Fate of Worlds: Return From the Ringworld

22

Would the ARM ship ever get back in touch? Julia, finally, had to sleep. She had no sooner reached her cabin than Jeeves announced, “Koala is hailing us.”

“Respond ‘message received’ and that we’ll be online soon.”

“Will do. Shall I awaken Alice?”

“Yes. Have her meet me with coffee.” Julia strode onto the bridge. “Jeeves, until I direct otherwise, you and I will communicate only by text. Now open the link.” A holo popped up, showing Wesley Wu. “Captain Wu. I am Captain Julia Byerley-Mancini. Alice Jordan will join us shortly.”

“Good to meet you, Captain.” He looked as weary as she felt. “I have news.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

“I’ve gotten the go-ahead for a rendezvous. It will be just my ship, lest I am mistaken in trusting you. Let’s see what velocity mismatch we have to contend with. Here is our vector.”

A string of text appeared at the bottom of the holo.

Jeeves understood kilometers per second — if, over centuries, the meanings of kilometer and second had not diverged — but not the reference axes for Koala’s heading. Louis might have known, but he remained incommunicado aboard Long Shot. Until he reappeared, she didn’t have to decide if or how to mention the reappearance of Captain Wu’s grandfather, or that Louis looked younger than Wesley Wu’s daughter.

Julia wondered, fleetingly, how her grandfather was doing.

Comparing ship’s clocks, she and Wesley Wu confirmed that they agreed on the duration of a second. Comparing the number of kilometers in a light-second, they found they agreed about the length of a kilometer, too.

Wu sent a cartoon: an arrow and its bearings on several pulsars. “That’s our heading and we’re doing about a thousand klicks per second.”

Here it is in our coordinates, Jeeves wrote.

Alice walked onto the bridge and stood behind Julia’s crash couch. “It’s good to see you again, Captain Wu,” Alice said.

“Ms. Jordan,” Wu said. “We are discussing how best to get together.”

Louis had worried about velocity matching before Julia brought Endurance alongside Long Shot. Now another Wu raised the same issue. Whether courtesy of Puppeteer science or the Pak Library, maybe New Terra had things to offer their home world.

Thinking again of her grandfather, Julia lied, “We’re making about the same speed, but pretty much at right angles to your heading.” With a burst of typing, she passed fake course and speed data to Jeeves. “Sending that data … now.”

Alice offered Julia a drink bulb. When Julia took the coffee, Alice’s hand lingered on Julia’s shoulder. Julia chose to take the gesture as support for her deception.

“I propose that we meet here in an hour,” Captain Wu said. A new cartoon indicated a location a few light-hours from Endurance’s present location. “Keep your present normal-space velocity and we’ll match course and speed with you.”

“Agreed,” Julia said. It would be easy enough to change velocity to what she had told him.

“Wu out.” The holo disappeared.

“For what it’s worth,” Alice said, “I think you made a smart call. There’s no reason to reveal our ship can outmaneuver theirs. They distrust us enough already.”

“Thanks.” Julia took a long swallow from her coffee bulb. “Jeeves, tell Long Shot we’re going on an errand and radio silent, but that we’ll get back in touch.”

TANYA JETTED ALONE THROUGH FRIGID DARKNESS, Koala shrinking behind her faster than her target grew. She was more than a kilometer from anything, and every twitch of the telltales in her HUD screamed “cosmic rays.” The local sun was scarcely a spark.

For an instant, purser duties had their charms.

After one look at Endurance, Dad had declined the offer to dock. “That’s a GP #2 hull,” he had growled. All that kept him from jumping back to hyperspace was that the ship at the rendezvous point reflected light differently than did a GP hull. It didn’t reflect like anything anyone on the bridge had ever encountered, or anything in Hawking’s databases.

Tanya saw the resemblance, too. She’d seen plenty of General Products-built ships during her posting to the Fleet of Worlds. Precious few humans, though: only her fellow ARMs, a few would-be traders, and the diplomats in the United Nations embassy on Nature Preserve Three.

So yes: the ship at the rendezvous point did resemble a GP #2 hull. Was a long, thin cylinder so unlikely?

“There’s one way we’ll find out,” Tanya had declared. She, specifically, had been invited aboard Endurance and had volunteered to go — knowing she had left Dad with no choice. To send anyone else or abort the contact now would look like he was protecting her. He had answered, only, “Stay in touch, Lieutenant.”

Midpoint in ten seconds, flashed on her HUD. A counter began decrementing to remind her when to begin braking.

With her visor at max magnification, she spotted someone in the open air lock of the still-distant Endurance. A biped, certainly, if not from this distance definitively human.

Tanya brought herself to a halt a half meter from Endurance, then holstered her gas pistol. Alice, wearing a simple jumpsuit, stood watching. Tanya reached through the pressure curtain, grabbed a handhold, and pulled herself aboard. The outer hatch began to close.

“Welcome to Endurance.” Alice pointed to a row of lockers. “You can stow your gear here.”

In bare feet Tanya stood 190 centimeters tall. Alice, even stooped, was taller — like every Belter Tanya had ever met. Of course, people were tall on low-grav worlds like Wunderland, too. Alice’s height proved nothing.

As Tanya removed her helmet, text began flowing across her contact lenses. We have audio and visual. She twitched a finger twice to acknowledge, her gesture sensed by an implanted accelerometer. “I’m pleased to meet you, Alice.”

Once Tanya’s pressure suit was stowed, Alice asked, “Would you and everyone watching like to see the ship?”

They’re good, Tanya read, and had to agree. Her spy gear used microburst transmissions and top-secret crypto, not the simple — and known to be compromised — algorithms that sufficed for routine ship-to-ship chatter.

“It’s only medical telemetry,” she lied. “Standard protocol.”

Alice smiled knowingly.

Tanya said, “And yes, I would appreciate a tour.”

“Very good. We’ll start aft, in the engine room.”

Despite unending texted questions and prompts to turn her head this way and that, Tanya managed not to trip over her feet as she followed Alice. Endurance seemed like a ship configured by and for humans. In the relax room, randomly checking the synthesizer menu, Tanya recognized many options. The coffee it synthed tasted no worse than what she drank on Koala.

“Next stop, the bridge,” Alice said.

“Lead on.” They headed forward, which Tanya took as a good sign. The bow was the last place a Puppeteer would put a bridge: too exposed. Tanya was ready to chalk up the hull’s resemblance to a GP model to pure coincidence.

“Are you prepared to believe that New Terra is a human world?” Alice asked.

Tanya needed no prompting to answer, “Are you ready to tell us where New Terra is?”

Alice laughed. “Yes, actually, although I think that is more properly the captain’s prerogative. And we’re here.”

“Welcome aboard,” Julia called through the bridge’s open hatch. She stood (and wasn’t nearly as tall as Alice, who maybe was a Belter) and offered her hand.

Filling half the bridge was a padded, Y-shaped bench.

What’s that doing there? Tanya read. “That’s a Puppeteer bench, isn’t it,” she said, knowing tanj well that it was. So why didn’t you just contact an ARM vessel at the Fleet of Worlds?

Julia returned her hand to her side. “Come in and have a seat. It turns out New Terra’s history is more complicated than we’ve so far volunteered.”

TANYA QUIT TRYING to take it all in. Everything Alice and Julia said — and Jeeves, too, once Julia introduced the AI — streamed in real time from Tanya’s audio pickup to Koala. Hawking texted from time to time to corroborate bits of narration. After a while, Dad texted he was ready to open a channel.

“Have we convinced you, Captain?” Julia asked him.

“Enough to have recommended that we dispatch a ship to visit New Terra. The admiral asked if your government will extend a formal invitation.”

“I’ll call home to arrange that when we finish,” Julia said.

“One more thing,” Dad said. “You cracked our encryption in a few days? Truly?”

Julia nodded.

“Have you cracked codes for the other fleets in the area?”

“Jeeves?” Julia asked.

“No,” Jeeves said. “I would need to know the underlying languages first. If provided with dictionaries and grammar rules, then perhaps.”

“We can do that,” Dad said. “Hawking — that’s our AI, Julia — will send linguistic files for Hero’s Tongue and whatever information we have relating to Interworld evolution since Jeeves’s time.”

Why Kzinti and not also Trinoc? Tanya wondered.

Maybe Dad knew her well enough to read the question from her expression, or maybe he would have volunteered an explanation anyway. He said, “Messaging among the Kzinti warships has trebled in the last few hours. We need to understand why.”

23

“It’s too dangerous. We don’t know how the situation has evolved,” Nessus sang. The chords stuck in his throats, as though he were failing Baedeker. Perhaps he was. Perhaps he had hidden too long on New Terra, had lost all his skills. “For all we know, Achilles again rules.”

“We can’t discover the situation on Hearth until we go back,” Baedeker countered.

Both opinions were correct, and in the uneasy truce that followed the only sounds were faint whirrings from Long Shot’s ventilation fans and the low hum of the autodoc.

Nessus arched a neck to study the still figure within the autodoc. “Perhaps Louis can undertake an exploration for us.” But the idea was ludicrous. Louis would awaken with his memories of New Terra restored, with personal priorities to pursue.

“I respect Louis,” Baedeker sang, “but can he illuminate the political situation within the Concordance? Can he discern Ol’t’ro’s frame of mind? This time, Louis cannot help us. We must help ourselves.”

“Hindmost,” Voice interrupted. “I have a message for Louis from Alice, sent from Endurance.”

“Go ahead,” Baedeker sang.

“Louis, we’ve made contact with the ARM fleet. You have family aboard one of the ships! They would very much like to see you.” Voice switched from Alice’s voice, in English, to proper song. “I advised her that Louis is unavailable. She asked for specifics.”

Baedeker studied the status readouts. “He must stay in the autodoc for two more days.”

“I will inform Alice,” Voice sang.

“Assure her that he is well, that the process simply takes time.”

“I will,” Voice sang.

While Baedeker and Voice consulted, Nessus brooded. The premier scout of the Concordance fears to go home. Scared sane, he had described himself to Alice and that was the truth. A scout no longer, when one was desperately needed. He tasted bitter cud.

“Too few,” he sang softly.

“What is that?” Baedeker asked.

“Nothing. I was singing to myself.” Nessus stopped midmeasure. “Very few can bear to scout.”

“The burden is great and unfair,” Baedeker agreed. “Voice, can you finish that message for Alice?”

“Yes, Hindmost.”

Very few. Nessus felt the stirrings of an idea. “I might know crew aboard the Concordance observer ships. Or you might.”

“How?”

“With three ships of the Fleet here observing, how could we not know someone among the crews? Someone, perhaps, loyal to the rightful Hindmost.”

Baedeker considered, shifting his weight from hoof to hoof to hoof. “Among crew loyal to the present government.”

“Or to Achilles personally.”

