin of the Museum of the Ancients stood in testimony to the occasion. In the future the ruin itself might become a museum to mark the beginning of the change, if Paz could survive the turmoil rising in its gut. The people of Paz would be writing a new history, erecting new museums to house future artifacts, and Niki hoped he would not be remembered with the same disdain he had felt for the Fathers before all this began. That thought brought with it a strange feeling---the feeling that his memory of the time before his enlightenment was fading into obscurity and he could barely remember his youth, his friends, even his family. A new man---a different man sat in the pilot's chair of shuttle Twenty-three.
Twenty-three and Six climbed directly to two thousand meters for the short trip to Cafferty Bight and the cores, while Niki did the only thing he could do---put his faith in the computers and the planning of the Fathers, sit back and observe. The only part any of them could play in the next hour or so would be to help defend themselves and the other shuttles if that became necessary. Niki watched the various monitors giving him a complete view of the area around and below the shuttle with a clarity and brightness rivaling that of midday Vegamwun. He tinkered with controls on the sides of the monitors that allowed him to magnify any portion of the display, revealing incredible detail. Magnificent machines employing technology well advanced over that of Paz. He had wondered about this before, now he understood the how and the why of it and, in an odd way, wished he wasn't going so he could see what they would do with what he was about to give them. Paz would be changed forever---for good or bad he would never know---and Paz would never ... ever be the same.
Arms loaded down with a stack of paper files and two chip cases dangling from his fingertips, Sax hit the latch with his knee and pushed the door with his forehead. Harko motioned him to a large case board on the back wall and locked the door.
"Sax, why so much paper? I thought most of this stuff could be chip loaded."
"Yeah, Chief, I could have done that, but as soon as I give the copy command, the system will go active and anybody interested will know---so I printed it, and I think it's all in order."
"But this is going to take hours."
"Better that than having someone reading what I'm loading, right?"
There were many reasons why Harko liked Sax, but his honesty and attention to detail were the main ones. He could trust Sax to do his duty and rely on getting far more detail than needed on any record search the man did.
"Okay, Sax, what do we need to do?"
"Rumor has it you have a computer down here that's not connected to the rest of the system."
"Yeah? How did you know that?"
"It's my job, boss. I know lots of things I'm not supposed to. Where is it?"
Harko pulled two chairs over to the end of the case board where an old computer sat hidden beneath a pile of papers. He swept the papers off onto the floor.
"Sax, I've heard you're a frustrated---"
"Chief?" a voice said from the com.
"What is this? You don't signal me first any more?"
"Sorry, sir. The team from Astro's been waiting a couple of hours, and they're insisting you either take them to the museum or authorize them to go there on their own. What should I tell them?"
"Hmm, are they with you now?" Harko had forgotten about the Astro people, and he couldn't allow them to go anywhere near the museum now. He needed an excuse to keep them in New London without having to listen to them whine or take the matter to the Council.
Part of the truth will work---the part the Council already has---and that way, if they go over my head, the Council will corroborate whatever I tell them.
"Yes, sir. They're in the waiting room."
"Okay. Get them on the com, but scramble it."
"A frustrated what, boss?"
"Sorry, Sax ... a frustrated historian. I understand you've been compiling a detailed account from day one."
"Yes, sir. I started it when I was still in onners house. As a hobby, you know. Funny, I haven't thought about that in a long time. I started collecting information when I was ten and put it all in a book I called Sax Facts for about two years, but it got too big for me to keep it in order without spending forever sorting. Anyway, I had the idea that, if we---"
The sound of the com interrupted him.
"Yeah, Harko here."
"Chief, the guy from Astro's on your secure line."
"Thanks." Harko changed lines and a red, heavily wrinkled face with drooping secondary eyelids, which gave it a permanently drugged appearance, materialized.
"Chief Harko, I am Dr. Samyal Shupe, head PSI at Astro Nuperz. Perhaps you have heard of me?"
"Dr. Shupe?" Harko had never heard the name mentioned even lightly in any context, but it was prudent to keep this affair on a diplomatically pleasant level. "Yes, I believe so, Dr. Shupe. The name is definitely familiar," he lied. "How may I be of help to you, sir?"
"We have been waiting a long time, Chief Harko. Can you explain why we are still here?"
Harko couldn't decide from the man's expression if he was angry, frustrated, or asleep. "Of course, Dr. Shupe. We have dangerous insurgents operating in the area, and open conflict with them could erupt at any time. It is my feeling that persons as valuable to the wellbeing of Pazian society as yourself and your colleagues should not be exposed to potential harm. If I were to let you go to the museum with the current threat---I could not ensure your safety and would not be able to live with the guilt should anything happen to you or any members of your team." He laughed inwardly at the idea that he was practicing diplomacy---he hadn't thought he had any of that trait in him.
Sax, obviously swallowing laughter, stepped out of the office and closed the door.
"Thank you, Chief Harko. You would be surprised how few recognize the magnitude of our contributions to life here. I understand your concern and appreciate it, but I would like to be taken to the museum at the earliest possible moment. Are you able to give me an idea of how long we will have to wait? I have some critical experiments in progress back at the station, which need tending---very important experiments."
"Yes, I'm sure they are. The best I can say at the moment is, tomorrow at midday. Does that fit in with your schedule?"
"Yes, that will be fine. Are there adequate Council funds on hand to take care of our stay?"
"Absolutely, Dr. Shupe. Tell the man on the desk, and he will make all the arrangements."
The screen went blank, and Harko sank back in his chair.
Pompous, self-serving asses.
"Sax," he shouted. "Get your butt back in here."
Sax stepped through the door wearing an exaggerated smile and started for the case board.
"Lock the door, Sax."
"Oh, yeah. You finished nuzzling the illustrious Dr. Shupe's royal fuzzy, sir?"
Harko threw him a menacing look and pointed at the empty chair beside him.
"Yes, sir. I don't know which is harder to stomach, Astro or Council. Anyway, where was I?"
"Your book got too big---but I'm not after your whole history, Sax. Try to condense it, all right? I'm trying to piece together a puzzle I've been chewing on for a while, and I need to find historical precedents and evidence to support it or toss it."
"All right, boss. Where do you want me to begin?"
Sax took his seat and squirmed the cushion into conformity.
"I want you to give me your opinion and interpretation of our history up to the end of the Fathers---but try to keep it brief, please."
"Brief's going to be pretty tough. Let's see now," Sax said while digging around in one of the chip cases. He withdrew a chip, flipped it over in his fingers and slipped it into Harko's private computer. "Yeah, that's it," he said as he adjusted his position to see the screen and Harko at the same time.
"In my opinion, the stuff we're taught in school is outside the reality border by a few parsecs. We were taught our lines started with the Ancients, and that's true, almost. It probably began fifty years earlier, because the Fathers didn't just drop out of the sky like snow flakes, plant the Ancients at Ganeden, then melt."
Sax scrolled up a chart on the screen and continued, "See that nice, straight line at the bottom---that represents the birthdays of the Ancients. They were all born on the same day. People don't get born in blocks like that---not even with our population at its current level. Records show that, in any given month, only two hundred sixty thousand are born at our most prolific, and that number is from our best month last year. So, I do a little calculating, using the information we have, and I get from as low as six thousand to as high as eleven thousand new Pazians, and the best count I have been able to put together for the Fathers was eight to fourteen thousand on the surface during the Seeding.
"They were, according to the Ancient Record, more or less evenly distributed---males and females. That means, at best, there were seven thousand women at the time and, of that number, maybe three thousand six hundred were of childbearing age. So, where did eleven thousand and forty babies come from on a single day?"
"Well? Where did they come from?" Harko demanded.
"It's only guessing, you know, but I think the Ancients were incubated, much like we do with commercials who don't want to carry. We may be descended from the Fathers---or we may not. I think those embryos were engineered and brought here to provide the first Pazians, the folk we call our Ancients. It's even possible the Fathers completed the engineering here, once they were aware of the conditions on Paz. I don't know ... but evidence and comments I found here and there tend to support that idea. Creepy, isn't it?"
Six remained at two thousand meters while Twenty-three descended through a dense ice fog, its vertical thrusters producing a rhythmic staccato of explosive sounds as the computer positioned the shuttle's main cargo hatch over the first of the cylinders. Niki expected resistance, but none had been offered. Most of the Cadre soldiers who were in the area when the shuttles arrived fled beyond the slip and into the forest to the south.
Hovering just five meters over the rack, Twenty-three's main cargo hatch opened and two long, mechanical arms reached down and delicately plucked one of the cores out of its two-hundred-year-old nest. Raising and rotating the ninety-ton cylinder, the arms moved the core into Twenty-three's gaping mouth where another appendage, looking like an articulated steel tongue, cradled the core and swallowed it like an oversize capsule.
Twenty-three had just managed to get a bite on the third core when the first of Tazh's attack craft came in from the east and headed straight for the waiting Six. Two missiles were launched and burned a steaming trail for Six's midsection. They erupted into harmless fireballs some two hundred meters from their target. A second try brought similar results, and an artificial snow began to fall on Mount Cafferty's southern slope.
Tazh stood in the wreckage that had been his Operations Center, fists clenched, watching the action on two of the remaining monitors while the idiot in the corner continued to whimper and shake.
"Air Strike Two, they're disabling your missiles electronically---you untrac pup. Move in over the lower one and put a couple of Packers on it. Stop them, damn it. Stop them."
The attacking vehicle added some altitude and flew over Six. It took up a position directly above Twenty-three. Two Packer Bombs dropped from its belly, the aim flawless.
At the instant of release, a small door on the back of Twenty-three swung open and the two falling canisters vaporized in a flash that blinded anyone whose eyes were unprotected and lit up the sky over New London. The AAV that had released the bombs jerked in the shockwave, then rolled toward the ground in a tight spiral until the pilot regained control.
"Two, get out of there and wait for One and Three. Hit that lower one from three sides with missiles armed for impact---no guidance."
They can't be allowed to take my cores.
Tazh knew now---knew what this was all about, and he swore on his Ancient that they would not get away with it. As long as they didn't have the cores they couldn't use the weapon, and without it they were vulnerable. He was sure of it.
Three of the AAVs formed up in a triangular pattern around Twenty-three and unleashed a salvo of six missiles just as the hatch locked shut over the third cylinder. All six bored straight in to Twenty-three's hull. Twenty-three lurched violently from the shock, began to roll, then stabilized while the attackers maneuvered themselves in for the kill. Then, out of nowhere, five more shuttles arrived, adding their rumbling to the already deafening noise.
Tazh stood, stiff-legged, in the shambles of the Ops room, his anger was white-hot. There were now seven growling behemoths over the Keep and radar revealed another four approaching fast from the south. He was under full attack. This was not the way it was supposed to be. He'd planned it to the minutest detail. His forces were to have caught the enemy off guard on the ground and decimated them in a single, devastating attack---there was to be no one left alive. That was how it was supposed to have played---not like this. Not like this.
"Launch all air units," he shouted. "I want them stopped---do you hear me? Stop them now."
The attacks against the shuttles were ineffective, but Tazh was determined not to let those shagrats get the cores. He might not get them for himself but, by the Ancients, neither would they.
"One, Two, and Three, run interference for the others, and the rest of you put every Packer you have on that platform---destroy those cylinders---all of them."
The first AAV to make a pass at the rack successfully destroyed three of the cores. As the second was on its way in, a voice was heard simultaneously on all Cadre frequencies---all heard the message that came from Twenty-three.
"Colonel Tazh, do not force us to term your people. That isn't what we want but, as you have seen, we are capable of doing so. You have no weapons that can harm us, but we can destroy you and your army---utterly. If you force us, nothing will be left. The choice is yours."
The Cadre vehicle approaching the rack veered right and took up a station north of the Keep, while all the others moved off in various directions to positions their pilots must have thought were safe.
Tazh's rage flared, and he growled into the com, "I don't know who the hell you are, you rotten shagrat, but I'll have your carcass hanging on my wall before you take those cores. They're mine, damn it---mine."
"Those cores," the voice replied calmly, "are the property of the remaining seeds of the Ancients aboard the La Paz, which is on its way here now to reclaim them. Your enlightenment is flawed, Tazh---you have received distorted messages and have misinterpreted them. Think, man---allow your mind to escape the loop it's in and try to see the truth."
What Tazh was hearing, all were hearing.
"Tazh, this is Lang. Can you hear me?"
"Yeah, I hear you."
"Please, Tazh, listen to reason and understand that your position is weak---untenable. There is no support available that could arrive in time to do any good."
"You're the one who's weak, Lang. I've seen it. You back off and don't make the hard decisions that must be made, and I have been carrying the whole damned load, old man. I've been making the decisions to further the cause while you ... you have been content to allow the fatherless untracs to undermine the Pazian culture---the Gamma line---and turn our home over to a seething, slobbering mongrel race. It is you who has been watering down the movement---you and your liberal ideas."
"Tazh, listen to me---please. Maybe my ideas are too liberal in your view, but my field games experience is vastly superior to yours. Look around you. Your position is impossible, and you can't hope to fight them without losing everything we need in that sector---I can see that from here. What you can do is let them go ahead with what it is they are doing, and we will have another day at it. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"
"You old fool. Another day? Another day for what? If I give in now there will be no tomorrow for us. They'll have the use of the weapon, and the untracs will be free to take over Paz. I know. I've seen it. My dreams have shown me the way. We must cleanse Paz of the untracs and all those who would help them poison us with non-onners---cross-lots, taking us nowhere but down. That's what we have to do before it's too late ... bury them all."
"What is it you're saying, Tazh? Where did you ever get such strange notions?"
"Tazh," the voice from the shuttle said. "The Fathers never wanted anything like that. Their idea---their dream---was to colonize Paz and have it grow into a credit to their memory. The Ancient Record spells it out in painstaking detail, and the untracs play a central role in that dream. Don't you see---"
"If that is so, then their dream is a nightmare for those of us who care. Those inferior bloodworms will bring about the end of the Gamma man---the true inheritor of the Fathers. The others are weeds in our garden, and it's my destiny to purify that garden. If I don't, the helix unravels and the race dies under the heel of a no-history, no-lineage, inferior beast. Open the gun door," he shouted. There was no response. He was---alone. All his men had fled while he was raving at everyone and everything. Only the coward in the corner had stayed behind.
"Damn them all," he muttered and activated the door mechanism himself. A glance at the sensors showed eleven shuttles taking turns at robbing him of his cores. His AAVs were gone, thousands of bodies were melting away to the south---running---leaving him to decide the future of an entire planet. Tazh was up to it, and decide he would.
He slapped the useless flesh huddled in the corner and handed him a Popper. "Do the right thing, damn you. Do the right thing."
The young man took the pistol from Tazh and pointed the blunt muzzle at Tazh's face, the barrel wobbling up, down, left, right, then, laughing hysterically, aimed it into his own chest and pulled the trigger. Tazh smiled at the rigid body convulsing like a marionette on loose strings, then headed for the door.
"Tazh? Tazh, can you hear me?" the voice from the shuttle said, but there was no one to listen.
Two minutes after the final core was taken from the rack, huge jets of fire and smoke erupted from all the openings in the Mount Cafferty communal shelter as the self-destruct triggered. In silent horror Niki watched from Twenty-three while all the ground below turned into a raging inferno.
"General Lang," Niki said, "are you still on the frequency?"
"Yes, I am. And what ... what of Tazh? What has happened there?"
"The entire complex went up in flames, and I assume he termed along with the others who were still in there."
"No, not Tazh. He's there, somewhere, believe me. We must all watch our backs now. He is a dangerous man and quite insane, I'm afraid."
"So I gathered. I propose a meeting between you and myself. There is information in the Ancient Record and some personal revelations I would like to discuss with you. Maybe, after our meeting, you can talk to Tazh---if he's still alive---get him to listen to reason."
"There will be no talking with Tazh, and reason is beyond him now---he has stepped well beyond thinking as a rational human being. This meeting, Mr. Kaznov, what would be the purpose?"
"Just for you to hear and consider what I have discovered about the Fathers and their intent."
"Surely, there is more to it than that."
"As a gesture of goodwill, I would appreciate you moving your people back from the Vaskez line. Their presence could trigger a confrontation with more disastrous consequences than what has taken place here."
"For a threat like that you have to have made some concessions with someone---or you have more in mind than what you have stated on the surface."
"You haven't addressed my request, General."
"Oh, yes---that. What are you offering in return for my withdrawing from the Vaskez and agreeing to meet with you?"
"You will have live men and working machinery," Niki said with a touch of sarcasm in his voice. "You will also learn the truth---if you are man enough to hear it."
"Your truth, mm-hmm. Well, at any rate, I suppose, when faced with an overwhelming force and nothing to gain, the move of wisdom would be to comply with your wishes. I will have my men removed from the Vaskez line, and I agree to the meeting. Now, who are you?"
"I am Niki Kaznov of Nurusha."
"The Delta---my enigma---the one for whom we have been searching all this time. Well, well, well. So, you have decided to side with Twelve Points, have you?"
"I side with no one. My allegiance is to the Fathers and their unfinished work---a work you need to come to understand. Who knows? You may even come to embrace it."
"Yes, yes---the Fathers. I am looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Kaznov, so that I may see with my own eyes the shadow that moves in my dreams. As for the rest, I am a reasonable man who is willing to listen. Tell me where and when."
"Go to Ganeden. You may bring four personal guards with you, if you feel it is necessary---they won't be challenged. There is a deserted building near the town center, called Proctor Terrace. Be waiting there at the third hour of the second day of the coming period; that's four days from now. You will be contacted by an individual who has nothing to do with any of the groups---an independent observer, nothing more. Is that agreeable?"
"Have I any other choice?"
"No."
"Then it is agreeable. Until then, Mr. Kaznov."
Shan sat staring at the digits on the link screen counting down toward the time for Niki's call. Through the east window an early morning Vegamwun painted the city in a featureless gray without shadows as it barely penetrated the ice fog. A haze that was thickened by the exhausts of heating systems running at full throttle to dispel a deepening chill as Paz retreated farther and farther from their life-giving star. Shan didn't like the idea of being left out of the retrieval process, but Niki had insisted that he would be more valuable in the city and he had promised to call at ten past first hour.
When the link sounded, Shan leaned forward and keyed the receive anxiously. Niki's image, drawn and weary, appeared on the screen. Shan breathed his relief and turned up the volume.
"Right on time, Niki. Did you get them?"
"That's a long story, Bo, but it's all recorded for you. We were able to get out eighty-seven, but we lost two of the shuttles to what we---well, Twenty-three says were computer problems. There was some resistance, but nothing the shuttles were unable to handle."
"Everyone is okay?"
"Yes. All of us are exhausted from too much adrenaline and not enough sleep---but we're all right. Listen, Bo, I want you to find out who's running the Generation. It is imperative I make contact with that person in two days or less."
"Don't you ever do anything that's easy?" Shan said as he read through his contact list on the other monitor. He found no one who could provide such information, with the possible exception of Davil Sharp. "I don't think I can do that. Not that fast, anyway."
"You have to, Bo. It's important I talk to the person running that group."
"Uh-huh. The only person I am aware of who may have that information is Sharp, but I honestly doubt he knows that much. Besides, the group has probably gone shagrat-deep after all that has happened."
"You said it true. All right, I have an idea, but you'll need to be careful about what you say. Do you know Brand Harko?"
"Law Apps. Old Stoneface. I've interviewed him a few times, but I wouldn't say I know the man. Why?"
"Call him. Tell him you want to talk about the Twenty-three incident. Don't mention any names on the link---just that you need to talk to him. He will understand."
"If this is such a big secret, why are you talking to me about it on the link?"
"The shuttles are in what Twenty-three says is 'synchronization set' and 'phase adjustment' with the cores, so the computers are tied up with that for the next sixteen hours, minimum."
Shan didn't have the faintest idea what this was about and his bewilderment must have shown.
"I know, Bo. I don't understand it completely, either, but enough time has elapsed that the cores and the main propulsion engines need to be brought into synch with one another."
"Of course. Why didn't I think of that," Shan said with a laugh. "You know, Niki, as soon as I call Harko, they'll be on my fuzzy, too."
"That's precisely why you're going to buy a ticket to Ganeden and pack your bag before you call him. You're going to have to move fast after that."
"Niki, it's four degrees here at midday---and you want me to go to Ganeden?"
"Wear a heavy coat, Bo. See you there."
Pasko weed and trash now filled Bander's Park but, when he had still been a ward at the onners house---over there where a street had been---the caregivers would bring them here for midday break. All the onners would share head-over-heels rolls in the clean, trimmed sangrass that was always more blue than the sky, and they would play on devices designed to keep the attention of a five-year-old long after the caretakers wanted to leave. Adults could never understand the importance of one more express ride on the hi-chute, or one more climb out on a cashow branch too thin.
The devices were still there, rusted into the trash-covered pasko weed that had choked the sangrass into oblivion. The onners were gone, the people were gone, too---the result of a plate shift ten years ago. This whole section of New London had been destroyed, replaced by a sheer, thirty meter slip just beyond the southern edge of the park, his favorite park, a park that was the only evidence remaining that the area had once been populated.
Shan stood for a moment, shivering in the cold, listening to the haunting echoes of onners at play, caretakers screaming in a futile effort to maintain control. Then he found the fattest cashow, the only thing that the knee-high pasko couldn't strangle, and tried to hide---without success---from a breeze that couldn't make up its mind which way it wanted to blow and from the ice crystals cutting at his cheeks.
"Albo Shan?"
The voice sounded much closer than it was, as Harko's words came riding the wind to Shan's ineffective refuge.
"Yeah, I'm Shan, but I'm not coming out from behind this tree."
"Shan, I don't have time for foolishness. Get over here and join me in the transport."
Shan eased out around the edge of the two-meter thick trunk until he could see a large Enforcement van, shrouded in a cloud of vapor generated by its warm presence and docked at the northern boundary of the park.
It was pleasant inside the van, and Shan, without the slightest hesitation, accepted the steaming cup of massak Harko handed him.
"I told you to meet me at the park, Shan, not in it. Ah, now ... now I remember, you worked on the Flanders case while it was hot. As I recall, you grilled me pretty hard on that one and didn't do me any favors when your story came out in the Journal." Harko smiled a finely tuned you-can-trust-me at Shan, the kind of smile Shan had seen many times.
He wasn't about to be taken in by it this time, either.
"I'm not one of your suspects, you know. I'm only here to pass along a message from Niki. He said you would know who he is and what this is about. Was he right?"
"Yeah, he was. What's your seed lot number, Shan?"
"What?"
"Your seed lot number."
"Kappa six---why?"
"Curiosity, Shan, connected to some research I've been doing on lots and occupations. What's the message?"
"He needs to make contact with the current leader of the Generation."
"The hell you say."
"No, that's it."
"I'm not so sure I can do that, Shan. You're a reporter---a ruthless one---and that's a piece of information I don't want made public. Not just yet."
"I gave Niki my word that I wouldn't release anything until the Twelve Points finish whatever it is they're doing, and I'll extend the same promise to you---not one word until you say it's okay."
Harko screwed his face up into what looked like pain and said, "Not good enough, Shan. The stuff I have has implications not even your more than adequate imagination could conjure up---sorry."
"What implications?"
"Things that could change our world. No, Shan."
"Listen to me, Chief Harko. The information Niki's going to give me will do that, and more. He said it will change the face of Paz, with the name or without it, and he needs that name to help him complete his work. If he doesn't get it, his work will be completed, regardless, and your problems will only grow."
"What work would that be, Shan?"
"I ... I don't know, but he wants the name." Shan thought hard about what he was going to say next, then blurted it out. "I've seen the power he possesses, first hand, and I don't think I'd want to create any more trouble for him than he already has."
"Why, Albo Shan, shame be on you. Would you be attempting to intimidate me with some kind of threat?"
Shan looked out into the deserted park and took his upper lip between his teeth. In front of him was evidence that Paz changed its face every year, but even with a different physical face the culture remained basically the same. What was going on between Niki, the Cadre, and the Generation was different---it was going to alter what everyone on Paz had always considered to be the one constant of their world. When he was an onner, he'd played out there in that park, but the park was no longer what it had been. He, grown into manhood, had taken his place in the world of Pazian culture, a culture that, for all practical purposes, remained constant from generation to generation, while the park gave way to weeds and the devices upon which he'd played crumbled into the brush that had put an end to the lush sangrass. The people who'd once occupied this section had all moved to other parts of the city or become numbers in the record, but the culture had changed not a whit because of the demise of this plot of ground. Niki had promised him it would change now, that there would be a fundamental change and unbelievable upheaval in the one constant on Paz.
"No, damn it---no threats. I'm trying to impress upon you that the importance of what Niki's doing is far greater than you and I---greater than whatever evidence you have secreted away or even the story I'm sitting on. Now that I'm thinking about it, what we are doing may turn out to be ... worthless when he is finished."
"Alex."
"Yes, Rammix."
"There has been a change in the telemetry from the surface of the planet."
"Explain."
"The intermittent signal in proximity to the original steady-state transmission has changed its position to a point substantially farther north, approximately latitude fifty-eight and nine degrees east of its original longitude. The steady-state transmission has ceased. The cessation of that signal occurred eleven minutes six seconds after what I have determined to have been a particle beam discharge."
