Empery

by Michael P. Kube-Mcdowell

  But Sujata showed no awareness of Thackery’s nearness.“I hear the provider ethic in the words said over fallen soldiers: He died for a good reason, in a good cause,” she was saying. “And you rarely question the claim. How can you?You are the ones left behind, the ones for whom they sought to provide. You must honor them or demean yourselves.

  “When a capitalist talks about defending market share or evaluating a return on investment, I hear the provider fretting over poaching in his traditional hunting ground and deciding whether the fur of a black bear is worth the risk of dying trying to take it. When an engineer wonders how to use a new discovery, when a runner celebrates his victory over the pack, when an explorer plants a flag in the ice of an uninhabitable mountaintop—I hear the provider ethic in all of these.

  “The provider ethic is always looking forward to tomorrow, to the next challenge, the next conquest. The preserver ethic is more interested in savoring today—”

  Listen, won’t you listen! Close your mouth and open your mind. It was the Mind’s Shout that crushed the Weichsel, that sterilized the planet. And they are stronger now than they were then.

  But Sujata was listening to her companion rather than to Thackery. “What you are saying is nothing more than what I said to you, dressed up in different clothing,” Sujata’s companion was saying. “You’ve found new Words to describe the urging of the reptile hindbrain to fight and of the limbic system to love. I am heartened by your enlightenment, even though it’s much overdue. But I see no reason yet to hope that Wells will suddenly become tractable.”

  “Perhaps there is a genetic root to all this, as you say,“Sujata said. “But if there is, the genes reside not on the sex chromosomes but somewhere else in our genome. This is the key difference, and the reason to hope. Aggression is not the exclusive province of the male. Nurturing is not the exclusive province of the female. They are complementary principles, not only within the species but within each individual.

  “Yes, for most people, one or the other dominates their outward behavior. But those who embrace one ethic to the exclusion of the other cannot survive. The provider dies a death of reckless courage. The preserver dies a death of unchecked fear. Both, ethics coexist in everyone. Which means that Wells, provider archetype though he is, has within him the capacity to understand an argument couched in the preservation ethic.”

  The proximity of the drive taphole and its turbulence, the struggle to stand against the currents near the barrier between matter-matrix and energy-matrix, the sustained effort to project himself beyond it and seize Sujata’s consciousness, all were taking their toll on Thackery. He sensed the weakening of his will, his mind, his substance, and sensed, too, the imminent necessity to abandon his effort and retreat to repair himself once again.

  There was enough time left for one last effort, all his energy concentrated on opening a single infinitesimally small passage, all his consciousness focused on forming simple concrete thoughts of great internal coherence:

  Listen to me!

  The Mizari want nothing we have.

  They are not demons.

  They are not destroyers.

  Leave them be and live.

  Disturb them and die.

  Sujata suddenly looked ceilingward. “How very strange,“she said. “Felithe—come feel this. It’s been getting hotter where I’m sitting—it must be fifteen degrees hotter right here than in the rest of the room. Can you feel the air moving? Like a breeze. But there’s no vent overhead. Do you think there could be a fire somewhere, behind the ceiling plates?” she said, fretting.

  The channel was minute, the link fragile. But it was real, and Thackery called on the last of his reserve to force his thoughts across to Sujata.

  Yes, touch me, listen! They can find us anywhere if they have reason to. They watch the sky with their whole being. They hear the whispers of their kin across the light-years. There is no defense. There will be no warning. The black star will simply appear, and there will be death.

  Then, abruptly, it was over. Drained, battered, Thackery was torn away from the point of contact by the surging currents. Instantly the normal balance between the matrices reasserted itself, and the channel vanished as thoroughly as if it had never existed.

  Thackery could not afford to concern himself with the loss. It was all he could do to keep from being drawn into the drive vortex and consumed. Tacking away from the dangerous eddies, he cocooned himself within his life-will and allowed the currents, to bear him inward, away from the barrier.

