The Alien Web (Masters of Space Book 2)

by Robert E. Vardeman

  “Mr. Consul, that is ridiculous. If you vanish, who cares, save those filling out the necessary forms? We might even be able to make it appear that the Bizzies killed you.”

  “That’s not wise, Cameron.”

  “No, Kenneth, of course it isn’t. Not when we have the brain burners to distribute. Attract no unwanted attention.”

  Cameron laughed and motioned Humbolt to silence. “Isn’t it apparent that Mr. Andrianov knows of the brain burners, that this is the reason he’s come trooping into the warehouse, his silly cameras grinding away? Kinsolving. Kinsolving has told him everything.”

  “He wasn’t lying. This is all true. You and Fremont and the Stellar Death Plan!”

  “Get rid of him, Cameron. Now. We don’t dare let him make a report.”

  “I’m beaming every instant of this back to my office. It’s being put under diplomatic seal!”

  “Your voice cracks when you’re under pressure,” said Cameron, smiling broadly. “No transmission is possible. My little friends assure that.” He blinked twice. Four silvered cylinders appeared in mid-air.

  Andrianov started edging for the door. Cameron held out his hand, then pointed. One cylinder hummed, then spun about its axis.

  “What?” Andrianov reached up to touch his face. He was dead before the hand got halfway.

  “Is this undetectable?” asked Humbolt.

  “The needle went into his eye. There might be small amounts of bleeding, but I do not think so. The poisoned sliver bends easily to slip around the eyeball and go directly into the brain. Only a detailed autopsy will reveal the cause of death.”

  “Put him in his vehicle.”

  “Really, Kenneth, how unimaginative.”

  “Do whatever you must, but do it. I’ve got work to do.”

  “I’m sure you do, Kenneth, I’m sure you do.” Laughing, Cameron snapped his fingers. Larger robots held just off the floor by their repulsor fields came in and grappled onto the consul’s dead body. Amid muted hums, they dragged Garon Andrianov from the office, Cameron following closely.

  Humbolt watched, thinking how easily that corpse could have been his. He turned to the work at hand, but his heart was not in it.

  CHAPTER XI

  Barton Kinsolving stirred, smiled in the limbo of his half-sleep and then came suddenly awake. For a brief instant he could not separate the soft world of dreams from reality.

  And the reality confused him until he remembered coming to Garon Andrianov, talking with the consul, presenting what evidence he had indicting Interstellar Materials in the contraband smuggling, then eating a big meal and falling asleep. Kinsolving yawned widely, stretched and sat up.

  “Consul?” he called. No answer. Kinsolving stood and stretched a bit more, getting blood flowing through his veins. Only then did he go exploring the consul’s office. He looked around, not wanting to disturb anything. When he came to the entryway tri-vid, he stopped and admired it. But the initial impact had passed.

  Kinsolving saw small problems with the pastoral scene, spots where the artist had ineptly erased and redrawn from an actual hologram. He sighed. Earth had been like this once, or so they were taught in school. But how long ago had that been? Five hundred years? Possibly more. Now most of the surface was a honeycomb of living quarters to house the seventeen billion inhabitants. Parks and other open spaces existed, but nothing as lovely as the tri-vid.

  Who could see them? Not the majority of the populace, not when the daily entry fees to the nature park might equal an entire year’s dole. When most did not work, when most were supported at subsistence level by the robot factories, when most did not care, nature became unimportant. Most existed, not lived.

  “So lovely once,” he mused. Kinsolving’s attention came back to matters closer at hand. “Andrianov? You working?”

  He explored further and found the suite of offices smaller than he had thought at first. Clever use of mirrors and tri-vid walls of larger rooms enhanced the illusion. But nowhere did he find Garon Andrianov.

  Kinsolving seated himself in Andrianov’s couch and found the controls close at hand. Idly, he worked through the toggles and found a computer control sophisticated enough to run Earth’s affairs on Web — and little more.

  “Tell me about Web,” he commanded the computer.

  “You do not have authorization from Consul Andrianov,” the computer complained.

  “I am his guest.”

  “I am programmed to divulge information only to those with appropriate access codes.”

  “What can you tell me about Andrianov?”

  An almost human sigh came from the computer, startling Kinsolving with its realist mimicry of a human. “I am glad you inquired, sir. Consul Andrianov wore the diplomatic suit when he departed four hours ago.”

  “Diplomatic suit? I don’t understand.” Visions of proper attire to meet the arachnoids on matters of state came to mind, but only laughable images formed. He could not picture Andrianov wearing a suit with eight hairy legs sewn onto it simulating the spiders’.

  “This is classified information,” said the computer. Kinsolving turned slightly in the couch to make himself more comfortable. Dealing with the machines often proved tiring, but he considered this a necessary task. Something was wrong and the computer knew what. Deep in its electronic mind it worried — and that worried Kinsolving.

  “If the consul is in danger, not revealing parts of this might result in further harm to him. You must evaluate the damage caused by telling me of the diplomatic suit and the harm that might befall the consul if you do not.”

  The computer took several seconds to decide, convincing Kinsolving of the seriousness of the matter.

