Resurgence

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX Starting over

The Have-It-All had started its journey as a luxury ship. In its equipment and its fittings—even in its weapons—it served as a symbol of the best that the Orion Arm could provide. Louis Nenda had worked for many years to make it that way.

Now the ship was a stripped-down hulk, a fleshless skeleton of a vessel barely able to support the life that travelled within it. Nonetheless, Louis Nenda whistled cheerfully as he sat in the ruined control cabin of the derelict and made final adjustments before Bose node entry.

“Louis, I sense a contradiction.” Atvar H’sial was crouched a couple of meters away on the bare metal floor. “To one who sees as I do, your vocal utterances are extremely ugly. Yet your pheromones display an uncommon happiness.”

“Sure I’m happy. Who wouldn’t be? We’re goin’ home.”

“This ship is a wreck.”

“It is. But we’re not dead. As long as you’re not dead, you can start over. Also, Julian Graves says that the inter-clade council will pay to restore the ship to the way it was.”

“Do you believe that?”

“ ’Course not. They’re a bunch of idiot bureaucrats. We’ll be lucky if we can squeeze two cents out of ’em. But the other side of that is, while they’re jawing about what fine people we are, only they don’t have any money to reward us, we’ll have things easy. They won’t be tryin’ to kill us off or stick us in jail. Graves says we’ll get some kind of award. Even Archimedes, for hangin’ outside the ship without a suit an’ draggin’ in Sinara and the other survival team members. Graves says he’s amazed that Archie didn’t die doin’ it.”

“You appear less confounded.”

“Hell, it takes more than that to kill a Zardalu. Archie keeps goin’ on about how he’s afraid I’ll disembowel him, but if I did it wouldn’t do him in. He’d just go ahead an’ grow another set of guts. Graves doesn’t know any of that, though, so Archie’s up for an award along with the rest of us.”

“Do not trust Ethical Councilors bearing gifts.”

“At, you’re gettin’ cynical. It don’t become you.” They had passed through the node, and Nenda stared with satisfaction at the view on his one remaining display. It revealed an almost total absence of stars. The ship was floating in the empty spaces of the Gulf. “We have a few hours to spare before the next node entry. Want to go hear what E.C. Tally has to offer? He’s been workin’ non-stop with the damaged beetleback, an’ Hans Rebka says there’ll be somethin’ worth hearin’.”

“It was always my impression that you disliked and distrusted Captain Rebka.”

“I do. But I never said he was an idiot. If what Tally has found out is good enough to interest Rebka, it’s probably worth a listen.”

“Do I detect admiration for Hans Rebka?”

“No.”

“Respect, then, which is separated from admiration by a thin olfactory boundary?”

“At, stop playin’ pheromonal word games. Let’s go.”

Nenda led the way along the ravaged upper corridor of the ship. Without circulation or temperature control equipment, the air was stale, hot, and humid. At the doorless entrance of the conference room, Louis paused and sniffed. Everyone on board was packed into the chamber. This was the way that hard-worked crew members should be. Sweaty, and smelly, and with clothes that could not be changed or washed for another couple of weeks.

Even the four survival team members looked right. The Have-It-All’s stripped-down robodoc hadn’t been able to do much more than hold the status quo. Teri Dahl wore a body cast and was clearly paralyzed below the waist, Ben Blesh had a neck brace and his face was a swollen mass of purple-yellow blotches surrounding sunken bloodshot eyes, Torran Veck’s upper body was a mass of bandages, and Sinara Bellstock was relatively intact but had the expression of someone in need of about a year’s sleep. Instead of being neat and clean and fresh-faced and enthusiastic, each one was bedraggled and filthy. Louis could for the first time believe that the group might actually be earning its keep.

Archimedes was sprawled along one whole wall of the room. Nenda went to sit on the Zardalu’s meter-thick mid-section, and Kallik at once hurried over to crouch at his feet.

E.C. Tally was standing at the far end of the room, next to the captured beetleback. It had been in poor shape when it reached the Have-It-All, and recent treatment had done nothing to improve that. The dark ventral body plates had been ripped open along their center line and folded back. The interior was exposed, and parts of it had been removed.

It was now obvious to everyone what Atvar H’sial’s ultrasonic vision had seen at once. The recent evisceration had not killed the beetleback, because it had never been alive. Its innards were a tangle of wires, tubes, junction boxes, and hydraulics. When Nenda entered the room, E.C. Tally had just pulled out a valve. He was apparently in the middle of a lecture describing how the mechanism was constructed, and how it functioned. From the restless look of his audience, he had been at it for some time.

After three more minutes, Julian Graves said, “This is all very interesting, E.C. But some of us would rather hear what the beetlebacks did, rather than how they did it.”

