Fleet of Worlds Page 13

  Astraddle a proper seat, Nessus listened as Nike chatted with Eric, Omar, and Kirsten. Nike’s mane was resplendent, richly woven with orange garnets. Nessus had to concentrate not to stare. When they had last met, the cascading of Nike’s braids had merely indicated unmated status, without interest in being approached. The current interweaving declared prospective openness to a relationship. This message is for me, Nessus dared to hope.

  Despite the casual conversation, Nike remained behind a massive, new desk. Nessus guessed that a stepping disc hid beneath Nike’s own padded bench for an emergency exit. “Tell me about the aliens you studied,” Nike said via translator.

  “They call themselves Gw’oth. Physically, a Gw’o is small.” Omar held his hands about an arm’s length apart. “It’s five-limbed, in a star shape. The sense organs and the brain are in the central area. The Gw’o appears well adapted to life under water.”

  “And under the ice.” With typical delicacy, Nike showed he had seen their report.

  “You’ll be more interested in their capabilities and potential,” Omar said, taking the hint. “Eric will cover that.”

  Eric straightened. “They are newly industrialized. They had to master life in a vacuum to gain access to . . .”

  While Eric described Gw’oth technology and Nike probed Eric’s depth of understanding, Nessus thought about the future. The crew he had selected and trained would warn the Fleet of any threats ahead. He would sidetrack the wild humans searching for the Concordance. His feats would earn Nike’s undying respect and gratitude—and hopefully much more.

  “My specialists say Gw’oth progress is exceptionally rapid,” Nike said.

  “I wondered about that,” Kirsten replied. “We had no frame of reference.”

  Nessus’ stomach spasmed at the implied criticism. His grand plans could unravel so easily. The complaints about the General Products visit already reflected badly on them. What if Nike insisted that he supervise the Colonists on their next flight? What if Nike canceled the Colonist scouting experiment altogether? Even the minor precaution of placing a substitute political officer aboard Explorer would be problematical. To prepare another Citizen to take his place on Explorer meant shared credit if all went well—and full blame if it did not.

  “What impressed me most,” Eric said, “is the Gw’oth rocketry program. We monitored several satellite launches. Every attempt succeeded. Each mission exceeded the last in sophistication and payload.”

  “The quality control, precision, and rate of learning impressed me,” Omar added.

  Good! The men appropriately respected the potential threat. This hastily rescheduled meeting would surely end soon. They would be safely out the door, his plans intact.

  “On the other head, Nike, Gw’oth technology remains primitive,” Kirsten interjected. “Their world is resource-limited. They are very unlikely to achieve deep-space capability before the Fleet passes them by forever.”

  It was all Nessus could do not to pluck and fuss at his mane. Generations of acculturation had yet to expunge from Colonists the casual human attitude toward risk. Anything dangerous was to be avoided. Likelihood did not matter. Humans curiously chose to ignore the unlikely. The marvel was that such self-destructive behavior had so far failed to cause their downfall.

  “That is not a scout’s decis—” Nike said.

  “Excuse me, Nike.” Kirsten leaned forward. “I believe you misunderstand my point.”

  On Elysium and again with a visit to the General Products manufacturing facility, Nessus had been sensitive to Kirsten’s unfulfilled need to explore. Rather than satisfy her, he had emboldened her. Trembling with dismay and rage, he awaited disaster. No mere Colonist could interrupt a deputy minister.

  “Explain.” Nike’s translated command was ominously curt and flat.

  “I hadn’t finished,” Kirsten said. “Certainly we must avoid any danger to the Fleet. All we face now, however, is the potential for a threat. Should that threat materialize, Gw’oth technological limitations mean we can disable the aliens nondestructively.”

  Nike’s necks tipped forward with interest. “How would that work?”

  “Gw’oth networking is understandably primitive. It was neither necessary nor possible until they ventured above the ice, where they could no longer plug in as living computers. I can easily introduce a self-propagating, self-replicating program, let’s call it a virus, to subvert their networks. The Gw’oth have no defenses against software attack. The virus would incapacitate everything their networks operate—including their launch- and spacecraft-control systems.”