"Particle beam? Are you certain of that?"
"No, Alex. The discharge reading was too weak to obtain to certainty, but the signature of the wave gives a probability of greater than eighty-five percent. Eighty percent is the cut-off point for making---"
"Yes, Rammix, I know. What is the significance to be drawn?"
"Unknown. However, it would indicate that the inhabitants are in possession of sophisticated weapons."
"Mm-hmm. That is---bad news. What about the codes? Have you made any progress with them?"
"Yes, Alex. I am now able to understand, and I have been in communication with ISCU-9 for thirty-four minutes."
"What? Rammix, I instructed you to advise me of any change in that situation when it occurred. What happened?"
"Two things, Alex. First, you were in your dormant state until fifteen minutes ago, and I have learned not to attempt rational intercourse with you immediately after your arousal---your thinking processes remain in an impaired condition for some time. Second, it has taken this long to decipher the response. Being in communication does not automatically imply a condition of comprehension."
"Fair enough---I guess. What was the communication?"
"By your instruction, I have continued my requests for information regarding the entry codes. The response was quite complicated, but I can put it in terms you will readily understand, if you wish."
"Well, do it. What was the response?"
"Go to hell."
The pilot circled the Ganeden landing pad cautiously, testing the wind for the best approach before trying to set down on the icy field below. Shan shuddered in troubled anticipation and looked down into a plain of uniform white-on-white. Snow streaked across the pad in ruled lines, pushed by winds that swept the Ganeden plate ever harder as Halfyear approached. So far north, snow was not uncommon, even during Quarteryear, but it was guaranteed now and it wasn't the soft, sticky, large, wet flakes of Quarteryear, either, but hard pellets, not quite ice---not quite snow. The unbroken flatness of the plain allowed the wind to bluster unabated across several hundred kilometers, and the only consolation was that the super-cold snow and ice didn't tend to collect much anywhere.
Shan snugged up the belt at the waist of his extra-long carper down coat and raised the hood over his head, fluffing up the shagrat fur lining as he did so, to be sure there would be only enough of his face exposed to see where he was going. He was certain he had outsmarted the weather this time.
Two transports were waiting on the field, and Shan hoped one of them was from Niki's group. There were no facilities other than some old hangars at the far western end of the Ganeden pad to protect him from the full force of the wind---no place to hide from the minus twenty degree cold. Shan knew that, long coat or not, any time spent down there would be as miserable an experience as one could have anywhere on Paz.
He stepped off the air transport and realized in an instant that he had been tragically wrong about the long coat. It began funneling snow and ice-laden surface wind and driving it forcefully up to his chest. He tried shoving his hands into heavily insulated pockets as deeply as they would go, then pushing to gain an extra couple of centimeters, but it was useless.
The frigid, biting wind caught in his coat and filled it like a sail, propelling him across the waiting area toward an ancient wire fence in the throes of collapsing under a load of age and ice. The soles of his boots were too smooth to impede his progress, and he continued gaining speed, racing totally and madly out of control toward the jagged, rusted barrier.
He was brought up just short of disaster by a pair of strong hands, and a familiar voice said, "Great day, Mr. Shan. Well, for you, maybe not so great. You should get yourself a pair of good ice boots to wear up here, man, not those city soles---you could slide all the way to North Coopersland in those things. Here, give me your hand."
There stood the burly Luto, and Shan was grateful for his timely help, but in no way would he take either hand from the shelter of his deep pockets.
"No hands, Luto. Just get a grip on my arm, and I promise not to struggle. A little cold for this much snow, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Luto responded with Shan firmly in tow. "It's been coming down like this since last night, so we're glad to have this wind. It's cold enough that the stuff doesn't start stacking up until it hits the slope to Cooper's Plateau---over in the Pockets. The drifts over there can get up to eight meters, even more sometimes."
Luto might have been glad the wind was blowing, but, as far as Shan was concerned, it could stop any time and it wouldn't be missed by him. Shan dropped into the transport and started wrestling with his coat to get the snow out of it before it melted into his clothing---he was too late.
The red front of the building no longer had its sign above the alcove, to rattle and bang threateningly overhead. That had fallen prey to the relentless wind and was probably already at the bottom of one of the snow banks at Cooper's Plateau. The alcove looked like the open mouth of an angry, red, snaggletooth monster as confused eddies wouldn't allow moisture to fall in any particular direction---the resulting icicles trailing off in all directions and forming a line of glistening, misshapen teeth.
The quiet and warmth of the shelter was a welcome relief. Not a hint of the tumult on the surface, which suited Shan just fine. Luto stopped at a door and indicated that he should go through it.
"There's no one in there with a needle, is there?"
"No, but Niki's expecting you. See you later, Mr. Shan."
Shan stood at the door for a minute, watching Luto saunter down the passage, then stepped in and was greeted by a plethora of electronic gadgets that took up most of the floor space.
"Hello, Niki," he said, wandering from one machine to the next. "What's all this stuff?"
"Evening, Bo. It's monitoring equipment from Twenty-three. We need to keep track of several things that are happening right now." Niki pushed away from his desk and continued, "So, my friend, how did you make out with Harko?"
"That damned Harko made me promise all my vital parts in trade for this information, and he already has a file made out for me if any of it leaks out. The guy you want is the GoL Vagnu."
"As in Governor of Law in the High Council?"
"Council."
"That's a good one. How am I supposed to get him up here? I have to have him here before second day of the coming period, and time is going fast."
"I don't know, Niki. If I knew what you were doing, maybe I could come up with some way to make a deal with him---like a treaty between the three groups, maybe."
"Treaty is one way of putting it," Niki said while adjusting a monitor on his desk. "Look, Bo, I really don't like keeping you in the dark, and maybe this would be a good time to let you know a little more. I mean, after all, you can't go back to New London until this is resolved, and that means you're going to be here through the tenth day of Halfyear."
"Niki."
"No choice."
"I want this story, you know I do, but I also have a job to do and I can't stall them much longer without being dropped in the street. It's been eleven days since I've submitted anything, Niki."
"I know that, but if you go back now, you'll be hunted down by the Generation or, worse, somebody from the Cadre who isn't as pleasant as Lang. And if I can't arrange to meet with this, um, GoL Vagnu, you'll be dangerous to all of us---and Harko."
"Dangerous? How?"
"You already know too much. I've set up a meeting with the Cadre people, and once we've talked you may not have to worry about them, but the Generation and Harko represent other problems."
Niki crossed the room, closed the door, and locked it.
"Bo, what I am about to tell you, even the people here don't know. When I'm done you'll understand why you can't leave. Do you have a chipcorder with you?"
"I'm a reporter, Niki. Chipcorders and microcams might as well be implanted in us at birth. Of course I have it with me---and it has been running all the while you've been talking."
"I figured that. Turn it off and give it to me."
Shan handed the chipcorder to Niki.
"Niki, I have a question for you before you begin---one of those things friends ask friends, you know. So, right now this is Bo to Niki, and you have the chipcorder. Right after Days of Disturbance I met a simple, slightly shy fisherman from Nurusha down in the Flag district who wanted, more than anything, to go to the Museum of the Ancients. What happened to him? Is he still around?"
"Pardon me, GoL Vagnu," the Council receptionist said on his portacom. "There is a call for you from a Mr. Albo Shan. He says he is a reporter with the Journal. Do you want to take the call, sir?"
"Yes. Put him on my office line and tell him I will be with him in a couple of minutes."
Vagnu reassembled Hagman's chip case carefully to make sure it was exactly as he'd found it and put it back in the drawer. If he had an adversary on the Council, it was Hagman, and if Hagman found out Vagnu was snooping in his chips, well, that would lead to a bad situation from which he may might not be able to extricate himself.
Entering his office, Vagnu saw the call light flashing. Good, he thought.
If this Shan wants an interview I will grant it. Good political business to be in the public eye from time to time.
"Hello, sorry to keep you waiting, Mr. Shan. How may I help you?"
"This is sensitive material---for your knowledge only. Can you put us on a secure line?"
"Yes, Mr. Shan, of course," he said and switched over to the Council's coded, off-system line. Citizens called the Council all the time to report everything from outrageous conspiracy theories to strange lights in the sky and invading hairless giants from Ahriman, but this was the first time anyone requested a quiet and secured line. "There, Mr. Shan, we are as if in a Halfyear priest's hall where no one hears. Now, what is so sensitive?"
"I have the Delta."
Vagnu winced at the remark, but said nothing and hoped his reaction had not shown in his face. This could be a trick designed by Hagman to get him to reveal his involvement, a suspicion which, he knew, Hagman had been harboring for some time. But how would he know about the Delta? Harko had not mentioned the Delta, as far as Vagnu was aware, so no one on the Council should have any knowledge of Kaznov.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Shan. What is this Delta? Is it something requiring the attention of the Council?"
"No, GoL Vagnu, it's something best kept to the two of us---or should I say between Kan Haber and myself---whichever name you like best."
How Shan knew about Haber was not important, but the fact that he had such information at all most certainly was. No one but he and Su had ever known about Haber.
"All right---what is it you want, Mr. Shan?"
"It's not what I want that's of any interest here. It's what you want. You, I know, want Kaznov, and that's all right by me. Now, here's the deal. In exchange for, say, twenty million in hard note, you can have the Delta and I can afford to have some of the things I've always wanted. Does that sound like an equitable trade to you?"
Twenty million was barkle meal to Vagnu, and he really wanted to get his hands on Kaznov, but he was not going to dance into any kind of trap willingly.
"It would, if what you seem to believe happened were true. Are you so sure you have the right man, or are you casting about looking for a reaction to satisfy your curiosity?"
"Oh, stop with the shagrat crap, Vagnu. You either want him, or you don't. You take the last flight to Ganeden tonight, and don't forget the tickle. Come alone or bring an army, I don't give a damn. If you show up, you'll be put together with Kaznov, and if you don't show, I can guarantee you that by first light you'll be sitting in an Enforcement DetCenter for the unlawful termination of several good and innocent citizens, not to mention treason. Take your pick. Oh, and if I'm not mistaken, those are the only two crimes in the Book of the Law carrying an automatic hanging sentence."
The screen went blank, leaving Vagnu in a dark room with his thoughts. No, Shan was not mistaken. He was guilty of both those crimes many times over. There was no way out that he would be able to find in the time left to him before the last commercial flight to Ganeden departed. Vagnu opened his safe and counted out two hundred new coppers and stacked them neatly in a chip case, then left the building.
Wills paced the width of Harko's office, stopping occasionally to shake an admonishing finger at Harko while he assaulted his superior with chapter and verse of the Law Apps Operational Code book.
"Furthermore, Brand, you've ignored section, um, six, article nine, subchapter twenty, which states clearly that any officer of any rank, during the course of any investigation, will provide a minimum of two other officers with full disclosure of his results and information at all times, man. What in the name of the Ancients have you been doing?"
"I can't---"
"We've been friends a long time, Brand. Now you're telling me, your number one investigator, you can't let me know what you've been working on? I've been watching you, and you've been as nervous as a shavecat in the open without a tree. You haven't been sleeping, and you haven't been eating, either. Two and a half days you've been in here."
"I've been sleeping," Harko protested.
"Right. Head on the desk for ten minutes at a time. That's what you call sleeping?"
"Yeah, Carlos. It's enough for me."
"That's a laugh. Look at you."
"I'm sorry, Carlos. I can't let you in just yet. One, maybe two more days."
"You can't let me in? You can't let me in, but you can confide in that stinking little records clerk? You and me, Brand. We're real Apps. Thirty years we go back, you and me. We worked the streets in NC together. Remember that? That kid ... he's nothing more than a librarian ... a chip chaser, Brand."
"That's right, he's a chip chaser, a damned good one, and right now a chip chaser's what I need. When this turns into real Apps work, we'll do it as a team, Carlos. You, me, and the chip chaser."
"When?"
"I don't know."
"Brand, I can only cover for you so much. Psych's been asking about you---and don't look at me like that. I haven't twitched, but they've been asking. If they find out you're working so far outside the Book, you'll be on the street without enough tickle for a one-hour pleasure commercial. Let me know when you need me."
Wills left the office, slamming the door behind him, and Harko wearily punched the com.
"Yes, sir."
"Send an I-team out to the old Cafferty Bight shelter. Tell them to go through the place and record everything. It'll be an overnighter, so tell them to pack a clean pair of shorts. I want them to report their findings directly to me. Nothing to anyone else---and get me Sax."
"Sax didn't come in today."
"What?"
"He called in about second hour. Said he had to go on a trip but that he'd be back about eighth hour. I thought you knew, Chief."
"Did he say where he was going?"
"No, sir."
"All right, thanks." He'd have to get on Sax for this. He needed him in the office.
Vagnu took the ice goggles from the attendant and slipped them over his eyes, flipped up his hood, then moved off down the boarding ramp, followed closely by two of his most trusted guards who were also Generation members. When he stepped off the covered ramp, he leaned into the wind and fought his way to a waiting transport.
Snow was beginning to stick, mounds of the stuff piling up against the slightest obstruction. The wind howled, driving ice and snow painfully into his face.
Excuse me, gentlemen," the pilot said when they closed the doors. "You're going to have to use the crash straps up here. The track deicers don't work around here like they do in the big city, so we're going to get bounced around pretty hard."
As the three connected the cross-straps over their shoulders, the pilot crabbed the transport across the wind to the Ganeden track. When the warning light on his dash blinked off, he increased speed, sending the transport down the track through the sub-zero darkness, and raising a cloud of snow and ice behind it that sparkled as it blew off into Vegamtu's night-shine.
They were greeted cordially at the door of the old red building and escorted to an office where Shan sat waiting for them.
"Good evening, gentlemen. Please, make yourselves comfortable."
Vagnu took a seat across the desk from Shan while his two guards, arms folded, remained standing on either side of the door.
"Where is the Delta?" Vagnu demanded.
"Please, please, bear with me a moment while we discuss a few things. For example, who are the two shagrats at the door?"
"My personal guards, Mr. Shan. You did say I could bring an army if I wanted. As you can see, they hardly represent an army."
"Yeah, I did say that, didn't I? Fine. Allow me to present my personal guard so we may all get acquainted."
The false wall behind Shan accordioned back, revealing ten men brandishing weapons of a type Vagnu had never seen.
"What is this? You said twenty million and Kaznov was mine. Why all this ... this---"
"Insurance, Vagnu. Your reputation is well known, and you don't have a record of being reasonable, trustworthy, or honorable. Such a history forces others to respond accordingly. Gentlemen," Shan said, addressing the two at the door. Please, remove your weapons and place them here on the desk."
"This is unacceptable. I came here in good faith, and you have betrayed me."
"Listen, Vagnu, I happen to know you don't do a damned thing in good faith. Oh, thank you, gentlemen. My, my, my, don't these look vicious," Shan said, as he turned the pistols over in his hand and tossed them into a drawer. "Now, GoL Vagnu ... I didn't tell you I'd meet you like a shako going to slaughter."
Shan crossed the room and opened the door between Vagnu's guards. Several more armed men filed in, their weapons leveled at Vagnu.
"It must be apparent to you now, GoL Vagnu, that I lied."
"Yes, yes, you certainly did," Vagnu said, resigning himself to a situation in which it was obvious that escape was no option. "We have established that neither of us is trustworthy. So, Mr. Shan, would you care to explain this deception---tell me why am I here?"
"Well, sir, one part of what I told you was true. You are here to see the Delta. You are to be our guest of dubious honor for the next three days, after which you'll be free to do whatever you want."
"There is a flaw in your plan, Mr. Shan. Tomorrow, if I am not seen at Council, a Pazwide search will begin, you will be found, and all of this elaborate scheme will have been for naught."
"No, Vagnu, we won't be found. Your ticket purchase shows in the record as Nutroit, and I believe that is at the other end of the Continent. You also left a message for your colleagues that you would be gone for a few days while you personally chased down some new information on the Paz Cadre. You're a thoughtful, ingenious man, Vagnu, and but you're not the only one who knows how to get into the system and manipulate it."
"I am not going to ask how you accomplished that, Shan, but I hope you have a good reason for this charade. I can have you hanged, you know."
"That's true. You could do that, but I think you'll have a tough time doing it while you're kicking on the end of the Terminator's line. If this goes badly, I'll be looking at the soles of your shoes in the New London DetCenter on the fourth day, maybe the fifth day, after Halfyear."
"Mr. Shan, please---do you honestly believe anyone will accept your word against the word of a GoL? You, a reporter, a meddling shagrat, who has not been necessarily kind to any of the Council in your reporting and editorial commentaries in the Journal, bringing charges against a GoL? You seem to have forgotten how the Book of the Law reads in such matters."
"I know how it reads well enough."
"Apparently not this part, Shan. You cannot bring an accusation against a member of the High Council until your request to do so has passed through three layers of lower law tribunals. Before you could get one hearing, I would have you filed against, apprehended, and convicted---and hanged. I fear there would be air between your feet and Paz before you had your first hearing. I think you have seriously overestimated the strength of your position. Perhaps you would like to reconsider what it is you are getting yourself into---before it is too late."
"By all the true Ancients---you really are as arrogant and pompous as he said. Would you like to know how I got your name---maybe just a little interested in how I was aware of poor old Kan Haber?"
Shan seated himself more comfortably and rested his chin on his fists, glaring at Vagnu.
"I suppose it would be of some academic interest, yes. So, Mr. Shan, how did you stumble upon that information?"
"Brand Harko. You know, Law Apps?"
Vagnu, stunned, sank slowly back in his chair. He felt defeated---completely and utterly defeated.
"Your case file," Shan continued, obviously taking delight in Vagnu's discomfort, "is already in process and is growing thicker by the minute. So, Vagnu, I think it's you who should take this opportunity to reassess your predicament. Don't you?"
The main chamber of the Ganeden communal shelter was in readiness. A large, circular table, surrounded by twelve chairs spaced evenly around it, dominated the floor. Each place at the table was supplied with a small screen, chipcorder, and a pad for those who preferred to write their notes. If all went well, the participants would begin arriving at first light and by second hour the proceedings would commence---if all went well.
Niki, unable to sleep, could wait no longer to see if Shan had been successful in rounding up their final guest. He lifted Pasha's arm off his chest---slowly, carefully so as not to awaken her---and placed it by her side, then rolled out of bed directly into a large floor lamp and sent it crashing to the stone surface.
"What ... what's happening?" she said, her eyes adjusting to the darkness.
"Sorry, love. I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep and I'll be right back."
"No, Niki. It's after sixteenth hour. What's the matter?
"Nothing, really. I guess I'm just a little anxious, that's all. Go back to sleep now, and I'll be back in a few minutes."
"No. You need your rest, Niki. Now, what's wrong?"
"Okay. I'm worried about Shan, and I want to know if we're going to have a full meeting tomorrow---er, this morning."
"Sweetheart," she said softly, "even if he's not successful there will be a meeting and you need to be at your best for them. Delegation, Niki, remember---you can't do it all."
"I know. I just want everyone here."
"Don't trouble yourself with it. Bo has done well, so far, right? He'll do all right this time, too. Getting this story means everything to him, so he'll do whatever is necessary to get it. Now, come back to bed and warm my back---or something," she said with that giggle he found so hard to resist.
A half hour before first light, Niki and Pasha arrived at the chamber and walked arm in arm to his spot at the table. Looking around the room, second thoughts and hindsight began gnawing at his confidence. Was it too austere, the seating arrangement acceptable, the lighting right?
"Niki, why so much worry? Everything's going to be all right, you'll see."
Did his troubled mind make that much noise, or was he that transparent? He couldn't say if all women were so perceptive, but all the women in his life were. His mother had always known the silent inner workings of his father's mind---and his. Pasha, Trina, even little Lira sensed things unspoken and often predicted incidents and outcomes with uncanny accuracy. Maybe it was because of the Fathers' genetic tinkering, but he didn't think so. No, it was probably a natural function of the female psyche, but, whatever it was, it was usually accurate, frequently useful, and always unnerving.
"I understand all that, Pasha, but I can't help thinking there might have been some other way. Maybe we should have gone to Astro and Biotech directly---they understand these things."
"Sure they do. They understand the technical and scientific aspects better than the others, but that's not the side of it that's going to affect the people. It's social, moral, ethical, and legal affairs that are going to turn everything upside down for them, and that's what needs to be addressed. The technofolk can work out the science of it on their own---later."
She was right, but it bothered him when he thought about the disparate group that would be coming to the table. Would he be able to keep them on track, or would their individual concerns, hatreds, and prejudices cloud and confuse?
"I'll do as we planned, Pasha. I hope the Fathers gave me enough spine to stand up to the pressure, so I won't double over like wet sacweed."
"There's nothing wrong with your spine. Remember what we're about to do and present the issues. You can't dictate the outcome here---only they can do that." With that, she gave him a gentle kiss and started for the door. "Luck, my love."
Luck. Luck was what it was going to take. In this meeting there would be no one at the helm, and the boat was going to go wherever it wanted, based on their response to what he had to tell them. And what he had to tell them was sure to surprise, disturb, and infuriate all of them, until they could see the true meaning of it all. He hoped they would arrive at that level of understanding before they termed each other right there at the table.
Niki took his place to wait for the rest. They had decided it would be best to bring them in one at a time, with five minutes between each to reduce the potential stress and confusion that would be generated through reacting to the presence of a couple of highly controversial people in their midst.
"Niki, I have good news," Luto said on the com.
"I could use some good news. What is it?"
"The La Paz is entering orbit---right now."
"That is good news. Monitor Astro communications and let me know when they discover it. Frankly, I'm surprised they haven't already picked it up.
"Right. Three minutes, Niki. You ready?"
"As ready as I can get. Thanks, Luto."
Niki was amazed that Astro hadn't detected something as big as the La Paz. During most of the year observation from the surface was sporadic at best, but now that the new orbiting space telescope had been launched and, surprisingly, stayed in orbit, they were constantly monitoring the sky. It had been tried several times in the past and none of the satellites had remained in orbit long enough to be considered successful. But the new one was equipped with greatly improved active systems to survive Perigamia and to stabilize its highly eccentric orbit against the distorting tugs from Echo. So, how was it that such a huge object had escaped Astro's constant vigil?
Oh, it was a big sky, that was true enough, but the size of the La Paz should have been adequate to attract their attention. But, again, if his dreams were even close to accurate, and he had reason to believe they were, it might well have been the color that kept it invisible to prying eyes. Something that had been done by design by the Fathers to keep its presence unknown to other intelligent species.
The door opened, and the first of the guests entered. A slight woman in a conservative suit, she seemed apprehensive as she moved stiffly into the room.
"Hello," she said in a small voice. "Are you Mr. Kaznov?"
"I am, but you may call me Niki. Please, take a seat anywhere you would like. According to my list, you are Hana Laski. Welcome. May I get you anything?"
"No. No, thank you," she said and took a chair two places to his right. "The others?"
"They'll be here soon, and we'll begin the formal proceedings in about an hour. You are the Historical Director from Records, is that right?"
Laski appeared uncomfortable, and he wanted everyone to be at ease, so he continued in his most gentle tone.
"Much of what we do here today will be of vital interest to someone in your capacity, Hana---oh, I'm sorry---may I call you Hana?" She nodded and Niki continued. "I'm about to reveal pieces of our history previously hidden, but I must advise you that it will be controversial and the discussion may get---intense."
Laski smiled one of those little nervous twitches of the lips that let you know someone was trying to be calm in a strange environment but just couldn't quite manage it, and said, "When you work with the government, you develop a callous over your feelings to lessen the damage petty bureaucratic friction can cause."
She drew a chip case from her bag and set it on the table in front of her. "So, Mr. Kaznov, I don't recall hearing your name associated with any of the historical societies. Are you an amateur historian, or just what is your background?"
Niki chuckled softly and smiled at her. "Hana, I'm no historian of any kind---but I've always had an interest in history, especially as it relates to the Ancient Record. As for my personal background, I was a fisherman on a small island in the Southern Sea. I assure you, though, what I have for you today is of major historical and social importance---the sort of thing that will change life here---"
He was interrupted by the door swinging open to admit a tall, distinguished gentleman in the uniform of the High Council Guard. From Niki's experience, he was a bit old to be twelfth generation. The man surveyed the room quickly, professionally, with eyes trained to notice small things in and out of place, then fixed his gaze on Niki.
"You are the Delta?"
"Yes, I am. Please, take a seat, sir. Oh, General Bagdel Frank of the High Council Guard, allow me to present Miss Hana Laski, Historical Director of Records."
Frank nodded curtly at Laski and took the seat at Niki's right, just as Pasha had said he would. He took another quick look around the room, appeared to be satisfied there were no hiding places for anyone to step out of, wrinkled an eyebrow, and said, "You have no idea how much I have been looking forward to meeting you, Mr. Kaznov, though I have to tell you I expected someone older. How can anyone so young stir up so much trouble overnight?" Frank leaned over the table, and swiveled his head to Laski. "What tremendous weight did he hang over your head, Miss Laski? I did not think Records---"
"General Frank," Niki interrupted tersely. "Most of the people here today are here of their own volition, because of their interest in the subject."
