Fleet of Worlds Read online

  That sounded unrelated to the feelings Nike feared he had so inappropriately encouraged. “How I envy you. What was the question?” he temporized.

  Nessus shifted his weight excitedly between front feet. “An answer for the problem with the wild humans. I can save them. That is, I know how to preoccupy them.”

  Preoccupation sounded so inadequate. “Can you keep the ARM from finding us?”

  “Yes, yes!” Nessus bobbed his heads in vigorous alternation. “I was at Harem House and—”

  Had his encouragement already led Nessus so far astray? Nike’s embarrassment deepened. Worse, the scout was not the only one influenced by their late private encounter. Nike found himself distracted by strange sympathies.

  We Citizens, he thought, even the most ardent Experimentalists, are a conformist lot. What must it have been like to grow up tempted by curiosity, lured by risk? Some-how, Nessus had learned to wonder what lay beyond the next hill, and—more wondrous still—to go, necessarily alone, to look. His personnel file said Nessus was long estranged from his parents.

  “—discrediting Earth’s Fertility Board is the key.”

  An advanced civilization of only a few billions defied Nike’s imagination. Regardless, the humans’ United Nations had already instituted mandatory population controls. “You propose a scandal to divert the hunt for the Concordance.”

  Nessus fixed him with a two-headed stare. “Imagine if it were suspected Citizens were secretly buying Brides and the right to reproduce. How would our kind react?” Nike’s horror must have been apparent, because Nessus added, “Exactly.”

  It made a certain depraved sense. Only the conviction that reproductive constraints were equitable made those restrictions bearable. Loss of faith in that fairness would incite strife even here on Hearth. How would wild humans react? With massive unrest, Nike supposed. With violence. It might very well preempt their security forces from speculative Puppeteer hunts. “Is it doable?”

  “I believe so, given access to sufficient resources,” Nessus said. “I envision our agents bribing some members of the Fertility Board, and compromising others by creating bank accounts in their names. The economies of the human worlds have yet to recover from the shock of General Products’ disappearance. The more wealth people have lost, the quicker they will be to suspect conspiracy. Many will believe the rich are buying birthrights. A bit of innuendo here, some surreptitious funding to political opportunists there . . .”

  It did not help communications that Nessus lapsed repeatedly into some wild-human language—Interworld, was it called?—for terms lacking in their common vocabulary. After several such digressions, Nike had an epiphany. For much of his life, Nessus had had only humans with whom to converse. Even when Nessus had finally returned to the Fleet, it had been mainly to the company of other humans: the Colonists.

  Slowly, after many questions and lengthy discussion of wild-human traits, the proposed plan took shape in Nike’s mind—if only in broad outline. “The retained earnings from the General Products Corporation are adequate to the task?”

  “If the approach is valid, money will not be the limiting factor.”

  If? Nessus, who had entered Nike’s office almost bursting with exuberant certitude, was beginning to slump. Nike saw he had pushed too hard. “I am very encouraged, but of course a great deal of detail must remain to be determined. I would like you to make this your top priority. Please get back to me soon with an update.”

  Amid the earlier torrent of explanations, Nessus had used a curious figure of speech. A surgical strike: It evidently related concurrently to primitive medicine, and warfare, and the application of force to points of maximum leverage. Nike had only partially grasped the metaphor, but that was sufficient. Nessus’ gambit, if it could be made to work, would eliminate the need to lob stealthed relativistic objects at the human worlds. Gigadeaths, even among aliens, even in defense of the Concordance, should be a last resort.

  And wild humans had proved helpful when deployed, however unwittingly, against the Fleet’s other prospective opponents. Recalling the Kzinti, a fiercely aggressive species of carnivores who had repeatedly attacked—and been defeated by—the wild humans, Nike suppressed a shudder. If the Fleet were ever revealed, relativistic bombs might be directed at the Citizens’ own inhabited worlds.

  Terrible outcomes were easy to imagine: ARM hostilities upon the discovery of the NP4 colony. ARM survivors of a preemptive strike, even more enraged. And what if the Fleet were to be found by Kzinti no longer restrained by humans? Kzinti made even more aggressive by the knowledge of the humans’ fate. Any of those results was unthinkable.

