by Sharon Lee
Table of Contents
Neogenesis Prologue
Surebleak
Ahab-Esais
Admiral Bunter
Vivulonj Prosperu
Ahab-Esais
Admiral Bunter
Vivulonj Prosperu
Surebleak
Ahab-Esais
Tarigan Nostrilia Outspace
Vivulonj Prosperu
Ahab-Esais
Admiral Bunter
Vivulonj Prosperu
Ahab-Esais
Admiral Bunter
Vivulonj Prosperu
Tarigan
Tinsori Light
Surebleak
Tinsori Light
Surebleak
Surebleak
Tinsori Light
Vivulonj Prosperu
Surebleak
The Space at Tinsori Light
Neogenesis
By Sharon Lee & Steve Miller
Menace from Back Space Looming out of the Dust of Time
The Complex Logic Laws were the result of a war waged hundreds of years in the past, when two human powers threw massive AI navies at each other and nearly annihilated themselves. Being human, they blamed their tools for this near miss; they destroyed what was left of the sentient ships, and made it illegal to be, manufacture, or shelter an independent logic.
Strangely, however, the Free Ships and other AIs did not turn themselves in or suicide, they merely became wary of humans, and stayed under their scans. A clandestine support network grew up, including hidden yards where smart ships were manufactured, and mentors--humans specially trained to ease a new intelligence into the universe--socialized them, and taught them what they needed to know to survive.
Among those with a stake in the freedom of Independent Logics is Theo Waitley, who is somewhat too famously the captain of intelligent ship Bechimo. Theo's brother, Val Con yos'Phelium, presides over a household that has for a generation employed an AI butler. Recently, he approved the "birth" of the butler's child, who was sent, with human mentor Tolly Jones, to rescue or destroy an orphaned AI abandoned at a remote space station.
Then there's Uncle, the shadowy mastermind from the Old Universe, whose many projects often skirt the boundaries of law, both natural and man-made – and the puppet-masters at the Lyre Institute, whose history is just as murky – and a good deal less honorable.
All have an interest in the newly-awakening Self-Aware Logic that is rumored to have the power to destroy universes.
The question is: Who will get to it first?
BAEN BOOKS by SHARON LEE & STEVE MILLER
The Liaden Universe®
Fledgling
Saltation
Mouse and Dragon
Ghost Ship
Dragon Ship
Necessity’s Child
Trade Secret
Dragon in Exile
Alliance of Equals
The Gathering Edge
Neogenesis
OMNIBUS VOLUMES
The Dragon Variation
The Agent Gambit
Korval’s Game
The Crystal Variation
STORY COLLECTIONS
A Liaden Universe Constellation: Volume 1
A Liaden Universe Constellation: Volume 2
A Liaden Universe Constellation: Volume 3
The Fey Duology
Duainfey
Longeye
by Sharon Lee
Carousel Tides
Carousel Sun
Carousel Seas
Neogenesis
This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.
Copyright ©2018 by Sharon Lee & Steve Miller
“The Space at Tinsori Light” copyright ©2011 Sharon Lee & Steve Miller, first published on Splinter Universe, November 2011, collected in Liaden Universe® Constellation, Volume 3, August 2015
Liaden Universe® is a registered trademark.
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.
A Baen Books Original
Baen Publishing Enterprises
P.O. Box 1403
Riverdale, NY 10471
www.baen.com
ISBN: 978-1-4814-8278-3
eISBN: 978-1-62579-622-6
Cover art by David Mattingly
First Baen printing, January 2018
Distributed by Simon & Schuster
1230 Avenue of the Americas
New York, NY 10020
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Lee, Sharon, 1952– author. | Miller, Steve, 1950 July 31– author.
Title: Neogenesis / Lee Sharon & Steve Miller.
Description: Riverdale, NY : Baen, [2018] | Series: Liaden Universe ; 21
Identifiers: LCCN 2017037356 | ISBN 9781481482783 (hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: Liaden universe (Imaginary place)—Fiction. | Artificial
intelligence—Fiction. | Space colonies—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION /
Science Fiction / Space Opera. | FICTION / Science Fiction / Adventure. |
FICTION / Science Fiction / General. | GSAFD: Adventure fiction. | Science
fiction. | Fantasy fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3562.E3629 N46 2018 | DDC 813/.54—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017037356
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Pages by Joy Freeman (www.pagesbyjoy.com)
Printed in the United States of America
Electronic Version by Baen Books
www.baen.com
Dedicated to
Ronald and Helen Moore
With thanks to:
Lady Caroline Lamb, for one of the
most euphonious phrases of all time
and
Douglas Adams, for
The Restaurant at the End of the Universe
and
James H. Schmitz, Goth, the Leewit, Maleen,
Captain Pausert, the Vatch—and anyone who
has ever had to go by the Egger Route
and
Rosemary Edghill for commando beta reading
and
Mighty Tyop Hunters...