"I, too, am here out of interest in the subject, but my interest was propelled along more than a little by external pressure, would you not agree, Mr. Kaznov?"
"Yes, General, it was," Niki replied. "But this meeting is related only peripherally to our personal situation, and it's my sincere hope the results of this day will eliminate any further need for such crude tactics being employed by anyone---myself included."
"Niki," Luto said from the com. "Are you busy?"
"Not yet. Go ahead."
"Communications have gone crazy."
"They saw it?"
"Saw what?" Frank asked and Niki waved him off.
"Spotted it at first hour and eleven---all Astro frequencies are carrying information about nothing else---and it sounds like they're ... nervous."
"I expected that. Set up a constant monitoring of those frequencies---get more people if you need them---and let me know the second it sounds like they're getting ready to do something stupid. At the same time, tell Twenty-three to send instructions for ISCU-9 to activate its defensive systems. I need to get back to our guests, but don't hesitate to call me if anything important happens."
"What is I-S-C-U Nine?" Frank inquired.
"It's one of the main reasons we're here. As I tried to tell Tazh, most of us have been misinterpreting the messages we've been given."
"That does not tell me what---"
The door opened and Lisha Trak, Director of Enforcement, entered the hall. She nodded to each, and her gaze lingered a bit on Frank but revealed no emotional reaction. Frank, conversely, tensed and his expression turned even tighter. Trak took a seat directly opposite of Frank's position and set a large case on the table. And so it went, each guest entering the room, exchanging greetings in one way or another, then taking a place at the table.
The fact that only a couple of the participants didn't elicit some reaction from Frank when they entered the room was interesting to Niki. When Vagnu came in he paid no attention to Frank at all, and General Frank took no particular notice of Vagnu, which Niki found to be a little curious. Only the GoL Tomas appeared surprised by Vagnu's arrival. No one spoke directly to anyone aside from their brief salutations, and, once seated, each became busily engaged in something, fumbling through chip cases, toying with their monitors, writing little notes and stuffing them into attachés---anything to avoid looking at the others.
The two who had Niki concerned were late, and it was already time to begin. He wanted Shan to be there, but his presence was not necessary to conduct the meeting. The man he was bringing, on the other hand, would be vitally important for the psychological advantage his being seated at the table would give Niki over Vagnu and Frank.
Antaris sat quietly to Niki's left, head held high, her attention focused on Shanah Andromodi, who had brought some kind of sewing thing with hoops of wood. Cloth was stretched tightly over the hoops. Sitting quietly to Niki's left, she was applying bits of colored thread to the cloth with a long, thin needle.
Marcos Sheel was reading from an official print copy of the Ancient Record, and Jamal Fein occupied himself with stock reports scrolling across his portable link. It crossed Niki's mind that Fein had quite a shock coming when he found out what was going to happen to the precious metals trade, iron and copper in particular.
If Niki was going to be able to gain their interest and get anything productive from the meeting's first half, he would have to begin soon. He stood, activated the screens around the table and rapped lightly with his knuckles.
"If I may have your attention, please," he said. "Before I begin this presentation I believe I owe an apology to two of you. One of you was coerced and the other duped into being here, and for that I'm truly sorry. Niki was stalling for time and hoping desperately no one would notice. "To the rest, my most sincere thanks for accepting my invitation on such short notice. My first thought was to provide this material to the scientific community, but, after much debate and discussion with my colleagues, it was unanimously decided that the social, psychological, legal, and economic elements of Pazian society would be the most severely impacted. Each of you holds an important position relative to the basic infrastructure of our society, and that is why you were invited---you represent expertise in ethics, law, organization, history, economy, and so on."
Niki looked hopefully to the door, then took note of the group at the table. They were indeed paying attention and none displayed outward signs of boredom with his improvised preamble, so he decided he could chance stalling a couple more minutes.
"I have in my possession a unique artifact that was deliberately left here by the Fathers with the hope it would find its way into the proper hands. But, since I am not qualified to know whose hands are proper, I've made copies to be given to each of you and delivered to all interested parties on Paz---Biotech, Records, Astro, and the Commission of Libraries and Museums."
"Mr. Kaznov," Andromodi from the Presidential Bureau of Ethics said. "If you are providing copies of this---artifact---to the community in general, why are we here in particular?"
"Good question, Shanah. The copies I mentioned will not be sent out until after we have concluded our sessions here. As I said, you are uniquely capable of dealing with the issues to be raised, and you will be given ample time to assimilate the material presented before the community at large has it at their disposal so that you will be prepared and able to guide them. As you will soon see, many of us have been given---uh---special gifts by the Fathers, and I will, as we proceed, explain to you what that means, in a general sense. For now, suffice to say, they are special gifts indeed."
"Special gifts?" Andromodi pressed.
"Later, please. The other part of the answer to your question rests in what I know of human nature. The information I have can't be entrusted to any individual or small group of people, because it could be used for purposes other than the common good. In short, I can't trust any of you enough to limit distribution to just his or her group."
They were all predictably disturbed by the truth but restricted their protests to facial expressions. It was turning into an awkward moment for which Niki would need to find a way to soothe the comment, when the door burst open. All turned as Shan entered, closely followed by Harko and two others Niki didn't recognize.
"Friends," Niki began a bit nervously. "I would like to present Chief Investigator, Brand Harko from the Law Applications Bureau and Albo Shan of the New London Journal. Mr. Shan will be recording these proceedings. Who are the others, Bo?"
"The others," Harko answered before Shan could open his mouth, "are my associates. I must insist they remain in the room through the meeting. Can we get seats for them?"
What the hell is Brand up to?
Niki had told Shan to advise Harko how important his presence was, but that he was to come alone---so who were the other two, and why had Brand brought them? Niki excused himself from the table and told the others he would be right back. On the way out he grabbed Shan by the arm and dragged him into the passage where a dozen uniformed Enforcement officers were waiting.
"What is this?" Niki demanded through clenched teeth.
"I couldn't stop him, Niki. He has Council Apprehension Certificates for Frank and Vagnu and he intends to take them both in."
"Now?"
"No. I convinced him to do it privately, after the meeting, but that's the best I could get from him. He wants to see both of them dangling to kick off Halfyear."
"He can't be serious."
"He's serious, all right. He said if he couldn't get a termination order from the Council, he'd shoot them himself and take the consequences."
"Does Trak know?"
"No, she left before he got the CACs and he fixed it so no one would be able to tell her. He also made certain the GoL Tomas wouldn't hear about it." Shan lowered his voice and continued, "He knows how important this is, and he swore on the Ancients he'd do everything he could to be discreet, but Frank and Vagnu are guilty of some pretty heinous stuff, you know, and Harko said he couldn't, with any conscience, let them go."
"Damn it, Bo ... I need them to carry the message to their people, otherwise we have no way of getting a good blend. Do you hear what I'm saying?"
Niki took an angry poke at his portacom while he looked back down the passage at all the uniforms."
"Luto?" he said.
"Nothing, yet, Niki."
"No ... I want you to take two more seats to the chamber. We have a couple of uninvited guests ... and set it up so I can send information independently to monitors one and seven. I need to be able to talk to them without the others knowing."
"Want them to be able to answer?"
"No, that's too complicated. Hurry, man."
Niki glared at Shan."
"I couldn't---"
"I know, Bo, but this is a big problem, and I'm going to have to try to get them out of here alive. I don't know how, yet, but I have to try."
"We could do the same thing Tazh did to us at Cafferty," Shan offered.
"Gas?"
"Yeah. Since they'd all be out, we could say we'd been attacked by the Cadre, and nobody would know any better."
"Good idea, Bo, but it has one serious flaw---we don't have any gas."
"No, but Harko does. They came up here in Enforcement rovers and they're docked a couple of squares north."
"Guards?"
"All here. That's why I figured we could get away with it."
"Good. Not another word."
As he reentered the room, Niki could feel the tension in the air. It was palpable, and Harko was perched on the edge of his chair like a hungry sacker that had spotted a shagrat foraging on the surface. Vagnu and Frank had paled visibly.
"Forgive the delay---I needed to straighten out some details on how Mr. Shan will report these proceedings." He had the attention of everyone but Frank and Vagnu---it was important that everyone get the message, doubly so for those two. "Everyone here, I'm sure, is curious about the artifact I mentioned, so we will begin with that before we move into details.
"We are all, as onners, required to read and memorize sections of the Ancient Record. For us, it provides the foundation upon which our civilization stands, gives us a functioning system for the rule of law, lays out the philosophy of the legal system, and provides a framework for the general conduct the Fathers expected of us.
"They knew we could attend to our affairs under what they referred to as raw law, but that, the Fathers told us, was not enough to make civilization endure the ravages of time and the rugged conditions of Paz. For that they gave us the other side of the law, the human part of applied law with the warmth of flesh and blood covering cold statutes, and presented it in the Book of the Law under Moral and Ethical Precepts.
"The Book of the Law has served us well for a very long time, but now ... now it is time to open the rest of the pages of that book. Up until this time the book we had was to be followed. But in the twelfth generation, today, that is to change. We of the twelfth generation have arrived, and Paz is about to undergo some radical changes in all areas---mainly in the areas you represent.
"What you see displayed on your monitors is that section of the Ancient Record that was kept from us---unabridged and unedited. It is the law as set down by the Fathers in its entirety."
Everyone stared into their monitors as the material Niki described scrolled by---even Frank, Vagnu, and Harko were no longer eyeing one another, and one of the men Harko brought with him had left his seat by the door and was peering over Harko's shoulder. If there were no questions raised, this section would require two hours for the group to absorb, so Niki, comfortable for the first time since his early start on the day, sat back to ponder when it would be wise to put Shan's idea in action. The group had to have as much of this information as possible. He decided to wait until after the midday break, when he would have an opportunity to talk to Luto about it. Luto would then carry out whatever was necessary---probably late in the day.
Rammix could tell her how many times she searched the ISCU files, but Pax didn't want to know. She knew they weren't going to breach the hull of that thing out there without an ensuing clash that they would win but could ill afford. So, as a precaution, she had Rammix set their orbit to the opposite side of the planet from the ancient, mysterious survivor of more than a thousand years in space and set about making plans for a landing on the Delta Element, as Rammix referred to it.
That ISCU-9 was being controlled by its onboard computer was obvious, but exactly why it had moved in to take an orbit around the planet was an enigma. The more grand part of the puzzle was its continued existence after such a long period in space, even considering that Rammix had discovered no asteroidal or cometary material in or around the system. This, in itself, represented another conundrum. All planetary systems had their share of debris, didn't they?
For two years prior to entering this system, Rammix had listened, scanning the spectrum for any sign of communication, and found only fragments of stray microwave signals and bits of very weak lower frequency EMF. The people of this planet stayed away from high-powered radio transmissions, which was a pity, because there was no way to eavesdrop on their culture, and thus no way of knowing anything about them outside of making a provocative landing and saying, 'Hello, we're your long lost cousins. How's it going with you?'
Rammix had detected a pulse weapon discharge down there, which compounded the problem, because now it was impossible to know what stance to take. How was she to deal with them if they reacted in a hostile fashion---going down with weapons at the ready was a given---shoot first to impress them with the SESC brand of power, or wait to see if they were fired upon first, then shoot? Whichever position she took would surely result in prolonged hostilities that would be costly to both sides.
Speculation---I hate working from guess crap.
Were the people down there aware of their presence? Did they have the technology to observe their approach and, even now, make ready for whatever greeting they were going to give the Hermes and its crew? She would order an armed and ready landing with a 'shoot at the slightest sign of trouble' policy---four shuttles in the first wave to establish a secured perimeter. After that was accomplished, she could relax.
Niki motioned to Shan, and Shan joined him, his movement unnoticed as everyone's attention was fixed on the monitors and on making notes in their chipcorders while the information unfolded---that was, unnoticed by all, except the man at the door who seemed to notice everything. Niki assumed he was one of Harko's investigators assigned to keep an eye on the group while he devoted his attention to the meeting.
"Did Harko think about the midday recess?" he asked in a low voice. "Are his men still in the passage?"
"They shouldn't be. I gave Harko the schedule, and he said they'd be waiting at the lift at that time."
"Good. I'm calling the recess in a minute."
Niki waited until the Planetary Survey finished scrolling across their screens, then announced the midday break. To his surprise, Harko and the man who had been watching over his shoulder were the first to leave the room. Harko stopped briefly to say something to the fellow by the door, then stepped into the corridor. Niki's suspicion about the man at the door had been correct, and it became apparent which of the two men at the table were deemed the most important. He left his post to follow Frank out, leaving Vagnu behind.
Within fifteen minutes the chamber was empty, and Niki sat for a moment to contemplate the past five hours. With the exception of Harko's disruptive intrusion, everything had gone well, and Niki was pleased with that. Perhaps Harko would make a deal with him, though he doubted it. Damn, he thought, why do things always get so complicated?
The gas was a good idea, but the veil of innocence would be torn open the minute Harko and his men made it to their rovers, and then things would get even more difficult. No, Harko would either make a deal---or Niki would have to think of another way to handle the situation.
When Niki entered the dining room, he found Harko and the man who had been watching the monitor with him at a table by the door where they had a view that overlooked the entire area.
"Hello, Brand. May I join you?" Niki said.
"Of course, Niki. Delighted. Do we have our chance to talk?"
"Maybe---but first, I need to talk to you about Frank and Vagnu."
"There's nothing to talk about, Niki ... I'm taking them in today, and that's all there is to that."
"You don't understand. I need them. Give me three, maybe four days, that's all I ask."
"No, Niki, it's you who doesn't understand. Those two are going to hang before---"
"But ... I need them. They have to get the message to their people about what they learn here."
"From what I know, so far, you have no guarantee they'll learn anything at all, and, even if they do, you can't be certain they'll take it to anyone else."
"But---"
"No, Niki."
The other man sitting at the table cleared his throat---an attention-getting device only---and said, "Is it true that we've all been programmed and, if so, how does it differ from what Biotech has been doing?"
"I don't know where you got that idea," Niki said, somewhat surprised by the question. "But it is---to a degree. Who are you?"
"Name's Filo Sax, Apps Records. So, what about this engineering by the Fathers---how is it different?"
"After the break, Mr. Sax. But I will tell you it is infinitely more sophisticated and much more complicated than the work at Biotech. At the moment, I need to come to an agreement with Brand."
"The only agreement you're going to get from me ... you already have. You have my word. I won't take them until after the meeting."
"Brand, listen to me. They---"
"I've listened all I intend to, and it's only because I consider you and your friends benign that you're not being taken in with them. See, what you're asking me to do is let two assassins loose for a few more days---and you know I can't do that."
"But---"
"No. I could hang them ten times each, and they'd still be ahead of the system. By all the Ancients, I'm going to see them in the box before Halfyear begins and in the Terminator's booth before it ends. That's final, Niki."
"I had to try. Will you excuse me? I have to get some information from Shan. I'll be right back."
Shan had taken a position near the main group, so he could hear their comments, but far enough away to be out of their hearing as he spoke softly into his chipcorder. He slid his chair back when Niki approached.
"Bo, I can't get anything from Harko. Go to my office and tell Luto about the gas when you get a chance."
"Sure. Listen, Niki, I don't want to overstep my bounds, but I don't think you should have said anything to Harko."
"Why?"
"Because of how he salivated while he was telling me about how he was going to hang them. If we go ahead with the gas now, he's bound to know we were responsible."
"He'd know that anyway as soon as they got back to their rovers."
"Hmm, hadn't thought about that."
"We're going ahead with the gas, Bo, but we're going to handle it a little differently."
"How differently?"
"I'm going to lock them all up in Twenty-three."
"What---are you out of your mind?"
"No, Bo. Think about it. If we take Frank and Vagnu, Harko will come after all of us, and if we don't do it ... Frank and Vagnu wind up decorating the Terminator's line before Halfyear's over."
"Yeah, but these are important people. They vanish and there'll be a search like Paz has never seen."
"Right, but the only trail any of them could have left would be the Ganeden destination. The shelter here is unrecorded---they don't even know it exists."
"Yeah, but what about Harko and all his men? I told him how to get here, and he must have told Dispatch---if no one else."
"I don't think so, Bo. I think Harko's such a closed man he wouldn't tell anyone anything unless he absolutely had to. He probably issued orders and brought them here without saying a word to Apps or Enforcement. How many did he bring?"
"Twenty-five, besides the two Apps guys---the rest are all uniformed Enforcement, and all of them are inside ... but I still think you're crazy."
"Maybe. Anyway, tell Luto to start rounding up uniforms when we go back in session and that he is to gas the chamber at eighth hour and thirty. The material we have will take at least that long to present."
"Okay, Niki. I hope you know what you're doing."
"So do I, Bo. So do I."
Harko turned his cup round and round slowly, his brow furrowed in intense thought. He did that for quite some time after Niki had returned to their table, his gaze fixed on Niki as he did so and, when he spoke, his lips appeared to twitch uncontrollably at the corners of his mouth.
"You know, Mr. Kaznov, the thought crossed my mind early on that, if all of us are the product of genetic manipulation and psychological conditioning, there is no freedom of choice. You're saying that it was all done for the good of Paz and the furtherance of some continuing colonizing effort---an endeavor I find trivial in the face of all this," Harko rotated an index finger at the crowd in the makeshift lounge as he spoke, "and what it implies for us.
"My research, with liberal help from Sax, shows Apps to be made up primarily of Sigmas and Kappas. When I discovered that what I was doing with my life might have been the result of some ancient encoding ... I went into a deep depression. It seemed to me that my accomplishments, such as they are, meant nothing, that the sum total of my work, my devotion to the whole business, was nothing more than the way my gears turned and had little to do with my own free will. Is there any meaning to that---free will---or is it illusion? I'd like you to explain to me how such preprogramming is good for anything, except the Fathers and their grand plan for their own future."
"But it isn't programming in the strict sense, Brand."
"Like hell it isn't. We're like so many shagrats responding to our sense of smell. Now, you tell me the Fathers want us to disclose that information to the people. Why? Why take whatever independence the people think they have and throw it in the Nurab Deep?"
"Look, Brand, even without the engineering and selective breeding, we operate to a large extent on programming dating back to prehistory on Earth. That's just a fact of life."
"Mm-hmm, that may be true, but it has an element of randomness to it."
"But with randomness comes even greater uncertainty. They knew before they launched the colonizing ships that we would likely be faced with conditions very different from those of Earth, maybe life-threatening, wherever we wound up. All the Fathers did was take into account the conditions on Paz, then alter some of the genetic codes to give us a better chance of surviving here." Niki checked the clock, then continued. "Remember, Brand, we are better for it and no one took anything away---they only gave to us. It's time to reassemble. We'll be going into this in some depth a little later."
Niki stood and crossed to the door of the cafeteria. Tapping the side of his cup for attention, he said, "We're going back now. First hour of this session will be open to questions on the previous material. After that, we will discuss my mission, your mission, and how the genetic work of the Fathers relates to both."
A thousand portable shelters lined the fog-shrouded, rolling hills that formed the Skolnick Height south of New London, and in the valley below stood a low, rambling building, the remnant of a small communal shelter once used by the people who had inhabited the area a hundred years before. Tazh had selected the site as an emergency staging area, a gathering point for just such cases as the debacle at the Keep.
He sat quietly, chewing a stick of tarsac into pulp, while a lieutenant read off the statistics. Of the forty-three hundred who had fled the Keep, slightly more than three thousand had found their way to the Mew, as Tazh liked to call it. Six of his AAVs had also come to the Mew, the other five had run for the Pel's Field station and Lang's protection. A further six hundred more men who had stayed loyal to Tazh were sitting somewhere in the Vaskez with five of his best attack rovers.
To his pleasure, he remained a force to be reckoned with, a force, he vowed, that would be felt. Running his fingers lightly along the ridges of thick, hard scabs forming over the right side of his badly burned face, he thought about his next move. He had enough resources to seize control of Pel's Field. There he could recruit a substantially larger force, allowing him the flexibility he needed to split into three attack groups. One would take the Nuperz station, another would go to the North Coopersland training area to rally those currently in cold weather training, and the third would be under his direct command, although he needed more information before he could decide what to do with it.
"Lieutenant, where's Lang and what's he up to?"
"We don't know, sir."
"Find out."
"Yes, sir."
"How many field agents do we have out?"
"To the best of my knowledge, twenty-five."
"Contact them---I want that untrac coward on my dinner table---just his head will do."
Tazh spit the wad of mangled tarsac to the floor and went to one of the window slits in the wall. He could see nothing but the swirling gray-white of ice fog as it spread the light of Vegamwun evenly in all directions. Fitting the soft light shield of the SED over his eyes, he winced with the pain it caused him and looked out over the clearing where his AAVs hugged the frost covered ground, their edges lined with sharp daggers of ice. Halfyear was about to happen and the voices deep within him screamed out their insistence. He had to act ... soon.
"On your monitors is displayed a list of the Ancients. You will notice there are twenty-four seed lots from Alpha to Omega. Of the seed lots only twenty-three consisted of twenty-four lot numbers, each lot number being made up of a series of twenty designators. The designators of each number were made up of three digit codes, none of which were consecutive, and no designator in any seed lot matches any other designator in any of the other seed lots. One seed lot is represented by only one seed lot number and one designator. That seed lot was Delta three dash two-eight-one. My Ancient. The reasoning behind that will be provided, later.
"I'm not a geneticist, so I won't presume to know the esoteric significance of this, but I do understand the mathematics. The number of possible combinations is astronomical but, according to the Book of the Law, our mating has been controlled by those codes in a way that severely restricted the number of combinations. Why? Because the Fathers had a plan requiring specific codes be carried through to this time without being significantly altered or being affected by the passage of subsequent generations.
"No one has ever questioned why the first twelve codes of the Gammas were free to pair with only the first four seed lot numbers of the Alpha, Epsilon, and Omicron groups, while all others were free to mate with eight specified seed lots without regard to code. The Delta seed lot, by the way, was restricted to pairing only with Sigma and Omega one codes. The obvious conclusion is that there was a specific genetic map being followed that had been designed to lead us to a particular destination. Some of us have been living with a genetic bomb that was set to go off in the twelfth generation, and the bomb has exploded---the marked destination on the map has been reached.
"To prepare you for what is about to come up on your screens, I must tell you that we are very different from the Fathers---dramatically different."
Niki reached for the pad and keyed up the biological information on the Fathers and a unanimous gasp issued from the group, followed by comments like, 'disgusting,' and 'horrible.'
"You are looking at pictures of the Fathers, pictures never before seen. Take your time and, please, try to remember they came from a place where living conditions were different from those of Paz---which is what shaped them.
"As you can see, they were tall, lacking body hair, which gave them that smooth, sickly appearance, and they were terribly fragile by our standards. Thin bone structure, meaning that broken bones were probably common for them. The man pictured here couldn't lift more than seventy-five kilos, while the average Pazian can handle a hundred and thirty without difficulty. The Ancient Record tells us that man stood an average one hundred and eighty-five centimeters, fully thirty centimeters taller than any Pazian I know. He lacks the brow ridge to protect his eyes, so it is safe to assume that eye injuries were easily inflicted on him, and their his ears were permanently extended---no protective flap. It's easy to see that the Fathers were not well suited for life on Paz.
"But we are, and we owe that to them and their engineering. The only reason there is any human life on Paz today is because of the gifts the Fathers bestowed upon us, along with the sacrifice they made in staying here to make certain we survived our first few Days of Disturbance and times of Minor Tides. It must have been utter torture for them, yet they stayed to raise our Ancients and guide them through the terrible conditions they discovered here. Had they not been able to do these things, their mission would have failed and none of us would be here now.
"None of the technology they employed is foreign to us. For years, Biotech has been involved in modifying---or attempting to modify---the indigenous life on Paz, and their work is the reason why the shako now provides forty percent more meat than its predecessors. Rather than being disturbed by the appearance of our creators, we need to come up with another way to define what is human. We are human---we all accept that as fact---and so, even with all their differences, they were the Fathers. We are all onners of a grand plan that is unfolding before us now. Part of that plan is for Paz and the other part is aimed at another star, another Paz somewhere in the galaxy, and at an Earth that once was."
Niki paused to give the group an opportunity to absorb the more detailed information and to gain, he hoped, an understanding of the meaning behind it.
"Mr. Kaznov, this sort of sweeping revelation will have serious psychological repercussions in the general populace," Marcos Sheel, Director of PsychMed, said. "I strongly oppose releasing this information for general consumption and---"
"Why?"
"Well ... the idea that I have been living according to some sort of program embedded in my genetic structure is ... is hard to digest---particularly to the degree you seem to be suggesting here."
"All right, but you need to understand that you weren't programmed to do certain things at the cost of all others. What's your seed lot number, Dr. Sheel."
"Omega twelve."
"You may have had leanings programmed into your group---special talents and curiosities running in specific directions---all latent in nature. You were not designed to be a doctor and could just as easily been a physicist, a mechanic, or an astronomer. You chose to be what you are. Frankly, considering your background and recorded accomplishments, I'm a little surprised you think that way."
"I have enough education to know how much control genes can have, Mr. Kaznov."