“But these data are of great potential value.”

“I’m sure they are. So why don’t you download everything—later—into the Have-It-All’s computer. Describe all that you have discovered about the way a beetleback is built and functions. But tell us, now, what you have learned about what the beetlebacks were doing, and why.”

“I have learned a great deal, and I conjecture even more. I will rank and present these findings in order of their estimated interest to this particular audience. First, regarding the beings who are extinguishing suns and removing all heat from them and their planets in a region of the Sag Arm: they are not, in their own terms, destroying these systems. They are rather, with the assistance of their own constructs, the beetlebacks, modifying star systems for their own use. The beetlebacks, much like Builder constructs, possess notions regarding their own creators that are of questionable validity. However, it seems clear that those creators require extremely cold temperatures if they are to survive and function. The name we have been using, Masters of Cold, appears entirely appropriate. It is my conjecture, although not that of the beetlebacks, that the Masters of Cold are some composite and sentient form of Bose-Einstein Condensates.”

Graves objected at once, “E.C., that is nonsense and you should know it. Bose-Einstein Condensates exist only with ambient temperatures within a few hundred billionths of a degree of absolute zero. No place in the natural universe is so cold.”

“Councilor, I of course do realize that.”

“So there is no possible way that the Masters of Cold could ever have developed in the first place.”

“They did not develop. Everything in the data bank of the beetlebacks points to a different origin. The Masters of Cold are themselves a creation—a creation of the Builders. They are a form of artifact.”

Tally’s audience had been listening quietly, but this was too much for Darya Lang. Sitting opposite Louis Nenda, she jumped to her feet and burst out, “E.C., that’s impossible. You were not on Iceworld with us, so you wouldn’t know this. But a Builder construct there assured us that the coming of extreme cold destroyed both that world and a complicated transportation system established by the Builders. It’s not reasonable to suggest that constructs which are themselves Builder creations would destroy Builder works.”

“I offer only the most probable answer, not a final one. The Masters of Cold are artifacts, created by the Builders. But they are constructs over which the Builders themselves have lost control.”

That stopped everyone, even Louis, who had divided his attention between watching the reactions of others and listening to E.C. Tally’s explanation as closely as he listened to anything that was no more than a theory. For thousands of years everyone had assumed that the Builders were super-beings who could do anything they liked. That something could challenge or defy Builder technology—people just didn’t think that way.

But E.C. was not people. He was an embodied computer, following the implications of the given data by strictly logical processes to wherever it might lead.

Tally continued, “Professor Lang, you yourself proposed the presence in the Sag Arm of two different kinds of superior forms, adversarial to each other. Others here objected strongly to your suggestion, on probabilistic grounds. What are the odds, they said, of two such forms arising? However, those objections disappear at once if one superior form is the creation of the other.

“This"—Tally pointed to the gutted beetleback at his side—"is a secondary product, the creation of a creation. Marglot was once a special world, a nexus to many worlds established by the Builders. Had we not arrived there, the whole Marglot system would also have become the domain of the Masters of Cold. They had already taken the first steps, with the extinction of life on Marglot and the draining of energy from M-2. Halting the fusion reaction within the parent star would come next. That order of processes appears different from what we observed in the system where we first arrived in the Sag Arm. It is a disturbing thought, but I conjecture that the Masters of Cold are still learning the fastest and most effective ways of accomplishing their changes.”

“So who brought us here?” Julian Graves asked. “Here, all the way from the Orion Arm.”

“I am forced to assume that it was the Builders, since a variety of paths constructed by them all led to Marglot.”

“Wrong question,” Hans Rebka said. “Forget who. Why? Why were we brought here?”

“Again, I am obliged to conjecture. We were brought here so that we could be warned of danger, far in the future, to our own spiral arm.”

“No, no, no.” Claudius was sitting as far away from Archimedes as he could get. The Have-It-All had been stripped of spare reactor capacity, along with everything else, but somewhere on the ship the Chism Polypheme had managed to find a source of enough hard radiation to turn his corkscrew body a pleasant pale green. “No, no, no,” his croaking voice repeated, while his single slate-gray eye rolled to survey everyone in the room. “That’s not the way the real world wags. I don’t know about the Orion Arm, but in the Sagittarius Arm you don’t bring people a long way to warn them. You bring them a long way only if they can help you.”

Louis, about to agree vigorously, decided it was wiser to keep quiet. Let Claudius be blamed for a suggestion that anybody in his right mind would think reasonable.

As the storm of criticism of Claudius’s skepticism arose—with Hans Rebka, Louis noticed, abstaining—Julian Graves interrupted.