  He did not look back. He could not. He did not need to. He had sensed no answering recognition from Sujata’s inner voice. She had not heard.

  Kneeling on the end of the bunk, Sujata passed her right hand slowly through the air above her head. “This is so odd—can you feel it at all? Perhaps I should find the ship’s medtech instead of the environmental engineer—”

  “It does seem a little warm,” Berberon said politely.

  “It’s fading now,” Sujata said, frowning and shaking her head. She waved her hand experimentally a few more times, then sat back on her heels. “Whatever it was, it’s gone.” She looked toward Berberon and smiled ruefully. “I’m sorry. You were about to say something and I interrupted you.”

  With a slight shrug and a shake of his head, Berberon demurred. “Nothing of consequence.”

  “Tell me at least if you share my hope.”

  “I wish I could say yes—”

  “But you can’t. Why?“Berberon sighed and looked down at his folded hands.

  “Because even if you are right in everything you say, even if my view has been too mechanistic and I took too little account of heart and mind, all you can offer is talk. And it’s too late for talk. It was too late already once Wells, left Earth. He’s committed too much. Even if there was a time when he would have listened, when he could have understood, that chance was lost. He won’t listen now.”

  “I don’t understand,” Sujata said, her brow furrowed. “If you believe that, then why are you here? Why did you come?Oh, I know I insisted, but I couldn’t have forced you. If you thought we had no chance, why put yourself through this?”

  Berberon raised his head and held her gaze with sad and tired eyes. “A simple reason,” he said. “There is something that, if it can be done at all, I am the only one who can do. You see, Janell, if you fail, then I must try to kill him.” He smiled self-mockingly. “Tell me, if you can, in which ethic I will find comfort if I succeed.”

  Chapter 18

  * * *

  Koan

  Sujata and Berberon made a point of being on Wesley’s bridge as the ship made its inbound exit from the craze. Since they had no responsibilities there, they also had no stations at which to sit. Ignored, they stood together in the observer’s dais a few steps behind Killea’s command couch, Sujata with arms crossed over her chest, Berberon nervously plucking at the skin below his lower lip with the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.

  Until the moment that Wesley’s space velocity dipped below cee, there was little to watch. But as soon as that moment came and the forward telecam view began to form behind the navigation graphics on the primary display, it seemed as though everyone were talking at once.

  “Kleine carrier acquired,” reported the comtech. “Time mark: 715.288.”

  “Hey—it’s my birthday,” one of the defense systems techs said with surprised pleasure.

  Her mate at the defense board offered a less prosaic observation. “Captain, we’re being scanned by PerCom picket radar—taking transponder query now.”

  “Acknowledged,” Killea said.

  “Just think of all the lances being zeroed on us right now,“Berberon whispered to Sujata. “I’d rather not.” A moment later the comtech announced, “PerCom Traffic Office has accepted our ID and cleared us through to dock.”

  “Navigation signal acquired,” the gravigator added. “PerCom Traffic Office requests we hand over control to them.”

  “Do so,”
Killea said.

  “Yes, sir.”

  The comtech was not done. “Acquiring PerCom net carrier, five bands. Mail coming in now—top of the stack is formal welcome, Acting Commander Osten Venngst and Station Governor William White to Captain Killea and all hands.” He turned toward Sujata. “Chancellor, Commander Wells also extends his greetings.”

  Sujata nodded expressionlessly.“The son of a bitch beat us here,” Berberon said in a harsh whisper.

  “I never expected anything different,” Sujata said with a slight shrug. “He knows what happened to Captain Hirsch-field. He wasn’t about to let us get here first, and he had the edge. All he had to do was pass over one or two check-ins to stay ahead.”

  “Any reply, Chancellor?” asked the comtech.

  “No,” Sujata said with a shake of her head. “But find out for me how long Charan’s been in port.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “But now he’s had a chance to reaffirm his claim to these people’s loyalty,” Berberon said, fretting. “Now PerCom’s even more clearly his fiefdom, the staff his retainers, and you the unwelcome visitor.”

