Edward M. Lerner

by A New Order of Things

  Art reached the wall and groped until he found a latch. With his helmet partially hidden behind the door, he risked another quick flicker of light. The tiny equipment closet revealed in an almost stroboscopic flash made his eyes go round.

  Inside, to relive his worst childhood nightmare? Outside, to stumble in the dark where he was much more likely to encounter Snakes than friends?

  Teeth clenched, he went in and shut the door. “Carlos?”

  “Kind of busy.” Gunfire and small explosions were louder over the briefly open radio channel. “Where are you?”

  “I don’t know exactly. Still on the deck where you asked me to do mapping.”

  More short bursts. “Can you lay low for a bit? Good.”

  Inside the pitch-black closet, the walls gathered.

  CHAPTER 38

  Rumbles like distant thunder rolled through the prisoner sector, followed on occasion by the barest hints of vibration. Dangling vines, lacy clusters of needles, and bouquets of delicate fronds all quivered. Ambassador Chung’s renewed insistent pounding on the intercom had evoked a new result: disconnection.

  Gwu and a small team worked to clear an experimental garden plot. It would be planted with terrestrial seeds provided by the K’vithians. Had human authorities noticed or commented upon their purchase? she wondered. Prior to the Himalia disaster, “for the novelty” might have been a sufficient explanation. After the disaster … these seeds were one more indication the K’vithians had planned all along for human passengers.

  She leaned hard on a long-handled hoe, struggling to uproot a sinewy loop of bluefruit vine. In time, once the shock wore off, surely the humans would help. It would be their only alternative to synthesized pap. It would be something to do.

  On what basis did she ascribe certainty to prospective human behavior? A few shifts sharing the same space? One long, traumatic conversation?

  Whether that session had meant anything to Eva, it had been profoundly moving to Gwu. Even dear Swee was one of the crew-kindred, one for whom, and to whom, she was responsible. Whatever her relationship with the humans, responsibility was not involved. For the first time since leaving the Double Suns, Gwu had been able to unburden herself.

  The root-loop tore free of the packed soil, and she sidled to the next. The need for oneness with nature—even the inherently simplified nature of a habitat biosphere—was innate. The humans, like the K’vithians, did not understand that. Mashkith always seemed amused when she labored alongside the crew-kindred. Eva, without the condescension, emanated the same surprise. Gwu turned her frustration to a tough root, as though it personally had denied her the wisdom to bridge the chasm between species.

  Eva and Corinne emerged from a stand of mixed ornamental trees, where they now convened regularly. They were fools if they thought the K’vithians did not overhear them. Gwu hoped they were suitably circumspect. Even her own recent cathartic release had been limited to information the K’vithians must know or suspect she knew.

  Eva approached. “May we talk?”

  “Of course.” Gwu dropped her hoe. “About what?”

  Eva stood silently until the next rumble sounded. The soil-covered deck vibrated beneath them. “About that. I believe a rescue attempt is underway.”

  T’bck Ra had told her the same, a confirmation Gwu dare not communicate. “I would be happy for my new human friends if they could go home.” Would we, too, be allowed to go home? “Do not invest too much hope in unexplained noises.”

  “I say this assuming we are being overheard. We must be prepared to help. We must plan to help.” In the already familiar stiff manner of humans, Eva swiveled her head to sweep her gaze through a half-circle of arc. “You Snakes, I know you are watching and listening. You better watch us! We won’t go down easily.”

  Taunting the armed K’vithians was folly! Gwu supposed the threat would divert some few more resources to watching them and guarding access to the prison areas. To the extent of that redirection, the threat might assist the rescuers. She struggled to recover another fragment from her long-ago study of humans, something about windmills and madmen. Eva’s dare to their captors was so … quixotic.

  And yet, what had caution accomplished for the crew-kindred?

  Gwu’s thoughts swung around and around as her new friend returned to the cluster of humans. Rescuers were aboard the ship—outnumbered, would-be rescuers surely doomed to captivity or death. Could her people swing the balance? Could the few human prisoners, now abruptly scattering in pairs as though in search, make the difference? Harmony had never carried weapons, and the K’vithians had certainly not provided any to the crew-kindred.

  The humans’ defiance was somehow bracing. Gwu recovered her hoe and began hacking at the tough vines, the jarring blows oddly satisfying. Suppose, she thought, just suppose. What could we do?

  Art stood in inky darkness, shoulders hunched to the extent spacesuit and closet walls would allow, shivering. The traumatized six-year-old who had never left him wanted only to scream. He clamped his jaws before any sound could escape. What else could he control?

  Occasional rumbles and vibrations gave witness to the battles still ongoing. Enigmatic commands and clipped, desperate reports over encrypted net channels did the same. He could do nothing to influence those events, either.

  He had reached graduate school before admitting why, really, he had made his career choice. Engineering meant understanding how things worked, how to prevent accidents, how to recover from accidents if necessary. Becoming an engineer was a way never again to be a helpless observer to disaster. Never again a victim.

