Transcendence

Chapter Four

Money and credit meant little to an interspecies Council member. To serve the prestigious needs of a Council project, any planet in the spiral arm would readily turn over the best of its resources; and should there ever be any hesitation, a councilor had final authority to commandeer exactly who and what was needed.

But for an ex-councilor, one who had resigned in protest…

After a lifetime in which costs were irrelevant, Julian Graves was suddenly exposed to the real world. He looked on his new credit, and found it wanting.

“The ship we can afford won’t be very big, and it doesn’t have to be brand-new.” He offered to J’merlia the authorization to draw on his private funds. “But make sure that it has defensive weapons. When we track down the Zardalu, we cannot assume that they will be friendly.”

The Lo’tfian was too polite to comment. But J’merlia’s pale-lemon eyes rolled on their short eyestalks and swiveled to glance at E.C. Tally and Kallik. They were not likely to assume that the Zardalu would be friendly. The last time that the four of them had encountered Zardalu, E.C. Tally’s body had been torn to pieces and the little Hymenopt, Kallik, had had one leg pulled off. Julian Graves himself had been blinded and had required a new pair of eyes. He seemed to have forgotten all about that.

“But range and drive capability are even more important,” Graves went on. “We have no idea how far we will have to go, or how many Bose Transitions we will be obliged to make.”

J’merlia was nodding, while at his side Kallik was bobbing up and down on her eight springy legs. The Hymenopt had found the endless formal proceedings of the Council hearing dull and hard to endure. She was itching for action. When Graves held out his credit authorization she grabbed it with a whistle of satisfaction.

The same urge to be up and doing had dictated the actions of Kallik and J’merlia when they flew out of Delbruck and came to Miranda Port. Catalogs of every vessel in the shroud moorings were held in the Downside catalogs, and a prospective buyer could call up specifications on any of the ships. She could even conjure a 3-D holographic reconstruction that allowed her to wander vicariously through the interior, listen to the engines, and inspect passenger accommodations. Without ever leaving Downside she could do everything but stroke the polished trim, press the control button, and smell the Bose Drive’s ozone.

But that was exactly what Kallik was keen to do. At her urging, she and J’merlia headed at once to the base of the Stalk. In the very moment when Louis Nenda and Atvar H’sial were entering Delbruck, their former slaves were lifting for free-fall, the Shroud, and the Upside Sales Center.

It was not practical to make a physical inspection of more than a tiny fraction of the ships. With an inventory of almost a million vessels scattered through a hundred million cubic miles of space, and with ships of every age, size, and condition, even Kallik admitted that the selection had to begin with a computer search. And that meant the central office of Upside Sales.

It was the tail end of a busy period when they arrived, and the manager eyed the two newcomers with no enthusiasm. She was tired, her feet were hurting, and she did not feel she was looking at sales potential. There were funny-looking aliens aplenty running around Miranda Port, but mostly they didn’t buy ships. Humans bought ships.

The skinny one was a Lo’tfian, and like all Lo’tfians he seemed mostly a tangle of arms and legs. The eight black articulated limbs were attached to a long, pipestem torso, and his narrow head was dominated by the big, lemon-colored compound eyes. In the experience of the sales manager, Lo’tfians did not have money, or make purchase decisions. They did not even speak for themselves. They accompanied Cecropians as translators and servants, and they never offered a word of their own.

The Lo’tfian’s companion was even worse. There were eight legs again, but these sprang from a short, stubby torso covered with fine black fur, and the small, smooth head was entirely surrounded by multiple pairs of bright, black eyes. It had to be a Hymenopt, a rarity outside the worlds of the Zardalu Communion — and a dangerous being, if reputation was anything to go by. Hymenopts had superfast reactions, and the end of the rotund body concealed a deadly sting.

Could the pair even talk? The only sound that the aliens were making was an odd series of clicks and whistles.

“Patience, Kallik.” The skinny Lo’tfian switched to human speech as he turned to the sales manager. He held out a bank chit. “Greetings. I am J’merlia, and this is Kallik. We are here to buy a ship.”

So at least one of them could talk human. And he had credit. That was a surprise. The manager’s first reaction — don’t waste five seconds on these two — was overridden by long training. She took the chit that the Lo’tfian was holding out to her and performed an automatic check on it.

She sniffed.

Two dozen eyes blinked at her. “Are we in luck?” the Hymenopt asked.

So they could both speak.

“You’re lucky in at least one way. The choice won’t be too difficult. You won’t have to worry about ninety-nine percent of our inventory.”

“Why not?” Kallik’s circular ring of black eyes was taking in the holograms of a dozen ships at once.

“Because you don’t have enough credit to buy them. For instance, you can’t have any of the ones that you’re looking at right now. Can you give me a summary of your requirements?”