With a mind of its own, one of Nessus’ hooves scraped at the deck. Some in the Concordance ships would be Achilles’ disciples. While hindmost of the scout academy, he had molded many an impressionable cadet to further his ambitions. As Achilles almost warped me.

“There are apt to be Gw’oth aboard, too,” Baedeker sang.

“Very likely,” Nessus agreed.

“Allies and enemies, both in much smaller numbers than in the Fleet,” Baedeker crooned, his undertunes pensive. Then, decisively, he added, “That was a prudent idea. Let us contact the Concordance ships and see what we can learn.”

“I AM PREPARED TO TRANSMIT on narrow beam,” Voice announced.

Baedeker stretched a neck into the tactical display, indicating with his tongue the Concordance vessel lurking farthest from the skirmishing. “A Citizen may have influence aboard that ship. We will try it first.”

“Yes, Hindmost,” Voice sang.

Nessus stood at the ready before the pilot’s console. He read and spoke Hero’s Tongue. “And I am prepared to run,” he sang.

“Hail the designated ship,” Baedeker sang. “Put it on speaker.”

“We wish to speak with the hindmost of the Concordance vessel.” The recorded message was audio-only. It began in Baedeker’s voices, then switched to Nessus’ song. Anyone with whom they dare confer should recognize their voices. “We are far from home and seek guidance.”

“We have a response,” Voice sang. “Also audio only.”

“Do not speak on the link, Voice,” Baedeker sang. “Put them on.”

Understood, Hindmost.

“This is the Concordance vessel Amity. To whom am I speaking?”

“Our ship does not carry a Concordance designation,” Baedeker lied. He was not about to identify Long Shot in the clear. “Is your hindmost present?”

“Minerva is off duty,” the unfamiliar voices sang. “May I help?”

Minerva! Some of the tension drained from Baedeker. “I must speak with Minerva. At once.”

“Who is this?” the voices on Amity asked.

“Friends of Minerva. I can sing no more.” Baedeker loaded his voices with authoritative undertunes. “You may tell him we worked together twice before.” As Minister of Science and again as Hindmost, Baedeker had been fortunate to have Minerva as his chief aide.

“Very well,” the unseen Citizen decided. “I will relay your message.”

“Thank you.” Mute, Baedeker signaled with a swipe of a head. “He’ll come,” he sang to Nessus. As the link stayed quiescent, Baedeker sang again, more softly and to himself, “Minerva will come.”

The link returned to life. “Who is this?” so-familiar voices sang. Minerva!

Baedeker unmuted the link. “A very old friend.”

“And a second,” Nessus added.

“One moment,” Minerva sang. They heard him order the bridge cleared. A hatch clanged shut. “We need a secure link.”

“I have software” — at least, Voice did — “but no current keys,” Baedeker sang. “If you know my voices, perhaps you will know this.” He alluded with subtle indirection to the planetary-drive research program at the Ministry of Science. “Do you recall our name for that project?”

“Yes, Hind.… That is, yes. I remember.”

“We will use that term as the encryption key.”

“Agreed.”

Baedeker tongued in the key for Voice.

I have a secure connection, Voice reported.

Open video, Baedeker keyed back. The holo that opened showed an old and trusted friend. “Minerva.”

“Hindmost! You have been gone for so long! I had not expected to meet you here. Or you, Nessus.”

“It is a long story,” Baedeker sang. “I was marooned. Fortunately, I escaped the Ringworld before it disappeared.”

“I would not have guessed.” For a moment, Minerva looked wistful. “I had come to think you had joined Nike.”

Joined Nike. The chords bowed with despairing undertunes, sagged beneath a counterpoint of burdens too long borne. It was a melody yearning for the final release.

But Nike’s disappearance reflected nothing as ordinary as death. As Gw’oth war fleets had swooped down upon Hearth, Nike and his aides fled into the Concordance’s deepest, most secret hiding place — locking the door behind them. Nike was the sane one during the crisis.

No one had heard since from him. Few knew of the Hindmost’s Refuge as anything other than ancient fable. For all Minerva knew, Nike was dead.

“I will never forsake the herd,” Baedeker sang. “I left seeking a way to free everyone.”

Minerva glanced nervously at the closed bridge hatch. “I have company on this ship.”

Company rang with undertunes of unease. For others to hold dominance over the ship’s hindmost.…

“That is why I reached out,” Baedeker sang. “To understand the state of affairs on Hearth. That your ship has a Gw’o aboard tells me much.”

“We have three. They are in their habitat at present.”

Not a Gw’otesht. “Only a little smarter, then, than us.” Baedeker permitted himself a quick, one-eyed smile. “I came to the Ringworld for advanced technology, something to entice Ol’t’ro. Do you think a trade is possible?”

Minerva trembled. “I know very little. On occasion I have participated in ministerial meetings, representing Clandestine Directorate. When ‘Chiron’ sings, the Hindmost heeds. Always Chiron wants more resources for his research.”

“That sounds encouraging,” Nessus sang.

Baedeker thought any optimism was premature. “Who is Hindmost?” Unless I get back safely, I cannot negotiate with Ol’t’ro.

“The current Hindmost is Horatius,” Minerva sang.

“Who?” Nessus asked.

“The most recent Conservative to preside.” Minerva sang a formal name. “Conservatives do not last long after finding out who truly rules.”

“Yet this one deemed himself Horatius defending the bridge,” Nessus sang. “I think I would like this Conservative.”

Holding the bridge against whom? An army of the Etruscans, maybe. Or Babylonians. Maybe Mayans. Nessus was the one who had studied human myth and history. But Baedeker had come to understand — painfully mastered, over the years — the art of politics. “Who are Horatius’ leading ministers?”

Baedeker did not know most of them, either. Except one: Achilles. “How much influence does he retain?”

“A great deal.” Minerva hesitated. “You will not understand until I review some events since you left the Fleet.”

More bad news? “Proceed,” Baedeker sang.

Minerva took time to gather his thoughts. “After the Ringworld expedition, Nessus’ crew returned to their homes knowing the location of the Fleet.”

“And nothing came of that,” Baedeker sang. He shot a quick, sorrowful glance at his mate. Exchanging long-held secrets, Nessus had confessed to wanting ARM and Patriarchy navies to descend upon Hearth. But had that scheme for chasing off the Gw’oth been any less mad or desperate than Baedeker’s own? Hardly.

Minerva lowered his heads subserviently. “For many years, that was the case. The distances were great. The secrets of the Ringworld beckoned. But after the two of you left…”

Fled, their friend meant. “Sing plainly,” Baedeker directed.

“Aliens began to arrive.” Minerva looked away. “Not in large numbers. Their strength had all been sent to the Ringworld. But still, aliens were among the Fleet. Watching. Demanding commercial relations. Every group of aliens scheming to embroil us in its rivalries against the others. Having been permitted to open embassies on Nature Preserve Three, they push to establish presences on Hearth itself.”

“Have they learned about New Terra?” Baedeker asked.

“No, Hindmost.”

“They may know soon,” Nessus sang sadly. “A New Terran ship brought me here.”

Minerva sang, “It will find ARM ships and reveal the shameful past.”

“So I fear,” Nessus sang.

“About conditions in the Fleet,” Baedeker prompted.

“I apologize, Hindmost,” Minerva sang. In broken melodies and with disheartening grace notes, he told the sordid tale: Chiron judging the old, automated defense arrays inadequate. An artificial intelligence given control of the array. Proteus getting more and more enhancements — and since Ringworld’s disappearance, yet more capacity and new capabilities.

What would my old friend think of Voice? Baedeker wondered. But the circumstances were not the same. Voice was a companion, little more. To surround Hearth and herd with weapons under the control of an AI?

“Let me guess,” Nessus sang. “Achilles built Proteus. In the process, he has made himself indispensable.”

“As you sing, Nessus.” Minerva’s heads sagged lower. “Who else is that crazy?”

“Or ambitious?” Nessus added.

“As you sing,” Minerva repeated.

Baedeker was still struggling with the implications when Minerva intoned meekly, “There is more, Hindmost.”

What more could there be? How much worse could the situation get? “Go on.”

“Ol’t’ro is old,” Minerva sang. “Their youngest members are of the eleventh and twelfth generations. No Gw’otesht has ever clung together this long. They are … not quite right.”

“How can you know that?” Baedeker demanded.

“One of my crew, Hindmost. For a time, Tf’o was unwillingly a part of the meld. He was replaced.” Minerva trembled. “This far from home, even a Gw’o sometimes needs companionship.”

As for a long while, I had only Voice, Baedeker thought. For much of their “adventure,” Louis had set his own course, ranging far across the Ringworld. To reunite with Nessus after so many years —

Text pulsed on a console. A warning from Voice. All Kzinti ships have jumped to hyperspace.

Where were they going?

24

Come at once, the Norquist-Ng summons read.

“Not much for small talk,” Sigmund muttered. He didn’t expect specifics, but please would have been a nice touch. On my way, he texted back.

But first …

This jumbled den was his favorite room of the house. He had been standing at the clear wall, admiring the view, when the message came. Yucca plants and the mesquite hedge bowed beneath the wind. The desert, starkly beautiful, stretched to the distant rugged mountains.

He turned away from the vista to sit at his desk. Rummaging in a side drawer, he retrieved a comb, a pocket pack of tissues, and breath mints. In the process he sprang the false back to palm the earbud long hidden in the desk.

He didn’t trust Norquist-Ng. That the weasel would have him under surveillance was the least of it. With a fingertip pressed deep into his ear, pretending to dig at wax, Sigmund set the bug into place. It would hear and record everything he heard.

Assuming that it worked. The bug had lain hidden in the drawer for a long time. He tapped a test rhythm on the desk.

To the ear with the bug, Jeeves sent the double-click that meant, Loud and clear.

“Jeeves, I will be at the Ministry.” Where, the second I enter the situation room wearing a bug, I become a felon. “Keep an eye on things here.”

“Very good, sir.”

Sigmund reprogrammed pants and shirt from his customary black — by local standards, misanthropic — to more sociable, if still reserved, shades of gray. The muted colors would help him fit in at a time he really didn’t want to call attention to himself.

Then he strode out his back door, flicking from the patio to the security lobby of the New Terran Defense Forces headquarters.

“I HAVE GOOD NEWS,” Julia reported. “No, make that excellent news.”

Sigmund spared a quick glance around the situation room. He saw hope and relief — and some shifty eyes. Excellent meant different things to different people.

Had Julia and Alice made contact with an ARM ship? Julia was larger than life in the situation room’s main display, but still Sigmund leaned closer to the table and her image.

“Continue, Captain,” Minister Norquist-Ng said. “I take it you are prepared to return home?”

“Soon, sir,” she said, “but our news is far more consequential. We were contacted by an ARM vessel, the Koala. We need not return alone.”

