“Services rendered? What did your family do that was worth a planet?”
“That much has been buried. I have a few qualified guesses, but they’re irrelevant to the discussion. The greater point being, with such influence and wealth my family has had access to far more information than anyone stepping foot on this planet today is ever likely to have had.”
“That sounds fairly presumptuous.”
“As inner party and members of the Secretariat, my ancestors have known some of the Protectorate’s darkest secrets, Eric. Be that as it may, I never learned why knowledge about Earth was as protected as it is. If my ancestors did they never passed that knowledge down. Now, that said, the Protectorate is still full of fools. Try as they might, they can’t be everywhere at all times. Sooner or later someone will slip up and they’ll have a mess they can’t clean up by carting off and/or shooting a large group of people.”
“That might very well be true.” Eric paused to consider his words carefully. “But that doesn’t address what I was getting at. You’re presuming you’re right. What if they’re not all fools? What if they actually have good reason to hide knowledge of Earth?”
“If they’re not fools, then there must be something spectacularly dangerous about humanity’s forgotten homeworld. Look around you. For the two generations prior to mine, my family has collected every Earth artifact they could. Do you see anything dangerous?”
Eric looked at the shelves and tables, at the variety of objects lying about.
“Does this globe look dangerous?” Turing asked as he walked over to the sphere. “This is what Earth looks like. Well, if it were ink printed on paper wrapped over a ball shaped to mimic its topography, perhaps, but you get my point.”
“Not really, no. What about the pistol?”
“The flintlock?” Turing said, picking up the pistol. “Physically speaking, this is one of the most dangerous old Earth artifacts I have. Otherwise? Information is usually far more dangerous than a gun. Pulling a trigger might kill one or more people depending on diameter, projectile type, and muzzle velocity, but the right information can pull a million triggers.”
Turing glanced down at the pistol and then tossed it at Eric. “Keep it, it’s yours. Handmade by a silversmith in a place called Boston. I have several others, most by the same man.”
“Silversmith?” Eric asked, turning the heavy pistol over in his hand.
Turing shook his head, smiling. “Before industrial processes were common, most everything was made by hand. Quite primitive actually, but the totality of it is quite impressive when you consider the limitations of the time. Real artisans, real skill. Smiths were metal workers. Silversmiths, well, dealt with silver primarily, though you’re a sharp kid, I’m sure you figured it out before I said it.”
“Are you sure it’s actually Old Earth?”
“Oh, I have no doubt the provenance of some of my collection is false in some way. The most we could verify was that they came from Earth. Their stories? Not so much. If I recall correctly, dating of the wood in the handle places that pistol some nine hundred years old. By their calendar at the time, the late 1700s. The maker’s mark is on the silver cap at the bottom of the grip.”
Eric turned it over to find a stylized PR. 1700s, huh? Maybe the dates on the Gadsden were accurate after all.
“Does it work?”
Turing nodded. “Most collectors would frown, but those types are fools as well given the age and importance of the artifacts. Some of the older artifacts we recovered were in such poor condition, we had to take efforts to restore and preserve them. It wasn’t cheap, but you can’t really tell aside from the fact they look suspiciously newer than they should. Everything is functional.”
“I-I don’t know what to say, Turing. Thanks?”
Turing smiled, “You’re welcome. Maybe once we can reliably manufacture gunpowder you’ll be able to use it, relive a bit of the past as it were. Our most recent efforts have had some unfortunate complications. Explosive, even. Now, what was I saying? Oh, yes, the right information can pull a million triggers. I’ve pored over every book in this room. I haven’t found anything that valuable. If there’s an artifact that explains their caution, I don’t have it.”
“Well, I will admit it is a bit weird.”
“Yes, quite odd. Did you know they removed it from the star charts?”
“What? That doesn’t make any sense. Anyone with the right tools could rediscover it and put it back on the map.”
