Reunion

by Alan Dean Foster

  Flinx’s heart sank. “Then the information was destroyed.”

  “No. Transferred. The syb was removed, leaving only an echo behind. This is highly illegal. I must generate a report.”

  “Yes, yes,” Flinx commented hurriedly, “but first—can you trace the transfer? Can you find out where the information originally contained in the syb was sent?”

  “The echo has been very skillfully fabricated. Anyone attempting to access the sybfile would be fooled into believing that a legal transfer had taken place, or would activate the replacement alarms.”

  “But not you,” Flinx observed.

  “I am the Monitor. I am the Terran Shell. Counterfeits do not escape me. I shall examine the residue.”

  Flinx was left to ponder furiously. Who would want access to the kind of information the syb under investigation was likely to contain? And if these persons unknown had succeeded in accessing it successfully, why go to the trouble of removing it from the Shell? The fact that it was under Edict should be enough to discourage anyone else from tampering with the structure of the sybfile itself. Yet someone had gone to the trouble not only of circumventing the powerful prohibitions against accessing, but of removing the information and leaving alarms in its stead. Who would do such a thing? Who had the need, the desire, and the resources?

  The Meliorares? But the last of them had been selectively mind-wiped long ago. Their disgraced organization was but a memory, their intentions dishonored, their members scattered. Had the authorities missed unregistered disciples who were even now wandering about the Commonwealth, intent on resurrecting that long quiescent, notorious research? Who else would go to such trouble?

  “There is a trail. It is very faint,” the AI declared.

  “Can you trace it?” Flinx felt his hopes evaporating in the intangibility of cyberspace.

  “Not only faint,” the Shell AI continued as if it had not heard, “but cleverly disguised. There are many false echoes. However,” it added briskly, “while these have been fashioned with skill, they employ known commercial technology. I am reviewing options. This will take a few seconds.”

  Words appeared on the floating screen. LARNACA NUTRITION. Flinx stared at them. They were not supplemented.

  “This restricted sybfile that supposedly doesn’t exist, that was placed under Edict and was subsequently illegally lifted and replaced by sophisticated alarms, it was done by a food company?”

  “Do you wish me to examine the totality of the commercial concern identified as the transfer site?”

  “Yes, dammit!”

  “This will take a few nanoseconds. Yes—Larnaca Nutrition is a specialty foods concern with multiworld interests. Rated moderate to moderate-small within its industry. Makers of Caszin Chips, Havelock Power Bars, Poten . . .”

  An impatient, frustrated Flinx interrupted. “What happened to the syb?”

  “The illegally removed information under discussion was transferred to the headquarters offices of the company in question and absorbed by its confidential industrial shell.”

  It was difficult for Flinx to imagine outlawed Meliorares working in the commercial food business. He decided to hypothesize motives later. “Where in the company shell is the file now? Can you access it?”

  “Processing.” After a pause that lasted longer than the customary few seconds, the AI replied. “The stipulated sybfile is not there. It was, but was almost immediately retransferred out.”

  Was there ever to be an end to this road? Flinx wondered tiredly. How much longer did he have before someone at the Surire installation decided to check on who was using the office, or before Elena Carolles woke up?

  “Can you track it to its present location?”

  “There is residue.” A pause, then, “I can track it to its last known location, but cannot access it.”

  “Why not?” Still agitated, Pip stirred beneath his shirt.

  “Because it has been shifted off-world, and I can only access files within this stellar system.”

  A ship! The AI confirmed Flinx’s suspicions. That was the end of it, then. Not even a system as powerful as the Terran Shell could access another AI beyond the orbit of Neptune. Not without a special space-minus hookup, and that would only put it in touch with a Shell on another inhabited world. The ship that held the precious syb was truly beyond reach.

  But not, perhaps, beyond identification. He made the request.

  “The terminus of my search string indicates that the ship shell aboard the commercial KK-drive freighter Crotase was the last to hold the illegally transferred sybfile.”