  “Interesting.” Nike ignored a discreet buzz that probably signaled another appointment. “But why respond that way?”

  Nessus knew why. Kirsten disbelieved his assurances that he had deactivated the comet probe. She was correct, of course. Why not retain the option? Had he deactivated it, it was easy enough to build more.

  “I’m considering the contingency in which we must preempt the Gw’oth from acting against the Fleet,” Kirsten said. “If that happens, disabling their computers will limit Gw’oth casualties. The intervention would imperil anyone riding a computer-controlled conveyance at the wrong time, but most Gw’oth would survive.”

  “A surgical strike,” Nike said.

  The phrase obviously puzzled Kirsten; it spoke directly to Nessus. He had proposed a nonviolent stratagem against the humans. Now Kirsten proposed a ploy against the Gw’oth.

  Nike’s buzzer sounded again. “I have another meeting. Omar, Eric, and Kirsten, I found this discussion very helpful. Nessus informs me Explorer will soon depart on its next trip. I wish you an interesting mission.”

  Turning off the translator, Nike fluted four wonderfully complex double chords to just Nessus. “The human affinity to computing continues to appall me. Still, the opportunity to protect the Fleet without slaughter appeals to me, and these three seem capable and loyal. I accept your recommendation, Nessus. Next mission, they will fly alone.”

  15

  Nessus pored over the shuttle’s maintenance log, seeking composure in the routine. The ground crew had made a few annotations, none involving more than a small tweak to the calibration of one or another component within a massively redundant subsystem. A hundred such minor glitches could go unaddressed without endangering the shuttle.

  He was shaking! By force of will, Nessus calmed his trembling limbs. A quick scan revealed his crew talking among themselves; he doubted they had noticed his lapse. Only now, the meeting safely behind them, did Nessus admit to himself the gamble he had taken. Had the session produced a different outcome, he might easily have lost any chance with Nike.

  Omar stowed his duffel bag. “Nessus, thank you for arranging this trip. We all appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome.” Nessus whistled a few parameters to the main bridge computer. It would record the data and uplink it to traffic control. “You three have done well.”

  “Thanks again,” Omar said.

  “Hearth is amazing.” Eric checked instruments as he spoke. “Too bad Explorer can’t accommodate four on the bridge like this shuttle.”

  Soon enough, Explorer would carry only three, although the refitting now nearing completion would retain a Citizen-friendly crash couch. Nessus decided the news could wait a little longer—until he achieved calm. “What struck you most about Hearth?”

  “The crowds, even in what you called a small courtyard.” Eric scratched his chin. “One thing puzzles me, though. Amid those throngs, I don’t know if I saw any female Citizens.”

  Nessus froze. “You did not.”

  “Do they have their own communities?” Kirsten asked.

  “Discussions of gender make Citizens uncomfortable,” Nessus said.

  “Everything seems fine.” Eric looked up again from his own preflight checkout. “Nike is smaller than you and so elaborately coifed. I had wondered if Nike were female.”

  “Nike is also male.”

  “You would kno
w, of course.” Eric made a strangled sound, part laugh, part cough. “He kept looking at you.”

  Nessus had noticed that, too. Together with the mane signal . . .

  “The few Citizens I’ve met are male,” Kirsten said. “I would like to meet some Citizen females.”

  A lamb bleating and leaping playfully: Nessus remembered Kirsten hugging it and cooing at it. What would she think if she knew? What would any of them think? Their likely reaction was yet another worry pushing him toward withdrawal.

  A traffic-control update let Nessus change the subject. “We’re the third ship cleared for departure. Prepare for launch.”

  They took off soon after into the perpetually crowded skies above Hearth. He kept the bridge conversation focused on air traffic control, then space traffic control. His inner doubts, however, refused to be channeled.

  What would any Colonist think who knew about the Companions?

  THE SMALL WORLD that was the General Products orbital facility receded in Kirsten’s instruments. They had reclaimed Explorer quickly. Baedeker made no effort to hide his feelings. He was eager to be rid of them.