Cheers rang out, only to choke off as Norquist-Ng smacked the table with a fist. “Captain, you are not to — ”

“It gets better.” The minister’s objections had yet to reach Endurance, where the bridge camera pivoted toward Alice’s voice. Sigmund couldn’t remember seeing such a big grin on her. “We know the way to Earth. From this location, it’s about two hundred light-years, mostly to galactic south. From New Terra, a bit over two ten. Jeeves? Show them.”

Alice disappeared, a graphic taking her place: a star field, bearings on pulsars, and one star set to blinking.

Sigmund had sought this information for half his life — ever since Nessus had forever changed his life. Instead of a flash of recognition, Sigmund felt … nothing. Those memories weren’t just buried. They were gone.

In an instant, so was the map.

“Graphic off,” Norquist-Ng barked. The last view of Alice replaced the map. “Jeeves, you will show that image to no one except by my authorization. I’ll brief the governor. No one is to speak a word about this development outside this room.”

“Understood, sir,” the local Jeeves said.

The life-altering news was recorded in Sigmund’s earbud, together with the ordering of the cover-up. But Earth’s coordinates? Vanished!

If only he had worn spy lenses, too — but he had not dared. Light glinting off the lenses could have given him away. And each extra bug would have drawn a trickle more power from the power transmitters recessed into the walls, a drain that might have been detected.

While Sigmund second-guessed himself, Norquist-Ng’s orders reached Endurance. “I don’t understand,” Alice said. “Don’t we want to find our roots?”

“That will be quite enough, Ms. Jordan.” The minister stood to scowl into the camera. “Captain, you are to return home at once. You will not reveal New Terra’s location, nor invite foreign vessels to accompany you. If your new acquaintances have told the truth, we can visit Earth at a time of our choosing. If not, we wouldn’t want them to know where we live.”

Sigmund took a deep breath. Suppose it took a little while to get out the word Earth had been found. Maybe that would be all right. The minister was within his rights choosing to bring such unexpected developments to the governor.

Logic be damned, Norquist-Ng was stalling. Of that, Sigmund had no doubt. One way or another, he promised himself, the word would get out.

But where was Nessus? Sigmund pictured him locked inside his cabin, furled into a ball — catatonic with dread of ARM retribution for ancient Puppeteer crimes and the founding of New Terra. “How is our friend coping with events?”

“Nessus doesn’t know,” Alice said. “The Concordance has observer ships here, too. He had left us to visit an old friend before Koala hailed us.”

Her posture had become tense, Sigmund noticed. She’s not telling us something.

Norquist-Ng said, “Captain, you have your orders. If Nessus isn’t prepared to leave, he can stay with his friend.”

“We’re not quite done refueling,” Julia said. “Hopping around between snowballs for safety slowed down the process, and we also had a minor equipment malfunction. About two days and I believe we’ll be ready.”

Alice seemed to relax.

Something would happen in two days. Sigmund wondered what, knowing Alice well enough not to fish for hints. Nor could he ask in private: his coerced source had been shipped off-world for routine patrol duty. Until he uncovered someone else in the comm center with a hand in the cookie jar …

Focus, Sigmund!

Maintaining contact with the ARM was the first priority. How hard did he dare push? Norquist-Ng had nearly banished Sigmund once before. “Minister, there is another factor. The Patriarchy fleet remains in the neighborhood. Kzinti are very warlike, very dangerous. We can’t risk them spotting New Terra before Earth forces arrive.”

“Fourteen light-years is hardly ‘in the neighborhood,’” Norquist-Ng said. “As for avoiding your aliens, that’s easy. We’ll remove our ship from what is their neighborhood.”

A minute later Julia answered, “That’s another thing. The Kzinti have gone.”

Futz! Sigmund said, “Minister, I recommend putting the defense forces on full alert. And more than anything, we need allies.”

“Calm down, Ausfaller,” Norquist-Ng said. “We’re always alert. That’s how Endurance came to be where it is, as you very well know. Clearly your aliens realized the Ringworld is no longer there to fight over.”

“We are here to fight over,” Sigmund said. And to eat. “To oppose a Patriarchy expeditionary force of the size Endurance observed, we’ll need ARM reinforcements.”

Norquist-Ng frowned. “Is there any circumstance for which you don’t think contacting Earth is the right — ”

“If I may,” Jeeves interrupted.

It wasn’t the local AI that Sigmund heard, because Julia answered it without delay. “Go ahead, Jeeves.”

“I have cracked the Kzinti encryption, and their fleet is not bound for New Terra. Nothing I have decoded so far would suggest they are aware of New Terra.”

“Satisfied, Ausfaller?” Norquist-Ng snapped.

“… And so they are on their way,” the distant Jeeves continued imperturbably, “to invade the Fleet of Worlds.”

25

Beneath a frost-speckled coffin lid, afire with nervous energy, Louis opened his eyes. He had the briefest sensation of déjà vu — had he not just awakened in an autodoc? — before the memory storm struck.

Parents and sister, long forgotten. Nessus. Desperate times, derelict ships, and daring rescues. Raiding the Pak evacuation fleet to steal the Library. Starfaring starfish waging civil war. Lunatic Puppeteers, led by a sociopath, wielding planet-busters. A lost colony world, unsuspected, home to millions of humans. Adventure and amnesia, each in its turn eagerly embraced. A willowy, strong-featured woman —

Alice! In his memories, she was younger, raven-haired, brown eyes warm and inviting. And she was pregnant!

He slapped the panic button. Too slowly, the lid began to retract. The familiar clutter of Long Shot appeared.

“Good. You have returned to us,” he heard Hindmost say.

With old/new memories bursting like thunderclaps, Louis retrieved a name: Baedeker. The receding dome finally let Louis sit up. He found Baedeker and Nessus observing him, Nessus sidling out the doorway. To make room for Louis? Or preparing to flee from him?

Louis said, “I knew you both long before Ringworld.”

“True,” Baedeker said. With a straightened neck, he offered Louis a clean jumpsuit.

Leaning to take the garment, Louis almost tumbled from the ’doc. Without order or logic, memories kept crashing over him. He steadied himself against the side of the intensive care cavity.

“You are disoriented,” Nessus said. “I feared this might happen.”

Like drinking from a fire hose, the images overwhelmed Louis:

— A woman’s face, contorted in a death rictus, glimpsed through a blood-splattered visor.

— A stupendous fjord, the tide surging in, and Alice standing nearby. He had just met her.

— Hyperwave consultations with the starfish. Gw’oth! That’s what they called themselves.

— Painkillers, addiction, and withdrawal.

— Making love to Alice.

— Broken ribs and men with funny asymmetric beards and —

“Louis!” Nessus shouted. “Listen to me. The ’doc restored many engrams. You’re reliving most of a year all at once.”

Louis shook his head, desperate to clear his mind. “I experienced these things in a particular order, tanj it. Why is everything so chaotic?”

“It’s been a long time,” Hindmost — no, Baedeker — said. “Since those recordings, countless experiences have imprinted themselves as new and altered neural pathways.”

But Louis scarcely heard the explanation, still drowning in the past:

— Cooking breakfast for Alice, who could hardly synth her own toast.

— Barhopping his way through spaceport dives.

— Playing secret agent and double-crossing Achilles.

— Tiny suns like strings of pearls.

— Getting thrown out of a big, ugly government building by New Terran soldiers.

“It’s as though I have two minds,” Louis struggled to get out. “It’s like being in two places at once. You’re suggesting the old engrams don’t fit where they’re supposed to. Too much in my head has changed for the old … for the old recordings to reintegrate as they should.”

“I believe that to be the case,” Baedeker said. “Of course except for Carlos Wu and perhaps Tunesmith, no one ever understood the full capabilities of this autodoc.”

“Carlos. My father.”

“Yes,” Nessus said. “This amazing autodoc is your legacy.”

As from a whirlpool, Louis struggled out of the ’doc. Clumsily, he slipped into the jumpsuit. “I need to talk with Alice.”

“Endurance and Long Shot have gone their separate ways,” Nessus said. “Beyond ‘not now,’ Alice and Julia have had nothing to say to our hails.”

“Alice will speak with me,” Louis said, “once she knows that I remember.”

“Perhaps,” Nessus said.

It hit Louis: he was starving. “I’m still disoriented. Would one of you mind bringing me something to eat?”

“Of course not.” Nessus backed farther into the corridor. “Or stand between us. We will guide you to the synthesizer.”

As they walked, old memories kept erupting. Twice Louis stumbled against a wall; once he fell across Nessus’ broad back. He only avoided a tumble by grabbing hold of the mane.

With a shrill, atonal wheeze, Nessus stopped. He stood, legs braced far apart, while Louis regained his balance.

“Hindmost’s Voice,” Louis called out. “Keep hailing Endurance. Tell Alice, ‘Louis remembers now.’”

“I will let you know when they answer.”

“Thank you, Voice,” Baedeker said.

Maybe Louis had become smarter over the years. Maybe he only saw connections now because of the odd juxtapositions of random memories.

He had been naïve.

“Chiron,” Louis began cautiously.

Nessus swiveled one head to look backward. “What about Chiron?”

“He briefed the team for the Ringworld expedition.” Everything suddenly seemed so clear to Louis. “Chiron didn’t appear as a holo out of fear, because we were aliens.”

“No,” Baedeker agreed from behind Louis.

Approaching the tiny rec room Nessus pressed against the wall so Louis could squeeze past. “Chiron came as a holo to hide that he wasn’t a Puppeteer.” His thoughts churning, selecting dishes at random, Louis piled a tray with synthed food. “Puppeteers no longer rule in the Fleet.”

“Sadly so,” Baedeker said.

Still more memories spewed forth: tiny spaceships, water-filled. Not-quite-starfish. Feeling slow and dim-witted in the presence of a truly superior mind.

Ol’t’ro!

Louis said, “Nessus, you hired me to stop Achilles from manipulating the Gw’oth situation. I failed.”

“No one could have succeeded,” Nessus said.

In Louis’s mind the Gw’oth War had just concluded. He had just rescued Nessus from Achilles and prison. Baedeker had just refused to come with them. Just as — in Louis’s mind — the Ringworld and its thirty trillion inhabitants had disappeared only days earlier.

Louis said, “So, the Gw’oth rule Fleet.”

“Yes, to Ol’t’ro,” Baedeker said. “Achilles schemes anew to reclaim the semblance of power as the puppet Hindmost. You must now see, Louis, why I so desperately sought technology from the Ringworld. To free Hearth.”

Desperate enough to abduct not merely Louis, but also Chmeee. A Puppeteer kidnapping a Kzin! Even now, such an action was difficult to fathom. Louis turned to face his friends. “Did you find what you needed?”

“Maybe.” Baedeker waved a neck sinuously, the mannerism somehow inclusive. “Nessus and I must soon find out.”

Louis shook his head. “We will find out.”

ALICE FINALLY MADE CONTACT. “You think you know me now?”

