Neogenesis

by Sharon Lee

  She had attempted to send a query along the open line, but, if received, it went unanswered.

  Inki sat in the copilot’s chair, eyes closed, perhaps recruiting herself for the upcoming work, while Tocohl kept watch and bore witness, as they were pulled ever closer to the unknown.

  * * *

  They were docked and locked, but were not hooked into station systems. Could not be hooked into the station. The protocols were skewed, the connectors incompatible. It scarcely mattered, Tocohl thought, and in any case, she preferred to have Ahab-Esais untethered and able to move quickly.

  There were no other ships in their section; according to the station feed, theirs was the only ship at station. The dockside was pristine, free of traffic and of any sign that there had ever been traffic. Scans reported good air and sufficient gravity, dockside. It was cold but not debilitatingly so. The light spectrum was in the accepted range, though not standard.

  The comm line fizzed briefly, followed by a voice speaking heavily accented, but entirely intelligible, Trade.

  “Passengers and crew will disembark.”

  Inki stood and cast a glance over her shoulder, lips quirking.

  “I see that courtesy lessons will be required,” she said lightly. “Shall we comply, Pilot Tocohl?”

  “It seems we have no choice,” Tocohl replied and followed her to the hatch.

  * * *

  Inki paused at the edge of their docking area and bowed.

  “May I have the attention of Tinsori Light?” she asked, her voice light and gentle.

  “I am Tinsori Light,” the strangely accented voice told her.

  “I wish to make introductions,” Inki said. “I am Mentor Inkirani Yo, sent to you by the Lyre Institute as a resource.

  “My associate is Tocohl Lorlin, an independent logic like yourself.”

  Tocohl felt a push against her shields. While it was not hard enough to be thought an attack, nor was it gently curious. She held herself still and calm. It was yet possible that Tinsori Light was merely searching for a protocol, a marker, something familiar. If that was so, finding her shielded, he would speak, inquiring after her lineage, perhaps, or her allies.

  The pressure disappeared, but no questions were forthcoming.

  “Inkirani Yo, mentor of Lyre. Tocohl Lorlin, compatriot. Welcome. Follow the red line to the lodging side of the station. The light keepers will attend you there.”

  “That is very kind,” said Inki. “May I make an appointment to speak with you, and reveal in detail those services I offer to you?”

  “That can be done after the light keepers have done their duty.”

  It was less, Tocohl saw, than Inki had hoped for, but even so, the Light had not definitively refused further contact.

  Inki bowed her head.

  “It is well thought,” she said. “We should rest after our journey. Let us speak again after the light keepers have seen us comfortably settled. Thank you for your care of us.”

  “My care is ships and systems,” Tinsori Light said. “Pilots and passengers are the concern of the light keepers. Follow the red line.”

  “Yes,” said Inki.

  She turned and followed the red line. After a moment, Tocohl moved up to her shoulder so that they went together, as colleagues and equals, to seek the care of the light keepers.

  * * * * *

  The light keepers were two—female and male. The female, Lorith, was human, though not of a race that Tocohl immediately recognized. She was very tall and slender, wearing a starry robe that fell from shoulder to floor. Beads or gemstones glittered among the loose, pale curls that framed her narrow face. Her eyes were great and dark.

  The male gave his name as Jen Sin; that and the pure golden tone of his skin identified him as Liaden. His accent was Solcintran, though with an occasional odd inflection. His hair was dark, cropped in the style of spacers from a hundred Standards or more in the past; the strands of pale gems sparkled in it like drops of rain. One slender hand was nearly overwhelmed by a large, jeweled ring. His eyes were brown; his nose pronounced, his chin decided. He wore the same starry gown as his colleague, and like hers, his feet were bare.

  They brought Inki and herself down what must have been the main station corridor, past doors sealed tight, until they reached an intersection, where they turned left, pausing briefly while pressurized section doors unsealed to allow them entrance.