"Then you also know there is a large difference between theory and practice. As I said, there may be predispositions in you, but you weren't manipulated to the point that your free will was overridden. It is only the first twelve of the Gamma lots and myself who have had little choice in what we have done and are doing."
"So, Mr. Kaznov, how much free will do you have, hmm?"
"Enough, for example, to decide not to carry out my instructions. The work of the Fathers was powerful, of that there is little doubt, but not perfect. Few of the Gammas I mentioned have had their programming take hold and are living in a hell of partial connection. Most are merely disturbed by confusing fragments of memories and instructions. You may have come across some of them in your practice, Dr. Sheel."
"Probably."
"Are there any Gammas here with the seed lot numbers I mentioned?" Niki asked of the group.
To Niki's surprise, six hands went up. Frank, Vagnu, and Antaris, of course, but three others were there, too---Hana Laski, Shanah Andromodi, and Jamal Fein all sat quietly behind their monitors with their hands in the air.
"Have any of you been troubled by strange, too realistic dreams and things that appeared to be memories out of place?"
Immediately the hands of Fein and Andromodi went up followed, hesitantly, by Laski's.
"Then, I suppose, it's time to get on with the why of all this, so our Gammas here can find a little solace through understanding. We can be sure there are many more going through what you three are experiencing, and for some it is much worse."
Niki loaded another chip and prepared to present the most important information of the entire session---originally intended to be directed at Frank and Vagnu, but he had three unexpected additions now.
"We all know the story of how we got here and, for the most part, it's true. Nine hundred and five years is the time it took to cross the chasm between Earth and Paz, almost four times our history here. Imagine."
He advanced through the chip to the landing data, and wrestled with his uncertainty before letting it come up on the other screens. Then he keyed it up.
"This is what we were when we landed here---simple embryonic organisms. We were called seed biologicals. After analyzing the conditions here the Fathers set about the work of modifying these seed biologicals to physically cope with life on this new world. Heavier bones, brow ridges, secondary eyelids, shorter stature, full cover body hair, and so on. In short, they created us to be as we are. But there is more. We are all taught how the Fathers left a dying planet to find another world on which they could save their species. But we weren't taught that the La Paz was not the only such ship---there were thirteen more sent out to other target stars, and each of these ships was programmed to travel to additional targets, because the Fathers wanted to seed as many planets as possible to ensure the continued existence of their species.
"The finding of Paz was a stroke of exceptionally good luck, because Vegamwun was the first target star for the La Paz. The stars were chosen on the basis of their spectral type and evidence of planetary systems. Some of the planetary systems were known, and others were implied based upon subtle movements observed in the star. Vegamwun was one of the latter and their guess proved correct.
"I'll not burden you with my narration of the story---it's all contained in the copy of the Ancient Record you will be given, and you may read it at your leisure. Let's move on to how the first twelve sets of Gamma seed lots and myself figure in. It is quite simple. We have been given most of the information we need to continue what the Fathers began, and whatever we lack will be provided by the onboard computers of the La Paz. Should those of us who go be fortunate enough to find another habitable planet, we will become the Fathers of another people---we will do for them as our Fathers did for us."
The line separating a brilliantly planned, flawlessly executed stratagem and blind luck is so fine that it is invisible to the participants. Fortunately, that line is almost always drawn by some quodlibetic historian in the distant future, who looks back on our feats and decides for everyone of his time whether we were very smart or just damned lucky.
Whichever it would be in the future, Niki awoke staring at the ceiling of compartment 8-C with Pasha sitting beside him on the berth. It felt to him as though someone were wandering around in his head, indiscriminately banging away with a large hammer at whatever looked the most sensitive---and the cabin lights, though dimmed, stabbed into his eyes and hurt all the way to the soles of his feet.
"It worked?" He tried to sit up, but the pain of the effort pushed him back to the security of the soft pillow. "Was there any problem? Do we have them all?"
"Every one of them, love. Luto had a little trouble getting their transports going without starting their transponders, but he managed. "Harko," she began with a laugh, "has been conscious for an hour, and that man knows language I've never heard. I can't repeat what he said he would do when he got his hands on you---it wasn't pretty, believe me."
Pasha took on a loving look and, stroking his forehead with a cool, smooth palm, she said, "How do you feel, love? Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Uh-huh, a Ceto-cap for my head and a liter of cold water. You would think that they would have come up with a more humane gas by now."
"I'm glad I wasn't in on it."
"With good reason---ouch." Niki struggled against the desire to remain still and wrestled himself into a semi-upright position. "What about the three new ones, how are they taking it?"
"They're not conscious, yet. Have you decided what you're going to do with them?"
"I'm going to have to lie to Frank and Vagnu, so I can get them to deliver the message to their people. I know we can trust them to return---neither one of them wants to hang. When we leave we'll turn them over to Harko."
He laid the Ceto-cap on his tongue, grimaced at its sharp bitterness, then forced it down with half a liter of water.
"Awful," he said, shuddering. "The other three we'll have to check against the list, and if they're qualified we'll offer them the choice of going or not."
Niki tried his legs, thought better of it, and sat back down.
"How many have already backed out---over a hundred and fifty at last count, wasn't it? Can't say I blame them, either. A one-way ticket to ride a thousand year old ship to an unknown destination---and we don't even know if the La Paz is still in proper working order. You know, every day I find myself wishing I was back on my boat---life was a simple thing ... then."
He shrugged and leaned back against the cushioned bulkhead. Twenty-three had said the La Paz was in good condition, all systems working well. But how much faith could one put into a computer system of equal age? The entire endeavor came with a very high probability of failure. Even assuming the La Paz functioned perfectly, they could just as easily be sentenced to a cold, silent grave and an endless drift through empty, dark space if there was nothing found at the end of the voyage.
"If I didn't want to go ... would you ... stay here with me, love?"
"What?"
"Hypothetically, that is."
"Don't you want to go?"
"That's not what I said."
"Well, if I couldn't convince you to change your mind, then I would stay."
"You mean that?"
"Hypothetically."
"Nikisha Kaznov."
"All right. Yes, I'd stay. Satisfied?"
The compartment rang with her melodious laughter, and Niki's head pounded. She reached out and, pressing his cheeks firmly between her hands, kissed him hard---with passion and warmth.
"Then we're going. We're going to find another world in some faraway place. Who knows where that might be? Whatever shall we call it? How about KazDar, for the intrepid explorers who led the expedition and discovered it?"
He was sure he'd never understand women and was grateful to Antaris for tapping on their door at that instant.
"Enter ... at your own peril," he said.
The door opened slowly, and Antaris took a tentative peek around the edge. "What peril, Nikisha?" she asked.
"Exposure. Pasha's exhibiting strange behavior."
"Well, I am happy to hear she is feeling normal. I just wanted to tell you---you look terrible, Nikisha---that all our guests are now awake."
"Oh, thank you for your kind observation, Trina. How are they?"
"Only three have tried to impress me with their importance and told me we could not do this to them without risk of extreme consequences, but when I told them they were free to go at any time if they did not mind walking home from Polar North Territory their tone changed quite quickly."
"I can imagine," Niki said. "Why are we in the PNT?"
"We're not," Pasha interjected. "We're still in Palmer's Canyon."
"I just told them that to shut them up," Antaris said, smiling all the while. "However, if we were to let them step outside at this moment, they would certainly think they were right in the middle of the PNT."
"It's that bad?"
"The storm that began yesterday is worsening, and the snow is seven meters deep in places. The temperature was eighteen below an hour ago, and it is falling fast. This is going to be a cold Minor Tides, Nikisha."
"I'll say. Uh, Trina, please take Frank and Vagnu to the briefing room---I'll be up there in a minute."
"Are you feeling well enough to do that?" Pasha asked, her concern for him showing plainly in her expression.
"Even if I weren't, we have only ten days---come first light." Niki was worried about the time, because there was a limit to how long the La Paz would remain in orbit. The more time he allowed to elapse before they got off Paz, the closer they would come to missing their opportunity of making the connection. Twenty-three had told him there were two occasions the La Paz could be in orbit, but that only the first fit the required launch parameters and would allow them to use Vegamtu's gravity well to help them on their way. There had been a full five-year window, and this was the fourth time the great ship had returned to Paz. If they failed to link up in the next twenty days, the whole process would recycle with La Paz returning to its holding orbit outside the system until the next Minor Tides---the final year.
"You do, of course, realize you've taken government personnel prisoner, Kaznov," Frank said. "The penalties for such---"
"Prisoners," Vagnu parroted. "You don't have the right to---"
"Please, gentlemen, we don't have time for this. Harko came here to apprehend the both of you, and we all know he intends to see you hang together."
The two men twisted uncomfortably, and Niki knew he could get them to go along with him, even if they couldn't understand what was really happening. His problem was mainly what to do about Harko and Trak.
"You now know that the Father's plan, the awakening as you called it, was intended for the continuance of a colonizing program begun over a thousand years ago, and that it was not in the slightest as you had pictured it to be---that you have completely misinterpreted the Riddle of the Ancients."
"So you say," Frank growled, and Vagnu nodded in agreement.
"Forget your problems with me, both of you. Let me tell you why you're here. We need a reasonable balance of lots. Each of us has certain traits desirable for a social structure, but don't read too much into what I said because those traits exist in all of us. In other words, neither of you is indispensable." Shifting his gaze to Vagnu, he continued, "GoL Vagnu, we're willing to transport you back to New London. In exchange, you will transmit the true meaning of the awakening to your people and bring back those who volunteer to carry out the Fathers' wishes. There's nothing altruistic or gratuitous about my offer, it's strictly business and it's extremely simple. We let you go, and you bring back volunteers. If none are interested, you'll be free to face Harko and the box, or return to Ganeden---your choice. Is that understood?"
"I think we both understand you well enough, but ... what happens to Harko?"
"He remains with us until we are ready to leave. I can assure you he has kept this to himself, except for those he brought with him---and it could be that many of them don't understand why they're here, either. He has CACs on both of you, which means you won't be able to contact anyone in the Council without making a mess of this for yourselves."
Niki turned to Frank and said, "What I told him is true for you. You will have until day one of Halfyear. From tomorrow's first light you have five days---no more. At the end of that time you must be in Ganeden with all those wishing to go by eighth hour."
"Why such short notice---so little time?"
"Because everyone has to be processed---not all of them will be qualified. After selection, those who qualify will have to undergo a period of indoctrination ... and all of that takes time. The La Paz will leave orbit on day fifteen of the celebration if we aren't aboard by then---and I can't hold Harko that long."
"Why don't you just term him and his people?
"Yes, that would be a solution," Vagnu added.
"It may be a solution for you, but that's why you're in this position, isn't it? Now, do we have an agreement ... or do I turn you over to Harko now?"
Frank and Vagnu conferred with one another briefly, then did exactly what Pasha had predicted. She had told him they would agree to his proposal without argument. She had also cautioned him to remember the giant traitor spider that lived in the equatorial jungles. That spider would assume a helpless position and wait until safely inside the digestive tract of its prey, where it would administer its sting, then eat its way out. These two were in their helpless position now, but once they were back inside the shuttles with their followers they could---and probably would---strike. Niki wouldn't allow them to get that far. Right after the screening at the Ganeden shelter he would turn them over to Harko and let things go as they would. Frank and Vagnu left the room. They were mumbling to one another under their breath. Probably something to do with what they could plan for Niki to end him when they got the chance.
When Andromodi, Laski, and Fein took their seats, he knew the next meeting was going to be much more pleasant. They were smiling, not broadly, but amiably---as if they had already come to grips with their situation.
"All right, my friends," Niki began, "may I refer to you by your first names?" They nodded assent, and he continued. "Good. I'm sorry for all this, and I regret I can't tell you the reasons why. I'm the one who has disrupted your lives, and if you have any complaints you may lodge them here."
Niki waited for any comment, and, when none was made, went on. "You're all aware of our purpose here, and you've all had some experience with the awakening. What I propose is..."
The meeting with the three new Gammas was one of the more satisfying exchanges he'd had in some time, and, when they finished, Laski and Fein both expressed a strong desire to go. Andromodi, though not entirely opposed to the idea, wanted a bit more time to think. Next on the list were Harko and company, a gathering he wasn't especially excited about. As the four of them filed in, the atmosphere turned decidedly cool.
"All right, Kaznov," Harko said in a tone as cold as the weather blustering outside the shuttle. "What in the name of the Ancients is all this? Have you lost your mind?"
"Please, Brand, there is an explanation, and once you've heard me out you'll understand why all of this had to be."
"I'll listen," Harko said as he pulled up a chair, "but I tell you true---this had better be damned good."
"Damned good," Sax added.
"Shut up, Sax. So, Niki, tell me what was so pressing that you felt it was worth risking doing the air dance at the end of the Terminator's line with those other shagrats?"
Niki explained their need to balance the lots, outlined the critical timing involved, and detailed his plan to put Frank and Vagnu in Harko's hands when it was done. He also made it a point to clarify what it was about Harko that had made him sure it the plan would work. As he went along, Harko's expression grew more and more worried.
"Damn it, Niki. It was good thinking---but it won't work. Some of the assumptions you made about me were pretty close, but you don't understand how we work." Harko pointed at Trak and continued. "Her gang, Enforcement, gets CACs at every monitor. An officer can't order his midday meal without seeing pictures of Frank and Vagnu displayed next to the orders for their apprehension."
Trak nodded, saying, "When CACs come down from the Council, notices are automatically posted with Enforcement, which means that all my people have orders to pick them up on sight---and they'll do that without the slightest hesitation. They also, because of the severity of the charges, have the right to use lethals if they feel it's necessary. Only an express order from Brand can put a stay on a CAC, once it has been issued."
Harko grinned and added, "They won't get picked up in Ganeden, but let them put a fuzzy foot in one of the big cities and they're mine. That's how it works, Niki. By the book."
"I guess what you're trying to tell me is that the only choice I have is to release you, is that right?"
"If you don't want them in DetCenter by tomorrow, I guess that sums it up," Harko said with a tone of finality.
"Will you allow them to do what we need from them? I mean, will you give them time to contact their people?"
Niki didn't like the tone Harko had taken and, if they were telling him true, it didn't appear he had much latitude. He would have to let them go. Niki decided that if Harko would give him his word, he would have to trust him to follow through. On the other hand, if he kept them, assuming Harko and Trak had told him true, Frank and Vagnu would be taken into custody immediately and nothing would be accomplished. Either way, he had to believe Harko.
"Niki," Harko began, "I stood at the edge of the Nurab Deep when I let you do what you did at the museum. My job, my reputation and my future were all in jeopardy."
"You couldn't have stopped us."
"Irrelevant, Niki. Now, letting two known assassins run loose could ... no, that's not quite the wording I want ... would put me in the box right alongside the both of them, and if they do any more damage while I stand by and watch---well, I'd hang with them, too."
"Then, there's nothing we can do? We have no options open to us?"
"I didn't say that. I just want you to see how bad a position I'll be in if I play along with you." Harko looked to Trak and said, "Lisha, what's your position. Can you go along with any of this?"
"Well-l-l ... it's definitely not in the book." She rubbed at her temples nervously. "If we maintain full surveillance on them, we could say we needed to extend the investigation. After all, some of what Sax has in the case file is exaggerated innuendo with no meat to back it up---no offense, Sax. I'd say, if you issued a 'stay for surveillance' order, I'd be free to execute it. There are plausible reasons we could use to keep it inside the extreme edges of the book---I guess. Yes, I'd do it."
"Wait just one damned minute!" Wills, who had sat silently up to that point, shouted. "I can't believe what I'm hearing. Do we have a couple of criminals or don't we?"
"Relax, Carlos. I know what I'm doing here, and, yes, we do have two of the lowest we've ever had the bad luck to deal with. We also have something that's important to our future as a people---something that has to be handled carefully. You stay with me on this, and we'll do our job and the Fathers' work at the same time."
"Yeah, I heard what went on in the meeting, but we have a planet here. Why in hell should we be worried about something out there," Wills said, waving his hand skyward, "and a bunch of people with bad dreams. Particularly when we have all this crap going on down here, huh?"
"History," Sax said. "The whole thing's about history. The Fathers escaped the destruction of their system with a representative sampling of themselves to somewhere out there," he said, waving a mocking hand skyward. "I they hadn't, we wouldn't exist. You wouldn't be here asking dumb questions, Wills. Think about it. We're the result of a plan. What these people are doing is an extension of that plan, the thing that made it possible for you to be sitting in that chair acting stupid."
"Who's acting stupid, you little chip chasing---"
"Aw, come off it, Wills. I think what's going on here is more important than our petty crap and looking good for the Council, don't you?"
"No, I don't. I take a pledge every year to serve the Book of the Law, damn it."
"Right---and so do I," Sax responded. "And your precious Book of the Law is being revised right here ... right now."
"Enough," Harko said. "If I'm not mistaken, you work for me, Carlos. Right? Right. And Sax, close it and keep it closed." Harko then turned to Niki and in a harsh voice said, "Niki, I'm going to go along with you once more---but only once. If anything goes wrong before I have those two in the box---and I mean anything---I'll do whatever I can to bring you down. Do we understand one another?"
"Yes, Brand, we do. I know you've gone to the edge, and I'm grateful. We can work out the details of what to do about Frank and Vagnu, later. Right now I'd like to talk with Mr. Sax, if you don't mind."
"Sure, go ahead," Harko said.
"No, I mean I'd like to talk to him alone. Is it all right with you if I keep him here a few minutes?"
Niki was interested in this man, Sax. Why did he show such passion for an idea in which he was not a participant. He had noticed it during midday break---along with what seemed to be an inordinate amount of knowledge and an intense interest in the history of the Fathers. Now, alone with Sax in the briefing room, he looked at Sax a little closer. He was a small man, not in stature but in structure. A narrow, long face looked back at Niki, with what appeared to be confusion in his watery blue eyes behind a tuft of whitish-blond hair that wouldn't stay out of his face.
"Your name is Filo?"
"Yeah."
"Filo, how is it you know things that are not part of the official Ancient Record?"
"I have to warn you, I'm notorious for long storytelling. Are you sure you want to hear it?"
"Can you abbreviate it?"
"Okay, I'll try to make it as short as I can." Sax rose from his chair and began to pace. "My father was the records man for Ganeden. That's right, Mr. Kaznov, right here in Ganeden. My father, his father, his father's father, and so on---all the way back to the seeding. Surprised?"
"Mm-hmm, a little. Please, go on."
"When Ganeden was abandoned---the mines played out---my family moved to Numerca. You know where that is?"
Numerca was the largest of the islands in the Eastern Sea, and Niki was very familiar with it. That was the crash site of shuttle number Two. The story was that One had landed safely on the shore of Lake Shakti, but a computer error put Two in the middle of the deepest lake on Paz, and it exploded when it made contact with the water---though no wreckage was ever found to support that part of the tale.
"Anyway, I was raised in the village of Tucana where shuttle One had been abandoned. As an onner, I played on and around it every day. One day I climbed up into one of the landing gear bays---hiding from some friends---and the thing made a noise that scared me half to death. Then ... then I felt it move. I knew right then that they were still alive, and I started dreaming about them one day starting up ... starting up and taking me away to the stars."
"Filo, the knowledge?"
"That wasn't filler, Mr. Kaznov. What does that have to do with what I know? Everything. I developed what my mother said was an 'unnatural and unhealthy' interest in the shuttles. I visited them all, read everything there was to read on them, and, one day, I found one that was open."
Niki sprang to his feet and leaned down over his knuckles on the table. "What did you say? Open? Which ... one was ... open?"
"Five---out on Luna Flat---but it wasn't open like this. Ever seen that one?"
"I've never been out of Nurusha until this year. Tell me about it."
"Well, Five's one of the most complete wrecks around, you know. The Fathers didn't strip it like they did the others. While I was climbing around on it, I found a chip wedged under the seal of the outer door in the airlock bay. When I took it out, the door closed and sealed---but I've been reading the same stuff you brought out in the meeting for two years."
"Why didn't you tell someone?"
"You're tagging, right? I took something from a crash site. That's a minimum ten years in the box---if they don't hang you. Besides, it didn't take much reading to realize what kind of impact it could have---even though I didn't understand most of it until I heard your explanation, to realize what kind of impact it could have. I figured I could use it to advantage someday, but I knew what the consequences would be if I said anything about it before the right time. Now, I guess it doesn't matter any more."
"Does Harko know anything about it?"
"No ... no one but me. Well, you now. You know, I couldn't get a grip on how all that stuff was supposed to play out until the Chief gave me the clue. His perspective was all screwed up---still is---but he had the right idea about the programming. He's a strange man, that Harko. A little more open-minded than most, but not when it comes to something like that. He's one of those who thinks our genes should be left alone. He doesn't think we have the right to mess around with nature that way, even though he understands how much good it's done for us."
"And you think differently?"
"Oh yeah."
"We're landing at apoapsis. Since that gives us about nine days to get ready, I'd suggest that you start knitting me a sweater, Marta. I'd like you to stay with Hermes until we know what we're facing down there."
"You're joking."
"I'm serious. You're our number one gene jostler, and we can't afford to lose you to some misplaced adventurer's spirit.
"I'm a doctor, damn it."
"We have other doctors."
"We have other gene mechanics."
"Marta, please."
"All right, Alex, I'll stay here on one condition."
"And that is?"
"That you stay here with me."
"Now look who's joking."
"No, I'm not kidding, Alex."
"Marta, I'm the command officer, remember?"
"You're a command officer. We have others."
Damn it, she's using me against me.
"I'm the LO."
"Ah, that's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Alex. Technically, you're not the real LO any more, and your only authority on this ship is habit."
"What does that mean?"
"We pulled out, remember. No contact. No return. No support and no organization. All that is ancient history, and, as far as we know, there may no longer be an SESC. How long do you think it'll be before everybody on this ship realizes that and starts acting like individuals instead of trained ants?"
Lavan was right. She was right most of the time, and it was damned irritating. No, it wasn't irritating---more like just a little aggravating.
"Not long, I imagine."
"I suggest you get together with some of our Contact people. I don't have a diplomatic bone in my whole body, so I'm not the one to talk to you about it, but I think you ought to talk to someone about it before we have anarchy take root."
"Good idea. I'll do that just as soon as we get set up on the surface. We have to stay a cohesive whole, or this entire trip could come apart."
"We set up on the surface? Does that mean I'm going with you?"
"Oh, hell, all right."
"All right, what? I go, or we stay?"
"Knit two sweaters."
"Now, there's the kind of logic I like to see. In what capacity?"
"Mother Protector, of course. You'll replace Wilson in my crew."
"Have you decided how we're going to approach the natives?"
"Armed and ready."
"An invaders from space scenario, Alex? Are you sure you want to go down in the local history books, if they still have books, as the She Devil from A Far Star, or something like that?"
"That's not funny, Marta, and it's not what I have in mind. Rammix reported a pulse weapon discharge on the surface, and I just think it would be prudent to be ready for a negative response to our arrival."
"When did Rammix tell you about that?"
"A few days ago."
"And you didn't tell me?"
"You're a doctor, remember?"
"I'm also one of those command officers, Alex."
"All right, I'm sorry."
"You thought about trying the ISCU again?"
"A shuttle's already on its way, but I'm not holding out much hope for success."
"Worth a try, Alex. So, my dear, have you given much thought to when you want to begin your mothering experiment? Say, before we've conquered the savages, or after?"
"He wants to go with us, you know," Niki said as he cut off another piece of steak and slid it into his already full mouth.
"What are you going to tell him, love?"
"Well, if he really wants to go and we have room for him, I can't say much of anything but---yes. We don't have much to do with the seeding process. Everything we need to carry out that work is on the La Paz."
"Mm-hmm. He's certainly an interesting character," Pasha observed. "He knows that there's no turning back once he's committed?"
"Uh-huh, and it doesn't seem to matter to him. He could be quite useful on a new world. He has extraordinary organizational skill, and his knowledge of Pazian history is phenomenal."
"And Harko?"
"He doesn't know. The subject came up just before they left. I imagine he won't like it much, but it's not his decision to make. That's strictly up to Sax."
"Have you heard from Luto?"
"Yes, and I meant to tell you about that earlier." Niki stabbed another piece of shako, stirred it pensively in warm lazial bean sauce, then, with his mouth again pleasantly full, continued. "Kung and Malkin have told him they definitely want to come. Luto said they're very excited."
"Didn't those two go to the box last year?"
"Came close. They were censured for their work on genetic memory transference, but Biotech publicly recognized their work as a breakthrough in molecular biology and forced the Council to change the ruling."
"Why is it politicians always believe they know what's best for everyone?"
"They let them go, but you understand how people are. They haven't been able to work since then. People think we shouldn't be tampering with nature, as if nature were limited to one dimension, like there were something sacrosanct about it. Hah! If they only realized. No, let me restate that. Wait until they find out how unnatural they really are."
Outside, the mounting wind howled over the Ganeden Plate, driving snow up into Palmer's Canyon and into the Pockets, piling it up around the shuttles so that only the tops of their black hulls could be seen in a blanket of unending white.
"Yeah, Lisha, I'm listening," Harko said.
