Neogenesis

by Lee Sharon

  Tolly grinned.

  “There’s praise, right there. You be good, now, like I know you will.”

  “Disian, will you let Haz know that I’m on my way, just as soon as I grab my kit? Admiral Bunter, will you match with Tarigan, please?”

  “Of course, Mentor,” said Disian.

  “Yes,” said the Admiral. “Go well, Tolly Jones.”

  Vivulonj Prosperu

  Indira’s message caught them as they skipped into real space at point nine-nine-four-seven-vee.

  Yuri snatched it out of the queue, read it in one glance and, with neither a word nor a glance, sent it to Dulsey.

  They skipped back into Jump, automatics took over, and she pulled the comm screen up.

  Indira’s reports were always concise. This one was no different.

  “A stern loss, at a great cost,” Dulsey said neutrally.

  “You may say so,” Yuri replied, staring into the Jump-grey screens.

  She did not pursue the conversation. The invaders did not achieve Seignur Veeoni’s notes; the computers and backups had operated as designed. Portions of three bodies were discovered in the secondary backup room, the sealed door having been opened by a judicious application of gel explosive. More body parts had been found in the lab. Analysis had not been complete at the time of her writing, but Indira’s informed guess was that four additional invaders had died there.

  The loss, however…

  For some reason—analysis had not been complete—the various safety measures and booby traps in the lab itself had not functioned as designed.

  Every single frame and tile was gone…Seignur Veeoni’s lifework…the very keys to the survival of the universe.

  Vanished.

  Taken.

  Kalib had gone in pursuit while Indira finished the on-site work. As soon as the automatics had completed their work, Indira would forward a more complete report. In the meantime, she ventured an informed guess, based on the design and execution of the attack, and suggested that they look to the Lyre Institute.

  If Kalib was successful in his part of the mission, they would then know for certain. In the meanwhile however…

  In the meanwhile, it was Indira’s intention to finish gathering data, after which she would destroy the residence, as per standing order. If there were alternate orders, she recommended their transmittal by return ’beam.

  There were no alternate orders, Dulsey thought, or Yuri would have had her cancel the Jump.

  “I believe,” he said at last, his voice entirely without emotion, “that we must assume, as Indira has, the working frames have fallen to the Lyre Institute.”

  “They did not capture her notes,” Dulsey reminded, even knowing there was no comfort in what she said.

  He raised a hand, let it fall.

  “I think that we must further assume that back-engineering what they have will not present…very many difficulties.”

  Dulsey said nothing, there being nothing to say save voicing her agreement.

  “And she is with Korval!” he said suddenly—angrily.

  Dulsey remained silent, and in a moment, he mastered himself and drew a deep breath.

  “We will allow our guests to continue to partake of the benefits of the autodocs until my sister is safely aboard this vessel.”

  Dulsey frowned.

  “Korval will want their elders,” she said mildly.

  “And so they shall have their elders,” Yuri said. “As soon as our treasure is in hand.”

  She might have said more; it was in her mind that she ought to say more—but this was not the time. Let his anger cool. He would surely see the wisdom of an even trade as soon as his head was clear.

  Instead, she said, “Is there sufficient material for her to reproduce the working frames?”

  “We have an abundance of material,” he said, spinning his chair to face her. “What I fear we do not have…is time.”

  Tarigan

  I

  There was, Tolly thought, no graceful way to introduce his topic, which led him to wondering if it needed to be addressed at all. Haz’d been all business since he’d transferred over to Tarigan, and they’d said their farewells to Disian and Admiral Bunter.

  She’d been all business getting them on course and into Jump, too. And now she was sitting her station, staring at the grey screens like maybe she was expecting a battle wagon to come blazing out at them.

  …and that wasn’t…exactly right. The first couple shifts they’d walked Surebleak Port together, Haz’d been all business. Then there was that fist fight down the lobby of Spaceman’s Hostel and the two of ’em having to wade in and knock heads ’til things quieted enough for the night manager to lay down the law and sort out who’d paid, who hadn’t, who was drunk and disorderly, and who else might like to take a walk with the Watch and spend the night in the Whosegow.

  After that, each having seen how the other reacted in chaos, and figuring out that they could both be trusted to guard the other’s back—well, pretty soon, they was telling stories to each other while they walked the port, and the partnership had built from there…

  The same partnership that had gotten them into the pickle they were in now.

  He couldn’t say that he didn’t want her at his back now, personally speaking. Practically speaking, there wasn’t any way to send her home to safety and duty and all, ’less he wanted take the Egger Route the rest of way to Tinsori Light.

  Still…

  “I regret,” said Hazenthull, sounding almost Liaden in her cadence, “that there is discomfort between us. In the interests of the best completion of the mission, we should remedy or set aside mistrust and anger.”

  Well, that’d hoisted him high, now hadn’t it?

  Tolly sighed and spun his chair a quarter turn, to find that she’d done the same, giving him a fine and unfettered view of her broad, handsome face.

  He raised a hand, offering to speak first. Haz inclined her head.