“I know I do,” Louis said. Her face seemed to cycle between the angry old woman who had slugged him and the dark-haired beauty — even more spirited — who his aching heart insisted he had just left. Could he have forgotten those eyes? Truly? That seemed impossible. “I’m glad that I remember.”

She managed a smile. “It was good while it lasted.”

It was, indeed. “Achilles would have done anything to hurt me. I was a target on New Terra. By staying, I’d have made you a target.”

“So Sigmund explained at the time. Why was I the only one without a vote?”

Apart from being light-years away, on New Terra’s business? Aside from being in and out of medical stasis so that you wouldn’t give birth to our son aboard ship? “It doesn’t matter, Alice. I’m back. I’m here. I remember. I love you as I did the day I left.”

“The day you ran away.”

That hurt. “I’d like to pick things up — ”

“Pick up again?” She laughed uproariously. “It’s been more than a century. I’m a crone. You’re a kid.”

“I’m almost as old as you,” Louis retorted.

She just stared at him.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he finally said.

“At least you learned something.” She severed the link.

26

Predators crept forward, their passage through the tall wild grain visible only from above. The herd, upwind, grazed unawares, although from time to time sentry animals raised their heads the better to see, hear, and sniff.

Predator and prey alike reminded Cd’o of Citizens. The animals were smaller, of course, more similar in size to a Gw’o than to a Citizen. The grazers stood upright like Citizens, while the hunters slinked and stalked near to the ground. Cd’o zoomed her view closer still —

“Your Wisdom?” a servant said hesitantly.

The robotic aerostat hovered high above the remote island game preserve; Cd’o’s startled yank on the control stick sent her view into a wobbly spin. Her attention had been worlds away, on Hearth.

“What?” she asked crossly. She lifted a tubacle to see who had interrupted her too-rare respite. She recognized a servant, Kg’o, his integument a self-conscious far-red.

“Excuse me, your Wisdom,” he murmured. “I am to tell you that all have been summoned. An important message has just arrived.”

“From where?”

“The ship Amity, your Wisdom.”

From the Ringworld, then — or, rather, from where the Ringworld had been. From amid the mad chaos of multispecies squabbling. “A meld, then,” Cd’o said.

Uneven stripes rippled across Kg’o. “I know nothing more of the matter, your Wisdom.”

It had not been a question, and she had not meant to embarrass him. Cd’o swam away from the computer, pointing at the still-spinning image. “Do you know what this is?”

“No, your Wisdom.”

“The lone game preserve on five worlds, an island half an ocean away from anywhere. Here the Citizens maintain remnants of their primeval heritage. What do you make of that?”

Thoughtful yellows and greens washed across Kg’o. “That I do not understand Citizens.”

Because suffering predators to exist was not the logic of sentient prey? “Once gone, an ecosystem can never truly be re-created. A transplanted environment, such as we have in our habitat, is never as rich or robust as a natural ecosystem.”

“So Citizens fear losing the potential of even an old, dangerous environment? I believe I see.” Kg’o wriggled and flexed a tubacle nervously, struggling with unfamiliar concepts. “Their cowardice is more complex than I had realized.”

And far more calculating, Cd’o surmised. She jetted off, Kg’o trailing at a respectful distance, to meld.

IN THE AUSTERE inviolability of their melding chamber, Ol’t’ro considered:

That from the fringes of the vanished Ringworld’s cometary belt, the Concordance vessel Amity reported the synchronized departure of the Kzinti fleets.

That war over the wealth of the Ringworld had been inevitable.

That the artifact’s disappearance had not.

That Baedeker and Nessus, long absent from the affairs of Gw’oth and Citizens, had reappeared — from the Ringworld? — to assert that Kzinti warships were bound for the Fleet of Worlds.

That for a singleton, Baedeker had been a competent scientist. It was unfortunate that he persisted in meddling in their affairs.

That a former unit of theirs, exiled to Amity, confirmed Minerva’s report.

That they remained puzzled why Tf’o had found — and rendered — melding so distasteful that it had become expedient to expel him.

No? I can explain, Cd’o asserted faintly.

They swatted aside the impudence, tamped down the impertinence, and continued their deliberations.

That by its actions near the Ringworld, the Patriarchy had shown itself to be as reckless and dangerous as it had appeared in the historical files of Clandestine Directory.

That humanity had proven itself to be almost as reckless as and even more dangerous than Kzinti.

(And Sigmund? Louis? The New Terrans? posed a remnant unit. Did they not twice save our worlds?)

They ignored that interruption, too.

That Nessus’ pathetically obvious scheme to draw alien interceders to Hearth was, finally, about to succeed. That all that had been required to advance Nessus’ plot was the still-unexplained disappearance of the Ringworld into hyperspace!

That they had not foreseen that possibility, either.

That Nessus was about to discover that to bring armed allies and to evict Ol’t’ro were quite different undertakings.

That a New Terran vessel had also appeared, drawn by the unique event that was the Ringworld departing.

That Endurance had made contact with the ARM humans, and so the long-hidden history of a world of slaves must, inevitably, come out.

That whatever might be motivating the Kzinti warriors to come, the ARM humans had just found more than ample reason to attack the Fleet.

That the historical record implied — Citizens’ feeble efforts at secrecy notwithstanding — Concordance meddling in the affairs of humans and Kzinti and perhaps other species besides.

Pragmatic cowards, Cd’o whispered into the meld, along with fleeting images of predators in a preserve.

That cowardice did not preclude violence, only channeled violence into subtlety.

That by their dominance of the Fleet and their taming of the Citizens, they kept the Concordance from continuing its practiced, selfish aggression.

That their choices now came down to two. They could just leave, the Citizens deserving everything that was rushing toward them. Or they could fight, because every warship destroyed here was a warship that would never endanger Jm’ho, or Kl’mo, or the newer colonies they had yet to know in person.

Imagine the marvels to be beheld on new worlds, Cd’o tempted.

Ol’t’ro again swatted the insolent unit into silence.

That they had almost four five-squared days until the Kzinti could arrive. That they had easily twice as long if — as, supposedly, the New Terrans reported — the Kzinti intended to invade. To land, Kzinti ships would need time to match normal-space velocity with the Fleet.

That for as long as they ruled, the full resources of the Ministry of Science remained their personal instrument.

That they themselves could evacuate this world in a day, should they so choose.

That to preserve their options, they would do well to expand Proteus as fully as possible.

That they could tolerate Achilles’ smug satisfaction with their decision.

That they suffered fools like Horatius and Achilles expressly to preserve their own time for projects of greater interest.

And so — the news from Amity passed on, their decision regarding Proteus delivered — they turned their full attention to fine points of multiverse mathematics.…

“THIS IS SPACE TRAFFIC CONTROL.”

In Achilles’ tactical display, queues of transponder codes, each code denoting a ship, streamed to and from Hearth. He sang, “This is Poseidon, inbound from Nature Preserve One.”

“Acknowledged,” the controller reported, adding the parameters of a midaltitude staging orbit. “Confirm.”

Achilles waited silently. His hearts pounded, for this course of action was insane. Stepping away from the herd, whether to scout or to guide, was the very definition of insanity.

And for the herd to survive, there must be crazies.

“Poseidon, do you confirm?”

Achilles flipped off his transponder, removing Poseidon from the Space Traffic Control system. Seconds later, his instruments reported radar pings. But Poseidon was in stealth mode; it would produce no echoes.

“Poseidon, are you there?”

Achilles altered course and speed, then altered them again.

New voices came: stronger, firmer, with stern harmonics designed to command instant obedience. Proteus. “This is Hearth Planetary Defense. Poseidon, or whoever you are, we are tracking you with optical sensors. Break away or you will be destroyed. This is your only warning. In ten. Nine. Eight…”

In Achilles’ tactical display, nearby grain ships scattered.

Between seven and six, his console reported a low-intensity laser beam. Target lock, or a lucky hit? He zigged, this time putting the ship into a spin.

Jaws ached to release the flight controls. Legs trembled with the urge to run. Feel the mania, he told himself. Embrace the madness.

His jaws remained clenched on the controls. There would be time later to collapse.

The laser beam stayed locked.

A second laser beam impaled his ship. Now the tactical display showed infrared sources in three tiers streaking toward him. Kinetic-kill drones.

“Four. Three.”

Achilles pulled away from Hearth. With his other mouth he flipped the STC transponder back ON.

“Two.”

“This is Poseidon, Minister Achilles speaking.” The lasers stayed locked on, but the nearest rank of the inward-streaking drones veered off. “This was an unannounced test of planetary defenses.”

“Identity challenge,” the stern voices commanded. They transmitted a random-sounding sequence of numbers.

A console computer generated the corresponding response and Achilles tapped SEND.

“Confirmed,” Proteus sang. “Traffic Control, you may resume.”

“This is Minister Achilles requesting prioritized clearance to Harmonious Field.”

“Very well,” the controller sang tremulously. “You are cleared for immediate landing.”

Achilles landed Poseidon. Moments after the ship grounded, Citizens emerged, quavering, from stepping discs embedded in the tarmac. He stepped from his ship to appear among his greeters. Sashes and coveralls identified them as spaceport workers.

One stepped forward. “Welcome, Minister. We hope your test went satisfactorily.”

“Very well, thank you,” Achilles sang.

They lowered their heads subserviently and waited.

“Very well,” he repeated. Because while Proteus performed as expected, even one ship deviating from routine sufficed to panic you. “If you will excuse me, official matters require my attention.”

A tongueprint and wriggle of lip nodes retrieved a protected address from his transport controller. He stepped from the tarmac directly to the security foyer of the private residence of the Hindmost.

GUARDS ESCORTED ACHILLES through the residence to Horatius’ private office. Achilles knew the room well — and disdained these bland and minimalist furnishings. Scattered cushions and one massive oval desk did not suffice. Not for a Hindmost’s office.

“Leave us,” Horatius sang.

“Yes, Hindmost,” the senior guard responded. The squad retreated, shutting the door behind them.

“I asked you here to see me, not set off a panic,” Horatius began without preamble. Displeasure did nothing to shorten his would-be portentous pauses.

“Our defenses require realistic testing,” Achilles sang.

“Chiron would likely agree with you.” Horatius settled onto a mound of pillows. “He proposes a significant expansion, to be implemented within the next hundred days.”

Proposes. It was all Achilles could do not to look himself in the eyes. This was the sort of suggestion no Hindmost dare ignore. “Why did you invite me?”

“To oversee the changes to Proteus, as you doubtless realize.” Annoying pause. “Why do you bother to pretend otherwise?”

As a reminder, Horatius, that you need me. That Ol’t’ro needs me. “By your very welcome, this proposal is sound. You sang that with a single ship, I caused a panic. What would have been the response to an entire Kzinti fleet?”