  “I missed this ship,” Kirsten said. “It’s good to have her back.”

  “It’s good that you like this ship,” Nessus answered. He had slumped on his bench. “You’ll be spending a lot of time on it.”

  He had been tense throughout this trip. Kirsten still had no idea why. “Shall I take over the controls? You seem . . . preoccupied.”

  “I appreciate the offer, but it remains impossible. Don’t worry. I’ll get you back to Arcadia.” Nessus trembled, despite his assurances.

  In hindsight, all her scheming for a visit to Hearth had been unnecessary. The trip’s true purpose—for Nessus—was bringing them to meet Nike. Kirsten had yet to deduce his motives.

  She probed. “Is Nike planning another scouting expedition?”

  “Correct.” Nessus straightened on his bench. It was a struggle. “We’re on autopilot. Now that we’re clear of the GP facility, I have news to share.” He activated the intercom. “Omar, Eric, meet us in the relax room.”

  For a short while, at least, they could use the autopilot. Even without a natural sun, the worlds of the Fleet warped nearby space-time too much to use hyperdrive. Kirsten felt more and more worried about Nessus piloting in his present condition. She had to do something: Citizens distrusted computers too much to permit automated landings.

  They reached the relax room before Omar and Eric. Nessus tugged at his mane, undoing its final remnants of order as he waited. At their entry, Nessus looked himself in the eyes while whistling an impressive fanfare. “The meeting with Nike went well. Lest you become anxious, I kept to myself what might result from that meeting.

  “Nike had final authority to approve a recommendation of mine. You three will take Explorer on its next scouting mission. I must attend to other matters.”

  Eric blinked. “Just us three. There will be no Citizen aboard?”

  “Correct,” Nessus said.

  “But why?” Eric squeaked.

  Was she proud or worried? Maybe both. The bigger question for Kirsten was: How would this affect the quest for their past?

  “It is inappropriate for me to discuss my own mission,” Nessus answered Eric.

  “When will we go? How soon will you go?” Eric asked.

  “I expect to go in a few days.” Nessus’ tremors grew. “Scientists in Nike’s ministry must select destinations before you leave. Perhaps ten more days.”

  How much longer could Nessus last before hiding in his cabin? “Nessus, respectfully, you are distraught. Please let me do the piloting.”

  “I will be fine,” Nessus said. “I’m returning to the bridge.”

  “I’ll join you in a minute.” After Nessus left the relax room, Kirsten took a pen and notebook from a storage locker. Had General Products hidden new cameras? There was no time to look—and no guarantee they would find them. She had to risk getting caught.

  Kirsten hunched over the notebook, the better to block the view of any new sensors. The posture did nothing for the legibility of her writing. She passed the notebook, closed, to Omar.

  Omar opened the notebook a crack, read her note, and nodded. He passed the notebook to Eric, who also nodded.

  “Now I’ll join Nessus,” Kirsten said. He seemed too close to a nervous breakdown to bother watching them remotely. But what if she were wrong? Her presence on the bridge could dissuade him from accessing any secret sensors.

  She found him quivering in a corner of the bridge. Tufts of his mane protruded in every direction, all trace of order vanished. “Are you all right?”

  He looked at her dully. “I will be. I’m resting before we land.”

  She waited as long as she dared before calling Eric. “We’re landing soon. Is everything in order?” It was not a routine inquiry about shipboard systems. Per her scribbled note, the question meant, “Do the Citizen histories have any new information about our people?”

  “Everything is normal,” Eric answered. “Nothing new at all.”

  She had bought the histories on impulse. “Nothing new” meant the Concordance told Citizens the same fables as it told the Colonists. The past she sought was a Concordance secret.

  Her last hope for recovering that lost past would be in Explorer’s own archives—if those records had not already been purged. But perhaps Nessus would not delete his private records until he was done with the ship.

  She saw only one chance.

  “You’re in no shape to pilot. Respectfully, you know it.” Nessus said nothing. “Nessus, to land the ship yourself is dangerous. You could kill us and countless people on the ground.”