  “Thirty-six hours, Chancellor,” the comtech said. “She came in yesterday morning.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Add a week lost during the approach,” Berberon said.“More than enough time for Wells to establish his hold on the station.”

  “What’s important is that he’s still here,” Sujata said. “Mr. Morris, let me know when the library updates are all in.”

  The comtech shook his head. “Sorry, Chancellor. We won’t be getting any until we’re on-station. The net operator says by the time they push it all through to us, we won’t have time too anything with it, anyway.”

  Sujata nodded absently. “Thank you, Mr. Morris.”

  “Another Wells gambit?” Berberon asked Sujata.

  “Of course.”

  “There is mail for both you and the Ambassador, though,” the comtech added.

  Sujata closed her eyes momentarily. Of course there is. But I don’t want to look at it—She opened her eyes to find Berberon looking at her curiously, his eyes expressing concern.

  “We’ll both want privacy while we catch up,” she said.“Why don’t you go use the terminal in your cabin first?”

  “I’d be happy to wait until you’ve—”

  “I want us to maintain a presence on the bridge,” she said, gracefully lowering herself to her knees, sitting on her heels in the center of the dais. Berberon frowned uncertainly, then bobbed his head in reluctant agreement. “If you insist. I’ll come back down as soon as I’m finished.”

  “Fine,” she said, avoiding looking at him by focusing her gaze at the display. “Mr. Morris, please tie my transceiver to the Kleine audio for PerCom.”

  “Of course. But it’s pretty dull stuff—”

  “I would rather be the judge of that myself.” But a half hour of eavesdropping on the primary voice-link to Perimeter Command vindicated Morris’s judgment—when there was any traffic at all, it was stultifyingly practical and proper.

  The approach to Perimeter Command seemed interminable, and that perception did not proceed entirely from Sujata’s impatience. The inbound flight profile thrust Wesley into playing out a variation of Zeno’s paradox—the closer they drew to the station, the slower their progress, until it seemed as though they would never get there at all. It was always that way, Sujata realized, but she had never sat and done nothing but wait it out before.

  Berberon was gone nearly two hours. By the time he returned, Perimeter Command had graduated from invisibility to an indistinct gray oblong in the center of the primary display.

  “Sony I was so long,” Berberon said as he joined her in thecenter of the bridge. “I needed to discuss some matters with home.”

  “Perfectly understandable,” Sujata said, taking Berberon’s hand to help herself up. “You’ll stay here?”

  “If you wish.”

  “Just keep an eye on things for me.”

  There were several long messages in Sujata’s mail queue, and little enough good news between them. Most of the mail had been sent under familiar headers but unfamiliar names, for both Vice Chancellor Walker and Ten Ga’ar had resigned, the latter shortly after Wesley had left Lynx.. Sujata had fully expected Wyrena to go, and read Walker’s notice concerning it as the Ba’ar woman’s long-overdue declaration of independence.

  . Even so, the news enforced Sujata’s sense of isolation and the perversity of AVLO flight. The twenty-two-year-old girl who had followed Sujata to Earth was now a mature woman of eighty. How did you spend those years, and were they good ones? she wondered. Did I ever’ cross your mind in a fond memory, and did you ever find someone who could accept what you tried to give me?

  Sujata skimmed the reports from Pierce, the new Vice Chancellor, with little enthusiasm. The events and developments’ detailed therein were the sort of concerns that make up life but not history. The changing names and faces and the work done by those to whom they belonged seemed fundamentally irrelevant to her or to her problems: Transport had X number of packets operating on Y schedule to destination Z; Resource had begun recovering high quality ore A from new mine B and on and on.

  It was clear that Pierce was confident of his own authority and was reporting to her almost more out of courtesy than obligation. He neither asked her opinion on anything nor felt obliged to explain the rationale for his actions. As she read, she came to understand that she was Chancellor of the USS now in name only. At best, she was the Chancellor of the Defense Branch. And perhaps not even that—despite the fact that Pierce seemed unable to separate her from Wells.

