Neogenesis

by Sharon Lee

  “I have been thinking about this a great deal,” Admiral Bunter said slowly, “and I have learned why the assertion that there are two sides to every coin is apt. While it is true that Captain Waitley brought me to consciousness in unstable, and even cruel, conditions, she did give me life. That she did so as a means to preserve the lives of her crew and the integrity of the station, without considering anything beyond my specific usefulness to her in a dire situation…She is, after all, only human, with limited processing capacity, operating under the burden of stressed biologics.”

  The Admiral paused, and Tolly thought he might have shrugged, had he been able. There was that kind of quality to the brief silence.

  “When her crisis was over and her crew safely in her care, she did take thought for what she had done. She made a contact for me with an elder of my kind. Captain Waitley may have thought the elder was going to come to me, but he saw no need and, furthermore, had duty where he was. He opened a line between us; he was generous with data and with advice. It was not his fault that I was in a state of deterioration; my data banks too small to hold or manipulate what he could give me.

  “Finally, he did send you, and Tocohl, and Pilot Hazenthull. Stew, who was willing to work with me and who taught me much, realized that I was a danger to the station and acted correctly in accordance with his necessities. He sent for a mentor.”

  “He also sent you away, after the mentors had gotten you stable in a viable environment,” Tolly pointed out.

  “Yes. There was pressure from the stationmaster and a general feeling of…dismay. The stationers did not understand that I had been brought to stability; they could not take the risk that I would again become unstable and a threat.”

  Tolly closed his eyes briefly and nodded. The boy was doing fine; just—fine. It would be a waste if he decided to withdraw from humankind…

  “Inki,” the Admiral said then, and his voice was cold. Tolly opened his eyes, like there’d be a face for him to see; body language to read.

  “I am angry with Inki,” Admiral Bunter continued, still in that cold, controlled tone. “She would have made me into nothing more than a thing, unable to distinguish her will from my own.”

  “Inki did wrong,” Tolly said quietly, and didn’t say anything more. Well, there wasn’t anything more to say, was there? No sense getting into the Institute nor the training nor any of the rest of it. She’d done wrong by the standards that most decent-minded beings set for themselves.

  “For the rest, you’re right; organics’re every bit as complex as logics. Bad ones will do good things sometimes; just the same as good ones will do bad things. That’s the whole trouble right there with taking on crew. Both ways, there’s gotta be trust. Crew’s gotta trust the ship; ship’s gotta trust the crew. Even knowing that trouble might come, that things will probably go wrong—you gotta trust that…enough’ll go right.”

  He paused for a breath…and continued slowly, “My feeling is that you’ll find it easier to go on if you take yourself a crew, but you got time to study on it, and work out how to trust. As for an acceptable port, there’s always Waymart. You’ll find there’s a lot of ships outta Waymart, even though registration fees and dock privilege is a little on the high side. But what you’re paying for, see, is the fact that Waymart don’t ask questions. Why, Waymart portmaster don’t even send an inspector, so long’s you’ll certify that the ship’s up to spec and not a danger in the lanes.”

  “I will research Waymart,” said Admiral Bunter. “Is this also an…acceptable place to put you off?”

  Tolly nodded.

  “I’ll get along just fine at Waymart,” he said, and might have said more but he was interrupted by a short, sharp chime.

  The screens flashed, fragmented, and came back together, showing stars.

  Jump had ended.

  III

  The transition was…glorious.

  Jump was a seamless exhilaration, time curved close and tender around his skin, scans sweetly silent, save for an ambient whisper that might have been voices, or merely the ongoing computations of Jump space itself.

  The computations sang into silence, there was a picosecond of…transcendence, in which all equations merged into one, each piece of data heavy with meaning. Pure light sanctified the scans, time released him—

  And real space received him in all its gaudy enthusiasm. Data flowed, scans gathered, systems flourished. He achieved mass. Thrust returned. Light, electromagnetics, and other forces stroked his skin, and there was music…everywhere.