“Correct, but who has the right tools? Or maybe the better question is who decides who gets the right tools?”
“That’s--”
“Insidious?”
“Actually, yeah, that’s what I was going to say. What if someone stumbles across Earth by accident?”
“I’ve pondered that myself for quite some time, actually. Given that I’ve never heard of someone doing precisely that, even with my family’s connections, I must assume either it hasn’t happened yet or, if it has, they didn’t return. Thus, the likelihood is that Earth lies somewhere remote, away from normal routes. Then again, one cannot rule out the possibility that perhaps the fools aren’t so foolish after all.”
Haven.
“What if they didn’t want to return?”
Turing froze for a second. “That’s a possibility. Though, it stands to reason that someone coming across Earth would likely want others to know of their discovery at some point. Even if the planet was somehow devoid of human life, there’s only so much you can exploit using manpower small enough you can control information flow.”
“I suppose that’s true.”
“Now, where were we?” Turing tapped his lips, pondering out loud, “Information, artifacts, my planet, fools.”
“We were talking about Jeff.”
“Yes, so we were. Any other thoughts on the man?”
“Not really. He seems like a decent enough person, dependable. That’s about it.”
“Good enough, what about Byron Mackinnon?”
“Byron? Still weird, him being Byron not Svoboda. Well, I know I’ve known him for longer than anyone else other than Leah. I’m really spotty on details, though.”
“Well, again, pretending I believe your amnesia, what can you say about him?”
“I’m pretty sure he’s the only reason I lived to see my farce of a trial. He’s also the only reason why I’m sitting here. If I trusted him much more, I’m pretty sure I’d march to the gates of Hell with that man if he asked.”
“That’s a terribly positive recommendation for someone who doesn’t have much of a memory.”
Eric shrugged. “You didn’t try to get off that mountain. You didn’t see or do what I had to do. He understood. He helped. Beyond that, I guess it’s just a gut feeling. So far my gut has matched my memory when it comes back.”
“Okay. So, it’s safe to say you look up to the man.”
“Yes.”
“What do you know about his past?”
“Verifiably? Nothing. I know he and Hadrian share some sort of background. Military and he’s not some run-of-the-mill soldier.”
Turing chuckled. “No, he’s definitely not run-of-the-mill by even the Protectorate’s most foolish standard of measure. This brings us to Leah. What do you know about her?”
“She’s beautiful?”
Turing snorted. “She is, but that’s beside the point. Understandable, given your age, but beside the point. What do you know about her?”
“Well, I know her from the Shrike, but.”
“But what?”
“Well, there’s gaps. Big gaps. I know she was in the same cell as Byron and me.”
“Anything else?”
“On the Shrike? No. The harder I try to remember, the less I can, if that makes any sense.”
“Possibly. How about outside the Shrike?”
“We were dropped off at the top of the mountain together--”
“How many of you were there?”
“Eight.
”
“There’s five of you here now, what happened to the other three?”
“You know about us jumping?” Turing nodded. “Two of them elected to try to walk out. Haven’t seen them since. The third wasn’t as lucky as the rest of us on that jump. He died.” Eric’s stomach knotted.
“That’s an interesting way to put it.”
“How’s it interesting? He hit rock. I found him and he begged me to kill him.” Eric scowled as he tried to keep his flaring temper under control.
“Calm down, Eric. I’m not trying to get a rise out of you. It’s interesting merely because of the way you summarized it. There’s a variety of reasons for how one chooses their wording. I was inclined after talking with your friends to believe you rather regretted that incident. I merely wanted to verify, not set you off. Back to Leah, what about her can you tell me since then?”
“She’s been on edge. One minute she’s trying to talk to me, trying to help me. The next, she’s yelling at me like I’ve hurt her. I don’t know what her problem is,” Eric sighed.
“We’ll get to that if you want, later. Continue.”
“Well, I think she’s braver than she thinks she is.”
“What makes you say that?”