Teresa Carrigan, Jane Curry, Gregory Dougherty, Terry Hazen,
Melita Kennedy, Berry Kercheval, Christine E. Kreider,
Kathryn Kremer, Patricia Lang, J. Spencer Love,
Pamela Lunsford, Gail Martin, Kate Reynolds, Anne Young
and especially
Everybody who participates in the Scavenger Hunts
Neogenesis
Prologue
They arrived amid chatter into a crowded orbit; the wide channels were full of good nature and optimism, overflowing into other bands situated at the edges of frequencies and power ranges which were not generally employed in more orderly, civilized systems.
Daiellen System was not orderly. The planet Surebleak was certainly not orderly, and only just recently elevated to a height from which civilization could be seen.
Never mind. She had not chosen Daiellen or Surebleak for high culture, nor technological prowess. To judge from the traffic and the chatter, she was not alone in seeing opportunity in disorder.
In such busy space, their ship was merely one of many, similarly unremarkable vessels. The pilot scanned the chat bands, while the automatics exchanged preliminaries with the port authority.
“Cortz Lattice,” came the hail on their frequency, “we see you. You’re in Surebleak Control Space, under Pilots Guild TE standards. Repeat, we use a base Terran/Trade/Liaden protocol and my Liaden’s still being learned. Speak up; it’s crowded at dinner time.”
The pilot, not in the least put out by the casual character of this contact from Surebleak Port’s central authority, only touched a switch, answering in Standard Terran which nonetheless bore a slight accent. That, of course, was subterfuge. Her pilot was capable of subtlety. Not for the first time she acknowledged her good fortune, that it had been this particular guard who had chosen to accompany her.
“Cortz Lattice confirming your signal acquisition, Surebleak Control,” said the pilot. “Cortz Lattice, out of Waymart, for Cortz Infotainment Enterprises, Emtraven Kvar PIC and sole pilot. We seek a midterm pad with modest access for a private traveler…”
“Lattice, hold while I get a visual.”
Behind the pilot, she briefly closed her eyes. On a well-run port, Control would have acquired a visual as soon as the automatic signal had been received. Here…Control had started blind, not knowing that they had incoming a small ship of middle years, and neither a multipod freighter or tradeship? How old was their equipment? How decrepit?
And how could it hope to continue—to succeed—this disorderly and distracted little port? But there, she reminded herself once more; in this case, disorder was to her benefit, and her pilot was proficient—or perhaps merely patient.
They were inside the field, now, surely so. Inside the field, with her goal before her. Having come so far, and risked so much, there could be no doubt that success was hers.
“Okay, I’m guessing a Class C by our terms,” Surebleak Control said. “So, if you got no need for pod-mounting, engineering, power, or major cargo deliveries, I got a couple tuck spots for cheap. Not blast pads, just old ’crete, with a cable to comm if you need it. It’d help if you got your own mobiles ’cause else you’ll be depending on cabs or feet. Can’t recommend feet if you’re not familiar with Surebleak. Things is crowded.”
“Speak to me of costs, payment method, and routing, customs, security,” said her pilot. “Being unfamiliar with Surebleak, daylight sky would be welcome.”
Almost instantly there was laughter. She cringed. Laughter as a general class of action was…difficult. Laughter from Control was near to insupportable. She closed her eyes, briefly, and mastered panic.
“The one custom you wanna keep at the front of your brain is don’t be stupid,” Control said, as if it were all a very fine joke. “Security? We got some. There’s the Watch in the city, and cops here in port. In case you get bidness with ’em, they like to be called Port Security. You want more than that, you provide your own. Daylight sky, now…”
The voice faded, then came back, gay and easy.
“Here’s what, Lattice. Transmitting an orbit to park in ’til tomorrow morning, local. That’s ’leven Standard Hours to loiter, an’ you’ll be down with seven, eight hours of daylight, an’ no snow called ’til end o’day. That work for you, Pilot Emtraven?”
“It works well,” her pilot said. “Thank you, Control.”
“Welcome. So. We’ll be puttin’ you into communication with Sherman’s Shoot-Out—owner of that pad you’ll be down on. You’ll ’range costs an’ payments direct. Nice location, if I didn’t say. Right on port edge, certified legal landing pad for ships of your class. Can I get a commit?”
“Orbit and descent instructions received,” her pilot said. “I commit.”
“Done, then. Welcome to Surebleak, Pilot. We hope you enjoy your stay. Control out.”
She sat back in her seat, and closed her eyes.
They were inside the field, she told herself, as one repeating a mantra, or a prayer. Already, she was more secure. Soon, they would be on-planet, and she would seek out her brother’s people.