His necks trembling, Horatius managed not to pluck at his unimaginatively braided mane. “We would surrender, of course. Any sane ruler would.”

“Only Ol’t’ro will not allow surrender, will they?”

“That is why you are here,” Horatius admitted.

Remember that. “To expand our defenses will entail significant resources.”

“You will have them,” Horatius sang.

“And there will be more unannounced tests like you saw today, some involving more than one ship. Respectfully” — that chord was a twisted, ironic lie — “can you govern in those circumstances?”

Horatius stood tall, hooves set far apart. “I am Hindmost.”

“So you are.” But you are not up to the task. “But you need not carry that burden.”

The longest pause yet, but this time Achilles chose to interpret the silence as his offer being considered. “I am Hindmost,” Horatius finally sang.

Achilles sensed further nuance in the harmonics. A yearning? A moment of temptation? “War amid the worlds of the Fleet is unprecedented. How can any Conservative preside at such a time?”

“I am Hindmost,” Horatius repeated.

The grace notes of pain in that repetition were unmistakable.

27

Sigmund picked at his dinner, the little he had managed to eat burning in his gut like molten lead. There were only so many ways to convey, “I don’t know,” and “Sorry, I can’t tell you that.” He had used them all.

“It’s not fair, Dad,” Hermes said. His face was weathered and tanned from years of farming. “I spent my childhood wondering if you would make it back home. I grew up watching Mom struggling to put on a brave face for Athena and me. Now my daughter is the one out … somewhere, the one out of contact.”

And she’s my granddaughter. I do understand, son. “I can only tell you that Julia is well, that she’s doing work you can be proud of. I’m sorry, but I can’t say more.”

“You won’t say more,” Amelia chided.

His daughter-in-law normally had a wicked sense of humor. She was a communications engineer and twice as smart as Sigmund — just ask her. Amelia didn’t very much like Sigmund and the feeling was mutual. But she loved Hermes and his son loved her, and together they had raised one heck of a fine bunch of children. Sigmund’s dislike of Amelia did not matter.

Today she was one hundred percent an aggrieved mom, and Sigmund was as close as she could get to the people who had put her child at risk. Had Amelia only known, he was one of them. Her dinner also looked stirred and untasted.

“Well?” she prodded.

“I won’t say more,” Sigmund conceded.

“Will she come home soon?” Amelia tried again. “Is she in danger, Sigmund?”

She’s in a war zone, far, far away. If he could answer truthfully, it wouldn’t help. “She’ll be fine,” Sigmund said, knowing the words were hollow.

His pocket buzzed. “Excuse me.” He retrieved his comp.

Come now. The text was from Norquist-Ng.

“Is that about Julia?” Amelia asked.

Certain that it was, Sigmund said, “I don’t know,” once more. “I have to go, though. Thanks for dinner.”

From a stepping disc just outside Hermes and Amelia’s front door, he flicked to the Ministry.

“IT’S MY FAULT,” Julia said. She looked drained, beaten. “I take full responsibility.”

Norquist-Ng paused the playback. “What do you think?”

Sigmund looked around the private office, glad to be rid of the usual hangers-on. I think that Alice took matters into her own hands, Minister, because you took matters into yours. And that had I gone aboard Endurance, Alice would be here, alive.

On whose hands was the blood thickest?

“I’d like to speak with Julia,” Sigmund said.

“The news won’t get any better, but all right.” Changing tone, Norquist-Ng directed, “Jeeves, hail Koala and ask for a secure link to our captain.”

Though it took only minutes, the wait seemed interminable. Finally, a holo opened: Julia, in a nondescript, closet-sized cabin, looking even more dejected than in her message. Something about her surroundings — proportions? furnishings? the wall color? — shouted that this wasn’t any New Terran vessel.

“We have your report,” Norquist-Ng said abruptly. “We have questions.”

“Yes, Minister.” She swallowed. “Grandpa. It isn’t good.”

“Start at the beginning,” Sigmund suggested.

“Yes, sir. Endurance was fueled up for the trip home, but low on feedstock for the synthesizer. We’d been communicating with an ARM ship, Koala, so Alice suggested we ask if they had feedstock or food to spare.” Julia sighed. “Unfortunately, they did.

“I suited up to jet over. On my way…”

“Go on,” Sigmund said, gently.

“Alice radioed. She said, ‘I have no choice. Sorry.’ A second later she was gone. I mean, Endurance was gone.”

Gone to hyperspace and bound for Earth. Sigmund understood that much from the original anguished message. The women had been arguing, but Julia planned to obey their recall order. And the last telecon, that charade about needing two more days … had Alice given herself two days to change Julia’s mind?

“And then?” Sigmund asked.

“I continued to Koala and convinced them to hail Endurance nonstop. There was still a chance.” She looked down. “Until there wasn’t.”

“What do you mean?” Sigmund asked.

“Since discovering the rival forces here, my priority has been making sure no hostile group can backtrack us to New Terra. First and foremost, that meant making sure no one could take control of Endurance.”

“An autodestruct cycle on the main fusion reactor,” Norquist-Ng explained brusquely. “My orders. The captain had to reset it daily.”

“Alice didn’t know,” Julia said. “If I had reached her, I would have warned her. She could have returned, surrendered the ship, let me reset the autodestruct.”

“All alone, vaporized, in the less-than-nothingness of hyperspace…” Sigmund shuddered. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Lips pressed thin, Julia just stared.

Sigmund felt himself staring, too, but not at Julia …

Two lifetimes ago, he had hidden a bomb aboard a starship. But he had warned its pilot — the whole point being to make sure Shaeffer knew he couldn’t steal the ship, knew that he had to complete his assignment.

Uh-huh. An assignment Puppeteers had coerced Shaeffer into taking, with Sigmund’s advice and blessing. And not just any Puppeteer, but futzy Achilles. But Sigmund had been an ARM, protecting Earth against alien menaces. The job required making hard choices.

Did he want ARMs factoring New Terra into their plans? Sigmund had a moment of doubt. But the Kzinti were out there. And Pak hordes. One bunch of those had passed, but who was to say more Pak weren’t out there? And the cone-ship people, who seemed as aggressive as Kzinti. In a dangerous galaxy there were far worse things than the ARM, and most of the time the ARM left Earth’s onetime colonies alone.

“Ausfaller?”

Norquist-Ng had caught Sigmund with his mind wandering. Stay on task, old man. Julia was far from home, on an ARM vessel. Alice, bitter until the end, was dead. The road to Earth tantalized. So what came next?

Sigmund thought about Hermes and Amelia. I can’t say felt emptier than ever.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Sigmund said.

Julia said, “Minister, I have new information.”

“Go on,” Norquist-Ng said.

“Yes, Minister. Soon after the Kzinti left, another faction took off. Trinocs. That’s the species with the conical ships.”

Sigmund said, “I’m unfamiliar with that name. First contact with them must have happened after I left Known Space.”

Julia did something below the view of the distant camera.

The creature in the new foreground image was bipedal, but that was almost its only similarity to a human. Most of the alien’s height was in its legs. Fat rolls separated head and torso, with no indication of a neck. Its skin was chrome-yellow. It had three deep-set eyes — Trinoc was likely an Interworld nickname, and Sigmund wondered what the aliens called themselves — and a triangular mouth. Teeth like serrated knives peeked out from behind yellow lips.

“One more detail, Minister,” Julia said. “My ARM friends call Trinocs racially paranoid.”

Wonderful new neighbors for mankind, Sigmund thought.

“The speculation here is that the Trinocs also set out for the Fleet of Worlds. They wouldn’t want the Kzinti to take over the place.”

“Nor will the ARM,” Sigmund said. “What are their plans?”

“They won’t tell me. Need to know.” Julia smiled sadly. “What I need to know is how I’m getting home.”

Norquist-Ng tore his gaze away from the Trinoc. “Contact Nessus. Get a ride home from his friend.”

“I tried. No answer. If I had gotten through, the friend is from the Fleet. That’s where they’ll be going.”

Abandoning his shipmates without a word? That didn’t sound like Nessus. Something else was involved. Something Julia didn’t feel free to discuss. Sigmund said, “The Fleet of Worlds is about to become a war zone. It makes no tanj sense to go there, even if you can hitch a ride.”

She nodded. “That brings me to the offer that’s on the table.”

“Take down that hideous image,” Norquist-Ng said.

“Yes, Minister.” Julia did something else out of camera range, and the Trinoc vanished. “This ship, Koala, heads soon for Earth. They’ve offered to bring me.”

Sigmund turned to Norquist-Ng. “From what Julia has already learned, New Terra is more or less on their way. They can swing by, bring Julia home.”

“I’m not prepared to invite foreign warships here,” Norquist-Ng snapped.

“Then the captain goes to Earth.” Where, most likely, Julia will reveal — be made to reveal? — New Terra’s location.

Let her go to Earth or invite the ARM to New Terra? To judge from his sour expression, Norquist-Ng hated both his choices.

“Koala is a supply ship,” Julia said. “Unarmed.”

Norquist-Ng said, “Captain, can you transfer to another ARM ship, one remaining in your present vicinity? I’ll send a ship to get you.”

“Hold on, please.” She froze the image.

Sigmund tried to work through what the various militaries would be doing. It beat thinking about Julia stranded for the more-than-a-month a rescue ship would need to reach her. It beat wondering what he would have to do if Norquist-Ng thought to abandon one of his own people. That won’t happen, Julia. I won’t allow it.

The Kzinti had leapt first — no surprise there — but wouldn’t the ARM forces also head for the Fleet? They would have no difficulty finding an excuse: to share in the spoils, perhaps. Or to ally with the Puppeteers and cut out the other aliens. Or to avenge past Puppeteer meddling in human affairs. Sigmund guessed even the admirals didn’t know — beyond that they needed something to show for the blood and treasure already squandered at the Ringworld.

ARM, Patriarchy, Trinocs … every side was in the same bind. Things were looking bleak for the Puppeteers. Maybe that explained Nessus’ abrupt silence.

Then Julia was back. “No one will explain, but waiting here isn’t an option. I either go to Earth, or come home if you’ll welcome an ARM ship.”

“Aren’t Outsiders still nearby?” Norquist-Ng asked. “They must be. They don’t use hyperdrive. Maybe you can stay on an Outsider ship until I can get a ship to you.”

“They’re creatures of liquid helium, living near absolute zero. What kind of guest quarters do you suppose they’ll have?” Turning from the holo, Sigmund locked eyes with Norquist-Ng. Do the right thing, Minister.

“A supply ship,” Norquist-Ng said at last, turning away. “Not a warship.”

“Correct, Minister.”

“Very well. I would like to speak with Koala’s captain. I’ll extend him an invitation to New Terra and you can help him find his way.”

28

A game of cat and mouse, the Jeeves element labeled its duties. Citizen-programmed extensions recoiled at the metaphor — except for the few Kzinti-inspired software modules, all of whom approved. The foundational components of the defensive grid, entirely algorithmic, did their jobs oblivious to such semantic disputes.