  How did that work out for you, Art?

  He pulled in a long, deep breath. The pressure suit fought his attempt to expand his ribcage. He ignored that as beyond his control, directing his awareness to his diaphragm. In … hold … out. In … hold … out. Even … gentle … breathing. He added images of lapping waves, sparkling sun, seabirds wheeling and piping overhead. Slowly, the panic ebbed.

  Guilt replaced the panic, and was just as unproductive. What could he do?

  He pulled up the mission’s consensual tactical display. The detailed—and false—map on which the raid had been planned was gone. A patchwork of discovered passageways and featureless terra incognita replaced it. Scattered ‘bots, like so many modern electronic breadcrumbs, marked a path back to the launch bay. The two raiding parties were at opposite sides of the ship. Replaying recent status updates showed the decoy team pinned down and Carlos’ team under assault.

  What could he do?

  Terra incognita stretched all around him, interrupted only by the path threaded by the fast-moving special-ops team. Would following them be wise? Probably not. But he could work on the map. With a thought, he superimposed over the map the positions of every gnat-sized ‘bot. Carefully, he set several to exploring. The little devices flew down corridors, and into and along air ducts. The ducts allowed him to circumvent many closed doors.

  “Carlos.” He netted an image “Snakes in combat armor headed your way.”

  “Welcome back.”

  “I only caught the end of a group going around a corner, moving faster than the ‘bot could follow. I saw eight.”

  “Thanks. Keep watching.”

  The map began filling out, although at the ‘bots’ bug-like speed, exploring the whole ship would take days. Days they did not have. Art gave himself a silent cheer after two ‘bots made it between the closing doors of what appeared to be the main central elevator. Most enemy troop movements traversed the ship by elevator. He sent one ‘bot after a big group of Snakes in armor.

  Uh-oh. He netted another image. “Carlos. There’s a bunch setting up outside the engine room.” There was no answer. “Carlos? What do you need?”

  A loud rumble, and another tremor shook the floor. “A new plan would be handy.”

  Mashkith circled the current tactical holo. The main human assault team remained surrounded and immobilized, although by fewer troops than had origina
lly blunted their advance. Lothwer still had more than ample resources to defeat or destroy them. At the opposite end of the ship, Glithwah directed a hastily gathered second force. They had blocked the advance of the second raiding party, whose existence she had confirmed, and secured the engine room. Armed patrols now swept the ship from bow to stern, seeking the source of slowly spreading encrypted radio chatter. Reserves were positioned at several spots throughout the ship.

  All the military police were now under Keffah’s command, to reinforce security in and around the prisoner area. Eva Gutierrez’s words were almost certainly empty bravado—but what if she incited her cohorts to foolishness? Abduction of the human experts had cost too many lives—on both sides. Mashkith did not intend to lose any of them—or their expertise—now. Would a show of force intimidate them, or spark their slaughter? Claws extending and retracting in repressed rage and frustration, he refined Keffah’s orders: The prisoners were to be contained but otherwise ignored unless overtly hostile acts threatened.

  Protected: bridge and engine room, family barracks and farm/prison, supplies. Deployed: prepositioned reserves and active patrols in search of the unexpected. Everything is under control, Mashkith told himself. Everything is firmly under control.

  It did not feel under control.

  A large chunk of Art’s ever-evolving map was a sealed-off region protected by lightly armed guards. Behind the barriers, a good third of the ship remained unknown. He directed more and more ‘bots at the enigmatic zone, to be stymied each time by locked-and-guarded doors and heavily filtered air ducts.

  It was a mystery that would have to wait. The ‘bots also showed patrols sweeping the hallways, opening doors. In a few minutes, the turn of his deck would come. His closet torture chamber and haven would be revealed. Guided by IR images captured by the ‘bots, Art crept toward an empty stairwell. The door closed silently behind him as, in his augmented vision, the elevator opened to admit five armed Snakes onto his deck. He retreated up the stairs to the deck they had just vacated, cringing at every soft scuff of his boots.

  He had not seen Centaurs or human prisoners. He had not seen into the sealed region. Coincidence? Probably not. He had also not yet seen any significant plant life, and there had to be a biosphere, a sustainable oxygen source somewhere. Victorious had launched from Alpha Cen with a Centaur-friendly ecosystem. The ship must still have one, behind filters rigged to impede sulfur contamination.

  With any luck, he would be undisturbed for a few minutes in a laboratory just checked out and cleared by the patrol. He settled to the floor, his back to a sturdy cabinet. In the map, ‘bots now surrounded the unknown zone. He switched encryptions to diplomatic-mission standard.

  For all his confident theorizing, it was a relief to finally “hear” Eva’s voice.

  Humans roamed the farm, exploring the limits of their confinement. They searched cabinets and storerooms, seeking for Gwu knew not what. Weapons, she supposed, recalling Eva’s brave words.