  “… you and Director Wells…”

  “… you both understand…”

  “… if either of you…”

  The tone of the reports raised grave concerns in Sujata’s mind about how much authority she still retained. Not one of those whom she had left on the Committee remained. Pierce, exercising administrative power in her name, was a complete stranger—chosen not by Walker but by Walker’s successor, another stranger. How would they react to orders from the Chancellor Emeritus thirty years after her abdication? Sujata thought she knew, but there was no comfort in the answer.

  Nor was there any comfort in the realization that Wells was in the same situation. Wells did not need any help from Central; he had all the allies he needed here on the Perimeter. It was Sujata who needed allies—who needed somewhere to turn if persuasion failed. Something other than an ambassador-assassin to fall back on—

  But it was hard to convince herself that allies would be forthcoming: I don’t even think there’s anyone left there who understands what’s at stake out here—and it’s too late to educate them.

  Thinking such thoughts, Sujata was slightly heartened to find one familiar name, that of Katrina Evanik, attached to the last and lengthiest item in the queue. Instructions for Evanik had been one of several things that had been overlooked in the haste to leave Lynx. In retrospect Sujata wished she had told Evanik to wrap up the project and disband the research unit;she had learned what she needed to from it. But Evanik had carried on faithfully, making Sujata’s project her life’s work.

  Out of a sense of duty Sujata began to review Evanik’s summary. There was much in it that once would have commanded Sujata’s rapt attention, including the news that the Nines were at last on the decline. In her summary Evanik alluded to two primary reasons for the shift: a rejection, because of the oppressive cost, of the defensive buildup with which they were so closely identified; and the perception, formed from his zealous public advocacy of the Nines’ agenda, of Chaisson as an extremist and an elitist.

  The expanded files with their amplifying details beckoned, but despite the guilt she felt doing it, Sujata saved the report to her personal library without reading further. No doubt it contained much good work and would be an important supplement to the Council’s own studies when the histories of the Revision era were written.


  But as uncertain as she was that those histories would ever be written, she could generate no more interest in the shifting tides of Terran politics than she had in the reorganization of the Transport Branch. With what could be the final war hanging over the species, it just did not seem to matter.

  When Sujata finally returned to the bridge, she expected to see the primary display filled edge-to-edge with the image of Perimeter Command. But the display was nearly blank, offering only systems status indicators in place of the customary star view and position plot.

  She crossed the bridge to the communications station. “Mr. Morris? Are we having problems with the forward telecam?”

  “No, Chancellor.”

  “Then put its output back up on the board.”

  Killea’s battle couch rotated toward them. “Chancellor, I ordered the video suppressed because it contains sensitive information,” he said.

  “Oh?”

  “Chancellor, information on the configuration and defensive capabilities of Perimeter Command carries the highest security restriction. That restriction includes video images.”

  “What’s your point, Captain?”

  Killea glanced sideways at Berberon. “Not everyone present on the bridge holds a clearance equal to that restriction, sir.”

  “Are you referring to Ambassador Berberon?”

  “I am.”

  After a calculated pause Sujata turned back to the comtech.“Restore the video, mister.” Looking past Sujata toward Killea, the comtech began,“But the ambassador doesn’t have—”

  Sujata moved neatly sideways until her body blocked the line of sight between the tech and the captain. “He does now, Mr. Morris. Log it and restore the video to the board.”

  The comtech drew a deep breath and turned back to his console. “Yes, Chancellor.”

  Facing the display, head cocked slightly to one side, Sujata studied the image that appeared there. The station was shaped like an H that had toppled on its back, with a long, rectilinear central section and two smaller wings attached perpendicular to it on either end. Eight lance towers bristled from the lateral wings, each consisting of a silver ball of aperture lenses at the end of a slender stalk.