  The trail was cold, then, but not dead, Flinx decided stoically. “Where is the vessel in question at this time?” he inquired sternly. “Can you locate its position by accessing company files?”

  The AI’s reply was not encouraging. “That would constitute an illegal intrusion into the records of a private commercial concern.”

  Once again Flinx strained to make the AI feel, to make it understand. “I have to know. You are only following up on an already documented violation of the law.” He brightened at a sudden thought. “These details will be necessary in order for you to generate a proper report.”

  “Yes, that is so. This will take several seconds. There are the usual commercial-industrial safeguards. I can bypass them.”

  “This Crotase, it’s in orbit?” Flinx inquired hopefully. The AI’s reply was not encouraging.

  “According to the information I have accessed, it is outbound from Earth and should presently be in space-plus.”

  One last hope, one last chance. “Destination?”

  “A moment. The safeguards on such information are particularly strong. There. The commercial freighter Crotase is on course via the Hivehom vector for the Analava system, Goldin IV, Largess, and Pyrassis.”

  “I recognize most of those worlds.” Flinx’s knowledge of galographics had improved considerably in the course of his past several years’ wanderings. “But not Pyrassis. That name is unfamiliar to me.”

  “That is not surprising. The entire itinerary is rigidly coded and coated to provide the maximum security of which its generator is capable. The name itself is not given. I have deduced it from the scrambled coordinates that originated within the ship Crotase’s own AI.”

  “Can you show me the itinerary?”

  “Processing.” Within seconds the flat screen floating before Flinx was replaced by a three-dimensional spherical map of the portion of the outer galactic arm that contained the Commonwealth. Tiny lights brightened within and names floated benignly beneath them. There was the well-known Analava system and there the colony world of Goldin IV. Farther still from Earth, the outpost world of Largess. And beyond—much beyond—a world identified as Pyrassis. Flinx leaned forward, his hands gripping the arms of the chair whose malleable material fluxed to accommodate his tightening grasp. No wonder he had never heard of Pyrassis.

  The final destination of the Larnaca Nutrition company ship Crotase lay within the borders of the AAnn Empire.

  Chapter 3

  Slowly, Flinx settled back into the chair. It relaxed, but he did not. What in the name of all the topologic inversions of space-minus was going on here? Commonwealth vessels intruded on Empire space on pain of instant obliteration. Military craft in the spatial vicinity traveled with caution, and usually in pairs. Even the neutral Torsee Provinces were dangerous to visit without special permission from both governments. A vanilla-plain commercial craft like the Crotase simply did not go to such places.

  Was it under the control of the Meliorares, or some as-yet-unidentified philosophical progeny of theirs? Were they, or someone else within innocent-appearing Larnaca Nutrition, cooperating with the AAnn? A sardonic smile curved his mouth. Had the remorseless reptilian AAnn suddenly developed an insatiable craving for cheap human snack food? None of it made any sense.

  It was too much to try and comprehend. The lengthening thread was too knotted to unravel. He needed to focus on the content
s of the stolen syb. All the rest was incidental, and could be sorted out later.

  Removing a chyp from a pocket, he inserted it into the appropriate receptacle on the desk. The tiny slip of activated nanostorage would hold all the information he might need. Idly, he wondered what a “chyp” had originally been. Like much else, the derivation of the colloquial name for any form of portable storage was lost in the mists of technological antiquity.

  “Transfer ship Crotase itinerary and plotting.”

  “That would be stealing.” The voice of the AI was maddeningly calm. “There could be adverse consequences. I have no authority, and neither do you.”

  “A crime has already been committed here.” Flinx was running out of patience, and out of time. “And not by me. You have reports to generate. To ensure confirmation of factual material it would be useful for the authorities, when they have been properly alerted, to have access to witnesses. That would be me.”

  “I do not require witnesses. My storage is inviolate.”