"Vagnu and sixty-seven of his group left for the pad at twenty-second hour. Looks like they want to get up there early. There's still no sign of any movement from Frank. Any thoughts?"
"I don't know. Have there been any arrivals at Frank's place?"
"Three. They showed up yesterday at seventh hour---no one has come in or out since then."
"Hmm," Harko said, rubbing his chin and staring at the files on his desk. "You know, Lisha, I think we may have a problem with that shagrat. Has there been any link traffic?"
"There was a flurry of it when he first got here. Most of it was nothing but passing the time of day with some friends. After a brief conversation, he ordered the three I mentioned to come to his place---then, nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not a thing. Do we move in?"
"Not yet. Give him two more hours, then take the gaf."
Trak's image was still fading when Sax walked in with a large pile of papers in his arms.
"What the hell's that?"
"It's the genetic stuff from the chip Kaznov gave us. I think you're going to find this very interesting, Boss."
"Is that all of it?"
"No, just the stuff you said you wanted in particular. There's not enough paper on Paz to run it all. There's more than---"
"Never mind, Sax. Spread it out and let's have a look."
Pel's Field was situated on a flat between two ancient rifts in the Pazian lithosphere. Ground water, seeping down to the bottom, would eventually come in contact with the hot lower levels. There it would be turned into steam and rise, forming a constant cloud of haze. With Halfyear approaching, the water vapor turned into tiny crystals that were buoyed up by the rising steam. The shimmering crystal cloud would then drift off and settle as an icy berm on the eastern edges of both of the seemingly bottomless fissures.
As the huge Cadre rover crossed over the western edge of Tesla Gorge, the pilot fired the vertical thrusters, and the vehicle shuddered in response. It lost its supporting cushion from the fans, and took a little dip before rising on the roaring tongues of flame, stirring the crystal cloud into swirling eddies of steam to trail off behind the speeding craft.
"Excuse me, Colonel. We'll be landing at Pel's in five minutes, and you may want to suit up now. Temp's minus twelve, and the internal docking bay doors are jammed with ice. We'll have to cross about two hundred meters on foot."
"Thank you, Sergeant."
Tazh fished his heavy heat suit from the overhead locker and drew it over his stocky frame. It was a nuisance having to do things this way, but there was no chance in hell he would put himself in the position he knew Harko and the rest of those shagrats wanted. He'd already suffered a big setback because he'd allowed himself to be caught off-guard, and it wasn't going to happen again.
"What's the weather in Ganeden?"
"As of twenty minutes ago, they were reporting a heavy snow and ice storm with winds in the nineties. The temp was minus twenty-six and falling, sir."
Why had they located up there? Paz had plenty of equatorial sites they could have used that were just as desolate but where, even at Halfyear, daytime temperatures would climb to six or seven degrees. If only Lang had been---ah, blessed past tense---more of a man, then Tazh wouldn't be where he found himself at the moment. Somehow, though, it was better this way.
Luto excused himself from the table where he had been discussing the awakening with the five Biotech people he had encountered during his hasty journey to Nuperz, and crossed the room to answer a knock on the door.
"Well, Lira. Please, bring your friends in from the cold. I see you've had good hunting."
As they came in from the freezing rain and quickly filled the minuscule cube to capacity, Luto counted nine new faces.
"Uh-huh. Niki was right. There are a lot of Gammas at Astro who are well into their enlightenment. Most have already left for Ganeden." Lira glanced at the five seated at the table and smiled at Luto. "Likewise at Biotech, I see."
"Oh, yeah---and very exciting. Come, listen. Dr. Malkin was just explaining---in terms a simpleton like me can understand---how memory transference was discovered, and it's really fascinating stuff." He half dragged her to the table. "Dr. Malkin, Dr. Kung, I'd like you to meet Lira Rifkin, who has shown tremendous interest in genetics in the last couple of months."
The two men, both looking much too young to fit their credentials and experience, rose to greet the newcomer, Lira, with friendly smiles and extended hands.
Malkin, who appeared to be no more than twenty, motioned for her to sit and said, "As I was just telling your friend, Luto, the methods for encoding DNA for memory production are still beyond our reach, but we know, in a really basic way, how it could be done. Mike ... Dr. Kung ... comes from a background of neurosurgery originally. He recently discovered something strange in the brains of certain cadavers---all Gammas in the lots one through twelve. He ... well, he should tell you about it himself."
"What I found," Kung said, "was a gland unique to these seed-lot groups. It is located deep in the cerebellum---very neatly hidden, I might add. This gland, though obviously inactive, intrigued me for a couple of reasons, but, I have to admit, the most compelling is that I am a Gamma three, and if I have an extra gland ... I want to know why. Unfortunately, the samples I had were restricted to earlier generations, so this gland was not sufficiently well developed to draw any conclusions---the thing actually appeared to be vestigial. Imagine my surprise when I got a new crop to study after this year's Days of Disturbance. The things were fully developed, and secreting hormonal fluids directly to the surrounding tissues of the cerebellum and diverting some off to the cerebrum."
"When Mike brought it to my attention," Malkin said, "he wanted to run some experiments on my Supershags---some shagrats on which I'd been working, trying to increase their cranial capacity to see, in layman's terms, see if I could get that stupid little scavenger to do something besides dig holes and hunt for dead bloodworms. After just two injections, my shags, although still unable to read and write, were running the complex maze tests in half the time. Their intelligence was still slightly less than a dungbug's---but the improvement in memory was nothing less than phenomenal. They were---"
"Yes, yes, yes---but most importantly," Kung cut in, "their offspring displayed inherited memory. By that, I mean, they were able to repeat feats their parents had performed without being taught. These fluids..."
The little transport hurtled off the track into the brush alongside a cleared strip of trackway, its vertical fans whining in a valiant effort to keep the vehicle upright and off the ground. Inside, the pilot deftly manipulated the controls and got the vessel under control just short of hitting the rocky berm at the edge of the roadbed at two hundred kilometers per hour.
"Will ya watch where yer goin'? Yer gonna end us fer sure, not watchin' the track like that," Mills said. Anyway, so say it again. Who told ya he'd be at Ganeden?"
"Why? Is your memory that bad, or do you just like hearing things over and over?"
The man piloting the transport at top-speed-plus-a-little along the Palmer Outland track glared at Mills through a tuft of white hair, then put his attention back on his task. The thin line of trackway was broken by mounds of snow here and there so that it looked like a series of dark slashes in a surface that was getting more uniformly white as they moved north.
"And for your information, I was watching the track. Ice gets hung up in the mag yoke, and that throws us off. There's nothing I can do about it other than slow down. Do you want to slow down?"
"No, no, don't slow down---and yeah, I wanna hear it again. I still think yer taggin' me."
"I don't tag, Virgo."
"So, who told ya he'd be there?"
"My source at Apps in New London." The pilot jerked at the mag control again as they lost contact with the track in an iced-over section. "Damn. No deicers out here. I think you had better hope it doesn't snow much more than this between here and Ganeden."
"So, what about yer---source?"
"You want the whole story again?" He reached down as soon as the transport stabilized on the track and cranked the cabin heat up another notch. "Well, I'm not going to tell it, Virgo. I've told you three times already, and that's it. If you really want to hear it again, play back the recording you made before we started this trip."
"Recordin'? What recordin'?"
"I'm talking about the chipcorder you have in your left coat pocket, stupid."
"Aw'right, aw'right. Can't blame me fer wantin' t'be certain, can ya? I get all the way to Nutroit, and I hear all this crap's goin' on. Hell, I thought Washton was straight with me, ya know, and he turns out to be a no-good shagrat gaf---so now I don't believe nobody. Got his, though, he did."
Mills settled back in his seat and laid his one arm on the shelf his belly made.
"I got no boat, no job, hardly no notes---all because he wants the whole thing fer himself. Damn. And you ... you watch where yer goin', aw'right. And don't call me stupid."
"All right, Virgo. Once more," the pilot said in frustrated resignation. "My man at Apps is way up there. Not the head man, but close. Four days ago he tells me Nik's got the cores---and no, they're not what you thought they were. Then he tells me they're running all the shuttles to Ganeden, and he says all the info you were hoping to get is going to be given to every shagrat on Paz, so you don't have anything to gain on that score, either. So, here we are in the middle of the North-South Track, heading for Ganeden. Satisfied?"
Mills had rolled the seat back to full recline, his eyes were closed and a low rumbling was coming from somewhere in the back of his throat.
"Hey, are you listening or sleeping?"
"Huh? Yeah, sure, I'm listenin'. Tell me the part about goin' someplace else."
In the days since he'd left Ganeden the thought that all may might not be as it appeared on the surface slowly crept into Vagnu's mind. By the time the flyer settled to the Ganeden pad, the thought had bloomed into full-blown worry. Why hadn't he thought of it before? Harko and Kaznov could have struck a bargain---with him as the prize---and here he was, walking right into whatever it was they might have waiting for him.
Harko was known to the Council as a staunch and incorruptible defender of the law, one who never backed away from a case, no matter how trivial. So why would such a person back off a case of this magnitude? It could have been the situation itself that caused him to ease off, but Vagnu doubted that quite seriously. No---the shagrats had to have made a deal that would not be in his best interest.
He could remain aboard the flyer and return to New London---but that wouldn't get him off Paz, and he knew the only thing that would keep his neck at its current length would be to get as far away from Paz as he could. His chances of successfully hiding from the law on Paz were zero. Eventually, they would find him---and when they did...
His only chance was to go with Kaznov, in spite of Kaznov's not wanting him there. As dangerous and uncertain as that adventure sounded, it would be better than slowly choking at the end of the Terminator's line. He had to get aboard one of the shuttles without being noticed by Enforcement, Apps, or any of Kaznov's people. But how? Once they were off the planet, things would have progressed to the point where they wouldn't be interested in returning him to Paz, and he would be free to reveal himself. How to do it?
The shapes of two rather large transports, probably Ganeden's version of Publics, were barely visible in the snow and ice that were being whipped around by powerful winds scrubbing the pad below. Vagnu reached over the seat in front of him and touched Prang's shoulder.
"Yes? What is it, Dathan?"
Vagnu leaned forward and spoke in a voice no one else but Prang could hear. "I need you to do something for me, Marcus.
When he'd finished outlining the first part of his plan to Prang---the rest he would keep to himself until he was safely where he needed to be---he sat back and waited for the flyer to touch down and get secured to the ground to keep it from being blown away.
The queue at the transport formed fast, as everyone wanted to be first in to escape the incredible cold on the pad---there was a good deal of pushing and shoving. How the fight began, no one could say, though it probably started when Prang violently ejected one of the younger members from the line. Whatever private altercation there was between those two erupted into a full scale free-for-all in a matter of seconds. In the confusion of the fracas, a shadow slipped unnoticed into the white background of mixed snow and ice---and vanished.
The general storage and tool box in the back of the transport was cramped but warm, so Vagnu curled up and pulled the door closed. He assumed they would be heading straight for the shuttles, and when they arrived he would be able to work out the rest of what he had to do to get where he needed to be.
Five Enforcement officers rushed through the smoldering frame where a door had been before the pulse struck and vaporized it. What they found was a vacant house smelling of ozone. There was no sign of Frank or his guests. In his office they discovered a door concealed behind a bookcase that opened out into a tunnel beneath the house.
Trak, her handlight piercing the darkness, entered the passage and followed it for a hundred meters where it intersected with a larger tunnel. She pointed the beam down the narrow corridor, its light reflecting off the rail that disappeared to the east.
"Damn it," she swore into the blackness around her. Then, in a voice meant only for herself, she said, "We should have known better than to trust that shagrat son-of-an-untrac."
"Excuse me, ma'am?" the officer standing behind her inquired.
"Nothing---just talking to myself. Let's get out of here."
Once out of the shielding of the tunnel, Trak keyed her portacom. "Brand, this is Lisha."
"Do you have him?"
"No, Brand, we have absolutely nothing---damn it. All we have here is a tunnel off to the east and an empty house. He could have left here at any time during the past five days."
"Mm---I was afraid something like this might happen. We should have moved on him sooner."
"Oh, hell, Brand, there was no way we could have known about the tunnel. The last seismap of this area was made ten years ago, and it didn't show then. What do you think? Kaznov?"
"Absolutely. He knows I'll track him until one of us terms, so he doesn't have much choice but to go ahead and get off Paz ... or start his little war."
Harko didn't like the portent of what Frank running free on Paz with little to lose signified. But he knew Frank still had the main body of the Cadre intact and his chances of being successful at either option were fairly good. He just hoped Frank would go for Kaznov as a way to get off of Paz rather than pursue his ideas of gaining control of the government.
"What? You don't think he'd actually try to fight, do you?"
"I don't know, Lisha. Surprise and anonymity are no longer with him, so he might not, unless he finds himself stuck here with us. Then, I think you could put your last note on there being a war that we would find hard to win."
"Sounds really grim. Now what---Ganeden?"
"Yeah, Ganeden as fast as we can get there. Pass out the lethals and tell your people that, when they see Frank, it's okay to term the shagrat. But make damned sure it's him, because the Council will come down on me like a flock of hungry sackers if one innocent so much as gets singed."
"Can I consider that as an official order to terminate?"
"Not exactly. If he can be taken, then take him. If there's any doubt at all, turn him to jelly. I want that man out of my life, and I don't much care how it happens, though I'd really like to see him kicking in the wind."
"Vagnu?"
"Not Vagnu. He's as rotten as they come, but he's harmless as long as your back's not turned. Get as many people as you can muster out to Ganeden as fast as you can and I'll meet you there."
"What about the Council?"
"Forget them---they'll just screw things up, and they may have another Vagnu in their midst."
The Ganeden landing pad had not played host to so much traffic in more than eighty years. Before the mines closed, Ganeden had been home to two hundred thousand. Now, less than three hundred still called it their place of residence---barely enough to keep a couple of stores, several bars, and a restaurant open, but nothing more. Ganeden was even off the regular mail route. Most of the locals were social misfits, hopeful prospectors, dreamers, artists, and roving bands of thieves who would occasionally drift down to the area from North Coopersland to see what they could find to plunder. There was no government presence---no law.
The pilot managed, with considerable effort, to get the overloaded, lumbering transport stopped a few meters short of colliding with the crude barricade across the track and barked a warning to his charges.
"Everybody, stay calm. We got bandits. Just do what they want and nobody will get hurt."
Bodiless visages came floating through the stark white pall of wind-driven snow. As they drew near, the faces began shouting for everyone to get off the transport and line up beside it. Indistinct shadows on their white garments provided ghostly foundations for their bobbing, shouting, half-hidden features.
One of the white-cloaked men moved forward from the group and, producing a sack, went to one end of the line of shivering passengers.
"I want everythin' outa your pockets and in the bag. I want watches, rings, and other stuff, too," he said forcefully enough to be heard above the howling wind at the other end of the line. "Don't try to hold out nothin' or you won't get wherever it is you're goin', understand?" Then, turning to the pilot, he said, "Any packages or deliveries?"
"No. These southers all come up with hand stuff. It's all inside."
One of the men, acting as if on cue, produced a sack and, shouldering his weapon, boarded the transport. The one who had remained outside started down the line, holding out his sack to each of the passengers and shaking it. "Put it in the bag, puke." In the middle of the line he stopped, snatched the bag back against his chest, and shouted, "Transport comin'---gonna be a good day." He turned to the line of his comrades outside the public and shouted, "Fade."
All of them pulled a white, netted cover down from their hoods. It concealed their exposed faces, and the men effectively disappeared. The one with the sack moved quickly down the line, finishing his collection seconds before the high-pitched whine of a small, speeding transport became audible to the others in the line.
"Everybody back inside---and be quick about it."
The bandit who was aboard the transport tumbled out, his sack bulging with the passengers' belongings, and buried himself in the snow.
Enhanced radar showed a large transport, probably a local, stopped on the track behind a low barricade of rock and ice. The pilot applied full power to the fans, added some right thrust, and released the mag contact simultaneously. The sleek little vehicle lifted clear of the track and drifted gently to the left. When it passed the stopped transport little more than five centimeters of clearance was left between them. There was a slight bobble in pitch as air stacked up at the barricade and buffeted at the side of the boxy public, and that was it. A brief burst of left thruster, a small reduction of vertical fan pressure, and the little machine was back on the track as if nothing had happened.
Shan sat rigidly, his jaw quivering, eyes wide, and his color a close match for the snow outside.
"What is it, Bo? That maneuver bother you?"
"You ... I ... yeah. Yeah---it bothered me, Niki."
"There's nothing to worry about. Emil here was an interceptor pilot in the Council Guard before he came in with us."
"Oh? That's nice. Supposed to make me feel better, knowing that? I just lost twenty years. What was that business back there?"
"Probably a bandit trap. Some of our guests are getting their loads lightened, I'm sure. Judging by the time, I'd say it was Vagnu and company. Couldn't happen to a nicer crowd," the pilot, Emil, said. "I couldn't get a read on the people, but before the sensor was shadowed there was an indication of a large group on the right, down in the snow---bandits for sure." Emil reached forward and added more speed.
Shan, still shaken by the event, turned to Niki and said, "Are you ready now? I mean, aside from the new people, the screening and all that?"
"Uh-huh. We have a little latitude with time because the La Paz drops into receiving orbit on day two-twenty, exactly, and will wait there fifteen days before returning to its far holding orbit. We'll be there with time to spare."
"Yeah, maybe."
"What's that supposed to mean, Bo?"
"Have you heard anything from Lang?"
"If he doesn't show, we leave. No problem."
"Yeah? You're sure of that? What if he starts trouble?"
The gathering in the upper chamber was a cacophony of conversations echoing off the bare walls and ceiling. Generation people milled about, talking excitedly about their recent experience with bandits, while Biotech's contingent argued their individual ideas on memory encoding and a knot of Astro scientists busied themselves proving by various methods the extreme probability of not finding another suitable planet. The Cadre---the Cadre was conspicuous through lack of representation ... and it was sixth hour.
"Has there been any word from Harko?" Shan asked.
"No, and we haven't heard from Frank, either. I think we'll go ahead with those who are here and hope for the best."
"Vagnu?"
"He didn't show up with the rest of the Generation group?"
"No. He may have decided to stay in New London to take his chances with Harko, or he could be coming out on his own. Want me to check the manifest for this morning's arrivals?"
"Yes, but have Luto do that---if you can draw him away from the Biotech convention over there. I'd like you to stay with me until it's time, because you recognize a lot of people on sight and that could be helpful."
No Vagnu, no Frank, and not a word from Harko. Could it be that Harko had gone ahead and picked them up? If the two of them had attempted to escape, Harko was bound to be angry. That anger would be turned toward Niki, which would be an ... unfortunate turn of events. Conversely, Vagnu and Frank had adequate incentive to be in Ganeden. They had to know they would be apprehended at some point, and Niki had assured them---he hated lying to anyone, even those two---that they would be leaving Paz. Niki began to wonder what he would do in their place, but that, he decided, was ridiculous---he could in no way think in the ways either one of them did if they had, for any reason, concluded that they were being used.
"Twenty-three," Niki softly said into his com.
"Yes, Niki."
"Go to medium range search and full defense mode. Report any observations to me. And ... call Pasha."
Niki, not wanting anyone to hear what Twenty-three might report, jammed the com's earphone into his ear and winced at the discomfort it brought him. The things had been designed to by used by the Fathers, and he was forced to push in his sensitive flap to make it seat properly. Pasha's voice drowned out the din in the hall.
"Great day, Niki. Are they all there?"
"Not yet. I've put Twenty-three on alert status. I'm concerned about what Frank is up to. For all I know, he may be on his way here to make an attempt to take over the shuttles."
"I noticed the change of status on the panel. He wouldn't be able to do that, would he?"
"It may be possible. We don't know how much information he has on them. Notify the other crews and have them prepare for anything. We can't afford to lose a single shuttle now."
"All right, Niki. What do you plan to do?"
"I'm going ahead with those who are here before we run too short on time. Maybe they'll show up before we've finished. None of the Cadre people are here, and Vagnu didn't come in with his group." Niki thought for a moment, then continued. "You know, my love, this is the first Halfyear I've missed in my life."
"Everyone here is saying the same, so we've decided to do a mini-Halfyear here. Anyway, we'll be safe out here, but you---be careful, Niki."
Even in hinterland places like Ganeden, the celebration of Halfyear would be observed to the fullest extent possible, in spite of the cold and the wind. It was a tradition deeply rooted in their reverence for the Ancients and the Fathers who'd brought them to this place. All the people would congregate at the local Shrine of the Ancients to await eleventh hour when the Hand would be offered on the Ladder, a ritual nearly as old as the Pazian people. After the rite of the Hand, at exactly eleventh hour and thirty, when the fires had lost their initial roaring violence, whole sides of shako would be lifted on spike frames to be roasted over the flames. At twelfth hour and thirty, just after the alignment, the smoking, charred carcasses would be taken from their places over the fires to the carving tables, where dishes of shako steak, lazial beans, and baked panroot would be prepared for the revelers.
The reactor had been shut down, and the cold in the box at the back of the transport descended to a level that was unbearable and went right to the bone. Vagnu, stiff all over, climbed from the box into the bitter night of day two-nineteen and searched for the telltale light that burned bright over the Shrine of the Ancients in all the cities of Paz. His only hope for survival and escape was the celebration. There he could eat and drink his fill, stay warm by the fires that were kept burning through the twenty days of Halfyear. Once the locals had drunk themselves into the spayberry stupor of Halfyear as custom demanded, he would appropriate one of their rovers. It was a simple plan---one he was certain would work.
Scanning the sky, he finally found what he was looking for---a faint glow of orange caressing the tops of buildings to his right. Vagnu started off in the direction of the light, struggling against the wind and the snow that continued to fall almost horizontally. His feet were numb, his knees drove searing pain up his legs, and the simple act of breathing required conscious effort. But he had to keep on moving to the light---if he didn't he would most surely freeze.
In soft red light, the operators in the cockpits of the Cadre AAVs were hard at work, fast-scanning for any sign of activity below and in front of them. Tazh was convinced that the shuttles would be on the ground somewhere near Ganeden Plate's southern edge and that they would have to reveal themselves at some point. The storm raging below them made any visual observation impossible, and infrared imaging was ineffective at what the pilots said were marginally safe altitudes. Tazh dispatched four AAVs to work a radar search of the area, but the Ganeden-Palmer line was long and the Pockets numerous. It would take two or three days to cover the entire grid.
In two days, his main force would arrive---a force of two thousand of his best shock troops, armed with the most potent of Kadin's lethal little toys. In the meantime, his objective was to find the shuttles if he could. Failing that, he would be forced to proceed to Ganeden with the force he had in order to keep surprise in his favor. Intelligence reported Kaznov to be in Ganeden with a gaggle of assorted misfits and an Enforcement presence of no more than forty people armed with nonlethals. He would secure Ganeden, destroy whatever resistance he encountered ... and take Kaznov. He wanted Kaznov---preferably alive.
His confidence running high, he made no effort to conceal his arrival and bored in over the Ganeden-Palmer line with twenty AAVs at fifteen thousand meters. No one, he was sure, would be expecting such a bold move---they wouldn't be scanning the sky to the south, so there would be no warning of his approach and, when the time came, complete surprise would be his. Kaznov would be his. Kaznov.
Dropping into one of the canyons west of the Palmer Outland track, they settled at low level into the wind-blown snow to wait for a positive report from one of the radar ships. With his options limited to leaving Paz in a suicidal flight to nowhere, proceeding with his plan to take Paz, or eventually hang, Tazh had made his final choice. He would take Paz ... or join with his Ancient in the dust of history. After all, his chances of survival in a headlong confrontation with whatever forces the Council might be able to deploy were better than going off on some stupidly ridiculous trip to some unknown, possibly nonexistent place with the very person who had caused him so much pain. He would take Kaznov and dispose of him ... slowly ... very slowly.
The little transport crossed the line where the Ganeden Slip, a near vertical drop separating Palmer Flat from the Ganeden Plate, began and shot down the ramp into the blinding snow piling up against the Slip. The track was covered in mounds of the fluffy stuff, some two or three meters deep, and when the vehicle hit the first one it sent a cloud high into the rising air that pushed up the slope from the Plate. The pilot reduced speed to maintain the car's tenuous grip on the track, and Mills awoke with a start as the belts snugged up to hold his more than ample body in place.
"Huh? What? What in the name of the Ancients is happening now? Why are we slowing down?"
"Open your eyes and take a look, Virgo."
"Where'd the damned track go?"
"Snow, Virgo---and we can't do better than forty in these conditions."
"Yeah? How long to Ganeden?"
"About nine hours ... if it doesn't ice over. If it does, it'll take us more like thirteen."
"Too long."
"Want to take the controls?"
"Naw, I ... ho, wait. What the hell's that?" Mills exclaimed, staring through the transport's left rear window at a huge, ethereal shadow descending through the white veil surrounding them. "That a shuttle er what?"
"Don't know, Virgo. Damned big, whatever it is."
"Stop, damn it. Stop," Mills demanded. "We gotta get our butts over there. If that's one of the shuttles, we don't gotta go all the way in to Ganeden, man."