“Range,” J’merlia said. “Weapons. Enough accommodation for us and at least four humans, but also plenty of interior cargo space.”

“What kind of cargo?”

“Living cargo. We might need room to carry a group of Zardalu.”

“I see.” The manager gave him a tight-lipped smile. Zardalu. Why not say dinosaurs and have done with it? If a customer did not want to admit what they would be carrying in the ship — and many didn’t — it was better to say so outright. She didn’t care what the ships were used for after they were sold, but she hated it when people tried to play games with her.

Well, she had her own games.

“All right, now I know what you need we can look at a few. How about this? It’s in your price range.”

The vessel she called onto the 3-D display was a stunted blue cylinder with three stalklike landing braces. It had a drunken and lopsided look, as though it was hung over after some major party. “Lots of power. Great on-board computer — Karlan emotional circuits and all. What do you think?”

She could not read the expressions of the aliens, but their chitters and whistles sounded subdued.

“I’m not sure I like the idea of an emotional on-board computer,” J’merlia said at last. “How big is it inside?”

“Ah. Good point. You could fit half-a-dozen people in easily enough, but it’s low on cargo space. It wouldn’t do for you. But this one” — she switched the display — “has all the interior space you’ll ever need. And power to spare.”

The vessel that appeared on the screen was mostly open space, like a widespread bunch of rotting grapes loosely connected to each other by frayed lengths of string.

“Of course, it only looks saggy like this when the drive is off and it’s docked,” the manager added after a long silence. “When it’s in flight there’s electromagnetic coupling of the components, and it all tightens up.”

“Weapons?” Kallik asked feebly.

“Weapons!” The manager snapped her fingers. “Good point. That’s this ship’s one weak spot. It has weapons, but they’re in a self-contained pod, so you have to switch the drive right off before you can get to them and activate them. Not too convenient.

“All right, let me try again. I know I’ve got just what you need, I just have to find it. Interior space, good power and range, good weapons system…” She bent for a few seconds over her catalog, entering search parameters. “I knew it!” She looked up, smiling. “I’m a dummy. I forgot all about the Erebus. A supership! Just what you want! Look at this!”

She threw the hologram of a vast, black-hulled craft onto the 3-D display. Its exterior was a rough ovoid, the dark outer surface disfigured by gleaming studs and warts and irregular cavities.

“More than big enough, power to spare — and see those weapons systems!”

“How big is it?” J’merlia asked.

“The Erebus is four hundred meters long, three hundred and twenty wide. There’s accommodation for hundreds of passengers — thousands if you want to convert some of the cargo space — and you could fit most interstellar vessels easily inside the primary hold. You want weapons? See those surface nodules — every one of them is a self-contained facility powerful enough to vaporize a decent-sized asteroid. You want to talk range, and power? There’s enough in this ship’s drive to take you ten times round the spiral arm!”

The display was moving in through one of the ports and showing the interior appointments of the ship. A human figure led the way to provide an idea of scale. Every fixture was substantial and solid, and the drive drew a whistle of approval from Kallik.

“Do we really have enough credit to purchase this?” she asked after they had examined the vast interior cargo volume, a spherical open space two hundred and fifty meters across.

“Just enough.” The manager pushed the sales entry pad across to J’merlia. “Right here, where I’ve marked it, and then at the bottom. And once you signed, I’ll throw in a special option that ends today. The ship will be scrubbed clean for you, inside and out. I definitely recommend that you add this option — it’s been a little while since the Erebus was in regular use.”

Neither J’merlia nor Kallik possessed external ears, so nothing was burning as they completed their purchase of the Erebus and gloated over its size and capabilities. But back in Delbruck they were the focus of an increasingly loud argument.

“I can’t believe it. You let Kallik and J’merlia go off to buy a ship — just the two of them, with no help from anyone?” Louis Nenda was hunched over a chair back, glowering at Julian Graves, while Atvar H’sial and E.C. Tally silently looked on.

“I did.” Graves nodded. “For I recognize what you, in your attempts to impose slavery on J’merlia and Kallik, are all too willing to forget: these are mature, adult forms of highly intelligent species. It would be quite wrong to treat them like children. Give them responsibility, and they will respond to it.”

“Don’t kid yourself.”

“But you surely admit that they are highly intelligent.”

“Sure. What’s that got to do with it? Smart, and adults, but until a few months ago they had somebody else making all their decisions for them. They’re missin’ experience. If you need somebody to calculate an orbit, or reduce a set of observations, I’d trust Kallik over anyone in the spiral arm. But when it comes to negotiating, they’re like babies. You should have gone with ’em. They have no more idea how to cut a deal without gettin’ gypped than E.C. Tally here, or than — oh, my Lord.”