  “You don’t, but live human judges like to have them around during judicial proceedings. My memory does not begin to approach yours. To refresh it for the benefit of the authorities, I should have my own access to all relevant material. Please initiate copy.”

  The AI seemed to hesitate. “You argue persuasively. Remember that I will retain a record of this conversation, and that together with all other relevant material it will, when requested, be reported to the authorities.”

  “I acknowledge,” Flinx responded with a wave of one hand. He felt free to agree to anything since he had no intention of sticking around to suffer the consequences of his actions.

  “Very well. Initiating transfer.”

  Half a world away, in a sizable commercial complex located on the eastern edge of the Bangalore Economic Ring Number Three, the dominant information AI on the planet sucked a minuscule, seemingly insignificant syb out of the depths of a Ranglou Level Eight industrial AI server. Within seconds, self-activating switches buried deep in the matrix of the Ranglou unit reacted. Only the fact that the much more powerful Shell AI operated in terms of nanoseconds prevented a catastrophe of scandalous proportions. As it was, the retort expressed by the Ranglou manifested far faster than could have been expected. It responded with a speed and to a degree more appropriate to the military than to an elemental commercial facility.

  Destruction raced through cyberspace, searing dozens of pathways and obliterating routings as the incendiary reaction bundled within the incognizant Ranglou tried to track the intruding thief to its source. The application was absolutely fearless, smashing through safeguards and shields as if they did not exist. Humble distance was all that prevented further damage.

  At first, nothing appeared amiss to Flinx. The floating screen and galactic map continued to hover before him, the Shell AI’s presence awaiting further commands. Reaching forward, he removed the nanostorage device from its holder. A quick perusal showed that, as requested, material had indeed been transferred. Placed in the proper slot back on his ship, it would deliver the same information to the Teacher’s own AI, would insert the Crotase’s coordinates and itinerary into his vessel’s navigation system.

  An instant after he had removed the chyp, the receptacle crackled. Several actinic yellow flames shot from the orifice, making him jump. Bursting from beneath his shirt, Pip hovered in midair above his shoulder, searching for the source of the disturbance.

  “Easy, girl,” Flinx murmured. To the AI he inquired, “What was that?”

  “A moment. I am processing. There is some unforeseen difficulty with concluding the connection recently established on your behalf. I must terminate the link now in order to—”

  The floating screen vanished. So did the spherical map. In their place, a small sphere of refulgent yellow appeared. No bigger at first than Flinx’s nose, it ballooned rapidly. A rising hiss filled the cubicle. Behind him, a groggy Carolles had begun to stir.

  Eyes wide, Flinx rushed to her side, knelt, lifted her up, and placed her in a safety carry across his shoulders. Hastily deactivating the privacy screen, he stepped out of the cubicle into the nearest corridor. An approaching clerk saw him and frowned at the tall young man’s softly moaning burden.

  “Hey, what’s going on here? What’s wrong with—?” Catching sight of the rapidly bloating ball of yellow light that filled the now laid open office, he broke off his questioning as his lower jaw fell. Legs pumping, Pip darting to and fro above his head like a berserk component broken loose from a holoed advertisement for a nearby zoo, Flinx brushed past him.

  “Run!”

  Confused, the clerk turned to shout at the younger man’s retreating back and the comatose security officer bouncing on his shoulders. “Why? Hey, who are you? What is that thing, anyw—?”

  Whatever it was, the murderous application that had been bundled within the bowels of the commercial Ranglou shell managed to generate a reaction half a world away. The ball of yellow light suddenly expanded exponentially and blew up with stunning violence.

  Despite his limp, now periodically moaning burden, Flinx had already traversed the main portion of the complex and was heading for the nearest clearly marked exit when the bloated clandestine energile that filled the now vacant cubicle detonated. Within an important facility like the Surire hub, he reassured himself, there ought to be enough self-activating defense mechanisms to prevent any significant loss of life or serious damage. As he strained under his increasingly heavy feminine encumbrance, he found himself hoping fervently that it was so. In his quest to learn more about himself he willingly accepted the need to lie, dissemble, invent, and conceal. The thought that he might be responsible for one or more innocent deaths did not appeal to him.