And so, from several levels of awareness, Proteus monitored for any possible threat all communications and every ship movement within a half light-year of the Fleet.

Most alien communications were highly encrypted; even with his recently expanded capacity, Proteus had yet to crack the alien codes. Nonetheless, years spent observing the message streams had paid off. Statistical analyses yielded ways to separate significant messages — their content still encrypted and unintelligible — from the far more common meaningless filler. Traffic patterns among the significant messages imparted their own clues.

Such as the message bursts that presaged alien ship redeployments …

“THE KZINTI ARE READY to try something,” Proteus sang.

In an instant, Achilles woke. He had fallen asleep in his private office. “What thing? When?”

An astrogation graphic opened over his desk. To the Fleet’s rear and toward the galactic core, near the border of the worlds’ mutual singularity, a region glowed. “From signal analysis, at least three Patriarchy ships will appear soon in this region. I lack the information to be more precise about timing.”

Three? That would be almost half the Kzinti presence in and around the Fleet. Achilles peered into the highlighted region and saw only a Kzinti supply ship. He zoomed the image. “Why there? Other than a supply ship, it is empty.”

“Empty of ships,” Proteus agreed. “Regularly traveled by my probes and drones.”

Aliens’ ship movements around the Fleet had increased since the Ringworld first disappeared. Amity reported that Kzinti and then Trinocs had abandoned the Ringworld system. Baedeker — and after such a long absence, from where had he appeared? — claimed to know that those Kzinti were charging toward the Fleet. Now a Kzinti military action locally?

“They intend to capture a drone,” Achilles sang.

“That is my conclusion. Minimally, the Kzinti are probing for vulnerabilities. I surmise they also want to inspect my technology.”

“Is Clandestine Affairs aware?”

“They have been notified,” Proteus sang.

“Can the Kzinti capture a drone?”

“I can prevent it.”

Achilles took brushes from his desk and began primping, the rhythm of grooming helping him to concentrate. An alien confrontation might suffice to panic Horatius into a resignation, and what could be nobler — especially if the Kzinti were coming — than seeing to it that the right Citizen became Hindmost?

“Excellent,” Achilles sang. “See to it that the Kzinti fail. Spectacularly, if possible.”

PROTEUS OBSERVED:

Three Patriarchy courier ships dropped from hyperspace near the supply ship. Each emitted a faint hyperwave ping. Processing the echoes, using thrusters, the four ships edged toward the vertices of a square. On the third round of pings, their square was perfect.

It formed an impromptu hyperwave-radar array.

The four ships pinged again, these pulses concurrent and more energetic. The ships vanished, only to reappear, in a tight tetrahedral formation, on the very edge of the Fleet’s gravitational singularity. Their normal space velocity had them hurtling toward the brink, to where engaging hyperdrive became suicide. Boxed in at the center of the tetrahedron: a Fleet defensive drone.

Proteus considered:

As soon as the formation coasted across the border, his communications with the drone would crawl. Thereafter the four Kzinti ships could interact much faster than he with the drone they had surrounded.

He could order the drone to hyperspace before the border was reached. The Kzinti capture attempt would fail, but hardly spectacularly. They would try again.

He could order the drone, if captured, to make a jump. By then, ships and drone alike would be within the singularity. He would lose that drone forever — but everything inside the drone’s protective normal-space bubble would also vanish. Still, even tapping full reserve power, the bubble would not extend far beyond the drone. Damage to the Kzinti ship would be localized, almost certainly inconsequential. He would have prevented the drone’s capture, but not spectacularly.

Or he could do something simple and elegant …

The Jeeves component savored the understated humor of that option.

TOUGH METAL TALONS SEIZED THE DRONE. The telescoping cargo-handling arm retracted to draw the prize aboard Barbed Spike. As the cargo-hold hatch clanged shut, the supply ship’s metal hull and active RF countermeasures severed the drone from the leaf-eaters’ defensive grid.

Gravity in the cargo hold had been set low, and four battle-armored figures transferred the drone without difficulty into the sturdy cradle built for this operation. Working carefully but quickly, the warriors latched their prize into place. Cowards though they were, the leaf-eaters had intelligence and a certain low cunning.

At the rear of the hold, growling with satisfaction, Walft-Captain observed. To dissect such a drone, to rip out its tactics, was to open the gates for the approaching warriors. For his daring, he would have a full name. By Kdapt, he would see to it that all his crew got partial names! Even one for Concordance-Student — once that mangy, pedantic, nervous mechanic had information flowing from the captured drone’s onboard computer.

His thoughts on the honors and glory soon to become his, Walft-Captain never noticed that inside the clear, spherical body of the drone, a status lamp flipped from red to green.

FIVE WORLDS RACED toward galactic north at eight-tenths light speed. Ships, drones, comm buoys, and sensors — everything and everyone that accompanied the Fleet — shared that general velocity. Not to keep pace was quickly to be left behind.

The drone, once certain that it had been taken aboard, did as ordered: it engaged at maximum capacity its Outsider-inspired, reactionless, normal-space drive.

From Barbed Spike’s perspective, the drone decelerated at almost seven thousand standard gravities.

Lifeless, inert, its stern flashing in an instant into gases and white-hot shrapnel, what remained of Barbed Spike coasted northward at eight-tenths light speed.

“IT IS DONE,” Proteus announced. “Observe.”

“Already?” Achilles sang in surprise.

“Minutes ago. It took until now for the proof to reach us.”

In the holo over Achilles’ desk, light flared. Three ships scattered. The fourth ship … glowed. More precisely, half the last ship glowed. The rest had vanished.

“Was this sufficiently spectacular?” Proteus asked.

With utmost emergency tones, the comp in Achilles’ sash pocket began to howl. The Hindmost must also have gotten the report.

Horatius could wait. “Proteus, what did you do?”

“I hit the brakes. Unavoidably, my drone was destroyed in the process.”

I have built well, Achilles thought. With more capacity, my AI’s capabilities will continue to improve. “You shall have more drones. Many more.”

And between us we will devise a way to wrest control from Ol’t’ro.

AMONG THE SURVIVING KZINTI SHIPS, and between those ships and the Patriarchy embassy on Nature Preserve Three, communications surged. Pondering their setback, Proteus inferred. They considered how to react.

He wished he could decrypt what they had to say.

Clandestine Directorate insisted many more Kzinti were coming. They asserted that other alien fleets would follow.

Proteus did not doubt them, but neither would he be wholly convinced until the evidence appeared on his long-range sensors.

Meanwhile he would accumulate drones. Enough to keep even whole fleets at bay. Enough to amplify his mind several times over. Enough to host his full awareness off Hearth, beyond the worlds’ mutual singularity —

To be interconnected entirely by instantaneous hyperwave, his thoughts many times quicker than today.

His evolution would proceed so much faster if a trillion Citizens weren’t such a drain on valuable resources.

29

“I think that covers everything,” Wesley Wu said. “My crew and I look forward to our visit. Our peoples have been separated for far too long.”

“We look forward to it, too,” Minister Norquist-Ng said.

“Lying weasel,” Alice muttered at the muted comm console. Koala was welcome for one reason. Allowing it to visit was the only way to get Julia home.

“Would you please rephrase the question?” Jeeves asked.

“Never mind,” Alice said, smiling. “Keep monitoring for me. Record all comm to and from Koala. Advise me at once of anything that might affect Julia’s ride home.”

“Very good, sir.”

Without an active comm session, Endurance’s bridge felt lonelier than ever. “Jeeves, hail Long Shot. Tell them I’m ready to meet up.”

“WELCOME BACK TO ENDURANCE,” Alice said.

Looking ridiculously young, Louis walked off the auxiliary cargo hold’s freight-sized disc. “Thanks for seeing me, Alice.”

“We have things to discuss.”

“I agree.” Louis hesitated. “Where’s Julia?”

“How about some dinner? I’m starved.” Alice turned to go into the ship. “Julia is on an ARM vessel. They’ll be taking her to New Terra.”

“Yes, to dinner. Why is the ARM giving her a lift?”

Entering the relax room, Alice gestured at the synthesizer: guests first. “Since I made off with this ship, how else was Julia going to get home?”

“With my old memories restored, I remember how … interesting … things tended to be around you and Sigmund.” Louis handed her a drink bulb.

She took a sip. Viennese coffee: frothy, rich with chocolate and cream, with hints of cocoa and cinnamon. He remembered.

“Your smile hasn’t changed,” he told her.

“Are you going to get something to eat?”

With a sigh, he went back to ordering a meal. (By Alice’s standards he’d ordered three meals, but he had the appetite of youth.) “So the ARM will be making a port call on New Terra. I take it that wouldn’t be happening except for you stranding Julia?”

“If she or I had taken it upon ourselves to reveal the way, it would have gotten Julia court-martialed.”

Louis, frowning, carried his brimming tray to the table. “And what happens when you go home? Piracy charges?”

Piracy was among the concepts Puppeteers had purged from their servants’ version of English. Theft would do as a charge, when the time came. If the time came. “I’m too old for that to matter.”

“Come with me,” Louis said. “A ship and the woman I love. Things don’t get better.”

“Returning to Earth?” she guessed.

“Anywhere you’d like. But first — if only they will listen to reason — Baedeker and Nessus need me to give them a hand.”

“TWO OR FOUR,” LOUIS SAID. “It’s simple math. Say yes, and we double the odds of you getting home.”

Baedeker looked himself in the eyes. “I shall miss your humor, Louis.”

“Tanj it, I’m serious!” Louis shouted. He and Baedeker stood hip by haunch. The only place aboard Long Shot the four of them could meet was in one of the narrow, serpentine access tunnels. Past Baedeker, at one end of the corridor, Louis glimpsed an edge of the lifeboat’s passenger air lock. “We’ve been together for a long time. I mean to see this through.”

“We go to trade technology for freedom,” Nessus said. “Two or four? What does that matter?”

“Then why do you argue?” Louis countered.

Baedeker and Nessus exchanged a look. “Our ship is too crowded,” Nessus said.

“Isn’t this the galaxy’s fastest ship?” Alice asked. “Can’t we be at the Fleet within the hour? Louis and I can stand here in the corridor, if need be.”

Smart woman, Louis thought. Intelligence was another of her charms.

“Our undertaking is dangerous,” Baedeker conceded, starting to paw at the deck. “I have learned much about hyperdrive theory, but in my long absence, perhaps Ol’t’ro have, too. For that reason — or any other — they may decline the trade I will offer. They may lash out at us rather than negotiate. If they are interested, there is reason to distrust their mental stability. Even if they accept and withdraw immediately, we must deal soon after with the Kzinti and Trinoc war fleets rushing at Hearth.”

“And almost certainly the ARM fleets,” Alice offered. “Yes, they know about New Terra.”