  Thinking the unthinkable was among Nike’s chosen tasks. Nike steeled himself. Any hope for an acceptable outcome depended on the maverick who stood trembling before him.

  The office door was still closed. With feelings of duty outweighing shame, Nike leaned forward to intimately stroke Nessus’ scruffy mane. “Come back soon. I am depending on you.”

  SOMEONE FROM NIKE’S staff led Nessus to an isolation booth. Nessus knew his way out from his previous visit, but he was too wrung out from this encounter to object. His mane still tingled from Nike’s gentle touch. Certain words had yet to be spoken, but some actions spoke for themselves.

  The taciturn aide had not introduced himself. That was no surprise: Given the long chains of emerald-green beads woven into his braids, Nessus’ escort was clearly a high-ranking Conservative. The bureaucrat was doubtless a factional watcher as well as an aide.

  Nessus had worked himself into a manic state. How else could he have found the self-confidence to advise someone as hindward as Nike? But it was impossible to remain indefinitely self-agitated. Depression and panicked withdrawal could not be delayed for long.

  Nessus stepped from the isolation booth to a nearby public nexus, and thence, in another step, to a favorite glen in a small park. Feathery purple hedges encircled him. Bright-winged germinators fluttered overhead. A few Citizens retreated from his wild-eyed stare.

  His trembling worsened. He had promised much and implied yet more. His words had brought him, at the least, Nike’s respect. He must return soon to Nike with a solution for every imaginable contingency.

  For Nike, he would instill in his Colonist scouts the confidence they would need to explore ahead of the Fleet without him. For Nike, he would volunteer to remain in Human Space for however long the disruption and subversion of the wild humans required.

  The task before Nessus would test and stress him like nothing he had ever attempted. His limbs trembled more and more; soon the fear of failure would exceed his ability to control. A final step deposited him into the cozy sanctuary of his sleeping quarters. Surrendering to the terror, he curled into a ball so tight he could scarcely breathe.

  And yet, there was no doubt in Nessus’ mind that he would undertake this mission. The safety of the Fleet was at stake.

  To disappoint Nike—and so, to lose him—was unthinkable.

  13

  Three arcs of little suns, one directly overhead, beat down on the vast expanse of concrete that was Arcadia Spaceport. Cargo floaters, huge when they silently emerged over or vanished from above the freight-sized discs, were dwarfed by the great spaceships that they serviced. The ceaseless procession of cargo floaters, impressive as it was, handled only the largest and most oddly shaped items. Teleportation discs built into the decks of cargo holds were used to onload and offload most interplanetary goods.

  With a hand raised to shade her eyes, Kirsten stood watching a grain transporter settle to the pavement. Its cargo of biowaste tanks would be exchanged for grain containers. The spherical ship was easily a thousand feet in diameter. The nearby tapered cylinder that was Explorer, about three hundred feet in length, was a toy by comparison.

  Kirsten stood to one side of a group of Colonists. Four were family come to see her off; others were Omar’s or Eric’s friends and relatives. By habit, Kirsten checked people off by clothing and jewelry: these mat
ed, these mated and pregnant, there a young woman unmated and interested—

  She felt a tug on her sleeve. It was her niece, Rebecca, wearing the muted hues of youth and unavailability. “What is it, Honey?”

  “Will you be safe, Aunt Kirsten?”

  Nessus had yet to appear. Had a Citizen traveling companion been present, not even a six-year-old would have asked. “I couldn’t be safer.” The serious face looking up at her remained skeptical. “Ask your father.”

  Carl (pastels of a mated adult; a four-stone progeny ring) gave Kirsten a brotherly hug. “Your aunt is right, sweetie. She’ll be back before you know it.”

  Carl had ad-libbed the last part. Kirsten wished he hadn’t. She didn’t know how long they might be gone. True, this trip was her idea, but the argument she had made for it seemed weak even to her.

  She was desperate to get to Hearth—and, once there, to find or make an opportunity to surreptitiously access Herd Net. No one was more surprised than she when the mission planners actually agreed to meet with the crew to get some Colonist-specific perspective.

