by Vox Day
“So I'm supposed to risk my ship?”
“I'm willing to risk my life.”
Hull folded his arms. “What would your superiors say if I reported one of their employees was killed because I didn't take adequate precautions?”
“You think my employer would even acknowledge my existence?” York shook her head and glanced at Tregaski and Benbow, both of whom were clearly wondering what the exact nature of the emergency was. It seemed the captain still hadn't seen fit to brief his officers concerning the Rigel's fate yet. She saw a flicker of uncertainty cross Hull's face and pressed her advantage. “Believe me, Captain, everything is proceeding satisfactorily. But you can't take the ship apart now. It isn't the time. Not yet.”
Hull shook his head in frustration. “I certainly wish I had your confidence, York. But I understand you ran away from the scene. Why?”
“To see where some of your crewmen were.” She explained what she had found and who was present at the Krabacci game. “But that doesn't necessarily exempt the onlookers or even the players.”
“With six witnesses?” Benbow was incredulous.
“One of the players could have directed the operation,” York pointed out. “Or the game could have been set up to provide an alibi.”
“You have a suspicious mind, Miss York. Bordering on paranoid.”
“It's kept me alive so far.” Barely.
“Enough of this nonsense,” Hull cut in icily. “We have a problem, but I don't like these wild accusations. There is no point in speculation if you're going to insist that we continue sitting on our butts and doing nothing.”
“They're observations, not accusations,” she corrected. “There's a difference. The fact remains, Captain, you don't know who the unknown operatives on this ship are.”
“That may be.” Hull raised his jaw. “In any event, I don't intend to let you get killed, Miss York. Not on my ship. Henceforth your movements will be restricted to your quarters, the officer's mess, and the bridge.”
“You can't do that!” she protested.
“I think you'll find I can,” Hull said. He didn't smile.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The fleet now lying off Mobile is certainly the finest our country has ever had the pleasure of boasting of, and, with the exceptions of iron-clads, is now ready to perform any duty that may be assigned it. Blockade running still continues, but the 'rebs' must think it at a money-losing business, for during the past month one large steamer has been captured and the other night another was chased ashore.
—“The Blockade of Mobile”, The Baltimore-American, 1864.191
AUGUST KARSH glanced up from his work as Clender burst into his office, visibly excited. Karsh's own immediate reaction was one of triumph; his assistant's expression told him all he wanted to know. Nevertheless, he kept his face impassive as befitted the all-knowing head of the Directorate.
“Well?”
“We just got word,” answered Clender, fighting to keep his voice under control in the face of his superior's calm. “A passenger named Dana Smithson of Marta—that's fourth of the sun Coulson—booked passage for Terentulus the day before Flare contacted Opol. And sure enough, she departed Faraday within three hours of the time the Diamagnet was struck by Opol's vehicle.
“That's our girl, Clender.” Karsh slapped the desk with finality, sensing a deep satisfaction. Events were falling into place just as he had predicted. Myranda Flare had doubled back and she was racing to rendezvous with Li-Hu's agents. The plan was beginning to crystalize. There was an alliance, all right, as suspected. Well, they'd both fall, Dr. G and the prince alike. And Myranda Flare. Not that it would be easy. Flare was not the sort who would be easily taken.
He mused on the aliases. “Myranda Flare alias Anatolia Dorcas alias Dana Smithson, alias X. You won't find her under the name of Smithson, Clender. Have you checked with the Marta authorities?”
“We have top priority requests underway, August. It'll take time.”
“You needn't bother. I imagine we'll be informed there is no Dana Smithson,” Karsh predicted. “Or if there was, we'll find the identification belongs to a child who died two decades ago.”
“She won't get away this time,” Clender replied confidently. “Our office on Terentulus is fully briefed and is on full alert.”
“No, she will not,” Karsh agreed. “And they had better catch her. Their lives depend upon it. We have her pinned to a planet, and this time she'll stay pinned. I've made Terentulus a trap, a planet-sized trap, Clender.”