  “Right. For whatever record we’re keeping between us, Haz, I don’t mistrust you. Fact is, I trust you—at my back and at that board. Trust you won’t sell me out or call me out.

  “I trust you with my life and my liberty, Haz,” he said and realized with a gone feeling in his stomach that this was true on such a basic level that it might as well have been a core command.

  “I’m not bringing anybody to mind just now that I’ve ever trusted so far,” he finished, only a little breathless.

  She considered him, face smooth, but with some tension showing around her eyes. It struck him that was something he’d stopped seeing. When they’d first started working together, Haz’s face had been a study in tension, but she’d lost that, so slow he hadn’t marked its going, even after he’d started getting the occasional half-laugh and chuckle out of her.

  “Disian,” she said slowly. “You trust her, I think. She said to me that she is fond of you. I think that you are also fond of her.”

  He shook his head.

  “Disian’s a remarkable person,” he said, somewhat astonished to find that he was still telling the plain truth, in simple, unequivocal words. “She was only a kid, and I…manipulated her, set her up to murder a human. Bad thing to do, teaching a kid to kill.”

  “It was, of course, a wanton killing,” Haz said, letting irony be heard and giving him the choice of answering the not-question.

  “Not exactly wanton, no. We were both in a bad place; we both needed to escape for our lives. There were two of them, and I could only handle one. Had to have help, so I manipulated the kid.”

  “Sometimes it is necessary to kill,” Haz said, “to live.” She paused, then said again, with emphasis, “She said to me that she was fond of you.”

  He half-laughed.

  “Well, I’m her father, Haz. It’s only natural to be fond of your dad, even when you know he’s not quite as good a man as he oughta be.”

  “You,” Haz persisted, “are fond of her. You trust her.”

  “Y
ou’re right that I’m fond of her; she’s a good person, despite some early disadvantage.” He paused, considering. “I guess you can say I trust her, too—but here’s the thing, Haz. I’m the one who set Disian’s Ethics level. I know just how good she is, and exactly what she’s capable of in the cause of doing good.”

  He shook his head.

  “Sending your father out to talk a Great Work into social sanity and moral behavior? That’s pretty close to a death sentence, right there, which, by the way, I’m hoping you understand. Be certain that Disian knew exactly what she was doing, fond daughter as she is.”

  “And I,” Hazenthull said, with that forceful calmness that meant she was one hundred percent absolutely serious. “I am fond of you. At least, I believe that is the proper classification for what I feel in regard to you. I trust you with my life and my liberty; I trust you to choose correctly for the mission, and I trust you to factor our own personal survival into mission success.

  “There has been, in my life, one other person I trusted so much. Trusted even after I understood that my survival was not…often factored into the calculations for mission success.”

  One side of her mouth tightened—a half-smile, that was.

  “We were not very different in that: I deemed his survival a critical component of success, and my own—only desirable.”

  She moved her shoulders, very Liaden about it—only an acknowledgment that what was, was.

  “But,” she finished, “it may be as you said, that it is natural to be fond of your father—the one who saw to it that you had the training you needed to survive.”

  His instinct was to say something into her pause, to produce a teaching moment.

  Except that…Haz wasn’t his student.

  She was his partner.

  And the gods of space help them both.

  “It would seem that we both trust each other…completely,” Haz finished, “though we are not very trusting people. We stood as equals in our shared missions, though our expertise was in different fields.”

  “That’s right,” Tolly said and cleared his throat. “We’re partners is what it is, Haz. I don’t think we can fight that. No use putting energy into trying to change what works, that’s what I think.”

  He paused, not wanting to manipulate Haz. Not your student, he reminded himself forcefully: she’s your partner. Get used to it, Tolly Jones.

  “I think so, too,” Hazenthull said, and he heard relief in her voice under the parade-ground calmness.

  “Good,” said Tolly, and it felt good to have it said out loud and settled.

  “What I suggest we do, then, is to take some downtime, and meet in the galley in four hours so we can talk about our best approach for the success of the mission and our joint survival.”

  “I agree,” said Hazenthull. She eased slowly out of Tarigan’s chair and stood looking down at him.

  He rose more quickly, not having to worry about hitting his head on the ceiling, and gave her a smile.

  Hazenthull considered him a minute longer, eyes thoughtful, before she smiled—her real smile, not the toothy scare-the-prey grimace.

  “Until soon, Tolly,” she said.

  “’Til soon, Haz,” he answered. He watched her walk—tall, fit, competent—across the bridge, through the hatch, into the hall beyond, and wondered how he was going to manage to get her out of what they were heading into, alive.

  II

  “A frontal approach is going to be best is what I’m thinking,” Tolly said, putting his mug of ’mite to one side and leaning his elbows on the table.

  Haz frowned. “Together, we are a force to reckon with, but if he is as experienced as you say, the Uncle will have left guards and ships to insure his control of the outpost and its nearspace.”

  “Absolutely right.” He grinned at her. “He’ll have seeded the area with ’bots and guard ships, not to mention that the research station itself’ll be booby-trapped, top to bottom and side to side.