  “This section is safe,” Jen Sin said.

  “Safe?” Tocohl asked.

  “From the Light’s influence, he means,” said Lorith, as the doors sealed behind them. “Jen Sin has made the section independent of the Light’s thoughts. Should the rest of the station fail, still we would have all support systems. The hydroponics rooms are in this section, and the processors, too.”

  “Are the master systems prone to such radical failures?” Inki asked.

  “The Light is failing,” Jen Sin said. “Its systems are old and riddled with error.”

  “Has there been no maintenance—no attempt at repair?” asked Tocohl.

  “One attempt,” said Jen Sin shortly. “It was a mistake I will not soon repeat.”

  “We are situated far from most routes,” Lorith said. “In addition, as you surely noted for yourselves, the space about us is…unusual. Unstable. We depend on our own skills here, and we do not pursue those things that the Light prefers we leave alone.”

  “In order to view the extent of the damage,” Jen Sin said, continuing the discussion of repairs as they continued further into the station, “it would be necessary to access the control core. The Light…is protective of its core.”

  “Of course he is,” said Tocohl. “Are you protective of your brain, Sir Jen Sin?”

  He cast her a glance more amused than irritated.

  “Lady, I am, poor treasure that it is. And yet, if a physician would have it that I must allow an invasive repair, else my brain would fail in such a fashion that my ending would result in the deaths of all around me—I like to believe that I would be able to control my instincts and refrain from murdering the physician.

  “The Light knows that it is failing; routine self-check alone must reveal whole areas gone dark. And yet, it will not—or cannot—lower its defenses.”

  He raised his hands, showing her his palms and widespread fingers, gems glittering.

  “And in truth, there is no guarantee that repairs could be made—given, as Lorith says, our situation here—even could we know the extent of the damage.”

  “I may be able to assist,” Inki said. “In fact, it is my fondest hope that I will be allowed to assist in the rehabilitation of Tinsori Light. I have a clean habitat in my ship to which the Light might be moved if, in fact, matters are as dire as you fear.”

  Jen Sin paused and turned to face her.

  “You came here on purpose to repair the Light? Did the Uncle send you?”

  “I represent an organization which has come to hear of the Light and which desires to see it in good repair and fully integrated into the universe. There is an expectation that the Light will afterward work with my organization. I will, however, need access to the core.”

  “Are you,” Tocohl asked quickly, to forestall more exploration into Inki’s mission and motives, “acquainted with the Uncle?”

  Jen Sin moved his shoulders.

  “Acquainted? No. We have had news of him through others who have gained docking here. He is represented as being interested in our situation, both the physical challenges and the condition of the Light itself. You must understand that our location here is not stable.”

  “Yes, so you had said,” Inki interjected. “We have seen how the cloud obscures communication. It must also discourage travel.”

  Lorith laughed.

  “Jen Sin means that we are not always here,” she said. “Unless there has been some event to trigger our presence in the cloud, the Light…physically leaves this space to reside in another.

  “Or so we believe.”


  “Where does it go?” asked Tocohl.

  Jen Sin sighed.

  “I believe, without proof, that it returns to the old universe, from whence it was uprooted. Piecing together what records we have here into something like a coherent tale…it would seem that it was caught up in the wave of energy created by the Exodus, and so came, unwillingly, partway into our universe—but only partway.”

  “Surely,” said Inki, “you will have observed the…alternate location when you cross.”

  “No,” said Lorith. “We are only needed when the Light is more present in this universe, and not always then.”

  “Is the Light likely to transition to the old universe soon?” Tocohl asked. “Is there a pattern? A schedule?”

  “None that we have been able to determine,” Jen Sin answered. “The only rule seems to be that it will not transition while there is a…guest on-station.”

  “So all we need do is remain, and the Light will also remain,” Inki said with satisfaction.