“When I put the guy out his misery, she gave me her knife to do it with. She didn’t have to do that. When we met Hadrian, she came up with a good plan on her own and got folks to follow it. Thing is, she’s also, I don’t know, maybe it’s body language, but she’s really tried to downplay what she’s done. I think if she’d stop flip-flopping on me, I’d trust her. I don’t know what she did before she got picked up by the Provost or anything like that. I just get the impression she’s decent people.”
Turing sighed. “Yeah, she’ll be a tough nut to crack. Other than you, I spoke with her the longest. I’m somewhat regretting I didn’t take more psychology classes or the like, but the soft sciences always bored me to tears. I’d like to think you’re not far off on your assessment. I came to similar conclusions once I managed to get past her combativeness.”
“Well, us coming to similar conclusions is a good thing, right?”
“Better than you’d know yet, Eric. Better than you know. Now, that’s the first part of my line of questioning--”
“I thought--”
“You thought wrong. I’ll be honest with you here, Eric. Out of your whole group, so far you are the weakest link. Everyone else has useful skills but you. Even Leah is more capable. She was a lawyer, you know? Did gardening as a hobby?”
Eric responded in a near whisper, “No, I didn’t know that.”
“You might want to ask yourself why I’m still asking questions, and when that answer comes to you, it might help you understand why you need to answer those questions.”
He’s going to send me back out while everyone else stays. Goddamnit.
Eric sighed and asked, “What do you want to know?”
“What did you do before the Provost arrested you?”
“I was on a ship. It’s fuzzy, but I know I was charged with piracy, so I’m assuming that ship was pirate.”
“Ah yes, that fuzzy feeling again.”
“Gut feeling, again.” Eric scowled.
“Fair enough. Go on.”
“Well, that’s the thing, I don’t really remember much. I know I knew the ship’s captain. I know the crew liked me for the most part. I vaguely remember telling the interrogator on the Shrike that I thought they were training me to be a tech or an engineer. I didn’t tell him I thought officer was more likely.”
“Good thing you didn’t. Still, that’s an interesting leap. Nothing to officer candidate and back to nothing? That doesn’t sound very likely.”
Eric grit his teeth.
“If you’re going to lie, at least make it believable,” Turing continued.
Eric shivered as an icy chill drifted through him, dragging everything but his anger into the depths with it on departure. Jaw set, Eric enunciated each word slowly, “I am not lying.”
“If you’re not lying, you’re the victim of some of the most unlikely circumstances. The odds simply aren’t in your favor. It’s are far more likely you think me stupid. In which case, perhaps you’ve mistaken the stupid person in this conversation.”
Eric’s eye twitched. Don’t do it, don’t do it. Fuck that, this asshole deserves to get hit. No, No, I can’t do that. I’ll fuck over everyone. He fought to keep himself still, knowing the moment he moved, he would not be able to stop himself.
“Again, let’s pretend I believe you. I’ll even pretend you were on a pirate ship if that makes you feel any better. What was the name of this ship?”
The words drifted emotionlessly from Eric’s lips, “The Fortune.”
Turing went very still.
“How long were you on this ship?”
“Since I was a kid.”
“And you’re how old?”
“Eighteen.”
“Does the name Vyzov ring any bells?”
Eric’s headache flared suddenly. The sudden pain damped his anger. He rubbed the bridge of his nose while nausea boiled in his gut.
“Oh, this is weird,” he sighed. He’d broken out in a sweat.
“Yes?”
“I, I don’t know how to describe this. I don’t remember, but I remember remembering? I remember telling the interrogator on the Shrike something about the Vyzov. The words sound like gibberish, all I can hear is the name.”
Turing’s brow knit and his visage darkened as Eric finished. He swept himself off the table he’d been sitting at and went to one of the bookshelves with an inlaid cabinet. Another wave of pain knit Eric’s brow and he closed his eyes. He heard glass being moved. A few seconds later, footsteps.