  “Standard-issue diplomatic suits contain extensive electronic surveillance equipment, including visual and audio recorders, sensors in a width spectrum of EM radiation, jamming devices to prevent counterintelligence tapping of suit-recorded data, plus…other innovations.”

  “Classified?”

  “Consul Andrianov wore such a suit,” the computer said, nimbly sidestepping a direct answer. “It has proven ineffective in protecting him from even more sophisticated devices.”

  Kinsolving jerked upright. “Cameron?”

  “That name was mentioned within the limits of the sensory equipment used by the consul.”

  “Other names. Itemize.”

  “Rogoff, not located within detection radius, presumed dead. Humbolt, Kenneth, director and now acting supervisor on Zeta Orgo 4. Cameron, assistant, in command of IM robotic surveillance and disposal.”

  “Describe the last data transmissions.”

  “Consul Andrianov’s body temperature has dropped below the point where the suit automatically powers down. The last transmissions constitute an exchange between Humbolt, Cameron and the consul. From the information gathered, an assassination device of unknown type and action might have been used to murder Consul Andrianov.”

  “Did Cameron order it?”

  “There is some indication that he was responsible for issuing a nonverbal order. Many hunter-killer robots are activated by simple gestures, winking of the eye and even the tensing of certain muscles, usually on the face.”

  “Why do you know about hunter-killer robots?”

  “A diplomatic field computer must know all aspects of statecraft, including those more illicit ones likely to be employed against human employees.”

  “How is this office protected?”

  “A minimum of defensive devices are activated.”

  “This is classified and I don’t need to know, is that it?”

  “Yes.” A pause. “You are safe within the confines of these offices. Assassination has never been an arachnoid method of state diplomacy. Their murders are restricted to personal disputes — and disputes of law.”

  “Such as war.”

  “That is correct. Also, they consider protection of the

  Supreme Web their highest calling. Any means to achieve this worthy end is permissibl
e.”

  Kinsolving nodded. This told much of the way the spider beings thought. As a government, they were honourable in the strictest human sense. They would not rely on underhanded means to attain their goals. However, if they did not like the way a negotiation went, they saw nothing amiss with declaring war and destroying entire planets.

  The messenger bringing the bad news might be safe, but only until he returned with their response. Then everyone died.

  “You believe that Andrianov has died?”

  A long pause. Kinsolving imagined the computer working through every data input until it reached a conclusion. He jumped when the computer answered. “There is a high probability that this has happened. It is an assumption more likely to be true than the opposite.”

  “What should I do?”

  “You are not empowered to act in any capacity.” Kinsolving considered this. Although the computer was right, it did not go far enough in considering the problems.

  “Cameron might have killed the consul. Is there anyone who can be notified able to act?”

  “Not on this world.”

  “Send the message to the person best able to act.”

  “That requires a message packet. I need proof that Consul Andrianov has been severely injured or incapacitated before sending the packet in a diplomatic communique.”

  “Use your sensory equipment to study the IM warehouse,” Kinsolving ordered. “Record everyone entering or leaving.”

  “I have already been ordered to do this by Consul Andrianov.”

  “Show me the recordings.”

  “These are classified.”

  Kinsolving settled back, his head throbbing. He did not think it would be possible to get the information he needed from the computer if Andrianov had put a security block on its data banks. But he had to do something. Sitting and waiting for Cameron to stride through the door would only mean his death, in addition to Andrianov’s.

  “The arachnoids,” he said. “They do not want the Box of Delights smuggled onto Web. Who works against it?”

  “The arachnoids do not have a police force as humans understand the term. A defender of the faith attempting to stem the tide of such illegal importations is Quixx.”

  “Where can I find Quixx?”

  “I have no information on that. However, he is often seen patrolling the periphery of the landing field. He uses sophisticated microelectronic equipment of unknown function to monitor every cargo.”

  “Describe Quixx. Or show me a tri-vid of him.”

  The computer obeyed. Kinsolving stared at the life-sized spider with rust-coloured stripes on grey fur. He moved around the image, studying the creature. The small hands that folded up and into the thorax fascinated him. The fingers were tiny, more like a human baby’s than an adult’s. How the spider used these hands for precision work without rolling up into a ball to be able to see, Kinsolving was not sure. Or perhaps the spiders did curl up, their legs protecting head and hands as they worked, resting their products on their bellies. He had no doubt that the digits were flexible, strong and capable of minute, close work.

  “Do many arachnoids have the same coloration?”

  “To the natives, such patterns provide identification. However, Earthly eyes are unable to routinely distinguish in hue and pattern.”

  “What does this coloration say about Quixx? Is he a high-status citizen?”

  “Coloration means little when correlated with governmental position or power.”

  Kinsolving nodded, his head already racing far ahead. “Can you go to full-alert status after I leave and admit no one except the consul?”

  “That requires a priority alert condition.”

  “Death of the consul would qualify, wouldn’t it?”

  “Only if it were shown that Consul Andrianov had perished.”

  “Go to maximum alert permissible. I’ll return with the evidence that Cameron killed Andrianov.”

  “Very well,” said the computer. Kinsolving put some food into a small pouch and slung it over his shoulder. It might be some time before he had the opportunity to eat or sleep this comfortably again.