“We can debate reasons later. Regardless of motive, the fact remains that we were brought to the Sag Arm. We have been warned of tremendous danger. This expedition is going home with more information—and worse news—than I thought possible. I knew before we left that a second visit might be inevitable, but I did not dream that it would have such urgency. Tally, do you have more warnings to offer?”

“Not yet. May I speak? If I may be allowed to continue with the description of beetleback physiology—”

“You may not. You may listen. Immediately upon our arrival at the Orion Arm, a much larger and better-equipped party must be formed. With what we have seen and learned and now conjecture, inter-clade council approval and funding can be guaranteed. Our prompt return to the Sag Arm, and to those parts of it in particular affected by—infested by—the Masters of Cold, cannot be delayed for a moment.”

This time the wisdom of silence could not compete with the sense of outrage. Louis said, “The hell with that. Councilor, you’re forgettin’ a bunch of stuff. First, we were damn near killed, every one of us. We escaped because Ben Blesh risked his skin, an’ he nearly lost it. Look at him! You could use his face for wallpaper patterns. An we’re crawlin’ home in a ship—my ship, let me remind you—that’s been gutted an’ bashed an’ beaten ’til it’s hardly fit to be sold for scrap. An’ now you up an’ tell us we’re goin’ right back to the place that did all this.”

“My apologies. My terminology was confusing. When I spoke of our return to the Sag Arm, I was referring to the combined clades of the Orion Arm. I did not intend to imply that all those here would be included in a second expedition. In fact, I myself will not be going.”

Darya said, “But some of us will.”

“That is a true statement.” Julian Graves coughed. “I must confess that I have been less than totally forthcoming with all of you. But it was not from choice. My actions were forced on me by the instructions by the inter-clade council.” He surveyed the grimy and weary group, examining each one in turn. “We jointly possess, without a doubt, more knowledge and experience of the Builders than any similar-sized assembly of humans and aliens drawn from the whole Orion Arm. And yet we also, without a doubt, form a curiously ill-matched team. For instance, my own presence in the Dobelle system, where I first met most of you, was pure coincidence. My task at that time had nothing to do with the Builders. The next expedition to the Sag Arm will be different. It will be designed from the outset to provide complementary skills and experience.”

Darya Lang said, “But I will be going, right? I mean, this is the Builders. I’ve spend my whole life studying them.”

“You have indeed. Developments in the Sag Arm, however, seem to involve less the Builders than the Builders’ own creations.”

“But you said experience,” Darya persisted. “We have experience in the Sag Arm. Nobody else does, in any of the clades.”

“That also is a true statement. Professor Lang, perhaps you may have misinterpreted my earlier words. I said that not all this group would return to the Sag Arm. That was a perfectly accurate statement. I did not, however, assert that no members of this group would be on the second expedition.”

“If not me, then who?” Darya watched in apparent disbelief as Julian Graves nodded his head toward the end of the room, where the four survival specialists sat like a row of zombies. “You can’t mean them.”

“I am sorry, my dear professor, but that is exactly what I mean. The inter-clade council made the decision before ever we set out, that new blood might be needed. That is exactly why the initial expedition included young survival specialists. You, Captain Rebka, Atvar H’sial, Louis Nenda . . . ” Julian Graves’s wave of the hand took in most of those present in the chamber. “Yes, and me, too. We are, in the council’s view, too fixed in our perceptions. New problems, they argue, call for new ways of thought.”

It was the best news to come Louis’s way for a long time—the best news, in fact, since that long-ago moment when he and Atvar H’sial had arrived on Xerarchos and discovered how easy it was to milk the natives. But apparently Darya did not agree.

“The inter-clade council members are imbeciles.”

“Professor Lang, many of the council are friends of mine.”

“That doesn’t surprise me one bit. You tell them, if they want information about anything that happened on this expedition, they’ll have to be ready to negotiate.” Darya stood up and stared around at the others in the room. “We have to be united about this. No second expedition for us, no cooperation from us.”

She swept out of the room. Hans Rebka followed at once. Louis could not tell from his expression if he was leaving in support of Darya, or intended to try to talk her out of her anger. E.C. Tally said, “Councilor Graves, when the inter-clade council decreed that new blood would be needed, how will that affect my own situation? I can if necessary obtain both new blood and a new body.”

“E.C., I do not believe that the inter-clade council’s words are intended to be interpreted too literally.” Julian Graves rubbed his hand wearily over his bald and bulging cranium. “I did not anticipate so extreme a reaction from Professor Lang. Do any of you share her response?”

Graves seemed to be staring right at him. Louis shook his head. “We’re law-abidin’ people. Whatever the Council says, we gotta live with it.”

“Good for you, Louis Nenda. I value your sound judgment and support. Were there to be any exception to the Council’s rule, I would argue that it should be you. But now I must try to persuade Professor Lang to adopt your rational point of view.”