"This isn't a rover, Virgo," the pilot said as he brought the little transport to a stop. "We can get off the track and maybe make it as far as the berm---but that'll be it. You know what I'm saying?"
"Yeah, yeah. We gotta go on foot. So what? We got cold-packs, right?"
"Yeah, but---"
"So, get over there to the berm and suit up," Mills said while reaching back to the storage compartment.
By the time they were able to make out what looked like a dark hole in the uniform whiteness, they were slogging through hip-deep powder and leaning heavily into a sixty kilometer per hour headwind. Mills cranked up the infrared gain all the way and lifted the SED to his shield. Recoiling from what he saw, he reached out and touched the other silver-suited figure on the shoulder and motioned for him to touch helmets.
"Cadre gun ships," he said. "Let's get the hell outa here."
The last of the Enforcement air transports locked itself to the dock at Ganeden, while Harko was giving his latest information to Trak, still in her cold weather gear, and sheltered in a temporary operations center set up on the pad."
"...will be arriving on day two-twenty-one, about third hour. We have received reports from Outer Pel's Field Station that twenty-four large vehicles were detected at five thousand meters and heading north at high speed. I think we can assume that Frank and friends have decided to make a stand here, and my guess is that he'll try to take over the shuttles to get off Paz. We just started an aerial scan, so we won't get caught squatting in the snow. I talked to Kaznov at seventh hour, and he told me they haven't seen Vagnu."
"Hmm---Vagnu was on the flyer arrival this morning," Trak said. "I checked that out, and I know he stayed here. What do you suppose he can do on his own?"
"Knowing Vagnu, he won't do much of anything on his own. The shagrat probably thinks he's found a way off Paz, but he won't make it." A broad grin developed on Harko's face as he said, "With any luck, he'll freeze. Anyway, Wills and Sax are holding hands with the crazies at the shelter, while we finish setting up out here."
Trak moved to the large screen on the wall and studied the detailed map displayed there.
"There are three tracks into Ganeden. I think we can ignore the PNT, don't you?"
"Probably. The weather alone will protect us from anything out of the north---for now, anyway---but concentrating on the tracks won't do us much good, either. Almost everyone up here uses rovers specially designed for the conditions ... and we know the Cadre does, too."
"All the same---"
"I know, but it's a safe wager that only locals and legal travelers will be using the tracks, which is why I didn't block them when we arrived. I did station check points at the three entrances to Ganeden proper, though."
"So, how do you want to handle it?"
"I think we'll need to spread out along a little over a rough quarter circle from southeast to southwest---and we'll probably need a block on the Coopersland track, just in case. That should cover the most likely entry points."
The startup fires were intended only to warm the area surrounding the shrine for the benefit of the celebrants. At some point in the distant past it had become common practice to overdo things a bit, and it was obvious that the community of Ganeden, though small in terms of local population, was not going to be outdone by anyone on Paz. A veritable firestorm raged in the twenty-four pits arranged in a circle around the shrine, and the heat generated could be felt five squares away on the upwind side. With each painful step, Vagnu felt life returning to him as he forced himself toward the beckoning flames like the giant moth of Nuperz that can only fly during the heat of the Days of Disturbance.
Beyond the wall of fire the community loomed, strangely orange, first bright, then dim, in cadence with the dancing fingers of flame that flicked at a crazy angle from the pits as the air, whipped into a frenzy by the fires, entered from all sides and competed with the prevailing wind from the north. Rising high above the pits a vortex of flame, bright embers and smoke curled vertically for a few meters, then raced off to the south. Revelers were already dancing or milling in the eerie light, and behind them stood the bloodied cutting tables, where racks of freshly butchered shako were stacked in silent anticipation of the hour to play their part in the celebration.
Vagnu's count of those he could see from his side of the fires well exceeded the total population of Ganeden and its outlying region. Apparently Ganeden served as a meeting point for much of the Northern Territories and drew large crowds from all over the area---a much larger gathering than he'd expected in weather as bad as this.
Perfect. The more there are, the easier it will be for me to blend in. I'll disappear here, and no one, not even Harko will be able to pick me out in this crowd.
In the distance the flames were mirrored in the windows of several rovers docked along the street---a very encouraging sight. He took a quick look at his timepiece and smiled through his pain. It was already tenth hour, and in five or six more hours he would be on his way. In the meantime, he would join the festivities like everyone else and avoid attracting undue attention to himself. Vagnu had never been with the Outlanders during Halfyear, but he was sure he could fit in.
Rounding the upwind end of the first pit, almost immediately he came upon the serving tables. A small group there hailed him.
"Lo," a man wrapped tightly in a blood smeared apron said. "Stranger on the Plate, eh?"
"Yes," Vagnu replied. "I have come to take delight in your Halfyear. Some friends of mine in the south told me that your celebrations have more energy and stick tightly to the tradition, not castrated by commercial interests. It is the energy and integrity I have come to enjoy."
"Ya heard right, friend. Energy we have, and energy we show---though I think it may be to keep from freezing to an early term, ya know." The man laughed heartily as he moved around from behind the serving table and approached Vagnu with an outstretched hand. "Name's Gavin Boyer, elected Cutter, but to tell ya true, I been elected every year fer twenty-five years. Hah! I don't know why they bother with the election any more. It's an honor to meet ya, sir. Give up yer name, friend, and---are ya direct-line, by chance?"
"The honor is mine, Cutter Boyer. I am---uh---I am..." Vagnu thought quickly and, after surveying the crowd and seeing no one who might recognize him, decided it would be all right to use his name. "Dathan ... Dathan Vagnu of New London. And yes, I am direct-line."
He hadn't expected to be accepted so readily, nor so heartily.
"Ah, ya came so far fer energy, friend? Come, join us, Dathan of New London. We were just gettin' ready to go to the shrine to make salute to the Ancients. Since ya came so far, would ya do us the honor of servin' as the Hand, Dathan?"
To be invited to serve as the Hand was an honor few were given---particularly strangers from outside the community. Indeed it was the first time in his life he had been extended such an invitation. The salute was a short ritual, and he would not be exposed long before he could again melt away into the group at the fires. Driven partly by the magnitude of the honor being bestowed and partly by ego, he humbly accepted Boyer's invitation. The revelers crowded around Vagnu, and moved off to make salute.
At the heart of the roaring inferno stood the Shrine of the Ancients, a helical ladder of freshly polished bronze that rose several meters above the pits where the fires were beginning to dwindle to a less ferocious state.
Boyer removed his stained apron and donned the bright red smock of the Cutter, while the revelers slipped a yellow one over Vagnu. Boyer raised his hands above his head, fingers spread wide, and waved them around to get the attention of all who had gathered at the shrine.
"Friends," he bellowed in a booming voice. "We have here a visitor from the south who is known by the name of Dathan Vagnu, but is better known by the straight line he can walk to his Ancient. I have selected him, and he has agreed to be our Hand fer this Halfyear of Paz year two-oh-eight at the transit of Vegamtu."
An enthusiastic cheer rose from the crowd ... a cheer such as Vagnu had never heard. He had attended salutes every Halfyear of his life but had never seen such rich and honest enthusiasm. It was contagious and intoxicating.
As he followed Boyer to the top of the ladder where the platform containing the Cup was located, the crowd below chanted with his every step, urging him on.
"The line is straight, the line is pure," they sang. "The line is straight, the line is pure."
Boyer, reaching the platform where the heat from the surrounding fires was nearly unbearable, raised his arms and shouted in his resonant bass voice, "Friends, listen as the Hand speaks his number."
Vagnu, not blessed with a powerful voice like Boyer's, moved to the edge of the platform and froze. The Cutter's hand wrapped over Vagnu's shoulder and Boyer, voice lowered so it would not be heard below, said, "It's all right, friend. Lots of people have a hard time findin' their voice when they get up here. Go on and speak it now."
"Friends," Vagnu shouted, "My Ancient, the founder of the path in which I walk, was Gamma Nine dash two-oh-one. I offer the stuff of life in his honor and to the memory of the Ancients of all Pazians---Alpha to Omega."
The roar from below was deafening as the Cutter drew the ceremonial knife from its sheath, the steely light of Vegamtu marking the sharpness of its edge, the flames flashing from the facets of twenty-four flawless gems set in its hilt.
Boyer raised the blade for all to see, then pointed it to Vegamtu, twisting it slowly in the light. At the exact instant Vegamtu reached the local meridian he brought down the knife and dragged it slowly across Vagnu's open palm. The blade was so sharp Vagnu felt nothing. He held up the open wound for the crowd to see, then tilted his hand down, allowing the blood to trickle along his fingers into the Cup. The throng went wild.
Out of the twenty-six hundred who had shown an interest in continuing the journey of the Fathers, only five hundred and seventy-one remained. The exodus of the others had occurred when they learned of the difficulties and uncertainties ahead. To Niki's mind, it wasn't a bad percentage, for he, too, had been thinking a lot about the coming flight across unimaginable distances and time in search of something so rare as a planet hospitable to human life. What the Fathers had been able to do here, his people might not be able to emulate elsewhere---if there was an elsewhere to be found.
From the Ancient Record Niki knew that Paz came close to duplicating Earth's conditions only twice a year, and that the remainder of the Pazian year would not have supported the natural development of human life so easily. Perhaps it would have been impossible. Only through the magic of genetic manipulation and other technologies had the human community of Paz survived and eventually thrived. If it were not for the Days of Disturbance, they could easily have overpopulated the planet.
Now that the time for departure was drawing near, a new thought was taking shape in his mind. If they were fortunate enough to find a new world, hopefully more hospitable than Paz, might it not be wise to end the journey there? To allow the humans of that new world to grow and flourish without built-in foreign memories? On such a world they would mature and develop their own curiosity about what might be out in the void beyond their immediate reality---and then investigate it in their own good time, should they choose to do so.
He had resigned himself to his role, but what the Fathers had done was introduce division, not harmony. He could see that now. A division that could---and might still---bring catastrophes far more devastating than anything Perigamia could produce. Why not start off the new world with the collected wisdom of the Ancient Record and let it go its own way? Maybe ... maybe that would be best.
Everything Niki had set out to accomplish for the day was done, with the single exception of not a solitary member of the Cadre appearing. Vagnu still had not been located, but they knew he was in Ganeden. It was five minutes past eleventh hour. Salute had been made, the festivities were getting into full swing, and Niki had not been a part of it. He felt strangely empty. Niki stood alone, looking up at the featureless ceiling of the hall. The alignment had come and gone, the descending arc had begun, and the day of departure was at hand---the day when fourteen shuttles would lift clear of Paz to rejoin the singing shadow of his dreams in the blackness of space. He trembled.
"Ops, this is Air Six."
"Trak, here. Go ahead, Six."
"Ma'am, I have a rover moving south at two hundred on a line two hundred and ten kilometers east of the beacon. Transponder's off, and its running down in the snow."
"Stop it any way you can. Try not to injure anyone, but stop it."
"Wait," Harko said from the door where he'd been listening.
"Hold on that, Six. What is it, Brand?"
"That has to be Vagnu. He's on a shuttle hunt."
"What makes you think it's Vagnu?"
"That rover's coming down from the north. Cadre's going to be coming at us from the south or southwest. We know he came up here with the others and he didn't go back. Everyone in Ganeden is either still drunk or so spayberry-wine-sick they wouldn't be able to run a rover yet. That's Vagnu. Rescind the stop order, but continue surveillance discreetly."
"Air Six, cancel my stop order but follow at a distance. No radar." Trak turned away from her monitor and looked questioningly at Harko. "Now what?"
"We wait. On second thought, we go into town to see if we can find anyone sober enough to tell us if they're missing any rovers---then we wait."
"And what is it we're waiting for?"
Harko wanted Vagnu alive if at all possible. He wanted that worthless bloodworm to hang in front of a very large crowd. Vagnu was not going to have the opportunity to go out in some misunderstood blaze of glorious martyrdom to the Generation---not on Harko's watch. Harko was resolute in the idea that nothing noble would or could be attached to the termination of either Vagnu or that shagrat, Frank.
"We're waiting for Vagnu to come to us, of course. I know he will."
"What if he makes it to the shuttles?"
"What if he does? He can knock all he wants. No one's going to open the door for him. And the Cadre should come charging over the line any time now. If frustration doesn't drive Vagnu to us, fear will."
"You sound pretty sure of yourself."
"Yeah. It's a feeling I get now and again."
The night's maelstrom of flame had calmed to glowing coals, but the searing heat of the pits remained to distress the air into rivulets of undulating lenses that caused the scene beyond to writhe in a distorted dance. The Shrine of the Ancients rose above it all like a metal snake, its bronze skin hardened to a deep, glistening red that replied to the pulsating coals from the pits.
Downwind, mounds of bodies slumbered beneath a cover of ash gray, awaiting the Cutter's call that would rouse them into the first day of the descending arc as Paz would carry them toward the pleasantness of Threequarteryear, then beyond to the hell of the Days of Disturbance, and finally to the beginning of another cycle.
Boyer stirred and coughed loudly, sending a spray of ash into the brightening silver glow of the coming day. Rising in a spayberry-wine lethargy, he shook the ash off his black pelt and noted the dulling embers in the pits. Shivering from the jabs of freezing air that dove down to mix with the heat rising from the piles of black and orange, he selected a choice log from one of the neatly arranged stacks of Halfyear fuel and heaved it toward the center of the pit nearest him. The log crashed into the sea of coals, sending a cloud of bright orange points to their death in the cold, moist air above.
"Vegamwun marks a new day," he shouted. "Arise, it is time for rejoicing---time for waking to the dawn of Paz in renewal. Get up, you lazy shagrats, and greet the day, damn it."
Niki laughed inwardly as he heard the Cutter's call and watched him rekindle the fires in a ceremonial reminder that warmth would come back, that this desolate, frozen Ganeden Plate would soon return to the green of Threequarter Year. Without knowing, the Cutter had given voice to Niki's inner feelings. A new beginning and a coming end of the familiar. He couldn't decide whether to shout out his eagerness for what lay ahead or weep with the melancholy that swept over him as the Cutter, still wrapped in his robe turned gray from his sleep in the settling ash, went from dreamer to dreamer, shaking them from their stupor into day one of the descent.
Niki delighted in Halfyear as much as he detested the Days of Disturbance, and it had become his fervent hope that they would find a world where neither would exist in such extremes---a world where the price for Quarter and Threequarteryear was more affordable---a place where the ground wouldn't swallow large portions of the population. He wanted to find a world where the sky was clear enough to see the stars and where the seas were filled with fish of a less violent nature.
"Lo, Cutter," he called across the pit. "A good Halfyear to you, my friend."
"Lo," Boyer replied. "And a good Halfyear to ya and yer friends. Would ya like to share a steak and a cup? Always enough, ya know."
Luto grabbed Niki's arm and squeezed. "I'm starved. Do we have the time?"
"Sure we do. It has been a long night for both of us."
"A very long night," Shan added."
Niki nodded solemnly. "I think we owe it to ourselves to enjoy something of this Halfyear. It will be ... our last."
They joined with Boyer and others who had started the job of bringing back the flames by tossing logs on the coals with the careless abandon of bad-mannered onners at play, shouting, laughing and pushing at each another, until orange and yellow tongues lashed out and stirred the cold morning air into the frenzy of the night before.
"Yer strangers to the Plate, too. Ya come up with Dathan?"
"Dathan?"
"Why, Dathan Vagnu of New London. Served as the Hand last night, ya know. Damn good one, too. Didn't flinch ner yelp like most of 'em do." Boyer lowered his head and peered at them through his brows. "Ya mean to tell me ya weren't here fer the alignment?"
"No, we weren't," Niki said. "And we didn't come up with Vagnu. Where is he? I'd like to congratulate him."
So, Vagnu had participated in Salute. Why would he have taken the risk? He was trying to avoid Harko, of that there could be no doubt---so why would he join in the celebration in such a public display? Ego, no doubt, but Niki didn't think Vagnu was quite that stupid.
"Don't know, friend. We shared a keg, so I imagine he's round here somewhere. "There's his robe," Boyer said, pointing at a yellow cloth draped over the remains of a blackened shako rump.
"Sorry we missed the ceremony," Niki said, then turned to Luto. "Let's see if we can find---"
"Niki. Niki Kaznov."
Harko and Trak were running up the street toward them, jumping and dodging bodies strewn along the edges of the downwind pits as they approached. Aside from a final farewell, Niki had thought he was finished with Harko. What was it he wanted now, and why were they in such a hurry? Perhaps Frank had resurfaced. So much for the steak.
Inside Twenty-three the only indication that anything was happening came from a momentary dimming of the lights and a muffled snap that sounded something like a high-tension arc being struck. Outside, it was quite different. The pulse guide protruding from the hull followed the path of the approaching vehicle, while a faint blue energy field built up along its length and slowly compressed into an eye-numbing white torus. It was followed by an explosion of suddenly released raw energy---energy that traveled unerringly to its target, burning a steaming hole through the atmosphere as it went.
The crumpled mass of smoking metal, formerly one of Tazh's prized AAVs, plummeted from the sky to be devoured by five meter deep drifts of snow and ice along the Slip. For a short time a thin black line marred the pristine surface, then it blended into the uniform white glare as if nothing at all had happened.
"Lost one, sir."
"Which one? Where?" Tazh said.
"Seven. Exactly eighty-four kilometers due east."
"How?"
"I don't know, sir. I had their blip on screen and was reading their signal just fine, then they vanished. No further transmissions. No blip."
"That's not possible," Tazh said, his anger balled up in each word.
"It happened, sir. Their search telemetry was all normal, and I was watching the radar images they were sending---then, nothing. Fifty milliseconds prior to that there was a spike on the ion sensors. It went right off the scale and disrupted our electronics here for a couple of seconds, too."
The young officer spun his seat around to face Tazh.
"With due respect, sir, the energy required to do that at this range could wipe us all out---at least disable us---in one shot. Do you think it's wise to go after them?"
"Lieutenant, your job is to run that station, not to question me, so get back to running it and leave the decision-making to me." Then, smiling the half-smile his scabbed-over face allowed, he said, "However, in this case the question you posed is one worth considering. Tell the others to go to passive scan only. Those shagrats probably used Seven's radar for targeting."
"But, sir, we will lose contact with them when they go passive, and we could lose the other three without knowing it."
"You're right. Tell them to come back, but stay away from the coordinates where Seven went down. Have them make their return well east and south."
If it wasn't possible to get at Kaznov and his men from the air, maybe a ground assault would accomplish what was needed. He didn't need to destroy the shuttles, just disable them so they wouldn't be able to interfere with his taking of Ganeden. One way or another he was going to get Kaznov, and nothing was going to take that pleasure from him.
"Alex."
"Yes, Rammix."
"I have detected another pulse discharge near the chosen landing site. I have calculated the energy of that discharge to be three point two TeV over a period of seven nanoseconds."
"Oh my God. Call a staff level meeting for fourteen hundred. My screen."
"Yes, Alex. Are you interested in my other findings at this time?"
"Oh, Rammix, I'm sorry. I was reacting to your first report."
"I understand. I have been observing a hot spot in the same general area---a distance of one hundred kilometers to the north of the previously stated discharge---that is consistent with free combustion of naturally occurring material and analysis indicates it is wood. I have also been intercepting fragments of signals in the UHF region. They are very weak. Some appear to be radar pulses, while others are carrying one form of intelligence or another---voice and telemetry."
At fourteen hundred hours the images of Pax's staff officers and contact experts began to appear in windows on her monitor. When there she counted all forty, she keyed in a data run-out to display all the Rammix information gathered on the planet below---a planet reluctant to give up little more than it had months ago.
"A decision needs to be made," Pax said. "As you know, I called for a landing to commence in sixteen hours. However, the existence of a pulse weapon of such potential in the area has forced me to reconsider."
"Why?" Rigby, the ship's Landing Specialist asked. "What I see here is still below our shield capacity."
"True, but we don't know if that discharge was just a low-powered test or a full charge shot."
"Good point, Pax," Rigby admitted.
"Besides, we really don't want to risk a confrontational first contact---if it can be avoided," Landis of the Contact Control Group observed.
"As I see it," Pax continued, "we can choose to make our initial landing on the large moon and continue our surveillance from there, we can go ahead with our scheduled landing here and face a hostile reception, or we can find a more secure location away from populated zones. This is not a decision I wanted to make alone, so I propose a vote be taken among the staff officers. Twenty-seven will carry. Are we agreed?"
"I think ... I think we need to discuss this before any vote is taken, and I would like to see the majority vote increased to thirty or thirty-five for a more secure consensus," Chapin, the Shuttle Coordination Officer said, his comments greeted by a nodding of most of the heads on the monitor.
"All right. To be fair, we'll do this alphabetically and that means you're first, Chapin. Present your points, questions and arguments. After we've all had our say, we'll open it up for discussion or rebuttals, then we'll vote with a thirty-five to carry. All right, everyone?"
Unanimous agreement was shown, and Chapin began.
"First, and this has little to do with the proposed landing program, I wonder why everyone insists on calling the other planet a moon. What we have here is a binary planet with a small moon of a little less than three hundred kilometers diameter revolving around the larger planet of the pair. The other planet is about four hundred kilometers smaller in diameter and damn near the same mass. It has its own oceans---admittedly considerably smaller than the oceans of this planet---continents and islands. All of which, I'd like to remind you, are beneath a nearly Earth standard atmosphere. Conditions there can hardly be any worse than they are here, yet we've been ignoring it. Why? Because we detected signals coming from this one?
"I think we need to give that a little more thought. From there we could keep an eye on this planet and have a lot more time to decide best how to make contact. Furthermore, that little moon is in an unstable orbit that drifts inside the Roche Limit regularly. If it comes apart and impacts this planet before we've had a chance to assess our ability to modify and stabilize the moon's orbit, we and the locals will be a footnote in a history that no one will read for a long time, if ever.
"I suggest that we set up shop on the other planet and approach this one a little more cautiously---work out a long term plan---so that we increase our chances of success and reduce our chances of getting killed."
"The other vehicle is moving in to a closer orbit," Twenty-three's computer said into Niki's ear.
"Have you determined what it is?"
"It is of Earth origin, and the change in orbit indicates preparation for a landing."
"The Fathers? Can we ... can you communicate with it?"
"Yes, we are able to communicate but cannot understand. The codes being used are unknown to this system. Do you wish to establish a voice communication link?"
"No, not yet. I need to think about this first. Call Pasha."
Harko, Trak, and Shan were on the other side of their temporary command center at the Ganeden landing pad, staring down into the monitor array and paying no attention to him. Niki quietly slipped out into the biting cold. The wind had abated and the temperature was dropping fast, bringing an unwelcome ice fog with it.
"Luto," Niki said into his suit com.
"Yes, Niki?"
"Where are you?"
"Up here at the track block having a cup with the guard."
"Get out of there so we can talk."
"It's okay. He just stepped out to check a transport coming up the track. What is it?"
"We need to get to the shuttles ... now."
"How? We don't have a rover or a transport."
"We will in a minute, right?"
"You mean---"
"Uh-huh."
"But, Niki, the guard is---"
"Do whatever you have to, but don't let the guard report to Harko."
"Okay, Niki. I hope this is really, really important."
"It is, so do it."
Niki shut off the com and started back for the relative warmth of the shelter.
"Niki?" It was Pasha on the shuttle com jammed in his other ear.
"Is everything ready, Pasha?"
"Yes, love. What's the matter? You sound anxious."
"I am, but I can't explain right now. Bring Twenty-three to the Palmer track as quickly as you can and have the others move to the Ganeden staging area to wait for us. We'll be on our way south in a few minutes, and I'll tell you all about it when you pick us up."
Returning to the shelter, Niki walked briskly to the monitors and pulled Shan away.
"What, Niki?"
Lifting the shield away from his face, Niki said, "I need you to get back to the staging area."
"Want to explain how?"
"I don't know, but I need to get the people ready immediately."
"Yeah? What's going on?"
"Tell you later. Wait a sec---I have an idea." Niki keyed the com for Luto.
"Yes, Niki."
"Do you have it?"
"It hasn't arrived quite yet. They must have had a little trouble down the track from here. The guard was a real shavecat, but he's resting quietly now."
"Does the guard have any kind of transport?"
"Sure, a one-man interceptor. We won't fit."
"Doesn't matter. When you get the other one, tow the interceptor in with you. Bo has to get back to Ganeden."
"Okay. So, are you going to tell me what's up?"
"Something's about to happen that will change everything, and I don't want it to interfere with what we have to do. I'll explain it all when we're on our way south. Oh, when you get here, don't come off the track to the pad. We'll meet you at the switch."
Fifteen Cadre rovers dropped from the Palmer-Ganeden slip, their vertical fans pumping out a throaty roar, their fan blades slashing into ice-laden air, throwing it down toward a surface that was now too far away for any cushion effect. Their thrusters banged out an explosive rhythm as they dropped down to the landing area where Tazh's air transports and remaining AAVs waited in the banked-up snow.
"You're early."
"The wind let up sooner than anticipated, sir."
"Are your men prepared?"
"Ready and eager, Colonel."
"Good. Very good. Pick five hundred of your best cold weather men for a special job. The rest will be assigned to take Ganeden."