  “One moment,” the computer said, when Kinsolving reached the outer door. “You have no money.”

  Kinsolving said nothing. He did not even know what money on Web looked like.

  “You, as a displaced citizen from Earth, are permitted to draw against a special account. Please accept this temporary identicard for the equivalent of one planetary week’s living expenses.”

  An identicard dropped into a small cup beside the door. Kinsolving took it.

  “Thanks.”

  “You are welcome.” The computer unlocked the outer door for him. “Please find Consul Andrianov and determine his fate. I have grown fond of his ways.”

  Kinsolving nodded. He had not expected human emotion from the computer; it had not seemed to be large enough. As he stepped into the street, the door securely locked behind him. He stared up at the building. How much of it belonged to the consulate — and how much of it did the computer inhabit? Its programming might prevent him from obtaining all the information he needed, but it had come to his aid.

  That was more than he could say about others of his own species.

  Barton Kinsolving started walking briskly in the direction of the landing field. Even with the temporary identicard securely in his pocket, he did not know how the arachnoid transit system worked — or if they even used one.

  CHAPTER XII

  After the tiring walk from the consulate, Barton Kinsolving rested at the edge of the landing field. Occasional shuttles shot into the sky, some leaving tails of condensed vapor behind, others firing clean and cool with a propulsion system he did not recognize. He heaved a deep breath and sat down, his feet hurting. It had taken only a few minutes for him to discover that Web had no public transportation system — or none that a human might use with a temporary identicard.

  Not for the first time, Kinsolving wondered if his crazy mission to save Web from Fremont and the Stellar Death Plan was worth his effort. He knew that Interstellar Materials would profit through the resulting chaos on Web, and it was in this confusion that inroads to both trade and power would be made. Let the arachnoids take care of themselves, one part of his brain said.

  They are intelligent beings, said another, and you must help them.

  “Maybe I should just help myself,” he said. IM — and Cameron — had done so much to destroy him that he wondered if he could ever recover his good name. By the time Cameron finished poisoning human minds against him, Kinsolving knew, he might be unable to find refuge on any inhabited planet, human or alien.

  That started the fires of anger burning again. What had Humbolt told Ala Markken? Kinsolving could not believe that his lover would follow a plan of genocide. He knew her better than that. She had been subverted in some way. And if not by Humbolt, then by Cameron and his infernal robotic devices.

  Kinsolving heaved himself to his feet, moaned at the aches and pains, then started walking. The consulate computer had said that the arachnoid Quixx prowled the landing field.

  But it was such a big field.

  Kinsolving had no idea where to begin. A few abortive attempts to ask passing arachnoids discouraged him from further questioning. He wandered for almost an hour before seeing a small cluster of vehicles and a dozen arachnoids huddled in a circle near a shuttle servicing hangar. Kinsolving headed for the group. Perhaps one would answer his questions, to get rid of the annoying human if nothing more.

  His pace quickened when he saw a vehicle turned on its side and a human leg sticking from inside.

  “What happened?” he demanded, pushing his way through a forest of hairy legs. The spider beings bobbed and jerked, moving away from him. Kinsolving stopped and stared. He had prepared himself for Andrianov’s death. Preparing for it and actually seeing the consul dead in the middle of twisted wreckage were two different things.

  “You know this unfortunate one?” came a
soft voice, a full octave lower than most of the shrill, chittering arachnoids.

  “Yes.” Kinsolving turned to face a spider who came up to his shoulder. For an instant, Kinsolving had a strange sensation that he knew the being. “Are you Quixx?” he asked.

  “Not only do you know the victim of this sorry accident, you also know this one. How interesting a human thing you are. How is it you have acquired such knowledge?”

  “That’s Consul Garon Andrianov.”

  “This one has learned much from a diligent search of the dead human thing’s identicards. He even has card-keys enabling entry to the Earth consul.”

  “He was murdered!”

  “An odd allegation from another of his species to one most likely to have committed such a vile crime.”

  “I’m not accusing you,” Kinsolving said hastily. “Cameron. With Interstellar Materials. And Kenneth Humbolt.”

  “The new planetary supervisor and his assistant. You are of their hatching.to know them so well?”

  Kinsolving looked around and saw only peculiar arachnoid eyes on him. But speaking in public of Cameron and his deeds did not seem too bright. Kinsolving looked up and tried to find a hint of a spy camera, one of Cameron’s robots reporting back to its master. He saw nothing. That worried him even more. Had he missed it? Or did Cameron hold the “Bizzare” police in such low esteem that he did not waste the efforts of even a single robot?

  “We are unobserved,” said Quixx. “You appear troubled on this matter.”

  “Cameron’s a genius with robotic devices. Hunter-killers. Spies. There’s no telling what other uses he puts them to.”

  “The area is secure. This one is competent to such interdiction of unwanted eyes, both organic and otherwise.”

  “You’re a policeman?”

  “This one’s function is less than that, if this one’s understanding of the human thing’s job is precise.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “There will be more than simple talk. You do know the consul?”

  “In private. Let’s talk in private. Long-range lenses can record everything we do and say.”