“Don’t worry,” Master Faye said. “With a little preparation, we can be ready for anything.”
CHAPTER
TEN
“I confess that I am unsure of the wisdom of this,” Captain Thor said. “You would be going into danger.”
“We know the risks,” Elyria assured him. They’d spent two weeks in orbit around Darius, reaching the limits of what they could learn by remote observation. Tiny sampling missions had revealed nothing unusual about the native ecology, although it had fought back more effectively than most against hardier stock from Earth. “And we accept them.”
The Captain snorted. In many ways, infiltrating a primitive world was easy – and they could simply teleport out if matters got out of control. Darius was going to be a little more complicated, not least because teleporting would be reserved as a last resort. If advanced technology was going to be unreliable, they might not even be able to consider using the teleporter. The science team and AIs had worked to try to overcome the problems, but had had to report failure. A handful of experiments had proven that it would be dangerous and probably fatal to risk it.
“There is no other way to learn,” she added, firmly. He didn’t have good grounds for refusing her – and Jorlem agreed with her, making it harder for him to wave Peacekeeper authority in her face – but they did need his approval. “We’re ready to land now.”
They’d started learning the local language at once, using memory boosters and frequent practice to master Darius’s version of English. It wasn’t a difficult language to learn, even without the implants they’d normally use to make sure they got it right. They didn’t dare risk becoming dependent on them and then discovering they didn’t work on Darius. Mastering the local culture was far harder, but it seemed that traders were permitted some leeway, at least more than was granted to city-dwellers. That wasn’t too hard to understand; basic economics insisted that the smarter magic-lords treat merchants well, in hopes of earning more profit. A few hours of research had turned up a whole list of trade goods they could offer to the locals.
The mission orders had frowned upon offering the locals anything they couldn’t make for themselves, but they did permit producing items from the other side of Darius. One particular island was the only place that produced certain kinds of spices, all of which sold for vast amounts of gold in Warlock’s Bane. The remainder of their trade goods were considerably less interesting, but they should bring a tidy profit. There were so many different trading clans, often splitting up into new organisations, that no one would notice another one. Or so they hoped.
“Then we pick an uninhabited place for the first landing,” Captain Thor said, firmly. “Somewhere where we are unlikely to be detected.”
Elyria scowled. The best places to go also happened to be places where the snoops had simply failed – and there was no way that Captain Thor would allow a shuttle to fly into a Dead Zone. A single snoop was hardly a loss – the fabricator had turned out millions of them – but a shuttle, complete with passengers, was rather more serious. Besides, if it crashed near a settlement, it would be a nasty shock to the locals. They might know more about life on other worlds than anyone had assumed.
“We have a location in mind, near Warlock’s Bane,” she said. The snoops had been checking it out for several days, finally concluding that no one lived within five kilometres of the landing zone. From time to time, merchant convoys drove through the area, but they never stopped. Establishing a base there would be easy. “Once the shuttle is down, we can bury it and turn it into a proper observation post.”
It was standard procedure. A primitive world could be observed from close-up, without revealing their presence. It would also make a useful rendezvous point in case of discovery, particularly as the teleporter was unreliable. The AIs had been working out what technology could be considered reasonably dependable on Darius, which could be used to stock the base. And then they could move further into the field.
“Very well,” Thor said, finally. “Just remember my overall orders. If you run into real trouble, I might not be able to help you.”
Elyria nodded. “We understand,” she said. That wasn’t standard procedure, but Darius was a non-standard planet. A rescue mission might be deemed too dangerous for Hamilton, or even an entire crew of Peacekeeper Marines. If that happened, they would be stranded for the rest of their lives. There were stories about it happening, but never on her watch. Most of them were really little more than rumours. “We’re ready.”
“I hope you all look reasonably local,” Thor grunted. “These people don’t seem to be very diverse.”
That was another oddity about Darius; the population seemed to have near-uniform brown skin. Skin colour was utterly irrelevant to the Confederation – partly as a response to the Thule, who had gene-engineered yellow skin into their serfs – but primitive worlds tended to take it seriously. And, over the years, people who lived under hot sunlight developed darker skins than those who didn’t. It seemed absurd to believe that anyone could be so foolish as to use skin colour as a means of separating superior humans from inferior humans, yet the whole affair predated the march into space. Some planets had even worked hard to ensure that their children kept the same ethnic appearance.
“We have all spent time in the tank,” she said. Adam had complained bitterly – he was proud of his Changed appearance – but had reluctantly agreed when Elyria had pointed out that he’d look thoroughly alien on Darius. “All we need to do is prepare the tools and then make the landing.”
“Then see to it,” Thor said. “The XO will be accompanying you and your team to the surface.”
Elyria had expected as much. “She is certified for primitive contact,” she said. The XO had worked surprisingly hard to qualify in a field that was rare for a Peacekeeper officer. But then, Darius was an infinitively fascinating puzzle. “We will be glad to have her along.”
***
“You’re definitely sounding a lot more human,” Shelia assured Dacron, as he sat up in her bed. “All you need to do is relax a little more.”