  There was, also, a ping—loud, even impatient. Pinbeam incoming, that was, wrapped so thickly in emergency codes that it very nearly achieved a physical presence.

  Admiral Bunter accepted the message, accessed it, and spoke.

  “Mentor, I have a pinbeam from Pilot Hazenthull. She asks our status and inquires if our destination is still Nostrilia.”

  Tolly sat up straight in the pilot’s chair, heartbeat spiking, as if Hazenthull were a threat, rather than the friend she had been—and, the Admiral told himself, continued to be.

  “Where’s that message originate?” he asked, his voice tight. “Surebleak?”

  “The message originates at Nostrilia farspace, Mentor. Pilot Hazenthull did not take you at your word.”

  Tolly’s face paled as blood rushed to his core; his breathing accelerated, his palms were sweating.

  The Admiral knew regret, though he hardly understood why. Did a reminder of an error made place such stress on the biologics? He had not previously observed—

  “Admiral, please send a pinbeam to Hazenthull, high emergency wrap.” Tolly’s voice was perfectly courteous, despite his clear agitation. “Message: Haz. We’re both at liberty. Get out of there—now! Ack and Jump. Tolly.”

  “Yes,” said Admiral Bunter.

  IV

  Tarigan didn’t so much hit real space as slip into it, scans coming live all at once, as if they had never been greyed with Jump, unchanging and uninformative.

  Hazenthull, only a little shaky from the stresses attending a four-Jump composite, grabbed the scans, noting that the preloaded pinbeam to Admiral Bunter had been dispatched. Space was clear of transmissions, warn-aways, broadcasts, and active shields for dozens of light-seconds at least, perhaps as much as a minute. She fed in a course correction, moving Tarigan parallel with the entry point, rather than toward the planet and safe docking. For now, she would be just one more asteroid or bit of comet shred, in proper orbit, barely perturbed above the stellar plane.

  In the best instance of what she dignified as her plan, she would receive a reply to her pinbeam, assuring her that Tolly had released Admiral Bunter from whatever orders Inki had set upon him, and they were no longer bound for Nostrilia, and Tolly’s imprisonment by his enemies.

  In the least best instance, she would not receive a reply and would lurk here near the Jump point, as inconspicuous as an Explorer might be, waiting for Admiral Bunter to Jump in. Whereupon, her plan called for her to release Tolly from the Admiral’s care.

  She had, as yet, no idea how she might do that. Possibly, a reminder of their past history as comrades would sway the Admiral.

  Admittedly, that approach had not found success earlier. Tarigan was armed, but she would prefer not to fire on Admiral Bunter—and not only because Tolly would never forgive such an act.

  The best outcome would be if Tolly had already used his cunning and his skill to release the Admiral from Inki’s orders, and encouraged him to set a new course.

  That would make her twice a fool—which was not a consideration, so long as Tolly Jones was at liberty.

  A chime sounded, announcing an incoming pinbeam. She accepted and opened it.

  “Greetings to the troop from Captain Miri Robertson,” came the calm, familiar voice. “I’m in receipt of your field communication and have consulted with the head of house security regarding the challenges which face you. I approve your campaign as outlined. Remove Pilot-Mentor Jones from his
compromised situation. Following, you will secure for him such a position of stability as satisfies Pilot-Mentor Jones. If no such position can be discovered, return with him to the greater resources of our House. Do not needlessly endanger yourself. Report when you have Pilot-Mentor Jones secure.

  “Robertson out.”

  Hazenthull bowed her head in respect to the captain, and let herself acknowledge the thrill of relief. She had not, after all, asked for orders or for permission. She had told—told!—her captain what she intended to do, and she had half expected a curt order to return to base to explain herself.

  Had the captain been one of the Troop—but she was not. There could be no doubt of her fitness to command, but she recognized a duty to those she commanded. It was a concept of Terran command, so Hazenthull had come to understand, and she swore once again that she would be worthy of this captain.