  Nessus’ ready agreement, given with no questions asked, still puzzled Kirsten. It wasn’t the only matter troubling her. Where was Nessus now? Why he had chosen to escort them? He might easily have arranged a ride for them aboard one of the grain ships that ceaselessly shuttled between NP4 and Hearth. It was rare, but not unheard of, for Colonists to visit Hearth. Those who made the journey, mostly associated with Arcadia’s Self-Governance Council, rode cargo ships.

  Nessus popped into view at a nearby stepping disc. He cantered forward, scarcely trembling despite the Colonist crowd, bobbing a head in general greeting. To Kirsten’s surprise he sidled up to the group. After meeting Omar’s and Eric’s guests, Nessus made his way to Kirsten. She did the introductions; he chatted with her parents and brother as though they were old friends.

  Nessus was in a manic phase, Kirsten realized. Had he worked up his courage merely to meet the crew’s family? That seemed so unlikely. As she mulled that over, Nessus arched a neck to stroke Rebecca’s fine, blonde hair. “What do you like, little one?” he asked.

  Kirsten glimpsed an unexpected motion out of the corner of her eye. A loud “Baa,” confirmed her suspicions: Rebecca’s pet lamb was bounding toward them. Schultz trailed his leash, rushing to play with Rebecca and her new friend. Hooves clattered on the rough surface. His mouth hung open, tongue lolling to one side. How often did animals bite their tongues before learning not to run that way?

  Nessus pivoted to flee, and Kirsten realized what he saw: a large animal rushing toward him. Hearth was too crowded to keep around even harmless animals. She stepped forward and scooped up the lamb. He was nearly two feet tall now, and mostly legs. “Good boy,” she cooed. Schultz wriggled in her arms, his tail wagging furiously. He licked her face. “That’s a good kid.” She scratched him between the ears. “Yes, you are. Yes, you are!”

  Omar’s wife, Evelyn (her tunic a rainbow of warm pastels: pointedly mated), whispered a bit overloud, “We’ve got to find Kirsten a man.” Kirsten pictured Eric grinning at that comment and blushed.

  “My apologies, Nessus,” Carl said. “I’ll take this little guy away.” There was a flurry of movement, part farewell hug and part the transfer of the still wriggling lamb into his arms. His parting words to Kirsten, called over his shoulder, were, “Stay out of trouble.”

  If you only knew, she thought.

  Nessus had turned back to the Colonist gathering, but his shaking had worsened. “I’ll go ahead now. Join me when you’re ready.” One head tracked the squirming lamb until Nessus disappeared by stepping disc, presumably directly boarding Explorer.

  Kirsten finished her goodbyes and followed. She found Nessus on the bridge, still quaking. “I’m sorry about Schultz. He was only being friendly. He wouldn’t have hurt you.”

  “Do you like animals?” Nessus’ voice was a monotone. He was still upset.

  “I do.” Clearly he did not. A change of subject seemed wise. “Nessus, I was surprised that you met us at the space-port. I’m surprised you’re on NP4 at all.”

  His heads swiveled so that he briefly looked himself in the eye. “I wanted Colonist company. I’ve been in Arcadia for several days.”

  Huh? Kirsten had not seen Nessus faces to face since the Ice Moon mission. No one had mentioned having seen him. Who had he been visiting on NP4? And why?

  Omar and Eric appeared at the hatch to the bridge. “Is everything all right?” Omar asked.

  “I am fine.” Nessus’ response sounded rote. “I was aboard earlier, before meeting your families. Explorer is ready for departure. Take your duty stations.” One head watched the two men leave; the second accessed an exterior camera. “Good. Everyone is at a safe distance.”

  A flurry of radio communications cleared Explorer for departure. “I’m sorry,” Nessus answered Kirsten’s interrogatory look. “Your qualifications are not the issue. Only Citizens may guide large masses near the Fleet.”

  The apology sounded mechanical, like the answer to Omar. That was not like Nessus, she thought. First, he had been manic; now, he was operating on reflex. What made him so edgy? Perhaps their scheming had been detected. Perhaps she should be nervous. Kirsten shrugged inwardly. If that were the case, the Concordance authorities would do whatever they wanted to Eric, Omar, and her. Could their jeopardy explain Nessus’ mood? Maybe the Colonists’ snooping had gotten Nessus into trouble, too.

  “Trust me,” Nessus continued. “You will find this trip interesting regardless.” NP4 receded beneath them. The cooling system briefly hissed at full power as Explorer sped between two of the orbiting suns.