Dacron had to smile. Hamilton had a relatively small crew for her size – apparently, most of the crew had been stripped out before the Captain had been briefed on Darius – and Shelia had been one of the lucky ones who had stayed onboard. And she found the idea of bedding an embodied AI quite arousing. Or maybe she was bored. Human sexuality still made little sense to Dacron, even though he was now fully functional.
“Thank you,” he said, remembering his manners. His first few days had been more than a little embarrassing, because he had never given any thought to human manners. Being part of the AIs was very different; the AIs were so harmonised that they couldn’t hide anything from each other. There was no point in having manners. “You were very good yourself.”
Shelia grinned and stood up, heading into the shower. “You want to come and wash?”
“No, thank you,” Dacron said. Humans loved water showers, but he disliked them intensely, although he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps there was a fear of drowning embedded within his human DNA, or perhaps it was just that water showers were inefficient. The AIs had spent centuries – literally – working out ways to improve themselves, to become as efficient as possible. Sonic showers were far cleaner than water. “Was it better this time?”
Shelia started to laugh, her chuckles echoing out of the washroom. “How very human,” she said, between giggles. “You want to know how you performed.”
She stuck her head out of the shower and gave him a sultry grin. “You’re doing better every time,” she said. “Just remember not to do that on the planet’s surface. You’d blow the mind of an unenhanced human girl.”
Dacron was still mulling it over an hour later when he was called to a briefing. Humanity might never be able to match the AIs for intelligence – it was hard to see how they could ever outthink entities who resided partly in hyperspace – so they’d reengineered their bodies for health and pleasure instead. According to the fi
les, multiple orgasms hadn’t been the lot of human men before they’d started working on their bodies; now, with a human shell, Dacron could understand why. The AIs had known about sexuality in the abstract – they’d certainly read every paper humanity had produced on the topic – but they had never understood it. He wondered if it would still be understandable when he was reabsorbed into the Gestalt.
The briefing compartment had been expanded and a number of devices had been placed on the table. Dacron had helped to design them, although honesty insisted that he should admit that the AIs had done much of the work. As far as they could tell, the more primitive a piece of technology was, the more likely it would work on Darius. Radios and chemical weapons were laughable compared to QCC links and antimatter cannons, but the latter would probably fail on the planet’s surface. He didn’t want to think about what would happen if some idiot took an antimatter pod down to the planet. The resulting explosion would probably render the planet uninhabitable.
“We have tested radio transmissions and discovered that they seem to be reliable on the surface,” the XO said, “apart from certain places outside the cities. These... Dead Zones seemed to be more inclined to attack technology, as everything we have steered into them goes dead. As yet, we have no theory as to why that actually happens.”
Dacron nodded. One theory had been a force field that displaced energy above a certain level into hyperspace, a trick the AIs and Peacekeeper planetoids used to defend themselves. It required a vast amount of power to work properly and, judging from some of the test results, should have literally pulled the electricity out of a human’s brain. If it could sap a relatively small charge from a drone, it could sap it from a biological brain... except orbital observation indicated that people could walk in and out of the Dead Zones without suffering at all. The best guess was that the field was somehow choosing its targets, which implied an intelligence... and that intelligence had not reacted to the ship’s presence.
“The first object” – the XO held up a tiny bead – “will be implanted in your skulls before you go down to the planet. It is a tracker that remains dead most of the time, waiting for a signal from the ship. We should be able to locate you if something goes wrong. There are a handful of other implants for you, allowing some subvocal communications – although not with the same flexibility as a standard communications implant. If worst comes to worst, it may serve as a source for teleport coordinates, but we would hate to rely on it.”
The humans seemed to hesitate at that comment. Dacron, who could still calculate the odds against a successful teleport, wasn’t too surprised. They’d grown up in perfect safety, even when they’d been moving among primitive societies. And besides, Confederation technology never failed, at least outside an Ancient world. Those had their own dangers, but they were largely passive ones. The explorers on Darius could easily die on the strange world.
“There are three types of defensive weapon,” the XO continued. If she’d noticed the sudden attack of uncertainty, she said nothing. “This” – she held up a stick – “will give anyone you touch with the business end a nasty electric shock. A second jab will stun them. Try not to use it in public as it will probably attract attention.”
“They’d be taken for magic,” Adam pointed out.
“And magicians have obligations in their society,” Elyria said. “Ideally, we don’t want to be taken for anything other than harmless merchants.”
The XO nodded. “The second weapon” – she held up a spray – “contains knock-out gas. As far as we can determine, Darius’s population has no engineered resistance to anything of the sort, so you should be able to use it freely. You’ll all be immune, of course. Again, try not to use it in public, but if you do have to use it...”
“Use it carefully,” Captain Thor said. “Given their observed capabilities, they might be able to take the concept of poison gas and create something truly nasty.”
“True,” Elyria warned. “Primitive does not mean stupid.”
“The third set of weapons are chemically-propelled projectile guns,” the XO concluded. “Do not use them unless there is no other choice. If you hit someone, they will be injured, perhaps killed. We have no idea of their medical skills, but if they have the same capabilities as any other First Age society any wounds you inflict with these weapons will cripple them for life. Don’t think of them as idiots following the Ugly and Mutilated Craze. You will destroy their lives.”