“How can a planet be a trap, August?”
“The High Admiral has already given the order. No ship will be allowed to lift from any part of Terentulus, not even for atmospheric travel. The blockade is already moving into place. Terentulus is sealed off more completely than the cyborg worlds, Clender.”
“So she is trapped?” Clender.
“Completely,” Karsh declared, “and on a relatively small agricultural planet. She can't hide for long in that environment. As per my advice, the Admiralty has diverted Cetus to Terentulus.”
“From Zero Seven Zero Two?” asked Clender, startled.
Karsh nodded. “Two birds, one stone. The High Admiral agreed it would be foolish to give House Dai Zhan's agents a second crack at a Shiva-class ship. And this leaves the matter in Daniela York's very capable hands.”
“I know we're preventing all ships from lifting off.” Clender paused speculatively. “I presume we'll be intercepting incoming ships as well?”
“The ship captains all have orders to shoot all unknown craft on sight. Terentulus is the focal point of this plot, not a barren subsector. Flare had no hope of getting to a stricken ship in deep space. Where does that leave us? The saboteurs must have some plan for reaching her on Terentulus or whatever planet she was travelling to afterwards. That's the only possible explanation. My guess is that the base on Mosva is her intended final destination. It's only two subsectors away and there is a daily courier ship between the two systems.”
“The rescue ship,” Clender breathed. “That's the only way they could be certain.”
“Exactly.”
“But even if the survivors are quarantined, there is no way to be certain they can't pass a message to a crew member on the rescue ship!”
“It's York's job to see that they don't,” he answered. “That's why I want Draco on the scene, not Cetus.”
“That's risky,” Clender warned. “What's to prevent them from taking over Draco the way they took over Rigel, then putting her into hypertransit on a course for one of the Dai Zhani worlds? It's logical, August. If they have Draco, they don't need Flare.”
“You're forgetting one important element,” Karsh pointed out. “Why didn't they simply do that with Rigel? Because they haven't got the navigator, Clender. That's evident.”
“The fact that they don't have one on Rigel doesn't mean they don't have one on Draco.”
“Absolutely true. Which is why our first move was to blockade the Dai Zhani systems. A considerable portion of the Navy is either there already or on its way. A one-man lander couldn't get through the net we've thrown around Li-Hu's little empire. Any ship that lifts off is intercepted before it can get into hypertransit.”
“You're blockading the commercial lines?”
“Everything,” Karsh declared. “Which Dr. G no doubt anticipated, hence the mutual aid society. Li-Hu is relying on Flare, which is exactly the point her hits on Opol and Shek were designed to conceal.”
“How has Li-Hu reacted to the blockade?”
“The expected diplomatic protests. Feigned outrage and media fodder.” Karsh shrugged indifferently. He was unmoved by such things. “He's caught, Clender, fair and square. He made his play, he's getting his hand slapped. He never had any intention of going to war over this. Once we take his operatives, he'll wash his hands of the whole affair and pretend it never happened.”
“Will we let him?”
“Of course. Diplomacy demands it,”
Karsh answered. “What is diplomacy if not the art of pretending to believe what both parties know perfectly well to be untrue?”
Clender leaned forward. “I don't understand one thing. How could Flare hope to get through, get the secret from Grydo to Dr. G? She can't telepsych between planets, let alone between star systems. But she must have some plan in mind for getting the information back to Nizhni-Rostov.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“But how, August? We have everything blockaded!”
“This plot doesn't involve mere days or weeks, it stretches out over years, even decades,” Karsh said. “The machines are nothing if not patient. We can outwait Li-Hu. He is impatient, he is energetic and ambitious. But it's different with the cyborgs. Once Flare has the information, she can move from mind to mind on the same planet, stay hidden, stay safe. We can't maintain our blockades forever. As time passes, new men will replace you, and me, and the High Admiral, new men with new responsibilities who won't believe in a bygone threat. Eventually, when enough time passes, we'll relax our vigilance. And that's when Flare would make her move. I assume G is thinking in terms of decades. What's fifty years in the life of a machine, Clender? Practically nothing.”