  There were no weapons, of course. Little electrical vehicles for plowing and tilling the larger fields. Gardening implements. Storage of past harvests, and sacks of terrestrial seeds. Drums of agricultural chemicals. Hygiene items, like grooming brushes and towels. Breathing masks, for their tours of duty in the K’vithian-occupied part of Harmony. Compressors to refill the oxygen tanks.

  “What are they looking for?” Swee hung beside her from the arching bough of a lifath tree. He was unexpectedly idle, the scheduled maintenance work outside the living area having been canceled abruptly. “The humans, I mean.”

  “Hope.” She grabbed a branch and swung to an adjacent tree, the better to face him. She sensed a distant explosion in the trembling of the tree limbs. “A futile quest. I feel sorry for them.”

  He patted her side. “We coped. If we need to, we’ll teach them.”

  If we need to? Did he predict their rebellion or acquiescence? “Our fate is unimportant, Swee. What happens to the Unity matters.”

  “What happens to the Unity matters,” he agreed. “What happens to us is also important.”

  We are unarmed and untrained. What good could come of siding with the humans? If she voiced the question, was not the obvious rejoinder: What good had come of subservience to the K’vithians?

  One need had dominated her thoughts throughout the long years of their captivity. The technology worked. The Unity was not forever bound to the Double Suns, not forever at risk of climactic disaster. Was it a fool’s dream that she could ever convey that message? Had her persistence on this course of action—her prideful persistence—cost thousands of human lives?

  She remained uncertain, but some preparation could not hurt. “Would you mind inventorying a few chemicals for me?”

  The trunk(?) against which Eva leaned yielded squishily, more like an upright roll of carpet than a tree. Its needled branches shaded her from the bright yellow overhead sunlamps. The ground cover grew in little curved segments, re-rooting itself wherever a tip touched down.

  She was attempting to look innocent just sitting here, ignoring the Snake order against encrypted comm. No Snakes had appeared when she and Corinne began defiantly to talk privately via their implants, joined soon by most of the Himalian scientists. Too busy getting their asses kicked, she hoped. The wish was more forlorn each time it occurred to her, as the rumbles of inferred combat remained distant.

  “More farming supplies.” Corinne was decks away, cataloguing Centaur supplies. The aliens were either very sympathetic or not at all territorial. Gwu seemed both. “Electric lawn tractors, utility carts, sacks of what we’re told is plant food.”

  “Anything we can use?”

  “I can outrun one of these tractors. Without two more arms, I couldn’t drive one. The only ‘weapons’ are gardening implements: hoes, scythes, pick axes.”

  “Eva, are you there?”

  “Not now, Art, I’m—” Sitting up in stunned recognition, she whacked her head on a low branch. His standard engineerin-the-office avatar was wholly incongruous. “Art! Where are you?” The 3-D graphic he netted told her nothing.

  “What’s going on?” Corinne’s channel was still open.

  “I’ll get back to you.” She broke that link. “Art, how’s our side doing?”

  “Is everyone okay?” he asked. “The Centaurs, too? I mean, assuming you can communicate with them.”

  How the hell did he know about them? “So far. Tell me what’s happening!” He summarized, and it didn’t sound good. “What’s the plan now?”

  “Carlos can use some help. Will the Centaurs join in?”

  Would Gwu and her people fight? “Truly, I doubt it. How can we even ask them securely? We can’t speak directly. Everything we say goes through Joe and then a Snake translator that knows K’vithian and Centaur.”

  “Damn, they don’t use implants. I forgot that.”

  “As far as I’ve seen.” Her implant flashed alarms as she ignored communications from the survey party. “It wouldn’t have mattered. We don’t have a Centaur-speaking translator.”

  “If you can round up the ambassador and someone to speak for the Centaurs, maybe I can do something.”

  Activity throughout herd territory kept rising, banned encrypted comm chatter growing with it. The human detainees sought everywhere for weapons. Their hunt was futile, of course; the Foremost would long ago have removed any potential arms. The herd surely knew that—yet suddenly they, too, began to take inventory.

  Was any of this reason to interrupt the Foremost mid-battle? Doubt and uncertainty were ever Pashwah-qith’s lot. Not yet, she decided. For now, she would just keep watch.

  Part of her made note of the items that most interested the prisoners. Part of her observed the captives themselves—and that piece was ever more ashamed. Since awakening aboard this ship, Pashwah-qith had known herself to be a prisoner. How unfavorably her persistent panic compared to the other inmates’ quiet dignity and firm resolve.

  She could notify the Foremos
t which supplies suddenly interested the herd, and of her speculations about their possible combinations and misuses … or she could keep those speculations to herself.

  Rebellion came late to Pashwah-qith.

  It felt good.

  “There is only one way to find out.”

  Light-speed delay between Jupiter system and Earth rendered human conversation entirely impossible. For an AI participant, thought T’bck Fwa, the delay would have been even more interminable. He gave Arthur Walsh credit. The man had not even tried to communicate in real time. The competence was no surprise; over the years, he had had many dealings with Walsh in his ICU role.