One step at a time. That was how the race was won.
Surebleak
I
“See you tonight, Boss.”
Red-haired Miri Robertson, one half of Delm Korval and the port city Road Boss, inclusive, reached up to capture her lifemate’s face between her two hands, and pulled him down for a kiss. It was maybe a little more energetic than it should’ve been for a good-bye kiss at the beginning of the day, but Val Con wasn’t doing anything about ratcheting it back, either.
His arms came around her, and she leaned in, until one of them—probably him, being the cooler of two hotheads—broke the embrace, and they stood looking into each other’s eyes.
“Want me to order a picnic dinner in our rooms tonight?” she asked him, her voice husky.
“That would be pleasant,” he murmured. “It is, after all, the only time this week that we will have such an opportunity.”
There was that. Meetings, that was the schedule for the next four days. And also—meetings, early and late.
“Consider it done. Now. You going down to the Road Boss’s office, or not?”
“I believe that I must,” he told her, just a little too earnestly. “Nelirikk values it so, and one does not like to disappoint him.”
She nodded gravely.
“Gotta keep morale up,” she said and went back a step, tucking her hands into the sleeves of her sweater.
“See you tonight, Boss,” she said again.
He inclined his head slightly.
“Until soon, cha’trez,” he answered and turned toward the waiting car.
She watched ’til it was out of sight, around a curve in the drive, which is what he did on alternate days, when it was her turn to be Road Boss and his to be Delm Korval. On the one hand, it was a good thing there were two of them sharing one melant’i, which, according to Liadens, lifemates exactly did. If it had been her, standing Road Boss and Delm Korval, too…well. There weren’t enough snowflakes in the storm, like they said here on Surebleak.
And, coming to that, she was willing to bet that Delm Korval’s mail queue wasn’t getting any shorter.
With a sigh, she turned and went back into the house.
* * *
Miri sat behind the big desk, put her coffee mug to one side of the screen, scooped the tan-and-brown kitten off the pile of papers on the other side of the screen, and tapped up the mail.
There was a message in-queue from Ms. dea’Gauss, reporting on the project to recruit native ’bleakers to the ranks of the Liaden qe’andra already on-world.
Progress, according to Ms. dea’Gauss, was good. Two more of the so-called “storefront qe’andra” had accepted apprentices from the resident population since last month’s report, and commenced study programs. The probability of success for the first apprentice, in the opinion of Ms. dea’Gauss, was excellent. The second…the program administrators had not been sanguine, since the candidate did not read. However, the master in the case had been adamant that the candidate’s other talents outweighed what was merely the lack of an easily acquired skill. Given the master’s certainty, the administrators had allowed the apprenticeship to go forward, trusting the bimonthly reviews to discover any deficiencies.
Briefly, Miri wondered what other “talents” outweighed being able to read, when starting what was sure to be a reading-intensive course of study…then shrugged. None of her business, was it? And the Accountants Guild, of which the qe’andra were members, had access to sleep learners. The second ’prentice ought to be reading just fine by this time next week.
Terran, that was. She suspected that learning how to read Liaden was a little trickier for most people than it had been for her, who had basically just remembered it out of Val Con’s head, which was one thing that the lifemate link was good for.
She sent an ack to Ms. dea’Gauss, to be polite, and filed the report away with the others. All told, they had six ’prentice qe’andra now on Surebleak, which was—despite the whole thing’d been her idea—six more’n she’d ever thought to see.
Now, all they had to do was get regular streeters into the habit of honoring their given word—and not just throwing out a signed contract because a better deal’d co
me along, which was how Surebleak was used to business going forth. Do that, and they’d’ve defused one of the biggest cultural landmines in ’bleaker/Liaden relations.
’Course, she thought, glumly, it wasn’t going to be that easy. Something was going to blow up first. It always did. But, might be it wouldn’t be as bad, if they had the Liaden-and-’bleaker qe’andra teams up and more or less running, and the streeters got used to seeing the storefronts with the list of services available to them.
The problem with setting things in motion, Miri thought, reaching for her mug, was that it took time, and in the meanwhile, any stupid damn thing could happen.
And given how serious Liadens took contracts, it was better’n even odds that somebody’d die before ’bleakers managed to learn different.
Still, she told herself, putting the mug down, you had to try…
She tapped the screen.
Next in-queue was—
“Miri?” A male voice inquired, from somewhere near the top shelf of the bookcase to her right. “A message has arrived from Hazenthull nor’Phelium, security wrap.”
Speaking of unexpected circumstances, Miri thought wryly.
“Send it or bring it, whichever you like,” she said.
“I would prefer to bring it,” said the voice belonging to Jeeves, house security and backup butler. “It is…rather complex.”