Nenda had seen the flicker of discomfort cross Julian Graves’s scarred face.

“No more idea than you do.” Nenda slapped the back of the chair in his frustration. “Come on, Graves, admit it. You never had to bargain for anything in your whole life — councilors get whatever they need, handed to them on a plate.”

Graves squirmed in his seat. “It is true that my duties seldom called for — purchases of any kind, or even for discussion of material needs. But if you think that J’merlia and Kallik may be at a disadvantage—”

“Disadvantage? Get a good sales type up there, they’ll be eaten alive. Can you call ’em — let me talk before they go too far?”

“If you believe that you can, by conversation with Kallik—”

“I’m not gonna get into the slavery bit, I promise. I’ll keep it to the negotiation, get in the middle of it if I can, that and nothing else.”

“I gave them no specific itinerary, but I may be able to reach them. Give me a few moments.” Graves hurried across to the communications complex on the other side of the room. After a few moments, E.C. Tally trailed after him.

“May I speak?” he whispered as Graves set to work at the terminal. “I do not deny, Councilor, that Louis Nenda and Atvar H’sial sometimes favor deceit. But recall our experiences on Serenity — it was precisely those elements of deceit that permitted us to overcome the Zardalu. And soon we will be facing Zardalu again.”

“What is your point?” Graves was only half listening. In his search for J’merlia and Kallik he was being bounced randomly from one signal center to another, first on Downside, then on Upside.

“That they may again be of value. Unlike most others in the spiral arm, Nenda and Atvar H’sial are fully convinced of the existence of the Zardalu. They know as much as anyone of Zardalu behavior patterns — more, perhaps, after their interaction with the immature form. They are also widely traveled, and at home in scores of planetary environments. You yourself have said that you expect our ship may have to explore fifty alien worlds, before we locate the hiding place of the Zardalu. Finally, we know that Louis Nenda and Atvar H’sial are brave and resourceful. Would it not therefore be logical to cease to argue with them, and instead recruit them to our cause?”

Graves paused in his frustrating struggle with the communications unit. “Why would they ever agree? They made it clear that all they want is to return to Glister and take possession of Nenda’s ship, the Have-It-All.”

“Like you, I am unfamiliar with the process that Louis Nenda terms cutting a deal. But it occurs to me that a mutually beneficial arrangement might be possible. It will surely be as difficult to return to Glister as it was to reach it originally. Nenda and Atvar H’sial know that. Suppose therefore that they help us now. And suppose that you in return offer the assistance and resources of our whole party in recovering the Have-It-All, as soon as our own goal has been accomplished. I know that Nenda has a high regard for Professor Lang. If we were to mention to him that she, too, will be part of our group…”

At the other side of the room, Nenda was deep in explanation to Atvar H’sial. He had been too busy arguing with Graves to maintain parallel pheromonal translation for the Cecropian’s benefit.

“I know you just want to get out of here, At, and not waste time talking with these turkeys. But a few minutes ago I had a thought. Here I am and here you are, stuck on Miranda without a credit to scratch your pedicel with. Now, why did we come here in the first place?”

“To claim possession of J’merlia and Kallik.”

“Sure. And why did we do that?”

“J’merlia is mine by right. I have been his dominatrix since he was first postlarval.”

“True — but we didn’t come here just to claim ’em, did we? We came here to claim ’em and rent ’em to others, so we could get the use of a ship. Now, suppose we keep pushing the fact that we own ’em. You know we’ll get into a big hassle with Graves — an’ we might lose. Where would that leave us?”

“I will tear off his ugly bald head.”

“Fine. And for an encore? Even if you don’t get scragged for it, we’ll still be stuck up Miranda Creek, without a paddle. You see, what we need, same thing that made us come here in the first place, is a ship. And that’s what J’merlia and Kallik are off buying, right now. So suppose they get one. And suppose instead of acting all bent out of shape about who owns who, we smile and say everything is just fine. And we go along with ’em on their ship, to help out — because you can bet they’ll need help, with whatever old piece of junk they get saddled with, or it won’t fly at all. So sooner or later there comes a time when most people are off doing something else, and there’s just you and me, or maybe you and me and J’merlia and Kallik, on board the ship—”

“Say no more.” Atvar H’sial’s blind white head was nodding. “I am persuaded. I have remarked before, Louis Nenda, that you are the most capable partner that I have ever had. So much so, I fear to trust you myself. But for the moment, we have few choices. Therefore I agree: we will proceed as you suggest — if our servants procure a ship.” The yellow horns turned to point across the room, to where E.C. Tally was hurrying toward them. “And that we may soon know.”

“Does he have ’em on the line?” Nenda asked as Tally came close.