She leaned forward. “You know you wouldn’t normally be issued such weapons. Use them if there is no other choice, and be careful. If you manage to hit someone on your team, you can injure them too, despite their enhancements.”
Dacron looked down at the weapon and nodded to himself. They’d all been put though the training that would allow them to use the weapons properly, but no amount of training could teach someone good judgement or restraint. A couple of the team had weapons training from previous missions, yet this was different. The absence of the teleporter alone would see to that.
He listened carefully as they continued to discuss the other technical gadgets hidden inside their small collection of wagons. The fabricator had put together the basics from studying the wagons down on the surface, then one of the team had designed some individual modifications to prevent them looking like an exact copy of the wagons they’d recorded in Warlock’s Bane. It was the clothes that caused the most complaints, Dacron was amused to notice; clearly, the locals had yet to discover the joy of synthetic materials. The outfits were uncomfortable and the underwear was itchy. At least there were some protective strands woven into the material. They wouldn’t be immune to danger – far from it – but they would be better prepared than the locals.
“So I’m Trading Master Adam,” Adam said, with some amusement. The covers they’d put together had indicated that the trading clans were largely family-owned enterprises, incorporated in a number of different city-states. It was difficult to be sure, but it looked as if the clans actually stored their money in a number of separate cities, ensuring that one city-state that went bad couldn’t ruin them. “And you’re all my family.”
Elyria snorted. “Just remember that you have to be a noisy and boisterous trader,” she said. They’d simulated trading and bargaining extensively, as the latter was not a required skill in the Confederation. “And don’t give them too much gold.”
“Very important,” Gigot agreed. “Besides, they might ask questions if you have too many gold coins.”
It was, Dacron decided, another human problem, one that was mercifully absent from the Confederation. A single Class-One Fabricator could produce enough gold to build a starship the size of the Hamilton, given enough time. Introducing that much gold into a primitive economy would cause it to collapse spectacularly as their traders attempted to work out new values for their goods. Come to think of it, it was true of almost everything. A fabricator could produce the spices and every other set of trade goods on the planet with ease. Humans just didn’t seem to be very rational, economically speaking. What was the point of hoarding vast amounts of money when money was worthless?
The AIs had sometimes wondered if it was a disease caused by living in a scarcity society. Every time someone from a primitive world was brought into the Confederation, they demanded all sorts of things – and seemed astonished when their demands were actually met, although they really hadn’t shown much imagination when making their demands. Even a starship could be produced on demand. The only really scarce items in the Confederation were handmade crafts, produced by individual artisans, and they could be traded for energy credits.
“Watch that carefully,” Elyria warned. “There was a case, back during the early years of the Interventionists, when one of us paid a local with a gold coin. His neighbours promptly hanged him for being a thief.”
She looked around the compartment. “Gigot is going as Adam’s wife and business manager; we know that they seem to expect female traders to stand on equal terms to the men. Ad
ana and myself will be his daughters; Plax and Fred will be his sons, as well as his bodyguards. Dacron will be the son of a fellow trader, learning the ropes. That should excuse lots of stupid questions.”
Dacron felt an odd flash of irritation. It was a practical suggestion and yet it annoyed him. They’d gamed out a dozen different variants before settling on the basic structure of their clan. Plax and Fred, former Peacekeepers, had been added to the team when they realised that all of the merchant clans were escorted by bodyguards. They’d been practising with swords and bows ever since.
“We go down tomorrow evening,” she concluded. Dacron had already watched the AIs refitting the shuttle into something that should be able to operate on Darius without falling out of the sky. “If anyone wants to back out” – she paused, before continuing – “report to me and I’ll take you off the roster. Make sure you do a full backup of your mental state before boarding the shuttle. You can be resurrected within the Confederation if something goes wrong on the surface.”
Humans found that concept a little disturbing, Dacron knew, and their reactions proved it. Was there really continuity between an old body and a mental state uploaded into a new? An AI, on the other hand, would accept it calmly.
“Tomorrow evening, then,” Elyria said. She stood up. “Good luck to us all.”
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
From high overhead, Darius looked reassuringly normal. Like almost all human-compatible worlds, it was a blue-green sphere hanging against the darkness of space, surrounded by glowing stars. There was no Ring, of course, or any sign of advanced technology; the night side of the planet didn’t even have any lights in the darkness to signal the presence of a high-tech culture. The shuttle span once, allowing the passengers to see the world below, then it dropped into Darius’s atmosphere. Elyria braced herself as the shuttle started to shake violently.
This could be a trap, she reminded herself, as strong winds buffeted the shuttle. One theory about Darius was that it was a trap for the entire Confederation, although no one had been able to think of a reason why anyone so powerful would bother with a trap. The shuttle had been heavily reengineered to give it a good chance of survival in Darius’s strange environment, but there were simply too many question marks surrounding Darius. Very few humans in the Confederation had ever been completely on their own, even in the Peacekeepers. The team didn’t really understand what that meant.
Sufficiently Advanced Technology (Inverse Shadows) Page 10