Graves hurried out, as Nenda picked up a gust of pheromonal laughter from Atvar H’sial. “Louis, J’merlia translated for me your exchange with Julian Graves. You almost overdid the fine art of hypocrisy.”

“Yeah, yeah. Laugh if you like. But At, now I’ve got Graves solid on my side. We’re goin’ home to the Orion Arm, an’ we’re stayin’ there. Let’s get out of here. Tally looks about ready to start in again about his beetleback.”

Louis, accompanied by Atvar H’sial and the three slaves, started out along the upper corridor that led to the control cabin. He was almost there when Darya Lang popped out of a side chamber and stood smack in front of him, so that he was forced to stop or run into her.

“Darya, Julian Graves is looking for you.”

“I know he is. He’s a spineless traitor, and I’m avoiding him.”

“Where’s Hans Rebka?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care. Let’s not talk about him at all.” And then, “Do you know what Rebka told me? He said that the inter-clade council might have a point, and he needed to think about it. I mean, what is there to think about?” Darya grabbed Louis’s arm and stared into his eyes. “I can count on you, I feel sure of that without having to ask. You and I have always had this mental bond between us. Physical, too, even though we haven’t ever . . . well, you know. But on a long trip, like to the Sag Arm, I feel sure we would. You’ll help me, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.”

“I knew it. Louis, you’re an angel.” Darya put her arms around him and kissed him on the lips. “We have to make plans as to how we’re going to arrange this. It may not be easy to persuade the Council that we need to go, but I’m sure we can do it.”

“It won’t be easy, an’ it will take time. But it can’t be this minute. I have to arrange to put us through another Bose node.”

“We’ll meet later?”

“You bet.”

Louis disentangled himself and went through into the control cabin. Its door had been sacrificed on Marglot to the cause of reduced mass, but Atvar H’sial moved to stand at the entrance and prevent anyone else from entering.

“Louis, I feel that I will never understand humans.”

“Join the club.”

“First, consider the survival specialist, Sinara Bellstock. She could not wait to mate with you on several earlier occasions. But in the conference chamber, her chemical messengers gave off no trace of interest in you. Instead they revealed great interest in Ben Blesh.”

“You don’t need pheromones to read that. Sinara has found herself a new hero. Now she’s hot for Ben.” Louis sat down in the control chair and stared at the Bose coordinates. A few more minutes would do it. “An’ you know what? I’m relieved. You’ve no idea how rotten it makes me feel when somebody expects me to be a hero.”

“I am not surprised. It is a role for which by both temperament and history you are unsuited. However, the puzzle does not end with Sinara Bellstock. When humans are in an unwashed condition, their pheromonal products are particularly easy to read. Darya Lang was offering you her body in the corridor. True?”

“Some of her body. An’ I don’t think she was expectin’ it to happen right there in the corridor. But more or less.”

“And you were giving off conflicting signals. On the one hand, you sympathize with and desire her. On the other hand, you have absolutely no intention of returning to the Sagittarius Arm under any circumstances whatsoever.”

“So? Any trip to the Sag Arm might be six months away. Darya could be tomorrow night. You gonna give me a lecture on morals?”

“I would not dream of doing so. Were you to observe Cecropian mating habits they would, I suspect, render you nauseated.”

“Some human ones don’t make me feel any too good.” Louis had his eyes fixed on the countdown. Another minute and they would enter another Bose node. One more step on the long journey to the Orion Arm, and from this point on it ought to be plain sailing. The Have-It-All was doing no more than retracing its outward path. “So maybe Darya an’ me decide to play around on the way home. Don’t you agree I’ve earned it?”

“Indeed you have. However, I want to point out one more complication that does not seem to have occurred to you.”

“Go on. Screw things up for me when they’re goin’ great.”

“Darya Lang is from Sentinel Gate, and she will doubtless wish to return there. Waiting for you on Sentinel Gate is the faithful Glenna Omar. Do you not see what a difficult choice lies ahead of you?”

Twenty seconds to go to the Bose node. Louis stared around him at the ruined cabin. He could visualize the rest of the ship. Where once had been the most luxurious of beds there were now bare metal floors. The finest robochef in the Orion Arm floated somewhere in the sea of debris that had been Marglot. Showers, once able to provide subtle combinations of perfumed essences, offered at best a trickle of cold water. Whole closets, once filled with Glenna Omar’s lingerie and furs and gowns and shoes and jewelry, stood empty.

“Yeah.” Louis entered the final transfer sequence. “There’s a choice ahead. Only it’s not mine to make, an’ I doubt it’ll be all that difficult once she sees this ship. You don’t know Glenna as well as I do.”

Space around the Have-It-All flickered. The vessel, such as was left of it, entered the Bose node.