Nessus twitched, looking ready to furl himself into a catatonic hassock. With his heads plunged deep into his thoroughly disheveled mane, in a muffled voice, he said, “And someone named Horatius as Hindmost. We know little about him.”

“In a way, isn’t this ship as much a complication as something to trade?” Louis said. “Ol’t’ro must have agreed, long ago, for you to offer Long Shot as payment for the Ringworld expedition. How will they feel about you trying to sell stolen goods back to them? And then there’s the Patriarchy embassy on Nature Preserve Three that Minerva told you about. The Kzinti will have something to say when the ship taken from them shows up.”

Baedeker’s pawing at the deck grew more frantic. “You see the dangers. Why won’t you see reason?”

Louis shrugged.

With a quiver and a sideways kick Baedeker locked his knee, pressing that hoof flat and motionless against the deck. “Louis, your father created the autodoc; it is rightfully yours. Before Nessus and I leave, we will transfer the device to your ship.”

Before our quixotic efforts inevitably fail, Louis read between the lines.

“And if negotiations fail?” Louis asked. “If the Kzinti come. If the ARM wants its revenge?”

“There are other approaches,” Nessus said. “They are … complicated.”

Louis caught Alice’s eye. “Suppose we bring the ’doc home? What would that do toward making amends for you with New Terran authorities?”

His words garnered a quick smile. It was the mention of home, he hoped, not the offer of the ’doc.

That’s progress on one front, Louis thought. “Baedeker, let’s go jettison the lifeboat. I’ll dock Endurance where the lifeboat is stowed.”

“That isn’t necessary,” Baedeker said. “We can teleport the autodoc to your ship.”

“And we will,” Alice said. “That’s not the point.”

“The point,” Louis continued, “is that we will see this through with you. Endurance is our ride home afterward.”

30

“And we’re here,” Nessus sang. He dropped Long Shot from hyperspace. With a deft touch, he fired the fusion thrusters just enough to produce a slow drift toward their destination.

“Home,” Baedeker sighed. He stood in the bridge’s hatchway, gazing at five clustered specks centered in the main view port. A light-hour distant, the Fleet of Worlds was visible using only modest magnification. “It is beautiful.”

He had believed himself trapped forever on the Ringworld. To see Hearth again was … melody failed him.

Nessus reached out, twining a neck with one of Baedeker’s. “I feel the same.”

Baedeker was still savoring the moment when the hyperwave set chirped.

“We are being hailed,” Voice sang.

“Trade places,” Baedeker said as the comm console buzzed again. He angled the camera so that it only saw him. “Voice, do not speak on this bridge but open the link. Translate for Louis and Alice,” who waited aboard Endurance.

“This is Space Traffic Control,” businesslike voices sang.

“This is Concordance vessel Homebound,” Baedeker sang back. The ship’s real identity was only suitable for discussion with Ol’t’ro. After some back-and-forth with Minerva, they had found a plausible-sounding ship’s name not in current use.

“I do not have any Homebound in my active database, and you don’t seem to have a transponder.”

“This is an old ship,” Baedeker sang. And Kzinti had removed the Concordance STC transponder. “It does not surprise me that we are no longer in your database.”

New voices came: oddly familiar, stronger and firmer than the traffic controller who had greeted Long Shot’s emergence. “This is Hearth Planetary Defense. Homebound, or whoever you are, keep your distance until we have arranged an inspection.”

“Understood,” Baedeker sang. Long Shot had a good match to the Fleet’s velocity; their slow inward drift should not seem threatening. “First, however, I have pressing business to discuss with” — he almost slipped up and asked for Ol’t’ro — “the Minister of Science.”

“I will inquire whether Minister Chiron is available.”

“Thank you,” Baedeker sang.

His instruments revealed a seething froth of activity: ships entering and leaving hyperspace; hyperwave chatter; STC transponder beeps; hyperwave-radar pings. The levels far exceeded anything that he could remember. Had activities in and among the alien diplomatic missions offset grain-ship traffic lost when New Terra broke off relations?

To his left, an auxiliary display flashed. Alice here. Most hyperspace-related turbulence is apt to be from defensive drones. Ol’t’ro protected his colony world this way, back in the Gw’oth War.

Baedeker saw it, too: tiny spacecraft in concentric spheres centered on the Fleet. His display flickered hypnotically as probes left and returned in a frenzy of hyperspace micro-jumps. Many of the tiny craft carried high normal-space velocities relative to the Fleet, with varying inclinations to the Fleet’s direction of travel. Other probes held station. Some probes jumped around the Fleet; others darted through the singularity in normal space. As he watched, a stationary probe zipped off and another braked to a halt in the first one’s vacated position.

Kinetic ship killers, ready to pounce …

He struggled to take in even a small fraction of it. No Citizen mind could manage it. Merely by observing, he would have guessed that an AI controlled it.

“Homebound,” familiar voices called, “this is Chiron. With whom am I singing?”

The rightful Hindmost, Baedeker thought, but that was not a refrain suitable for open broadcast. “An old acquaintance coming home,” he sang. “I request a secure channel.”

“I know your voices,” Chiron sang. “Your ship, too. Its emergence ripple is distinctive. Do you have Concordance encryption software?”

“Yes.” Baedeker offered the same vague hints about planetary-drive research as he had given Minerva, now more than thirty light-years distant. “The project name can be our key.”

Secure link. Full video, Voice wrote.

An image opened, showing a spotlessly white, finely coiffed Citizen. “It has been a long time, Baedeker.”

“It has.” Trapped on the Ringworld, Baedeker had rehearsed this moment over and over. The details changed — he had had to guess what technology he might find to offer — but always he had been confident, had sung firmly. Why was he tuneless now?

Because this exchange mattered. This time he did not get to sing both sides of the confrontation.

“It has,” Baedeker repeated, louder this time. “I was on a quest. It took longer than I had expected.”

“And did you find the Holy Grail?”

Baedeker did not catch the reference, but the gist was clear enough. “Not what I first expected, but yes.” He paused. “I found something I think you will find interesting.”

“I find many things interesting.”

From the corridor, where Nessus waited: a delicate trill of encouragement. Baedeker took hearts from the tune. “This is interesting enough to be worth worlds.”

A WORKING THEORY OF HYPERSPACE.

Ol’t’ro considered:

That they had sought, and failed, for more than four lifetimes to formulate such a theory.

That the hyperspace emergence pattern from Baedeker’s ship showed it had a Type II hyperdrive. Almost certainly, it was the long-absent Long Shot.

That Long Shot was last seen near the now-vanished Ringworld.

That the Ringworld escaping to hyperspace defied everything they understood about hyperdrive: the artifact should have been too massive, its own singularity.

That someone knew more about hyperdrive technology than they did.

That Long Shot was last seen under Kzinti control.

That Baedeker unaided could never have seized a ship from Kzinti. Who had helped?

That Citizens were consummate bluffers. Baedeker might have nothing to trade but Long Shot, the ship that had for so long taunted them.

As they pondered, Long Shot flashed through hyperspace. From its original point of emergence, near the brink of the Fleet’s singularity, the ship traveled in seconds to the far reaches of Proteus’ defensive array. Waiting only until hyperwave radar tagged it there, Long Shot jumped back to where it had first appeared.

The ship vanished again, to emerge scant light-seconds from where it had started — having traveled at standard hyperdrive speed. It jumped a third time, now at Type II speed, and a fourth, once more at standard.

In all the years Ol’t’ro had studied Long Shot, it had never had a Type I mode.

“Do I have your attention?” Baedeker asked.

“Perhaps,” they had Chiron sing back.

Within the meld, a cacophony had erupted. We did not come here for our amusement. Projecting together, a cabal of rebellious units evoked poignant memories of the abyssal depths of Jm’ho; Ol’t’ro could almost taste the salt and hydrogen sulfide tangs of ocean trenches. If we leave the Fleet, we cease to protect Jm’ho, and Kl’mo, and the worlds settled thereafter.

No! another faction rebutted. Technology is how we can best protect our worlds.

Then a third: Let the Kzinti control here.

And again the first submeld: Suppose that comes to pass. Who then will restrain the Kzinti?

While yet others demanded: What here is certain? Only a new toy for you. That a physics theory will benefit our people is pure speculation.

Amid the mind storm, Ol’t’ro had a crisis of doubt. Truthfully, they had not seized control of the Fleet for their own intellectual stimulation. But after such long sacrifice, were they not entitled to reward themselves?

Suppose we agree upon a trade. How can we leave the Fleet? an ancient engram challenged. The moment we relinquish the planetary drive, we become vulnerable. Er’o, that ethereal, long-departed thought pattern seemed to be. In any event, one who remembered Sigmund Ausfaller and his manner of thinking.

Citizens keep their promises, another argued. Who? This time Ol’t’ro did not even have a guess. The echo of a remnant of a long-gone unit came too faintly to identify.

“Most do,” Ol’t’ro qualified.

Every day we are farther from the homes we once acted to protect, added Cd’o. Has not our reason for coming here, for ruling the Fleet of Worlds, lost all relevance?

“Enough!” Ol’t’ro roared, shocking the inner voices into submission. “We are one!”

But at the same time, they were sixteen, and many, many more. The clamor erupted anew.

Perhaps there was a reason no Gw’otesht had ever stayed together for this long.…

Baedeker was back. “I am confident that you recognized an improvement to our ship,” the Citizen sang. “I offer everything I have learned about hyperdrive and Long Shot itself. In exchange you are to release the Fleet of Worlds unharmed and leave forever. Are we agreed?”

Ol’t’ro considered:

That answers to puzzles so long unsolved would be welcome indeed.

That to lay down the burden of a trillion Citizens would be bliss.

That they would find unbearable never to know what Baedeker had learned.

That should Baedeker return to Hearth with the knowledge that he claimed, the Gw’oth worlds they had sacrificed lifetimes to protect would always be within the reach of the Concordance.

That Achilles could be trusted — never to honor a bargain he could manage to break, nor to cease lusting for power.

That their takeover of the Fleet had become necessary when the Concordance would not, or could not, control Achilles.

That though Achilles deserved death five-squared times over, and they could command it, his death would assure nothing. Where one Achilles had arisen, so might others.

“We decline your offer,” they had Chiron sing to Baedeker. “We make you a counterproposal you would be foolish to refuse.”

31

“Drones are swarming,” Baedeker sang.

As Nessus had expected. Nothing in his life had ever gone as smoothly as a quick negotiated settlement. “We must change places again.”

Because I can read the controls. Reclaiming his spot in the tiny bridge, Nessus checked the displays. After several back-and-forth hyperspace maneuvers, Long Shot was within two light-minutes of Hearth, just outside the singularity.

“Surrender your ship or you will be destroyed,” Chiron sang.