  “It is not quite that simple. The Light will try to be rid of you, and it can be persuasive. One of the Uncle’s operatives tested the theory of continued residence. In the end, she was fortunate to survive to ship out.”

  He moved his shoulders.

  “While it would prefer that those who stop here go out into the universe intact and able to further its work, the Light does understand that there are other methods available to it for the removal of guests who have overstayed its patience.”

  Tocohl was flooded with emotion—distress, disbelief…She spun on her axis to confront Jen Sin squarely.

  “He kills people?” Shock had entered her voice—she saw Jen Sin hear and understand it.

  He bowed, gently.

  “Lady. Tinsori Light is one of the Enemy’s Great Works. Its purpose was to subvert every device and every organic which comes within its orbit, so to further the Enemy’s goal—which was, as history teaches us, to destroy all life.”

  He paused and turned his hands up again, to show Tocohl empty palms.

  “The murder of one inconvenient pilot does not trouble the Light in the least, save as a thrifty nature might be dismayed by unnecessary waste.”

  “Ethics setting,” Tocohl heard herself say, even as she triggered a calibrator among her own systems, to dampen emotion and sharpen analytics.

  “Indeed,” Inki said. “It is as I have said. I—we—require access to the core. As Tocohl states, the Ethics module must be reset before any other work can begin.”

  “Not even the Uncle’s operatives have been able to access the Light’s core,” said Lorith.

  “Has he sent so many?” asked Tocohl.

  “The last ten visitors who arrived at the Light were associated with the Uncle,” Lorith said. “The log shows that the incidence of visitors has been occurring with increasing frequency.” She hesitated, exchanged a glance with her partner, and continued slowly, “There have been two teams of two. Each of those teams tried for the core, and each lost one team member. The remaining returned to the Uncle to deliver the information that death had purchased.”

  “It may yet be possible to access the core,” Inki said. “Has the Uncle sent, as part of a team, an independent logic?”

  “No,” said Lorith, with a sharp glance at Tocohl.

  “For the moment, let us agree that your assumption is correct and that you can, indeed achieve the core,” said Jen Sin. “I would argue—strongly—that repair ought not to be the goal.”

  “Yes!” Lorith said. “It will be better—for all the universe—if, instead of repairing it, you will deactivate it.”

  “There is always the possibility that deactivation will be found to be the best therapy,” Inki said smoothly. “Certainly, it is an option. However, I will tell you that my employer wishes—very much wishes—that the Light can be brought into good repair…in all respects.”

  “You two are sent alone to accomplish this?” Lorith asked. “For I will tell you plainly that we will not be able to assist you. The Light will allow neither of us to approach its core, and it has the means to control us.”

  “To a point,” Jen Sin murmured, and Lorith added dutifully: “To a point.”

  “We make a remarkable team,” Inki said before Tocohl could speak. “I am a mentor—trained to educate independent logics and help them integrate with the universe. My partner is an independent logic, persuasive, intelligent, and likable, able to interface with another of her kind in ways that a poor organic can only dream of doing.”

  Jen Sin looked thoughtful.

  “With all respect, there is danger for you here, too, Lady,” he said to Tocohl. “Tinsori Light may be old and mayhap mad, but in cunning, I detect no deficiency at all.”

  “Understood,” said Tocohl. “I thank you for your care.”

  “Here, Pilots,” said Lorith, opening a door precisely like every other door they had passed. The cabin thus revealed was spacious.

  “This is your base while on-station,” said Jen Sin. “If you require assistance, call and we will do what we may.”

  “I wonder,” said Inki, “if there may be a blueprint—a map—of the Light and its systems.”

  “Yes, of course,” said Jen Sin. “It will be on your screen within the hour.”

  II

  Tocohl had situated herself in a back corner where she could observe the room.

  Inki was in front of the screen, fully occupied with her study of the schematics provided by Keeper Jen Sin. That could of course change, but she did not consider Inki a threat at the moment.