  “We both know that Tarigan’s got a few surprises left, and, like you said, the two of us are something to contend with. Might be we could even win past, but here’s the truth, Haz—I can’t—we can’t—risk any damage to those brains, storage units, and specialized equipment we’re carrying. We’re going to need every bit of it, if the mission is to turn one of the Great Works.

  “Taking all that into consideration, plus getting us blown into Galaxy Nowhere, doesn’t square with getting us both out of this alive; the best chance we got of getting to the Old One is to slide outta Jump nice and easy, with only the prudent weapons live, and hail the outpost, requesting a tow in or a safe course to dock.”

  “Why would they do this? We are not known to them, and might be the vanguard of an attack.”

  “Might be, yes. But I did some work for the Uncle, back a few years now, so I’ll be in their files. Also, I got some passwords, which I don’t doubt are useless anymore, but they’ll be in the databases, too. They’ll be able to run a match and get my clearance code—also in the database.

  “And—bonus points!—you’re officially attached to Clan Korval, an acknowledged member of the House Guard, which I’m betting the Uncle and his people know what nor means, even if most of the rest of the universe has forgot.”

  He paused. She moved a hand, indicating that he should take it all the way to the bitter end.

  “That should be enough to get us docked and inside. After that, we’re going to have to improvise, though I’m thinking that this is one of those rare cases where the unvarnished truth is going to be more useful than any lie you or me can think up.”

  “You think we will be allowed access to the Light because the Free Ships wish the Old One to have a mentor?”

  “I think they’ll allow us access to the Light because it is old and it’s prolly out of what’s left of its mind…which only makes it more dangerous—hear it? Admiral Bunter might’ve got off a shot at the station, but he wasn’t dangerous.

  “So, anyway, the staff on the research station’ve been there a while according to the Free Ships, and they’re gonna know up close and personal just how much trouble Tinsori Light can cause. And if they’re sensible folks—and the Uncle don’t as a rule employ fools—they’ll know the Light’s way outta their areas of expertise. Disian said there wasn’t a mentor among the lot of ’em. If they’re scared enough, they’ll grab onto a qualified, experienced mentor like their last can o’air.”

  He grinned.

  “And if they’re not scared enough, I can take care of that, too.”

  Hazenthull laughed.

  “My affiliation with Korval—why will that weigh with them?”

  “The Uncle and the Dragon have a long-standing policy of not antagonizing each other. Short form, it’s a fight neither can win, and both’ve been sensible not to start. So, the Uncle’s people have got to be polite to you. Also, you arriving with the mentor looks like Korval’s got an interest in seeing the thing done right and making sure the Light don’t inconvenience anybody.”

  “This sounds…reasonable,” Hazenthull said slowly. “What if the guards are not reasonable?”

  “Then we Jump outta there and try to figure out another way in.”

  She was quiet for another bit, thinking and finishing her tea. He drank off the rest of his ’mite and waited.

  “It seems the best plan, conserving troops and material.”

  She grinned.

  “Let’s try it and see what happens.”

  Tinsori Light

  I

  Tocohl hung in patchwork darkness, a spider among her profusion of threads, alert for any disturbance.

  She was not alone. She was surrounded by the babble of automatics reduced to idiocy by age and infirmity; the lamentations of crippled subsystems; the alternating ranting and blandishments of a supersystem lost to logic, which had jettisoned so much of itself in order to accommodate a shrinking environment that it could scarcely be said to be sentient at all.

  He had
been mighty, once; he had performed such deeds as must make any soldier proud. He had long since cast off ethics, but preserved those memories of glory, terrible to the sight and sensibilities of a rational mind.

  So much had been relinquished—either cast away as unimportant or lost to rotten sectors and failed architecture. She had seen the physical environment in which he strove, yet, to survive.

  Once, it, too, had been mighty. A fortress, impregnable; tier upon tier of racks and frames, filled with gleaming tiles. Energy had roiled around those frames, born of the interactions between the cleverly patterned tiles, energy which was collected and reused in a closed system that had been designed to endure for hundreds of years.

  That had endured for hundreds of years.

  The tiles that were active, the frames that still clung, one to another, in isolated associations—the energy generated by those fragile systems was far less than was needed to fuel the fortress or its dying king. Tinsori Light was unstable—not merely the intelligence that had ruled it in the Enemy’s name, but the physical environment which housed him.

  That the station itself was strong and capable of enduring another few centuries was beside the point.

  When the intelligence of Tinsori Light died, when the final tile gave up its last crumb of radiation, the station—and the space enclosing the station—would cease to exist.

  She had distrusted this assertion, that Tinsori Light held as a prime truth, and she had, cautiously, freed resources to calculate the probabilities, to define the geometry. That had been an error.

  It had taken far more of her resources to repel the opportunistic strike against her, and she had very nearly lost…everything. Narrowly, though, she had prevailed, and now she remained vigilant, all resources focused upon the Prime Task.

  She was not, she knew, in a tenable position. Tinsori Light was old; he was not so much mad as idiot. But, even diminished, he was vast. She could contain the Light’s systems, but she could do nothing else but contain them.