“Drink this, it will help,” Turing told him.
Sniffing the amber liquid burnt his nostrils.
“What is it?”
“What do you think it is? Drink it.”
“I’m not sure alcohol helps with a headache. Pretty sure it’s a bad idea in my case.”
“Of course it is. It’s a spectacularly bad idea if you think someone has brain trauma. I don’t believe that’s the case. I mean, I do suspect you have brain trauma, but I suspect something else as well. Worst case scenario, you’re already dead, so it doesn’t matter what you drink. Best case, we find out I’m right. If I’m wrong, at least you had something proper to drink on the way out.”
Eric gave Turing a puzzled look and made no move to drink.
“Every time you remember something new, you get a jarring headache like someone’s pounding a chisel through your skull?”
Eric nodded.
“Does the stinging come first, or the memory? How much time between them?”
“The stinging and almost immediately.”
“What you’re remembering that causes these headaches is always contextually linked to something being discussed?”
“Yes.”
“Any left side or right side weakness, tingling, or other oddness?”
“No?”
“Granted, I’m a much better engineer than a doctor, but you don’t show the primary symptoms of stroke. Sudden stinging headaches and the like are symptoms of aneurysms or other cerebral hemorrhages. If you have a brain bleed at all, there’s nothing we can do for you here and you’re already dead. If you’ve had these sudden headaches when you were perfectly calm since you landed here, that makes my hypothesis more likely. Drink.”
Doubt slowed his hand, but he knocked back the tumbler. Sweet, subtly woody. Eric gasped moments later when every inch of his digestive tract from his mouth to his stomach lit into a steady burn.
“Good lad.”
“What is it?” Eric coughed as he tried to hold back tears.
“Whiskey. What’s it taste like?”
“It tastes like regret.”
“Hmm.” Eric looked up to see Turing tilt back his glass and swallow. “No, that’s not regret, lad. That’s fine whiskey. If you want re
gret, I’ve got a few bottles you might want to try, provided you’re still around later. Evidently, the Irish were good at both whiskey and regret. If we ever get out of here, I need to find more.”
Eric managed a weak grin.
“Another? We’ll find out faster.”
“Sure? Why not.”
Eric still coughed when he sat the glass down, but his throat seemed to burn less.
“Okay, so tell me what you remember about the Vyzov.”
Eric rubbed his forehead, pushing himself to remember. “I remember the interrogator telling me that the executive board of Turing Interstellar and the families they could contact sent thanks for my information concerning the Vyzov.”
“Oh really? The executive board of Turing Interstellar? My, my.”
Eric shook his head, but the swimming only got worse. “Wait, that Turing? Your family owned the Vyzov?”
“Owned the Vyzov? Before my family was exiled Turing Interstellar had no executive board. We,” Turing stressed, “were Turing Interstellar. The Vyzov was supposed to be a new class of luxury liner. Stronger, lighter materials, less fuel usage, faster travel, more cargo space. There aren’t many that can afford that style of travel, so other accommodations were made in the design so we could manage a profit off every run, passengers or not. Father knew the winds were changing on Unity, shifting away from us. He told me as much while I was still at the University. The loss of the Vyzov was the last straw. I remember seeing the beginning of the spin in the media. I got a visit by a courier with a sealed note telling me to pack my bags and run. I did. I was the only one that got away.”
“Wait? You got away? If you got away, why are you sitting here?”
“I said I got away, not that they didn’t eventually catch me. It took them five years despite their surveillance state.”
“How’d you manage that?”
“Very carefully.”
“No, seriously. I heard from Svob--Byron that the way things were on the Shrike, the whole Protectorate is set up that way. Cameras, microphones, everything. Is that true?”
“Depends on where you are, but yes.”
“So how’d you manage to go five years in that without getting caught? I mean, I’d imagine they have all that hooked up to computers.”
By Dawn's Early Light Page 18