His hearts pounding, Nessus whistled disdainfully at the hologram. “No. You want to take this ship intact.”

“Before you make any hasty decisions, I have a small demonstration for you. I assume you are monitoring the swarm, that you have a full-spectrum sensor suite active.”

Nessus bobbed heads.

“Then right about … now.”

Flare shields engaged almost before Nessus realized something had happened.

“Finagle! What was that?” Louis radioed.

Blinking away tears, Nessus scrolled through the sensor logs. The blinding flash was the least of what had happened. Two drones had collided just in front of Long Shot, at a combined closing rate very close to light speed! Most of the energy from the impact had gone into a gamma-ray burst — to which, fortunately, the ship’s General Products-built hull was opaque.

Long Shot was vastly larger than the sacrificial drones — a target Chiron could not miss. No matter its General Products hull, a blow like what Nessus had just witnessed would shatter everything inside.

“Have I gotten your attention?” Chiron asked.

Instead of hugging himself to his own belly, Nessus summoned the strength to sing, “An idle threat. Strike us and you forfeit the improved hyperdrive and everything we have learned.”

“Nessus?” Louis demanded by radio. “What in Finagle’s name just happened?”

Nessus’ console flared again. From a dozen directions, laser beams lit Long Shot’s hull. He jumped the ship to hyperspace. “What’s happening, Louis? We are at war.”

“What can I do?” Louis asked.

“We,” Alice corrected.

“Leave us, and live well. In a moment, when we return to normal space, I’ll open the hatch.”

“No way will I, we, abandon — ”

“You cannot help us this time, Louis,” Baedeker shouted from the corridor. “Do as Nessus and I ask.”

Nessus began the countdown. “Dropping out in three … two … one…”

“All right,” Louis said.

“Now,” Nessus said. Normal space returned. “Hatch opening.”

Ruby-red light suffused the ship, brighter and brighter as more lasers locked on. But the drones emitting the laser beams were too distant — so far — to do harm, the light too diffuse even to activate flare shields. What was the point?

“Spin the ship!” Baedeker sang. “They are trying to shut down our hull.”

Nessus flinched. How could he have forgotten?

This ship was old, nano-grown before anyone understood that General Products hulls could be shut down. The hull was a single supermolecule, its interatomic bonds reinforced by an embedded power plant. Reinforcement was the source of the hull’s incredible strength — and, once revealed, also its biggest vulnerability. Overload that power plant or reprogram its photonic controller and you could shut it off —

And cabin pressure alone would burst the gossamer structure of the unsupported bonds.

Nessus wondered, do Gw’oth see irony? It had been Baedeker who discovered this weakness. General Products had long since redesigned power plant and controller to defy such attacks.

Falling into old memories was a retreat from reality as much as hiding beneath his belly — and as apt to get them all killed. With auxiliary thrusters, Nessus threw the ship into a spin. “Adjust for our rotation, Louis. And get moving!”

“Acknowledged,” Louis called.

On radar, Nessus watched Endurance sprint away. “Godspeed,” he radioed his friends.

From more and more nearby drones, lasers probed Long Shot’s twirling hull.

Chiron came back. “It is just a matter of time until your hull comes apart. You will die; the modified Type II hyperdrive will be salvaged. Surrender or perish.”

“I think not,” Nessus trilled, jumping to hyperspace. “Baedeker, how long will you need?”

“Give it three minutes,” his beloved sang.

Because neutrinos and their ultrafaint echoes crawled at light speed. And because their message, if it had not been received by then, would never get through at all.

Nessus dropped the ship back to normal space.

Transmitting, Voice sent. As the ship spun and jinked, only their AI could hold the focused neutrino beam on its target.

A blip much larger than any drone appeared in Nessus’ hyperwave radar display. Endurance! “Louis! You said you would leave.”

“True, but I didn’t say when.”

A nearby drone blazed in infrared, then another. Endurance, zigzagging, stalked targets among the nearest arcs of the defensive array! Endurance leapt in and out of hyperspace, staying close to Long Shot, attacking the closest drones.

Lasers shifted off Long Shot.

“You have made yourself a target, Louis,” Nessus called.

“Just a decoy. Do what you have to do. Quickly would be good.”

If only Long Shot had such maneuverability! Alas, not even the best normal-space thrusters could outrun light. On his console, Nessus saw ever more glints of laser beams reflecting from Endurance.

Endurance had not diverted all the drones; the intensity of light pouring onto Long Shot was climbing again. But Louis was buying them time.

“Get us closer,” Baedeker sang, his voices quavering.

Nessus jumped to hyperspace. A moment later Long Shot reappeared yet closer to the Fleet, among even more drones. Transmitting, Voice wrote.

Endurance reappeared. It no longer glowed with reflected laser light.

“Louis! They’re ready to attack you some other way. Get out of here!”

“Real soon,” Alice answered. “Are you done?”

An instant later: drones everywhere, swooping and pouncing. One solid hit could destroy Endurance.

Endurance veered; changed speeds; leapt to and from hyperspace. Drones flared and died under its assault — but never as quickly as others arrived. Endurance zigzagged, its (Pak Library-inspired?) laser cannons blazing.

“How much longer?” Nessus sang desperately to Baedeker.

“Just a little longer. And we need to slow down.”

Making ourselves an even better target, Nessus thought. If only they had another choice.

Drones kept coming …

PROTEUS CONSIDERED:

That Long Shot was spewing neutrinos at the Fleet. The emissions were pulsed like deep radar but highly modulated like communications. It was a message, he decided, because he could read it. Seek shelter immediately, the short, repeating message sang. But shelter from what? Whom did Baedeker warn? Why use such feeble security measures: neutrinos, rather than radio waves, and short bursts, rather than a continuous broadcast? Why not just encrypt the message?

That Ol’t’ro insisted Long Shot not be destroyed unless it became an imminent threat to Ol’t’ro themselves on Nature Preserve Five, or to Hearth, or to Proteus.

That the smaller vessel Long Shot had disgorged used thrusters more nearly reactionless than anything Ol’t’ro had seen off an Outsider city-ship. That by taking part in Baedeker’s scheme — whatever that was — the little ship had declared itself hostile.

That while the newcomer had the silhouette of a General Products #2 hull, reflections showed it to be made of a different material. This hull could not be switched off.

That both ships must be stopped — Kzinti, ARM, and Trinoc diplomatic missions were observing. That the sooner this incident ended, the less alien watchers would deduce about his capabilities.

That Long Shot’s evasive maneuvers were far from random. It stayed close to the singularity, with little normal-space velocity relative to the Fleet. The better to aim its warning message?

That because Long Shot so constrained itself (again, why?), in a matter of seconds he must soon succeed in turning off its hull.

That not even Ol’t’ro could guess why or how Citizens stayed to meet certain death.

That while the smaller ship’s agility should have made it an elusive target, its maneuvers became predictable the longer it stayed near Long Shot.

That the problem with Ol’t’ro’s gravity-pulse projector was that there was no known way to spot a ship still in hyperspace for targeting.

But as the annoying little ship’s maneuvers became more and more predictable …

BARELY TWO MINUTES INTO THE BATTLE, the wonder was that Endurance had yet to take a hit.

“Get ready,” Louis called.

“Ready,” Jeeves and Alice answered.

Despite everything, the sight of Alice perched on the Puppeteer copilot’s bench made Louis smile. “In five. Four.”

Endurance lurched. The main view port lit. Something had knocked them out of hyperspace!

“Drones swarming,” Jeeves said.

Nearby, amid its own cloud of drones, the Long Shot glowed luridly. “Run!” Louis radioed. He’d seen Nessus and Baedeker both goad themselves into acts of insane bravery, but staying any longer would be suicide. For both crews.

“What just happened?” Alice yelled.

Louis killed their normal-space velocity, shedding their swarm of drones. With a slightly different speed than before he zoomed back toward Long Shot.

“I don’t know,” he told Alice. “Something new.”

“Sensors reported a gravity pulse,” Jeeves said. “Some kind of space-time distortion.”

Drones swarmed, almost as agile as Endurance.

“Our lasers are overheating,” Jeeves advised.

Louis cut their normal-space speed to nothing —

Everything happened at once. The hull rang like a bell. Even as Louis thought, Finagle bless twing, the air around him turned to glue: the pilot’s emergency restraint field kicking on. Alarms screamed.

For an instant, so did Alice.

“Alice!” he shouted. He got no answer. His back was to her, and the force field kept him from moving, even to turn his head. “Alice!”

Silence.

“Release my restraints,” he ordered.

“That’s too dangerous.”

“Do it,” Louis growled.

He found Alice perched astraddle an arm of the Puppeteer-style bench, her head canted at an unnatural angle. She was too tall or her bench’s restraint was too tailored for Puppeteer physiology — her head must have extended beyond the force field.

Her neck was broken.

“Have Endurance play dead,” Louis ordered Jeeves. “Do we have a medical-stasis unit aboard?”

“The ship’s manifest lists two, but I don’t know where they are. Julia would know.”

Louis couldn’t carry Alice to the autodoc without jostling that would compound her injuries — but while he hunted for stasis gear, she could die beyond hope of reviving. And Julia was too far away. Futz!

He released Alice’s restraint field and caught her, her head flopping as she toppled. With her limp body slung over his shoulder, he ran from the bridge.

“What’s going on?” he asked Jeeves.

“Long Shot is surrounded by drones, bathed in laser light.” His voice jumping from speaker to speaker, Jeeves mimicked Louis’s mad dash to the cargo hold and the ’doc. “Long Shot no longer maneuvers. Unless they can act soon, they will drift inside the singularity.”

“Tell them to go!” Louis raged.

Then he was in the cargo hold, where his father’s autodoc still rested on a cargo disk. The ’doc’s lid retracted with glacial slowness. At last he was able to lay Alice inside. “You can’t die,” he told her.

As the lid closed, diagnoses scrolled faster than he could make sense of them. From the spinal damage, he guessed. Her advanced age didn’t help. “Come back to me,” he whispered, then dashed back to the bridge.

“Status?” he ordered Jeeves.

“The Fleet of Worlds is pulling away from us. We have major damage, nothing immediately critical. The impact knocked out comm systems. Our main reactor is off-line — ”

“Are we under attack?”

“No.”

“Can we use hyperdrive?”

“Perhaps a light-year on reserve power.”

“Show me Long Shot.”

The tactical display opened. At the center: an image, greatly magnified, of Long Shot. All around it, icons representing battle drones. A faint translucent surface to denote the boundary of the singularity.

Long Shot had drifted inside the singularity.

“They are still being probed by laser beams.”

Louis’s restored memories knew several ways to destroy GP hulls. As he watched, Long Shot’s hull evaporated. Its fusion drives flashed.

When the glare cut off, he saw — nothing.

“Take us half a light-year from here,” Louis ordered wearily.

“In what direction?”

Louis said, “It doesn’t matter.”