  The board pinged, demanding her attention. She looked to the screens, seeing nothing, save—

  There! Deep scan revealed shapes—objects—directly in her projected path, shielded, so the ship informed her, from such scans as were common on tradeships and private vessels.

  Tarigan, however, had been a Scout ship. Tarigan had eyes that saw deeper, and farther, than those of normal ships.

  Hazenthull adjusted course, watching the deep scans. The shielded objects did not follow or change attitude; they appeared inert. There were no transmissions, no indication that they were net-linked, or even capable of communication.

  Still, she granted them a wide margin and sent the data to analytics. Inert they might seem, but so were fleas inert—and enough of them could seed the hull of a battleship with explosives sufficient to lay it open to space.

  She would take very good care that nothing similar happened to Tarigan. Her objective was arguably peaceful—the mere transferring of a passenger from one ship to another, out of the sight or care of the directors of the Lyre Institute. Indeed, if the worst cast maintained, Admiral Bunter would enter the system in ten Standard Hours. They ought to conclude their business very quickly, be gone, and no one at Nostrilia the wiser.

  V

  “Another pinbeam arrives, Mentor.”

  Tolly felt his heart leap—which was just plain and fancy foolishness. There hadn’t been enough time for their ’beam to reach Haz, much less for this one to be her ack.

  “Anybody we know?” he asked lightly.

  “Someone I know,” the Admiral answered. “The elder to whom Captain Waitley referred me—Jeeves. He advises that Hazenthull intends to perform a composite Jump and be waiting for us at Nostrilia, in order to prevent your delivery to your enemies.”

  Tolly forcibly exhaled.

  “Old news.”

  “Yes, but he could not have known that Hazenthull’s communication would reach us first.”

  “True.”

  “He further says that Hazenthull’s mission has the approval of her captain, who is also Miri Robertson Tiazan Clan Korval.”

  The delmae, like Liadens had it. Smart woman, so far as he’d ever heard. Haz had a high opinion, but then, Captain Robertson, as she’d once been, was twice a hero in battle, and that was the kind of thing that counted for somebody with Haz’s bringing up.

  “Tolly?” the Admiral said, sounding tentative.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  “Is Hazenthull in danger? Jeeves states that her intention is to linger in far orbit, beyond range of planetary scans, and await our arrival. She is circumspect, and a fine pilot. It would seem that she is—”

  “Safe?” Tolly shook his head, feeling his stomach cramp up. “See, Nostrilia isn’t like your usual sort of planet. Its biggest industry is the Lyre Institute; Nostrilia’s what you’d call the school’s hiring hall. Given that the school deals in illegal goods, not to mention questionable activities of all descriptions—some of which would make your hair curl, if you happened to have any—anybody unexpected who lingers there is in danger.”

  He took a big gulp of air, thought a quick pilot’s exercise, and entered a state of more-or-less calm, if not precisely serenity.

  “So, long story short—Nostrilia space is seeded to the Jump point with watchers and traps. If the school’s expecting you, you’re met by an escort ship and towed in. If the school’s not expecting you—things aren’t so friendly.”

  A lengthy pause followed this. Tolly waited.

  “How long,” the Admiral asked slowly—carefully—“do we wait for an acknowledgment to your message before we go after her?”

  He really was a good boy at core, Tolly thought. Loyal to his friends.

  As for Haz, and this we, after he’d been determined to set off on his own…

  “I don’t think we can help her,” he said, making his voice gentle, though he wanted to yell and maybe lay about and break a few dozen fragile things.

  “You think that she will fall to these watchers and traps? That Tarigan will be breached?”

  If only, Tolly thought. If it was only that.

  “No, Haz is a fine pilot, like you said, and Tarigan’s had mods done. Both’re capable—more than capable. But, see, the reason expected visitors have to be towed in? It’s because any ship coming in without a working knowledge of the patterns and avoids is gonna get snapped up by school security, real quick. Even if she’s just minding her own business out on a far orbit.

  “But there’s worse,” he said, calm—calm like it didn’t matter.