“By the moons of Jupiter, August, you frighten me!”
“The cyborgs believe they are the future of posthumanity, Clender, and that their victory is inevitable. And perhaps they are right. We can't allow our desires or our fears to obscure reality.”
“Don't you find thought of those machine-monsters spilling out across the galaxy terrifying?”
“Do you ever read pre-space history?” asked Karsh. “Once there was an intelligent brute called Homo neanderthalensis. He owned the world. He was the master of everything he encountered. Then one rosy dawn he came face to face with another brute, but a smarter one, Clender. The new brute was crueler and made better weapons. This brute was Cro-Magnon, and he replaced the Neanderthals. We are descended from him. But we've reached our genetic limits. We've had our little time, we've spread out across the stars, and now our sun is setting. The evening comes. This time, we find ourselves the dumb brute staring in wordless amazement at our successors, only we won't acknowledge them. Archeology tells us that the Neanderthals fought, Clender. They waged bloody battles across continents, but they lost. Their sun set. One day, ours will too. And that day is coming.”
“We'll fight,” whispered Clender hoarsely.
“Yes, we will. That's exactly what we are doing,” answered Karsh. “Our job is to hold this new man down, preserve the status quo, defend Terra's ascendancy. We don't act out of justice, Clender, but out of an instinct for survival. We are but monkeys in the cage of the universe, denying what our eyes see, rejecting what our minds tell us, and raging against the cosmic order. We can't imagine what is coming out of those mysterious worlds, those machine minds. We can't even begin to guess what new species and abilities are being bred there. Perhaps posthumanity will supplant us entirely. Perhaps we will live on through them as the Neanderthal lives on through our genes. But regardless, we will take our spears and hurl them against the tide.”
“Spears?” asked Clender.
“A figure of speech.”
The two men sat quietly for a moment, reflecting on the possibility that their actions would have significant historic ramifications. Then Clender returned to the current problem.
“If we can't trap Flare and we can't keep Terentulus isolated forever, then Daniela is our only hope of stopping them!”
“No, there is a fallback plan,” Karsh said. “You should know there is always a fallback plan.”
“I don't understand.”
“We'll try to trap Myranda Flare, of course. She must have some weaknesses,” Karsh said broodingly. “She can't telepsych when she's unconscious or when she's dead. When she's not connected to a network, she's as vulnerable as any other human. But we want her alive, Clender. She can tell us so much of what is happening on the machine worlds, so much of what the cyborgs are planning. Yes, we'll certainly try.”
“And if we fail, August?” Clender's voice was worried. “And if Daniela fails?”
“In that case, we will be forced to our final alternative.” Karsh's voice hardened. “We'll annihilate Terentulus. We'll destroy it completely and blot it from the face of the universe. The High Admiral has already given Cetus to stand by for orders to that effect.”
“Nova its sun?” breathed Clender, horrified.
“That won't be necessary.” The cold smile touched Karsh's lips once again. “A few cobalt bombs, a barrage of nuclear bolts—it's a small planet, Clender.”
She was slender, hollow-faced, middle-aged, and she walked with a slight limp as she walked out of the spaceport in Narpolin, a small city that was nevertheless the largest on Terentulus, fifth of the green-white sun Geddes. She wasn't actually any more lame than she was middle-aged; the limp affected her walk and stance and thus her personality, at least as others saw her. It also aged her, as did her mousy brown hair now shot with grey. Her battered bag and weary countenance gave her the appearance of a woman who had traveled long and hard, as indeed she had. She'd bought the bag new on the orbital station to replace the one she'd abandoned on Faraday, but had dirtied and scuffed it to give a battered appearance that was more in keeping with her present disguise.