"And this special job?"
"I want the shuttles disabled. I have scouts out to obtain their precise locations, and I expect their reports shortly."
"You know how to disable them?"
"Not exactly, but I think high explosive charges set in the landing gear will do it. Your men will be able to assess that better when they reach their objective, but the landing gear appears to be the weak point. I have reason to believe the---"
A communications officer stepped into Tazh's field of view, fired a sharp salute, and waved a piece of paper at him. It was the report Tazh had been waiting for. They had located the shuttles, and it was now up to the troops to cripple them. He scribbled a note on the back of the report and handed it to the other officer.
"You'll have to move fast because I'm sending the main body to Ganeden in one hour, Captain."
The officer glanced at the note Tazh had given him, nodded his understanding and said, "Great Halfyear, Colonel. To the new Paz."
"Yes, Captain ... to the new Paz." And the end of Kaznov. Tazh watched as the man strutted confidently through the door and smiled until the pain became too much. No matter what happened now, he had them, and he would have that shagrat gaf, Kaznov.
It would be to his advantage if the shuttles could be kept out of the fight, but it wasn't absolutely necessary. Intelligence had it that Kaznov had remained in Ganeden, and Tazh believed that, once the people in the shuttles realized he had started a move on the town or Ganeden, they would be forced into action to defend both the settlement and their precious Delta. When they started to close on Ganeden, their backsides would be exposed to his heavily armed aerial force and, the element of surprise being with Tazh and his air group. He would catch them from behind. His AAVs could inflict considerable damage in one or two passes, then retreat back into the Pockets until they were sure the shuttles no longer posed a threat.
"Give me maximum sensitivity passive scan east of the track and concentrate on these coordinates."
"Yes, sir. All monitors are up."
Exactly one hour later, nine Cadre rovers, loaded with forty-five hundred of Tazh's elite, lifted clear of the snow pack. Their fans drummed against the surface and drove immense clouds up into the still air as the rovers accelerated away toward the town of Ganeden and the realization of his destiny.
Within a minute the surveillance officer burst into his quarters and said, "They're moving, sir. Thirteen shuttles in tight formation to the northeast, and one is---is heading straight for us."
"What the ... they can't have seen a thing yet, and Captain Belden's force shouldn't be more than thirty kilometers east of the track. And how in the name of the Ancients did they know where we were?"
"Those are the shuttles of the Fathers, sir. Maybe they knew all along."
"Maybe, but why the odd movement? If they were going after our rovers they'd be headed due north---and why send only one after us? They can't be that sure of themselves."
"Maybe they are, sir. As I said, one blast of that thing they have could put an end to us all."
"All right, Lieutenant, signal the air group to go silent again, laser communications only, but stay ready. And get details out to cover our ships with snow ... now. I don't want anything showing, and shut down all unnecessary systems to reduce our heat signature."
Was it possible to lose it all in a skirmish with one shuttle? Tazh had a vague knowledge of them, but only in the most general terms. He knew nothing of their systems, propulsion, or weapons other than what he'd seen at the Keep. Could he pit his AAVs against them and hope to win? He didn't think he had the information he needed to risk that. It was beginning to appear his earlier conclusion that he could gain the upper hand was dead wrong. And what about the others? Were they going to swing around in a flanking maneuver?
"That seems to have done it, sir."
"Done it? Done what?"
"Well, sir, the one that was coming our way has stopped just east of the track. Do you think they're going to wait for us to start up again?"
"Could be. For now, we stay quiet and see what they do. Frankly, I've never seen tactics like these."
"No, sir. Neither have I. The others are turning west in a long arc, sir. See that?"
"Mm-hmm. If they hold that path they'll come out forty kilometers in front of the rovers with most of their backsides exposed to our fire. Why would they do something that stupid?"
"I don't know, sir, but we're going to lose them pretty soon. They'll be out of sensor range in two minutes."
"Yes, well, stay passive. If they do engage, we'll know it. Be ready to move on my order, Lieutenant."
"Did you have much trouble?" Niki asked, watching the rear-facing sensor as the little interceptor sped north and out of sight.
"Oh, yeah. That Enforcement guard was a lot of fun. The owners of this machine thought I was Enforcement and volunteered to be restrained. No fun at all."
"What did you do with them?"
Luto flipped a thumb at the rear storage compartment and laughed. "I checked them in as baggage. I figured we could give this thing back to them when we connect with Twenty-three. How about Harko?"
"They were so busy with their stuff they didn't notice," Niki said as Luto accelerated the little transport beyond red-line.
They crested one of the low hills where Ganeden Plate began to buckle in preparation for its dive beneath Palmer Flat, and could see Twenty-three east of the track with all five meters of its landing gear buried in the snow. It looked like a gargantuan black bug resting on a white carpet. Luto braked the transport to a stop beside Twenty-three.
While Luto helped the cold pack clad occupants out of the storage compartment, Niki noticed that a the sleeve of one of the men's suits was hanging like a mackrawl's tentacle. He reached out and turned the man around, his shield pressed against the other's.
"Virgo?"
"Nik?"
"What are you doing up here?"
"Asked myself the same, I did. Ask this gaf, he's the one dragged me up here," Mills said, nodding toward a big man with his back turned to him. Luto released the restraints from the tall man's wrists. Niki keyed the suit com.
"Why did you bring Virgo here?"
He turned to face Niki. He stood a full head taller than Niki, and Niki could see nothing but the man's forehead.
"We have to go with you, Mr. Kaznov," was his calm response.
"Go? Go?" Mills stammered. "What in the name of the Ancients is this 'we have to go with you, Mr. Kaznov?' I'll do my own talkin', thank ya very much."
Niki touched Mills's shoulder and said, "Relax, Virgo. Just be quiet. Now, who are you, friend?"
"Turn off the com and let's touch-talk, Mr. Kaznov."
"No, ya don't, gaf. If ya talk, we all listen."
"Please, Virgo, go with Luto to the shuttle and let us talk."
"Damn it, Nik, this gaf's---"
"Go with Luto," Niki said, his voice commanding and severe.
Luto grasped the loose sleeve and guided a struggling Mills toward the shuttle. Mills stopped resisting after his second tumble, and Luto dragged him back to his feet like a rag doll. Niki waited until the two of them were sealed inside, then turned back to the stranger.
"All right, now we can talk. Who are you?"
"I am Dav Claska."
"Claska ... like the tree?"
"Like the tree."
"Dav, tell me, why is it you and Virgo have to go---and what is it you think you know?"
"I know everything you know, and more, Mr. Kaznov. We have to go because it is the will of the Fathers."
"Uh-huh. What's your seed lot, friend?"
"I have no number, Mr. Kaznov. I am direct-line to the Father, Malcolm Claska. I am what you could call a ... Guardian."
"A---Guardian?"
"From the lines of Cashow, Claska, Laszlo, Massak, and Palmer. The five lines of the Fathers who agreed to stay as the oversight committee---the Guardians, Mr. Kaznov. But, please, we really don't have time for this discussion. We must go."
The man turned his head toward Twenty-three, then bent down and touched shields with Niki. Two large, almost colorless eyes looked unblinking at Niki from behind a tuft of silver-white hair hanging down over a nearly hairless face---a ghost of the Fathers.
"We must go---now, Mr. Kaznov."
The tactical display showed nine strong blips stopped on a line ten kilometers long at a point just about twenty-five kilometers south of the pad. North of them and heading for the northwest side of Ganeden, it also showed thirteen more blips at an altitude of a thousand meters, with a fourteenth blip coming directly at them at an astonishing speed.
"That one must be Kaznov."
"It had better be," Harko grumbled. "How long?"
"At that speed---ninety seconds. What now, Brand?"
"How many people did you bring up? Fifteen hundred?"
"That's it, plus yours makes two thousand. How many do you think Frank has out there?"
"According to Niki's friend---what's his name?---Luto?---there must be at least four thousand in that line alone, and he probably has more held in reserve somewhere. Damn it, why don't I listen to my gut more often?"
"I don't think even your famous gut could have predicted all this. Maybe we'll get lucky."
"Yeah, and maybe---"
"Ops, this is Air Six."
"Go ahead, Six," Trak said.
"That rover I've been tracking has turned. It's on its way back toward you. Want me to stay with it?"
"No. Break off and go back to Ganeden, but stay a few kilometers east of the track, we have a lot of potentially hostile traffic out here." She turned to Harko with an I-told-you-so grin and said, "What did I say about getting lucky? I'll bet he saw all that activity and is running for the pad to try to catch a transport out of here."
"Right. And my father's the Emperor of Nuperz. I'll believe it when I see it."
The shock wave of Twenty-three coming to a thundering stop over their heads threw Trak out of her seat and bludgeoned their ears. The roar of thrusters gripped the shelter and shook it violently, set the ground to vibrating, and sent equipment tumbling to the floor. Harko and Trak, unable to stand, crawled for the door. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it was over, and the only sounds were the ringing in their ears and the unmistakable cries of rapidly cooling metal.
A blast of frigid, foul-smelling air accompanied Niki and Luto when they burst through the door. Niki was shouting, "Brand, Lisha, you have to get all of your men into Ganeden as fast as you can and clear this area---lock up all your weapons. Whatever you do, don't leave a single person armed with anything."
"What?" Harko demanded as he scrambled to his feet. "What are you saying? We're all standing on the edge of the Nurab Deep here ... and you want us to retreat? Disarm? Why should we do something like that?"
"Something very big is about to happen, and anyone who does anything hostile is likely to start a chain reaction no one will be able to control. Just do it. I know what I'm talking about, Brand, so trust me."
"Trust you? What about that Cadre bunch? What do we do about them?"
"Nothing. You do nothing about them."
"Nothing? Frank is about to turn us into one giant Halfyear offering and you want us to do nothing?"
"Frank is term. I'm told that his head was decorating Tazh's table for a couple of days. That's Tazh out there ... and you know he won't listen. Hopefully, his men will run for cover. If they don't, you won't have to worry about them again. Now, don't waste any more time talking. Get your people out of here and get rid of your weapons."
"First, you tell me what's going on."
"Turn your long range scanners vertical and take a look. What you'll see are four big ships coming down. The Fathers are coming back, and they have no way of knowing we're descended from their original colonizing party. Because of Tazh's stance they may mistake us for part of the hostile element here. If we do anything to provoke them, they may---"
"Okay, okay, I get the idea, but how do you know---"
"He's right, Brand," Trak said. "I have four objects, big ones. Two pair in a hundred kilometer vertical spread. Altitude is now two hundred kilometers to the first pair and closing fast."
At that moment a breathless, half-frozen Vagnu stumbled through the door. He took a couple of steps before falling at Niki's feet and rolling over onto his back. Seeing Niki's face, he sighed and held out a hand wrapped in a bloody bandage.
"Praise to the Ancients, I've found..." His speech halted when the smiling faces of Harko and Trak appeared above him.
"Welcome back, Vagnu," Harko said.
"You ... you don't understand. The area's swarming with Cadre. I came ... came to warn..."
"Save your shagrat whimpering for the trial, Vagnu."
"Brand, I---" Niki began and was cut off by Harko.
"One second, Niki. Lisha, will you do me the honor of taking the honorable GoL Vagnu into custody?"
"With the utmost pleasure. Dathan Vagnu, authority has been granted me by CAC three-thirty-seven to rescind your rights as a citizen of Paz, pending a criminal trial to be held at the earliest possible time. You are, in other words, under arrest," Trak said while applying the cold steel restraints.
"Now, Brand? Get your people out while you still have the chance," Niki pleaded.
"What about you?"
"We have something to do that doesn't include any of this."
"You're running out on us?"
"We're doing what we must do, that's all. Good-bye, and good luck." At the door, Niki looked back and said, "Remember, get all the weapons out of sight."
Shan herded the last four aboard Twenty-three and started forward to speak to Niki about what was on his mind when he saw two men sitting at the aft end of the passage against the passenger compartment bulkhead. One of them, even though there were twenty meters between them, he recognized immediately to be Virgo Mills. The other was vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place him. Shan pulled out his snooper and pointed it down the passage.
"...ya be so damned sure this is a good idea? Ya heard what the man said. He said one-way. One-way, permanent, ya know?"
"Yes, that's what he said. If you want to stay here, get off the ship before they close the door, but I am telling you it will be better for you there than it will be here."
"There? Where, there?"
"Wherever. Out there ... somewhere. What does it matter?"
"It matters. Tell me again about the freezin' stuff."
"Cryogenic stasis?"
"Yeah, that crap."
"It's simple. Basically, you're term until we get where we're going. And no, it won't hurt."
"So, how do ya know if ya made it? I mean, how do ya know if yer still all right, y'understand?"
"I'm beginning to think I shouldn't have gone after you, Virgo."
"Yeah, but it's yer job. Told me that, ya did. So, how do ya know yer all right?"
"If you wake up, you're all right. If you don't, who cares?"
"I care---that's who cares."
Shan put the snooper back into his coat pocket and headed for the forward compartment, suddenly feeling very good about everything. He'd come with Niki for a story, and he'd got two. The first he'd already sent to the Journal, the other he'd hold for another time, another place. Sax entered the passage a few doors ahead and waited for him.
"Well, Bo, are we on?"
"What did Harko have to say?"
"He said he was glad to get rid of me. Said I talk too much."
"Some recommendation."
"Yeah, but I don't think he meant it. So, are we on, or not?"
"We're on, Filo, but I still need to talk to Niki."
"Right. Let's do it."
"Alone, Filo."
"Whatever you say, partner."
"Who's the big guy with Mills?" Shan asked.
"Very super-spectacular, unbelievably-special, man. Name's Dav Claska. He's one of the Guardians. We have eight of them aboard."
"One of the what?"
"Guardians. They're direct line from the Fathers, man. Can you beat that? Lines of Cashow, Claska, Laszlo, Massak, and Palmer."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Nobody on Paz knew they existed---until now."
"Hmm---well, that's quite a lineage---two trees, a weed that chokes everything it comes in contact with, a bean, and a thorny shrub we'd all like to see disappear."
"Fourteen ISCU utility shuttles are moving east from the landing site at two thousand six kilometers per hour. Nine vehicles of unknown type and origin have stopped at a point fifteen kilometers south. Another of similar type is moving west at two hundred kilometers per hour toward a cluster of vehicles of a different type, origin also unknown, located one hundred kilometers south. In addition, there are two hundred and nine small vehicles moving from various locations around the landing site to a point north, probably near the center of a small group of structures surrounding the hot spot I reported before."
"Thanks, Rammix. Do these movements appear to be coordinated?"
"Yes. However, each group seems to be unrelated to any of the others---based on their movements."
"Have we been detected?"
"Unknown. I detected one weak radar signal that swept us, but there have been no probes. The greater probability is that our presence remains unknown to the inhabitants."
"Reduce group separation to ten kilometers and fix rate of descent to one hundred meters per second. At what altitude will we have full resolution mapping?"
"Twenty thousand meters."
"Standard stop at twenty thousand meters and proceed with mapping---one hundred kilometer radius from the landing site."
"They're retreating, sir."
"Retreating? How? What direction?"
"The shuttles have all gone east and north of Ganeden. All other rovers are converging on Ganeden center."
"What? Go active and get us back in the air where we belong. I want to see what's happening out there."
Tazh's AAV emerged from the snow, the deicing plates kicking away the unwanted weight of its frozen burden like a shavecat ripples its skin to rid itself of snap fleas before they bleed its life away. The craft climbed to five thousand meters. Long range radar sent out its probing fingers, and fed a monitor with imaging through a computer that real-time interpreted and enhanced the electronic echoes to near pic quality on the screen.
Tazh viewed the scene in disbelief. The shuttles had disappeared over the northeastern horizon and infrared revealed their trail to be a straight line---but a straight line to what? Along that line was the Sherman Volcano Field, and beyond the Sherman Chain were vast obsidian beds, glistening eternally black high above the snow line. Farther east lay the dismal emptiness of the Northern Desert, an expanse of glittering powdered obsidian that ended abruptly at the Baldwin Break. There the Continent ended and the Eastern Sea began. Beyond that was nothing but the Halfyear ice floes---nowhere for them to go. What in the name of the Ancients were they doing?
Damn, damn, damn ... Kaznov's probably with them.
Images of small rovers peppered the screen, all closing on Ganeden at top speed, while superimposed infrared was dominated by the glaring heat of the Halfyear pyre that sent its column of hot gases high in the air, where they curled gently east and were absorbed in an ice cloud. Tazh's face collected and displayed his anxiety. He was overwhelmingly perplexed by what he was witnessing.
"What is it, sir?" the lieutenant operating the radar asked.
"Lieutenant, I want you to think critically for a moment. You're a general who has brought his best troops to defend a place like Ganeden. You have a personality as tenacious as a sanger's weasel, and you're as devious as a starving munchbug. You find yourself faced with a force superior in numbers and armament, but you have at your disposal a weapon that is, for all practical purposes, invincible, if only you could deploy it. What would you do?"
"Well, sir, I suppose I'd do whatever I could to get in position to use that weapon."
"Yes, but how? How would you do that?"
"By ... by confusing the enemy. I'd draw his attention to something else while I maneuvered my ... while I ... well, by my Ancient, that's what he's doing, isn't it? He's moving---"
"Yes---that's what he's doing. He's moving things around for us to watch, and when we're mesmerized by the garmice running around in the field, he hits us where we are most vulnerable. And where are we weak, Lieutenant?"
"I don't know. We have weapons capability and scanners on all ... all ... from above, sir."
"That's right---from above. The shuttles of the Fathers have an unlimited ceiling. So they go far enough away to be out of range of our tactical scanners, then climb in an arc until they're in a position to pounce on our backs. How much time do you need to rig vertical sensors and tie them in to the fire control system?"
"An hour, maybe less."
"Make it less if you can---your life depends on it. Signal the others to do the same. Have them join us at this altitude and form up on an east-west line at five kilometer intervals."
"Dani, tell me again why we're doing this," Lindermann said as his EVA shell sealed shut with a snap like a frightened abalone.
"Because the boss is too busy to listen right now, and I think I've figured out how to get in, that's why. Now, close your hat and start breathing your own sweat. Lana's out there waiting for you."
"At least one woman's eager to---"
His helmet banged shut, and his sentence was cut pleasantly short.
Trane checked over Lindermann's shell, then gave the top of his helmet a sharp rap with the end of a wrench, laughing at his grimace. She smiled lovingly at her not-too-handsome prince, left a moist, lip-shaped smear on his faceplate and shoved him into the EVA launch gate.
"Can you hear me?" Sorenson said as Lindermann approached.
"Sadly, yes. What do you want, Lana?"
"Your faceplate's smudged."
"Lousy maintenance crew. See the laser dot?"
"Who could miss it?"
"Dani says we're to pin ourselves to the hull just forward of it."
"Then what?"
"We wait for her to sing a love song to this crusty old tube, then we go in."
A meter aft of where they screwed themselves into the shielding was a five centimeter black glass disk they'd missed on their previous visits. It's purpose, according to Trane's thinking, was to serve as a receptor for laser transmitted communications. Trane reasoned that the builders and designers would not have been concerned with the possibility of keeping anyone else out any more than merely hiding the lock. The key, she decided, would be the same recognition code that had allowed them to share space with the ISCU in the first place.
A splash of brilliant blue light played on the disk, letting them know she had begun her incantation. Thirty seconds passed. One minute.
"Dani, nothing's happening." Lindermann said.
"Give it another minute. This is an old lady we're fooling with."
"Takes longer to get a message to the brain, is that it?"
"Yeah, same as with you, Shaul," Sorenson said.
"Thanks, partner. Next time we go for a walk, remember who checks your shell."
"Oops."
"Will you two stop? Anything?"
"No, Dani," Lindermann said. "I think this old lady of ours is a frigid bi ... wait a minute. I think I see a seam in the shielding. It's beginning to lift. Can you give us some white light over here?"
"Sure. How's that?"
"Much better," Lindermann replied. "Yep, we have a seam, but it's too damned big for an ordinary utility airlock. I'd say it's fifteen meters on a side."
"Fourteen and a half, the Rammix says."
The plate slowly rose clear of the hull and rotated back to provide clearance for a tubular structure rising from within, then the hull began a deep, resonant vibration.
"Shaul, what is that?"
"It sure as hell isn't an airlock, Dani, and this thing's beginning to shake. What the hell did you say to her?"
"Don't be funny. What do you think? I can't see it well from here."
"I think it's going to be an antenna when it grows up, and I think it's time for us to get away from here. Dismount, Lana."
"Affirmative. The Rammix agrees with your antenna idea, and it has detected a sudden rise in energy around the hull."
"Right. We felt it. I think the old lady's about to wake up."
The two EVA shells accelerated away as four segments that formed the forward end of the ship opened like a flower in search of the sun and slid back a few meters. Trane, from her vantage point inside the shuttle, watched in horror as a monstrous flare of gasses erupted from the now open forward end. The shuttle and two shells closed slowly on ISCU-9's forward thruster.
"Shaul, Lana, I'm overriding your MPCs. You're under Rammix control now."
"Good idea. It's braking to a lower orbit?"
"Affirmative. Lana, I show your hat open---close it."
"Aw, I always miss all the fun. Shield's closed."
"Dani," Lindermann said, his voice tense. "Get us out of here."
"Rammix is working on it, Shaul. A few more seconds and..."
Fourteen shuttles streaked unseen and unheard across the Pazian sky, high above the crystalline clouds of ice enshrouding the planet below. Over the Sherman Volcano Field, past the glassy obsidian slabs and ancient lava floes, over the sterile sands of the Northern Desert, and, as they passed over the line where the sea slammed huge blocks of ice against the edge of the Continent, they gracefully swung into a long, opening spiral that would take them southward to the equator for their rendezvous with a cylinder named La Paz, waiting four thousand kilometers above.
Inside, the passengers lined up for a turn at the windows to see what no Pazian had ever seen. Above them in the deep purple darkness of space was the blazing ball of Vegamwun, and when they looked the other way there they saw thousands of intense points of light of various colors punctuating the silent darkness. Almug, no longer dull orange, appeared as a ruddy brown crescent. Patches of bright blue and white dotted what was visible of the surface, and its lighted side was bordered in a hazy, pale blue line, mingling with white areas that seemed to have been stroked in lightly with a soft brush---wisps of clouds. Below, as far as the eye could see, lay a shimmering carpet of frozen cloud that faded off into an indistinct curved line.
Niki and Pasha stood, wrapped around each other in the stillness of the navigation compartment's clear dome, taking in the panorama of a sky so long hidden from them.
"Niki," she said, pressing her body into his. "I'm ... I'm frightened."
"And who isn't, my love? Just look at all this. It's too much for me to comprehend. I knew what it would be like, my dreams---"
"No, Niki. Not this---this is ... beautiful. It's frightening, too, but it's wonderful. I'm talking about Paz."
"Paz?"
"Uh-huh. What's going to happen down there? It's our home---our people, Niki."
"I know, Pasha. I know. But they'll work it out for themselves. It may take some time, but the new order of things will settle in."
"How can you be so sure? Tazh may be insane, but he's strong, and he's smart. And he has a loyal following. What if ... what if he wins? Where would that leave us---them?"
"He won't win. He can't."
"Oh? And why not?"
"Because there are too many people like Harko and Trak---and that man of his ... Wills, I believe is his name---to let that happen."
"I wish I could believe that as much as you seem to."
"You've forgotten that the Fathers have returned. It could be that they're here to make sure their plan is being followed. Everything we know of them from the Ancient Record and the Guardians tells me that Paz will be a much better place very soon. Their arrival tells me, too, that Earth still exists, and that, for some reason, is comforting to me."
"I hope you're right."
"I am. If there's any fighting at all, it will be the shortest battle in the history of the universe. They'll dismantle the mating scheme, restructure the justice system, and settle down in a warm new dawn with a new civilization. It can't go any other way."
"We'll never know, will we?"
"You mean what actually happens here?"
"Uh-huh."
"No, I don't suppose we will. All this will be ancient history. It will be just yesterday for us, but a thousand years or more for them."
"My stomach churns when I think about that. Um---Niki, can you tell me now why there's only one of you?"
"There's only one of each of us."
"No, silly," she said with her wonderful giggle. "One Delta."
"Oh, that. Sure. It wasn't supposed to be that way."
"No?"
"No. The Fathers expected there would be thousands, so there would be a few at least who had the memories they needed to carry out this part of the plan. There was only one seed, but that was because of the limited breeding possibilities for the Delta line."
"That part I can understand. But why are you the only one with a direct line?"
"Luck. An accident. The Guardians told me about how worried they were when they realized what was happening to the Delta line. See, part of the Delta genetic program is a strong tendency toward independent decision and action. It's sort of funny, when you think about it, but my line may well be responsible for the first untracs, and there are thousands of splinter Deltas around, too."
"Are you telling me that one of the traits required in the Deltas to accomplish what we're doing could just as easily have been a cause for the failure of everything the Fathers wanted to happen? Your father could have paired all this all out of existence?"
"That's right, Pasha. Or his father, or his father's father. Anyone, anywhere in my line. All the other lines termed long ago for lots of different reasons."