  “What will we be doing on Hearth?” she asked.

  “Trust me,” he repeated. A trace of his earlier manic mood had returned.

  Above the atmosphere and beyond the suns, where the sky grew black and the stars came out in their myriads, the Fleet of Worlds shone in all its glory. Kirsten’s breath caught in her throat. Neither abstract knowledge nor a few trips off-world prepared her for the sight.

  She looked down on the plane of worlds, above which their flight plan had taken them.

  Six like-sized planets defined the vertices of a hexagon. They orbited the empty point that was their common center of mass, at a radius approaching 900,000 miles. The five worlds lit by necklaces of artificial suns were pale blue-brown-and-white siblings: the nature preserves. The sixth orb, magnificently brilliant in its own light, was Hearth. Its continents glowed with the radiance of megalopolises. Its oceans were mostly black, scattered with gleaming island cities, the pale blue reflections of the companion worlds, and the greenish-blue sheen of plankton blooms.

  A fiery red point caught Kirsten’s eye. The star was only a fraction of a light-year distant. Once it had nurtured all life on Hearth. It had been a yellow dwarf then, of course. The Concordance had moved Hearth and its entourage—a mere two farm worlds, so long ago—before its sun bloated into its present, red-giant stage.

  Hearth’s shift into a distant orbit had alleviated another challenge: ever more heat. The planet held only half a trillion Citizens then, but their waste heat was destroying the environment. The world could support more Citizens without a nearby sun. In the panorama spread before her, that wisdom remained on display. One large artificial sun at the empty center of mass would have equally warmed Hearth and its farm worlds. The smaller suns that circled individual NP worlds imparted little energy to Hearth.

  “It is an impressive sight,” Nessus said. Impressive was such understatement. Kirsten shivered and did not answer. Beings too risk-averse to leave their homeworld had instead cast off the final ties to their sun.

  As NP4 shrank, a part of Kirsten yearned to abandon all scheming. The Concordance had incredible knowledge. They wielded scarcely conceivable power. Who was she to question their actions? What if secrets did lurk in her people’s past? What could Colonists accomplish in the face of such might?

  She thrust aside her doub
ts. The truth mattered. Colonists deserved to know their own past. Kirsten planned to uncover it.

  FINAL APPROACH REQUIRED two mouths. That was a disappointment: Nessus would have liked to observe Kirsten’s reaction. He would settle for watching the replay from the hidden bridge camera. That bit of repair had been within his capability.

  “Crew, prepare for docking,” Nessus called. He allowed himself a one-headed peek. Kirsten startled nicely.

  “Dock where? There are no ships nearby. Once we’re past the moon . . .” Her voice trailed off as she studied her instruments. “The surface is perfectly smooth. There’s almost no gravitational reading. That’s no natural moon.”

  “Correct.” Nessus tweaked their course as a large hatch irised open. He activated the intercom. “We’re about to board an orbital facility operated by General Products Corporation. They make spaceship hulls. They made this one.”

  He set down Explorer with a barely perceptible bump. “All hands, prepare to disembark.”

  He and Kirsten found Eric and Omar already in the relax room. Nessus pointed at the discs inset in the cabin’s floor. His other head was already in a pocket, mouthing the transporter control. “Are we ready?”

  Omar and Kirsten nodded. “Absolutely,” Eric said.

  With the flick of a tongue, Nessus rematerialized them inside a factory waiting room. Omar’s eyes widened. Eric and Kirsten merely grinned knowingly. Eric grabbed at the first wall bracket he floated past. He said, “Orbital manufacturing said it all, Nessus. Microgravity. Why else make things out here?”

  That was quick thinking. Nessus had an epiphany: He genuinely liked these Colonists. He could not say the same for all Colonists, of course, although increasingly they had his respect. The recognition made him feel guilty. Guiltier. Arcadia colony reflected long-ago Concordance meddling. The imminent Fertility Board manipulation would be his personal crime.

  A second realization crowded upon the first. He had been wise to spend the past few days in cities across Arcadia. Colonists in their millions still made him want to run and hide. Living among them was the best available preparation for a return to Human Space. He did not intend to reveal himself to many, if any, wild humans, not even to his agents. Still, humans would be all around him.