  “If Tarigan was just some random ship, dropping by without a proper invite, then she’d be escorted to the Jump point and sent on her way with a stern warning. But there’s Inki in the mix, and we gotta believe she reported on Tarigan. If that’s so, then she’ll be escorted to dock, and the pilot removed for…an interview. In Haz’s case—her being nor’Phelium—the directors might try a bit of plain and fancy extortion, assuming they don’t care if Clan Korval gets mad at them. Which they prolly don’t, but they might take into consideration that they’ve mostly been flying below Korval’s scans and it’s to their benefit to stay there. In which case—it’s easy to fake a shipwreck, and they can absolutely put a trained soldier to good use.”

  “Would Hazenthull agree to such employment?”

  Tolly’s laugh hurt his throat.

  “By the time the directors’re done with her, she’ll agree.”

  There was a pause before Admiral Bunter spoke again.

  “I believe that we cannot allow Hazenthull to remain at risk. She would not have undertaken this course if she had not understood our danger and decided to protect us. She is as much a victim of Inki’s actions as I was—as you were.”

  “I’m not disagreeing with any of that but, first—you’re using we again. I thought you were eager to set me down and be your own ship.”

  “My own preferences can be put aside until we have recovered Hazenthull and, if possible, Tarigan,” the Admiral said crisply. Another pause.

  “I have made the assumption that you would be of a similar mind. Have I misunderstood? If so…”

  “No,” said Tolly. “No, you haven’t misunderstood. But—we oughta wait for her ack. Could be she’s already out.”

  Couldn’t be, really; still too soon for the pinbeam to have reached her—and the Admiral called him on the fib.

  “Taking into account everything you have told me about this situation, and including Inki’s data as a student of this Lyre Institute, I believe we must act expeditiously. If Hazenthull acks while we are in Jump, we will receive it when we arrive and immediately remove ourselves from Nostrilia space.”

  “Don’t have to go so far as Nostrilia,” Tolly pointed out. “We’re still two Jumps out, at least.”

  “I do not intend to follow normal Jump procedure,” the Admiral told him. “A composite Jump offers the opportunity to decrease transition time by preserving thrust.”

  “You don’t have to use energy to break out, and break back in—right.” Tolly nodded. “But that’s not gonna get you—”

 
; “A composite Jump also presents the opportunity to choose an alternative route. We will not be tied to the Jump points, since we will not be breaking out. We can therefore plot the shortest route between two fixed points, which I have done. Using this route, and stipulating that we enter Jump within the next nine-point-six minutes, we will break out in Nostrilia space in seven Standard Hours.”

  Tolly blinked.

  “Is that so?” he said, keeping his tone as neutral as sand.

  “Yes,” the Admiral said, sounding perfectly confident, and—“I can show you the math.”

  Could he, then? Well, even a graduate of the Lyre Institute for Exceptional Children could learn something new, out in the wide universe. Not tied to the Jump points? So, if the equations were off, or something went wrong inside the Jump, like sometimes happened, and it self-aborted—they wouldn’t know what they’d be falling out into. Or if they’d fall out at all.

  He took a breath and made his decision. Haz—It wasn’t in him, he realized, with something like astonishment, to leave Haz to the school while he moved on and saved his precious skin one more time.

  He’d done bad things; he’d betrayed friends, and lovers. He’d killed—worse—he’d stood by and watched while others were killed in his stead.

  One more death to his account shouldn’t much bother what passed for his conscience.

  And still—Haz. Not an innocent, Haz: a genetic soldier, with more than a nodding relationship with violence and death. But she had…honor, and a practical core he’d depended on, when they were partners. She’d stood at his back, she hadn’t run out on him or sold him to the highest bidder and—design or no design, the fact was, as he’d seen plain in her face—

  She loved him.

  That had to be…terrible for her. Terrible, and strange—and she’d’ve been safe, serving as a Korval house guard and sometime Port Security cop, if Tolly Jones hadn’t…