  “I know.” A neck, as though with a mind of its own, curved slowly toward the safe place between his front legs. “Kirsten, a Colonist pilot within the Fleet is forbidden.”

  “You’ll have to change that rule before Explorer’s next mission. Why not bend it now?”

  Silence. “Traffic control cannot know,” Nessus finally responded.

  “No one need know, Nessus, but you must decide now. We reenter soon. There are only two safe options. One, I land the ship. Two, you give traffic control a reason for aborting into orbit around NP4.”

  He trembled in silence. Not even imminent danger was getting through to him. Could anything make him decide? Remembering the curious tone of voice whenever Nessus mentioned Nike, she took a chance. “Suppose we abort to orbit. Explorer is in perfect shape, just refitted. Will Nike still trust you for your own upcoming mission?”

  The head about to hide between his forelegs whipped up to stare at Kirsten. “Would you keep this secret?”

  “I promise,” she said. “I assume I can communicate with traffic control solely by text messages and data transfers.”

  “Yes.” He fell silent again until a fit passed. “I’ll show you the message protocols.”

  She settled into her crash couch. “I’ll need to be logged in as you.”

  “Right.” He crept nearer. His voice trembling, occasionally verging on incoherence, he made his explanations.

  When, the lesson completed, Nessus ran down the corridor to cower in his cabin, she fought to control two strong emotions. The first was pity for her stricken shipmate. Whatever his faults, Nessus had given the three of them unprecedented opportunities. The second was—

  The urge to shout for joy.

  EXPLORER SANK THROUGH NP4’s outer atmosphere, hull thrumming. They would be on the ground soon, and Nessus would likely emerge from his cabin.

  Kirsten stared at a secondary bridge display. The pre-NP4 Colonist history files were gone. She pictured Baedeker gloating as he purged information meant only for Nessus’ eyes.

  Neither anger nor despair was the answer. What should she try before Nessus reappeared and revoked her temporary privileges?

  Backup files: nothing. Temp files: nothing. Associative search: something! A few records remained in the library that pointed to the now-vanis
hed information she sought. Paging through those records, her hopes sank again. Hints and allusions, nothing more.

  She continued scanning, and a familiar word caught her eye: ramscoop. It was one of the restricted terms they had encountered in Elysium.

  The ground rushed toward them. Reluctantly, Kirsten abandoned the search to concentrate on their final approach. She exchanged messages with traffic control, carefully following the protocols Nessus had taught her. Too soon, they set down at Arcadia Spaceport.

  She skipped the customary announcement over the intercom, hoping Nessus might not immediately notice they had landed. Instead, she shot Omar a message. “Wait outside Nessus’ cabin door. Stall him if he comes out.”

  A query on “ramscoop” found only the one cryptic reference she had found earlier. What were the other terms from Elysium? United Nations: nothing. Long Pass: nothing. Humans: several hits! Humans might be a plural; she queried again with “human” and got more hits.

  A corridor camera showed Omar on station outside Nessus’ cabin door. Kirsten skimmed the records that mentioned human or humans. Nothing she saw meant anything to her, and she dared not pause to analyze what she was reading. She copied her search results into new files with innocent-sounding names, and then globally replaced every occurrence of “human” in her copies with “squirrel.”

  The camera showed a cabin door opening. Nessus appeared, looking once more in control of himself. After a short conversation, he pressed past Omar. Omar followed, still talking.

  Where but the bridge could Nessus be coming?

  Logged in as Nessus, Kirsten had total access to the ship’s computers. Using that authority, she created a pseudonymous account and delegated full privileges to it. As Nessus’ unmistakable contralto echoed in the corridor, she purged all traces of her searching from the audit and security files.

  Nessus entered the bridge. “Thank you for your help, Kirsten.”

  “I was happy to do it,” she said.

  Nessus settled onto his bench. “I’m taking back control.” Kirsten’s display flashed, and all Nessus’ privileged-mode information vanished from it. “Thanks again.”