Reaching the street, she paused to look at Narpolin's buildings, which were mostly painted in pale shades of green and yellow. They were mostly single-story constructions with simple, sturdy lines that indicated utility rather than architectural ambition. They were fairly typical of buildings often found on the smaller agricultural planets, she thought. The city was so small that she could see across it from the slight rise upon which the little spaceport was built, a cluster of brightly colored structures filling a saucerlike depression. Beyond the city, the farm hills appeared a pale green under the Geddes sun. The antiquated vehicles crawling along the street were surprisingly few in number, considering that the terminal lay adjacent to the town's business district. Sighing wearily, and not simply to maintain her act, she glanced around.
Her first task was to find a place to stay. Somewhere inconspicuous, but any visitor would attract a certain amount of attention, especially a female one on this sort of planet where there were more men than women and people tended to marry young. Why here? It would have been safer for her on a high-tech, high-population world like Rhysalan, where she could lose herself more easily in the masses. No automated security system could pose a threat to any machine worlder, much less a highly trained cyborg like herself.
Was she nearing the end of her preordained path? She didn't know. Her future was blotted out as completely as the past, coming to her only in brief bursts as she needed to know it. For the moment she existed in a narrow corridor of time in which past and future were both impenetrable voids. She was searching for something. Her mission was vital. There must be things she had to do. But what things? Nothing came to her, no sudden flashes of insight, no names, no instructions.
She struggled with the blankness within her, desperately trying to break through a barrier that she could not feel, but that she knew had to be there. If she could only… if she could only… only what? There was nothing. Finally she gave up. The effort wearied her and accomplished nothing.
Perhaps that was the problem, she told herself. Perhaps she was trying too hard, and the very act of attempting to summon the knowledge locked inside her mind was making it harder for the information to find its way out to her. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and relaxed. It calmed her a little, but still, nothing came to her. Well, when there was no knowledge, there was always instinct. And her instincts told her to keep moving before the hunters caught up with her. She would need a place to stay, somewhere away from the spaceport.
There were no aerovars to rent on Terentulus. She discovered that immediately; they were in excess of the legal tech level. That left nothing but the ancient ground vehicles that crept along the narrow streets
at appallingly slow speeds. No point in renting one of them, not when there were public conveyances that wouldn't require identification. She found a display of colorful brochures advertising various hotels. Normally she tried to avoid the high end places, but here the mid-range effectively was the high end. From the hungry way the men who walked past her eyed her, even disguised as she was, it was readily apparent that she would attract attention no matter where she went.
Which meant there were only three ways to hide from sight. The best would be the most difficult. This was not the sort of world where religious convents were likely to be found. And while it would probably not be hard to find a man who would happily keep her stashed away at his home, the process might take days and would make it difficult to disguise herself.
She sighed. That left one option. Fortunately, on a planet like this, it would not be difficult to find precisely the kind of place she had in mind. Having reached the obvious conclusion, she walked out to the autobus terminal and handed the elderly, bearded driver the appropriate coins. It was ridiculously inexpensive.
The bus ride into the center of the city was a brief one, but it gave her time to think about her next move. After leaving the bus, her first stop was in a public bathroom, where she rinsed the grey dye out of her hair, then pulled her hair back in a tight ponytail. Next she applied garish makeup to her eyes, lining them in thick black strokes, then painting her eyelids a bright cobalt blue to match her lipstick. She slipped out of the shabby, grey man's shirt she was wearing and pulled on a tight black dress and some translucent heels that added six centimeters to her height.
She stood up straight and made a kissy face at the mirror, having taken two decades off her apparent age. It was a risk, and one that she wouldn't have run on a more advanced and civilized world, but on a low-tech backwater like Terentulus, it was her safest bet. Men never looked too closely at a woman's face when her body was on display. And while she was nearly too old to pull off such an act where the women were more plentiful, what she'd seen at the spaceport and on the bus suggested that she wouldn't have any trouble finding employment.