  Sirens, whistles, and all manner of aural and visual alarms generated a phantasmagoria of aroused sight and sound around him. Occasionally he encountered other security officers, racing to secure the infracted sector. They ignored him. And why not? he mused as he ran. He was dressed as one of their own, carrying an apparently injured comrade to safety. It was beginning to look as if he would make good his escape, provided he was not first stopped and forced to accept an award for bravery.

  The further he fled from the theater of havoc, the fewer security personnel he encountered. Grim-faced officers gave way to bewildered technicians and stunned administrators. Praying that Pip would remain hidden beneath his shirt where she had finally settled, he rounded a corner and found himself slowing to wait for an automatic door to open before him. While the highly evolved systems that restricted entry to the complex were exacting, there was little impediment to departure. Within moments he found himself in a covered transport garage, surrounded by individual vehicles of all descriptions, from the expensive and elaborate to the simple and prosaic.

  Crouching, he eased Carolles off his shoulders and onto the rubbery floor of the chamber, sitting her up against a parked and locked vehicle. She was coming around quickly, and he decided that it would be safe to leave her. His energetic persuasion of her feelings should leave her none the worse for the experience. Not physically, anyway.

  Half a world away, a passing clerk frowned uncertainly at the luminous glow that was emerging from beneath the door of an executive office. The light was intensely yellow, far brighter than elementary room illumination demanded. Pausing, he put a tentative hand on the door plate, not really expecting it to respond. But it was unlocked, and the barrier slid efficiently aside at his touch.

  Within the room, there was only the yellow glow, fierce as a newborn sun and cool as glass made of gold. The clerk had only seconds in which to appreciate the rapidly dilating phenomenon before it erupted in his face. He vanished, annihilated instantly together with the yellow-fluxed office, the floor on which it resided, and a significant portion of the regional executive headquarters of Larnaca Nutrition. The resulting conflagration closed a good-sized portion of the commercial estate on which the enterprise was located, and kept numerous units of the Bang
alore fire department busy for the rest of that day and well on into the early hours of the night as they fought to put out the yellowish-tinted inferno that stubbornly refused to be extinguished. When they finally succeeded, there was very little left of the central core of the main administration building, and certainly nothing for exceedingly curious forensics experts to trace.

  Within the capacious garage, Flinx was waiting for Carolles to revive to the point where he would feel safe in abandoning her to whomever might follow in his footsteps. He decided that time had come when she opened her eyes, gaped disconcertedly at him, and started screaming for help.

  “Elena, it’s me, Philip!” Startled by the unexpected violence of her reaction, he moved back out of her reach. She continued to claw in his direction, trying to rise from her seated position, using the vehicle against which she had been leaning to push against. She did not immediately succeed. Command of her neuromuscular system was not quite back to normal, and her legs refused to obey.

  “You bastard! What did you do to me?” Her face reflected anger, fear, and a profound sense of disorientation. “Where are we? What are you doing here?” Looking past him, she exclaimed, “Why are we at the hub? And what are you doing in the uniform of a security officer?”

  “You agreed to help me. Don’t you remember?” As he spoke, Flinx continued to enlarge the space between them.

  “No, I—wait, yes. I do remember something.” Reaching up, she clutched at her head. She was swaying slightly, balancing against the vehicle. “I—I was in love with you. Or thought I was.” Looking up, she blinked bewilderedly. “The question is—why?” She shook her head slowly from side to side. “You’re a pleasant enough guy, but all of a sudden I can’t remember why I thought you were anything special.”

  “Just think back, Elena. It will come to you.” Smiling reassuringly, Flinx strove to once more project feelings of unbridled warmth and affection onto the security officer, to again induce within her that sense of fondness and respect he had inculcated in her for the past several days.