"Have you decided how you're going to begin?"
"Yeah. How does this sound? 'On the third day of the Halfyear festival honoring the landing of the Fathers and our Ancients, five hundred eighty-six brave and resolute souls vaulted into the heavens above Paz. Paz, in the clutches of the coldest Minor Tides in its brief human history, was perched on the brink of civil war...' What do you think, Bo?"
"A couple of things."
"What ... things?"
"Number one, I thought the title Niki bestowed on you was Chief Historian, not Head Hack."
"Hack? What's hack?"
"Second, Niki doesn't want any mention of the Fathers, Ancients, seed lots, or any of that stuff. He wants a history of the flight, where we came from, and how we managed to get to wherever we get to."
"Sounds pretty dull, to me."
"Not as boring as Sax Facts, my friend."
"You read it? All of it?"
"Pretty boring. Just remember, this is a history of how we left Paz to expand the human galactic horizon, nothing more."
"I like that. It has a certain sound to it. Expand the human galactic horizon. Can I use it?"
"Use whatever you want, Filo. Just remember, I'm the appointed editor."
"Right. What's a hack?"
"Never mind. Help me get this stuff stored. They're going to be calling us to the chambers pretty soon."
"You know, I've heard a couple say they think we're bound for self-termination. What do you think, Bo?"
"Negative crap."
A soft electronic chime cut their conversation short. Shan, thankful for the interruption, moved carefully---twenty percent Pazian gravity provided by the ship's spin made any kind of movement uncertain---to the door and slid it open. Niki stood in the passage, looking content for the first time since they'd met back in the Flag Quarter.
"Evening, Bo. Filo. It's time, my friends."
"Good," Shan said, casting an obvious glance at Sax. "Niki, how does the law read regarding breaking literary contracts?"
"I don't know. We haven't written one about making them, yet."
"Niki, do you know what a hack is?" Sax asked.
"No, you'll have to ask Bo about that."
"Do we know where we're going now?" Shan said, and sealed the compartment door behind them.
"A place called Delta Trianguli Australis. Adjusted for our reckoning, it's going to take a little more than eight hundred and seventy-five years for us to get there."
Ascending the ladder to the core tunnel was an unnerving experience. Each rung scaled brought with it a more acute sense of falling. Niki was already accustomed, but most were not. He floated in the passage, one hand resting comfortably on the rod that ran the length of the core tube, and waited patiently for the two men who cautiously followed.
"I don't know, Niki," Shan said when he reached for the rod, missed, and bounced off the tube on the other side. "It figures, doesn't it?"
"What figures?"
"Our destination's a Delta."
"I hadn't given that any thought, Bo, but you'll be happy to hear it's a single G4 class. It's a little more energetic than Vegamwun, but its potential planets may not be subjected to such extreme orbits as Paz."
"Right---if it has any," Sax quipped, repeating Shan's miserable performance with the rod.
Lavan stood quietly in the small entry to the navigator's compartment, watching Pax and Miller fuss over a large, horizontal monitor. She tried clicking her nails against the bulkhead but got no response. Clearing her throat netted the same lack of recognition.
"Feels good to have genuine gravity, even if it is too much," she said loudly enough to be heard over the rumble of the shuttle's powerful engines, which held them suspended above the planet.
"Don't sneak, Marta ... and the gravity's just a little less than ten percent over standard," Pax replied, not taking her eyes from the monitor.
"I didn't sneak," Lavan said, rocking up on the balls of her feet, then back over her heels. "And ten percent counts up to six extra kilos I have to lug around."
"Braggart. Come over here and take a look at this."
"I didn't say anything about you gaining mass on the fall in," Lavan said as she approached the monitor. "Why have we stopped?"
"Mapping for detail."
"Mmm, looks like a busy place for being so damned cold. What are these?" she asked, pointing to several dots moving across the screen.
"Small surface vehicles. A few minutes ago there were a couple hundred of them. Most of them are now in this little town---it looks like a town, anyway---where the fires are."
"Some fires. Know what they're for?"
"Central heating?" Miller said with a laugh.
"We don't know, but they were deliberately set and controlled. They're organized around some sort of raised platform. Put the picture up on the main viewer for her, Sam."
Miller punched at the keyboard without looking, and a large screen lighted with surrealistic images of twenty-four roaring fires that surrounded a circular structure, its image writhing in the heat, while several hundred indistinct shapes moved around the area.
"And these shapes? What are they?"
"The locals. I called them blobs, but Rammix insists they're 'biological entities.' Speaking of biological, Rammix also says the smoke from those fires is carrying large quantities of what he says is of animal origin---fatty acids and stuff."
"Sacrifices?"
"Either that or we're missing out on one terrific cook-out," Miller quipped.
"Whatever they were for, there are the natives we were looking for, Marta."
"Uh-huh. What are these?" she said, indicating two lines of dots on the mapping monitor. They were stationary, with numbers flashing beside each.
"More vehicles, but much larger. These---the ones closest to the town---are huge. During entry Rammix recorded them moving from a place along this ridge in the south. The others---back here---were originally on the ground with them, but they just moved to an altitude of five thousand meters and spread out along the line you see now."
"You know, Alex, if I didn't think it impossible, I'd say that looks like a classic lineup for a frontal assault on that town."
"That was our thinking, too. Why don't you think it possible?"
"I can't say, Alex. Maybe because I assumed they'd be too busy building and surviving to waste their time in such pursuits. What happened to the ISCU shuttles that were down there?"
"They moved out early and docked with ISCU-9 more than an hour ago."
"Do we know why?"
"Not a clue."
"But the ISCU was outside the system before and---"
"And we don't have any answers for that, either."
"With all this going on, are you still planning to make the landing there?"
"No. I think the risk is too great---there's no sense in dropping into the middle of what may be someone's argument and making their problems our problem. I think we're going to look for another, more isolated spot to set down in."
"Where?"
"Somewhere near the equator. Hermes is relocating now, and I think we had better get out of here before we're seen."
"Warmth?"
"Better than here," Miller said as he put up the planet's most recent meteorological conditions on the large screen. "See? Less wind, less snow, and a lot more cloud. Probably absolutely dismal on the ground, but at least it's not frozen solid and covered with snow."
"Wonderful."
"Alex, we are being swept," the Rammix announced.
"Source?"
"The elevated vehicles."
"Purpose?"
"Unknown. Signal type indicates high-energy radar."
"They know we're here," Lavan said, then looked inquisitively at Pax.
"Don't worry, Marta, I'm not going to play with them. Not now. We're going to the tropics, like I said."
"Then, let's go before they have a chance to force things."
"Marta, they're not going to---"
"Multiple missile launch," the Rammix reported.
"How many and what is their target?"
"Eight. We are the target."
"Sound the alert, Rammix---and advise the others in the flight."
"Sit down and strap in, Marta, we're going for a ride."
"South?"
"South. Rammix, destroy the incoming missiles but don't cause any damage to the vehicles below, then activate the alignment program."
"Yes, Alex."
"I thought you said you weren't going to play."
"This isn't play. I don't want them---whoever they are---to get the idea we can be pushed or intimidated. This is a simple defensive action on our part and a good object lesson for them, without causing any damage to them directly."
"Maybe."
"All right, what's that supposed to mean?"
"Only that we may have taken up the gauntlet they threw down---if that's what it was."
"She could be right," Miller added. "If they're not the human colonists, we don't know how they think or how they react to stimuli. Alien means alien reasoning, you know?"
Site One was constructed in sixteen frustratingly short, cold, and depressingly gray days. It was located on the eastern side of the planet's largest land mass at a place just north of the equator, where the land bulged out into the sea, taking a not quite peninsular stab into the water, water colored gray-green by its shallowness and the reflection of a monotonous silver-gray, crystalline overcast. A faint outline of a yellowish disk wrapped in a gossamer halo marked the location of Gamma One.
During the first few days, the absence of shadow to gauge time and place shortened tempers already riding a thin line and hindered progress. On the sixteenth day of construction, two things happened that reached down and dredged morale up from consuming, crushing boredom---even prompted something of a celebration. The final gleaming panel of durastan was secured to Site One's dome, causing a minor stir. But the first break in the overcast occasioned a boisterous pandemonium as witnesses to the event bounced, jumped, and danced at the sight of their shadows not yet bold. They cavorted with them, and their shadows followed their every move, just as shadows are supposed to do.
The location for Site One, renamed Reese Station, was chosen for its isolation and natural defenses. In most respects it wasn't unlike the rest of what they had seen of the planet. Rugged. New. There seemed to be no truly old formations anywhere. What had been originally taken as rolling hills, evidence of mountains worn by time, the Rammix declared to be merely a wrinkling of the lithosphere not yet severe enough to have broken it.
West of Reese Station, a line of mountains sprang abruptly from the terrain, its loftier, snow-covered peaks scratching the sky at five thousand meters, well above the daily dappled overcast. In the north, the mountains curved eastward, saw-toothing their way into the ocean, where they dwindled into an incredibly steep-sided archipelago, finally disappearing in a staggered line of rocky pinnacles beneath the water. South of Reese Station, a kilometer-wide rift cut a tortuously broken path from the sea to the unyielding face of the mountains. The nearest known inhabited region was a comfortable eight hundred kilometers west, in a desert plain riddled with deep fissures.
On the thirty-first day, the laser rail was activated and Reese Station was deemed technically viable. Then the discussions began. Should they continue the SESC brand of militaristic organization, consider a more democratic state, or resort to a communal style of government for an interim structure, until their presence and future became more secure? There ensued considerable debate, somewhat heated argument, a few fist fights, but, in the end, it was unanimously determined that they would stay with the familiar until their security was no longer in question.
"What are you going to do, Alex?" Lavan asked as she slowly traced circular patterns on the table and stared into her cup, her body fatigued from another day of excess gravity.
"First thing is to build a secure infrastructure, including a supply of raw materials and food to supplement what we have and what can be grown here. Otherwise we run the risk of our technology collapsing. With what we know about conditions here, it won't take more than six or seven years before we start losing ground to this place if we don't act now."
"That's not exactly what I had in mind, Alex. What about contact with the colonists who occupied this place before we got here? They may be able to help us."
"We don't know yet that what we saw were the colonists, and, after the welcome we got, I'd say it's best to avoid them until we're sure of our independent survival."
"But we have an obligation to---"
"What obligation? You were the one who said our contract with---"
"The contract has nothing to do with this."
"Oh, then what does?"
"If we could make contact with just one of them, we might get all the answers we need to ensure our survival and a lot more."
"Aha! Now I know what's on your mind."
"What?"
"You can't wait to dig into their DNA. Yes, that's it. You want one of them under your microscope."
"The thought hadn't even crossed my mind, Alex."
"Like hell it hadn't."
By the sixty-fifth day, the sky's monotone of muted silver had given way to the steady invasion of cerulean during the main part of the day. The sea had brightened to fine jade color along the coast. The continental shelf had become a well-defined line, though directionally confused, beyond which the color of the sea changed to a deep aubergine purple. Mornings and evenings fell prey to dense fog when the winds were calm, the night sky giving only ephemeral images of the brighter stars and ghostly glimpses of the two moons.
The trees around Reese Station were clothing themselves in their early spring finery, while numerous plants that had lain hidden from all but the ship's botanists clawed their way into Gamma One's radiance. Then came the flowers. Everywhere the eye was besieged by colors of all hues and shades. There were tiny ground flowers, so small they had to band together to make their presence known, and there were giants. The most beautiful and mysterious of them all reached out with a single petal of poppy-red at its base and changed smoothly to crimson at its sharply pointed tip some ten centimeters away. The blossom looked like a carpet of fire that extended stiffly by virtue of its 'veed' shape over which an alabaster stamen of incredible complexity hovered, awaiting visitations from a strange, suddenly plentiful flying insect, the planet's version of Earth's apian. The bouquet that filled the air was nearly overpowering in its heady sweetness.
Pax and Lavan stood at the northern end of the rail, watching the evening haze rolling down the mountains toward the station. As the sky darkened, the mountains, still wearing their mantle of snow, glowed a dull coral in the remnant of light from Gamma One, and their lower slopes seemed like a vast black wall, separating them from a horizon Gamma One had not yet touched.
"Is it okay to say I wish I could see the sunset?"
"I don't see why not. It sounds a lot better than gammaset. That sounds more like a small, furry animal."
"Good. I wish I could see the sunset."
"We're expanding the search into the mountains next week. If you can spare the time you're welcome to join us for a few days. Would you like that?"
"Is a day twenty-four hours?"
"No. Actually it's---"
"Figure of speech, Alex. What about the colonists?"
"You're starting again."
"No, I'm continuing. What about them?"
"Not yet, Marta. Soon, though---soon."
"How soon?"
"Marta, please."
"Just give me a time. Any time. I'll accept it."
"All right. One hundred and twenty days. Then we'll attempt contact."
"A hundred and twenty ... I can't accept that."
"Marta, you said---"
"Something realistic, Alex."
"That's as realistic as I can---"
"Wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait. Did you see that?"
"See what?"
"A light. A light in the woods. Do we have anyone out?"
"No. Sundown curfew has been in effect since we got here. Are you sure you saw a light out there?"
"Absolutely."
"Rammix."
"Yes, Alex."
"Northern quadrant sensors at full sensitivity and report immediately."
"That was a creepy feeling."
"It set my nerves on edge---and I didn't see it. You're certain?"
"Damn it, Alex---yes."
"Two biological entities of substantial size moving northwest at fourteen point three meters per second. Bipedal. Body temperature approximately thirty-three degrees."
"Control, get a flyer ready. I'll be there in five," Pax said into her com patch.
Infrared picked them up when they sprinted out of the forest east of the station and ran the ten kilometers to the foot of the mountains where they disappeared.
"Caverns?"
"There's no other way they could vanish like that. Let's go back and see what we have."
Pax hovered in the area a few minutes longer to see if they would emerge from their hiding place, then returned to the station.
"Well, Marta? No human I know can move that fast, especially not in this gravity over such a long distance, but you're the doctor. From those pictures can you tell if they're human?"
"I ... I can't say with any certainty. I believe they are but---who are our resident anthropologists?"
"Ask Rammix."
"Rammix."
"Yes, Dr. Lavan."
"Who are our anthropologists?"
"Dr. Seymour and Dr. Wei."
"Summon them, please."
"They are in their dormant state."
"Wake them. Tell them it's important."
"Why anthropologists, Marta?" Pax asked.
"I'm not an expert, Alex, so I can't say for sure. I'd just be guessing."
"So, guess."
"Well-l-l, I think they're human all right, but not Homo Sapiens. But---just wild guessing now---if I'm right, we've just seen two Neanderthals in coveralls with backpacks and flashlights."
Dr. Wei was the first to arrive. He listened while Lavan explained what she'd seen in the pictures he had just watched and gave him her conclusion. He laughed, on the verge of hysteria. He threw his hands over his head and, on his way out, advised Lavan to stay with molecular biology and to keep a safe distance from the wine the techs were brewing in the labs.
Another hour passed before Seymour showed up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and yawning mightily. Seymour's response to the pictures and Lavan's explanation was altogether different, and he insisted on seeing the pictures several more times. Then he interlaced his fingers, cracked his knuckles, and sat quietly with his face buried in his hands for several minutes before saying anything.
"Yes. Yes, Dr. Lavan, Lead Officer Pax, that's what we have all right. Oh, not as if that comes as any surprise to me. I half expected it. What we see in those pictures is Mr. Neanderthal---not in the flesh, of course, but a reasonable, sensible approximation of a primitive man. And I must say," he went on with a satisfied smile, "a magnificent solution to their problem and intent. It shows that twenty-third century man was, in some ways, smarter than we gave him credit for."
"And what's that supposed to mean?" Pax demanded in an angry voice.
"You really should get your sensitivities in check, Pax," Seymour said calmly.
"Never mind my sensitivities. What did you mean?"
"Dr. Lavan, you are a gene jockey, right?" he said, intentionally ignoring Pax, which infuriated her all the more.
"Uh, yes."
"Right. I'm going to ask you to think like one for a while. Can you do that and follow along without throwing fits?" he said, looking directly at Pax.
"What fits?" Pax retorted. "Do you understand who I am?" She was enraged with this pompous ass---or was it the realization that Seymour had some reason for being sarcastic?
"This is a small community, Pax, and we spent six miserable years in training together. I know who each and every one of us is and frankly, knowing who you are and what you do makes me cringe in light of the current circumstances."
"Please, both of you. Save it for later, huh? Get on with it, Dr. Seymour," Lavan said, casting as stern a look as her babyish face would allow at Pax.
"Of course. Forgive me, Pax? Now, Dr. Lavan, you are living on twenty-third century Earth. You know enough of the history of your discipline to put yourself in that position?"
"Yes-s-s."
"Fine. Let us suppose you have been given the job of overseeing a project to save our species from the perceived coming solar annihilation of all life in the solar system. The project involves sending out seedlings to be planted in new ground, here and there around your astronomically immediate neighborhood. With me, so far?"
"So far."
"But you don't know what the conditions of that new ground will be. You must assume your seedlings need to survive in circumstances that come close to being intolerable---maybe worse. Okay?"
"Mm-hmm."
"You are free to design your seedlings from the ground up, but there are several things running contrary to your project. First, the secrecy surrounding your work imposes limits that essentially tie your hands in many ways. Second, there are any number of groups with magnifying glasses, trying to see what the government is doing with this project. Yes?"
"All right."
"You are also limited in what you can do, because it is still old science we are talking about here, and you don't know how much time you have before it happens. You have mastered splicing, cloning, and some basic DNA recoding. That is to say, you can create almost anything, as long as the parts you need are available off the shelf. Now, knowing that, we can proceed, right?"
"Right."
"You want this future man of yours to be as strong and sturdy as he can be, yet you want him to be as intelligent as you---or more so. Lots of brains. Now, I ask you to consider this carefully. What would you do?"
Lavan thought for a few moments, then said, "I suppose I'd begin by looking for material from existing specimens naturally disposed to high bone mass and muscle to combine with other specimens of high intelligence, not that the two are necessarily mutually exclusive. After making the DNA match the plan, I would use it to clone as my modifier gene."
"Ah, you are following, but you are also forgetting you don't have the time to chase up blind alleys by screening the family history as far back as would be necessary to ensure you don't have a dud. Furthermore, there are adversaries watching intently, like the Rifkin Society and certain fanatic religious groups, to make damned sure the people we send out are people and not engineered freaks. You can't afford to be in the public eye, and such searches have a way of becoming public knowledge very quickly."
"That's true."
"Now, do you remember anything about the find of twenty-one seventeen?"
"Vaguely. Something about Neanderthals being found in a glacier in what was known as, um, the United States."
"Unfair question, really. That is something I should not expect anyone outside my field and some paleontologists to know much about. Even though the geneticists of the time were extremely interested in the find, the information they uncovered did not make it into the journals for a myriad reasons---mainly social. Twenty-four near perfectly preserved cadavers were discovered in an ice bed near the Juneau Complex. It was assumed they had crossed over from Siberia looking for new ground. This was unique because we had never before found that species outside the Middle East and a couple of minor finds in Asia. They were also special because they were carrying modern tools and weapons that bore the mark of their own making, so they were not stolen from modern man, Homo Sapiens---perhaps modeled after, but not stolen. The specimens were named for the letters of the Greek alphabet---Alpha through Omega."
"Dear God," Pax said half to herself.
"Ah, the LO's been keeping pace, too."
"Please," Lavan said. "Go on. This is fascinating."
"Yes. As you say, fascinating. You now have a perfectly good prototype to use without going into the public sector. Something you can more easily keep secret. To your surprise, you find that most of the DNA is not too badly fractured, at least not to the point that it can't be rebuilt. So, what we have here is right in keeping with the purpose. Plenty of bone mass and the muscle to throw it around with authority, even in this gravity, and adequate native intelligence---lots of gray matter. We have a hybrid assembled from parts in the stock room---let's call him---or her, if you want---Homo Sapiens Neanderthalensis---whose native intelligence is possibly greater than our own."
"Smart monkeys," Pax said sarcastically.
"Alex."
"Come on, Marta, all this is---"
"It's all right, Dr. Lavan. Many teachers, even during our enlightened age, perpetuated that notion because that had been the prevailing idea for centuries, and it is why it exists---even to this day. Pax, Mr. and Mrs. Neander had a cranial capacity equal to or exceeding Cro-Magnon, our immediate ancestor, and we know from the data those cadavers provided us that their extinction was probably not a result of stupidity or lack of language."
"What's the significance?"
"The prefrontal cortex of these people---"
"People?"
"Yes, Pax, people. The prefrontal cortex was more convoluted in Neanderthal than in us, making it very possible that they were, in many ways, more human on an intellectual level than our direct ancestor. It has been my belief for many years that they died off because they weren't capable of the same level of viciousness as we are, and they were not able to interbreed and merely meld away, hence their extinction."
"Your peaceful Neanderthals fired on us."
"Indeed they did, but, if you recall, I said these are hybrid specimens who have been subjected to an unknown amount of engineering as well. In their original form they were a different species, but these people are as human as we are---capable of interbreeding and all that. Something that was probably quite important to the Prep Teams. Their stature, if these two in the pictures are representative of the whole, is a little too short for Neanderthal---they, the original Neanderthals, were pretty big, even by today's standards."
"And the upshot?"
"The what? Oh, yes, archaic language---the upshot. I had suspected this, but our information was too lacking to form any conclusions. Now ... now we know. What they did back then was take a forty thousand year step backwards to plant our feet---forgive the pun---firmly in the future. These people are strong, rugged, possibly more intelligent than we, have a well-developed sense of self, and undoubtedly have been given a liberal dose of our capacity to do violence. Perhaps more than we can handle if we should provoke them in any way. We may be their relatives, but we know from history that relatives quite frequently engage in the bloodiest battles over the most trivial of supposed reasons."
"My God," Pax said, combing trembling fingers through her hair and alternately crossing left leg over right, right over left---a nervous habit from her childhood.
"Well, we're not going to go anywhere in the immediate future," Lavan said. "How would you handle this, Dr. Seymour?"
"Good question. Our landing may have been seen by them as an offensive move. I would say that, until we establish peaceful contact, we will be competing for every square centimeter we occupy, and the more we have to compete, the less likely our chances for establishing that dialogue will be. I also suggest that you get your best Contact Specialists to work on that communication as soon as possible, Pax. Time is ... against us."
"Damned if we do, damned if we don't," Pax sighed."
"Could be, Pax, though I'm not that pessimistic. Now, if you will excuse me, I have a particularly lurid dream I'd like to get back to---if I can manage to sleep after this. Honestly, I shall probably not sleep for a few days."
Seymour pushed his chair back from the table, performed his knuckle cracking exercise again and left the room, slowly shaking his head. He was wringing his hands nervously and his expression was as serious as sudden death.
"My God," Pax said, staring at the ceiling. She was having difficulty accepting the idea that real humans had been replaced by what she thought of as brutes from another time. On the surface of her mind she realized that Seymour was very likely correct on all counts and that she would have to find a way to forgive her teachers. It was they who had given her the idea that the Neanderthal was nothing more than an intelligent ape---something she knew, on an intellectual level, was not the case, but emotionally---"
"Where do you suppose the others went?"
"What others? Oh, you mean in the ISCU?"
"Uh-huh."
"I have no idea, Marta."
"Rammix."
"Yes, Dr. Lavan."
"Have you established the destination of ISCU-9?"
"The destination is unknown at this time. Current track and acceleration indicate it is preparing to leave this planetary system."
"Leave this system? Where do you suppose they're going, Alex?"
"I don't know, Marta. All I can say right now is, I'm dead tired."
Pax said good night to Lavan, and retired to her quarters. She had much to think about, and she was exceptionally tired---leaden would be a better word to describe how she felt. In spite of her aversion to drugs of any kind, she took a couple of Lavan's specials to help her get to sleep. She drew back the covers of her bed. It looked more than inviting. Pax laid out her clothes and arranged things so she could get an early start in the morning. She stripped and set the shower to a high temperature as further inducement to a good night's sleep.
"Alex."
She couldn't think of any reason for it, outside of the fact that she now ascribed a personality to the Rammix, but she felt naked---exposed, when the Rammix spoke.
"Yes, Rammix, what is it?"
"There is a message for you on Finder two-one."
"What? That's impossible," she said in a fading voice. "Go ahead and run it, Rammix."
The screen came to life, and there appeared a familiar, rugged face wearing a huge smile.
"Hello, Pax."
Dean---Dean ... Whitaker?
"For reasons I will explain later, several of us had to leave our system. We ... commandeered one of the fastest ships in existence, retrofitted it with cryo-pods, and, according to the onboard AI, we should be entering the system where you are no more than a year behind you.
"This message will repeat several times so I can be sure you received it. Our AI has been instructed to set up a dialogue with your Rammix and to instruct it to begin transmitting a locator beacon for us to home on once we enter your neighborhood. In the meantime, here's something for you to think about. I hope it doesn't upset you too much. I have been, and still am very much in love with you, Alexandra Guzman-Pax. As much as I wanted you to go ... I ... I didn't want to see you leave. I'll be seeing you soon."
END
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