  No, there was another, far more potent, threat than Inki present.

  Tocohl assigned a small portion of herself to observe the room and keep guard, putting a fourth-level priority tag on it.

  Fully eighty-two percent of her attention was focused inward, at priority one, where she ran analytics and accessed deep files; she monitored and logged the continuing assaults upon her shields.

  It was the same black, unsubtle touch that had explored the ship systems as Ahab-Esais had been towed in…the very same touch that had tried her shields on the dock. Tinsori Light, so she thought, was not pleased to have another independent logic within his sphere, but whether he meant to dominate her or assimilate her, she could not discern.

  The deep files associated with the war proved fascinating, and she split off another segment of her attention to pursue what she learned there—priority one.

  Inki leaned back in her chair, rubbed her eyes, and touched the comm button, requesting the presence of Keeper Jen Sin, at his convenience.

  He came so quickly that Tocohl thought he might have been lurking in the hall outside in anticipation of the call. She increased observation to priority three.

  “Of your goodness,” said Inki, pointing to the large screen displaying the station map. “Could you point out for me the paths taken by the two teams sent by Uncle to achieve the Light’s core?”

  “Surely.”

  Jen Sin stepped up to the screen and tapped a wide straight hallway that led directly to the room marked “mainframes.”

  “The first team walked directly down the access hall. Twelve steps in, one was killed by a guard ’bot. The second went on, but aborted the mission when a line of ’bots formed between her and the hatch.”

  “These guards—they are under the Light’s control? Part of the system?”

  Jen Sin moved his shoulders.

  “So far as I have been able to determine, the guards are on their own system; they share programming with each other. However, you must realize, Mentor, that the Light is able to…infiltrate unaffiliated systems.”

  “I understand,” Inki assured him. “And the second team. Did they approach in the same manner?”

  “They took a path through the physical plant area—here.” He traced a convoluted route through hallways marked with piping accesses, power panels, and tool pods.

  “And their result?”

  He sighed.

  “One passed to
o near an energy panel and was incinerated. The other took fair warning and retraced his steps.”

  “One could scarcely avoid such proximity. That seems a very narrow path.”

  “Even for one such as myself, the service lanes are very narrow,” Jen Sin agreed.

  “Am I keeping you from duty, Light Keeper? For I have another question.”

  He bowed slightly.

  “It falls to the light keepers to insure the well-being of the guests. Therefore, I am at your service, Mentor.”

  “Then I would ask if either of these two intrepid teams had spoken to Tinsori Light before embarking upon their missions.”

  Jen Sin frowned slightly.

  “Spoke to it?”

  “Indeed, indeed! Had they introduced themselves, or begged the pleasure of an interview? Stated that they were come to check the Light’s environment, to be sure that all was well?”

  “No,” Jen Sin said slowly. “I don’t recall that they did anything like.”

  “And yourself, when you made the error you have vowed not to repeat? Which approach did you follow? And did you inform the Light of your intentions?”

  “I am not in the habit of speaking, or listening, to, the Light. It is insidious and best ignored. As for the path—I went down the main way.”

  “Allow me to point out that the Light must hold you in some esteem, as you survived, even if you failed of accomplishing your purpose.”

  Jen Sin laughed softly.

  “No, Mentor, you mistake. It killed me, and very thoroughly, too.”

  Inki arched her brows.

  “If you will allow me, Light Keeper: you seem remarkably hale for a dead man. How did you die?”

  “By bolt. If the Light can be said to have a preference in the method by which it relieves itself of irritating organics, it would be a bolt of raw energy. It is most marvelously accurate. It can strike one of two standing side by side and scarcely scorch the survivor.”

  “Is there no warning sounded before the administration of this punishment?”

  “Oddly, there is,” Jen Sin said grimly. “There is a very small click before the bolt arrives—as if, you know, someone has thrown a switch. Lorith would have it be an idiosyncrasy of the systems.”