The embodied computer shook his head. “Councilor Graves tracked J’merlia and Kallik to their last stop, but they had already left the sales center. They bought a ship, the Erebus, and now they are heading back here. They are reportedly highly excited and delighted with their purchase. Councilor Graves requested full specifications. They will be arriving shortly through his terminal.”

“Keep your fingers and claws crossed.” Nenda and Atvar H’sial followed Tally over to the communications unit. “The Miranda sales force has quite a reputation. Let’s hope what J’merlia and Kallik bought is a ship, and not a Builder bathtub. Here it comes. External dimensions…”

As the vessel’s physical parameters and performance characteristics began to unroll across the screen, Nenda summarized and commented on each section for Atvar H’sial’s benefit.

“Main cargo hold, eight point two million cubic meters. That’s more open cargo space than a superfreighter, plus there’s two big subsidiary holds. You could stow fifty millions tons of metal in the Erebus — and you could haul it halfway across the galaxy. Listen to these engine power figures.” The pheromonal message revealed Nenda’s surprise at what he was seeing. “And if you ever have main engine problems,” he went on, “there’s an auxiliary Bose Drive good for at least a dozen transitions. Here’s the ratings…”

Atvar H’sial was crouched close to the floor, her head nodding as the listing of internal and external dimensions and performance ratings went on. After ten minutes the Cecropian began to sit up straight, towering over the humans.

“Weapons?” The single word to Nenda carried an overtone of speculation.

“We’re just getting to ’em. You’ll love this, At, it’s the cream on the cake. Fifteen weapons centers in the main control room. Forty-four turrets, all around the ship and all fully independent. Each one has as much kick as a Lascelles complex — any one would beat what I had on the Have-It-All. Plus you can make a Dalton synthesis combining all turrets—”

“A question, Louis Nenda, for you to ask Julian Graves. How much did J’merlia and Kallik pay for the Erebus?”

“I don’t need to ask — it’s shown right here. One hundred and thirty-two thousand. Damnation, I see what you mean. That’s way too cheap.”

“Perhaps not, Louis. I would like the answer to one further question. How old is this ship?”

“That’s not shown on the listing.” Nenda turned to Julian Graves. “Can you interrupt the display for a query? Atvar H’sial is asking about the age of the Erebus.”

“No problem.” Graves had been leaning back in his chair, watching with huge satisfaction as the statistics rolled past. He entered Nenda’s query, then turned to face the Karelian. “I hope that this gives you increased faith in my methods, Mr. Nenda. I sent J’merlia and Kallik to negotiate for purchase of a ship. They have bought a ship — and what a ship! And at a most reasonable price. I ask you, do you believe that you, or Atvar H’sial, or anyone, could have found a better bargain? The moral of this is—”

He paused and goggled at the screen. “Is that the date it was put into service? It can’t be. Let me check again.”

“Three thousand nine hundred years, At,” Nenda said softly. “That’s the listed age of the Erebus.” He continued silently, using only pheromonal communication. “What’s going on? You must know, or you’d never have asked the question.”

“I will tell you, though you may prefer to allow Councilor Graves to learn what I have to say for himself, rather than from you. The information is not likely to bring joy to his heart. Your description of the Erebus — especially of its weapons system — sounded familiar. It reminded me of the Larmeer ships used in the long-ago battles between the Fourth Alliance and the Zardalu Communion. Those ships were commissioned by the Alliance, but they were manufactured by my people, in the Cecropia Federation, in the free-space weapons shop of H’larmeer. J’merlia and Kallik have purchased something with the carrying capacity of a freighter, the firepower of a battleship, and the internal life-support systems and personnel accommodations of a colony ship. But it is none of these. It is a Tantalus orbital fort.”

“And it’s four thousand years old. Will it still work?”

“Assuredly. The orbital forts were created for multi-millennial working lifetimes, with negligible maintenance. There will be a problem recognizing the purpose of some of the onboard devices, since the common day-to-day knowledge of one generation lies unused and forgotten in a later one, to the point of incomprehensibility. To quote an old Cecropian proverb. Any sufficiently antique technology is indistinguishable from magic. However, I would expect little or no degradation in ship performance.”

“So Graves got a really good deal. He’s going to be crowing over us for months.”

“I regard that as unlikely. Councilor Graves has already told us that it may be necessary to visit dozens of different worlds before he finds the Zardalu.”

“He can do it. The Erebus has ample power. And if the Zardalu get pesky, the ship has plenty of weapons.”

“It does indeed. But still I suspect that Councilor Graves will shortly become less satisfied with his purchase.”

“Huh?”

“Less satisfied, indeed.” Atvar H’sial paused for dramatic effect. “Much less satisfied, as soon as he realizes that what he has purchased is an orbital fort — a device which can never make a landing, ever, on any planet.”