Brain Ships Part 15

"Split?" she said faintly. "I-uh-really don't know what that means. I'm-new at this."

Patiently Stirling walked her through exactly what had happened to her investment. "Now the question you have in front of you is whether you want to sell out now, while the value of the bond is still increasing, or whether you want to wait."

"What's happening on Largo Draconis?" she asked. After all, her her investment had been based on what was going to happen in the real world, not the strange and unpredictable universe of the stock market. And from the little she had seen, the universe of the stock market seemed to have very little to do with "real" reality. investment had been based on what was going to happen in the real world, not the strange and unpredictable universe of the stock market. And from the little she had seen, the universe of the stock market seemed to have very little to do with "real" reality.

"I thought you'd ask that. Your companies have pretty much saturated their market," Stirling told her. "The situation has stabilized-just short of disaster, thanks to them. The bond prices are going up, but a lot more slowly. I think they're going to flatten out fairly soon. I'd get out, if I were you."

"Do it," she said flatly. "I'd like you to put everything I earned into Moto-Prosthetics, preferred stock, with voting rights. Hold onto the seed money until I contact you."

"Taking care of it now-there. All logged in, Hypatia. I'm looking forward to seeing what you're going to invest in next." Stirling sounded quite satisfied. "I hope you'll stay with us. We're a new firm, but we're solid, we have a lot of experience, and we intend to service our clients with integrity. Miz Friesner was formerly a senior partner in Weisskopf, Dixon, Friesner and Jacobs, and the rest of us were her handpicked proteges. She's our token softie."

"Token-oh! You're all-"

"Sh.e.l.lpersons, right, all except Miz Friesner. Oh, we all worked on the stock, bond, and commodity exchanges, but as systems managers. We couldn't do any investments while we were systems managers, but Miz Friesner agreed to join us when we bought out our contracts." Stirling chuckled. "We've been planning this for a long time. Now we're relying on grapevine communications within the sh.e.l.l-net for those like us who want to invest, for whatever reasons-and would rather not go through either their Counselors, their Supervisors, or their Advocates." He sent her a complicated burst of emoticons conveying a combination of disgust, weariness, annoyance, and impatience. "We are are adults, after all. We can think for ourselves. Just because we're rooted to one spot or one structure, it doesn't follow that all of us need keepers." adults, after all. We can think for ourselves. Just because we're rooted to one spot or one structure, it doesn't follow that all of us need keepers."

She sent back a burst that mirrored his-with the addition of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Some of us do-but not anyone who's been out in the world for more than fifty years or so, I I wouldn't think. Well, I'll tell a couple of friends of mine about you, that's for certain." wouldn't think. Well, I'll tell a couple of friends of mine about you, that's for certain."

"Word of mouth, as I said." Stirling laughed. "I have to tell you, after that phenomenal start, we're all very interested in your next investment choice."

"I'll have it in a couple of days at most," she promised, and signed off.

Well, now it was certainly time to start digging for that second choice, and she couldn't hope to happen on it the way she had the last time.

This time, it was going to take a combination of stupidity on someone's part, and her own computational power. So she concentrated on sorting out those colonies that had been in existence for less than a hundred years. It was probably fair to a.s.sume that anything repet.i.tive that she she would be able to take advantage of would have to take place within that kind of cycle. would be able to take advantage of would have to take place within that kind of cycle.

That narrowed the field quite a bit-but it meant that she was going to have to concentrate her search by categories. Floods were the first things that came to mind, so she called up geological and climatological records on all of her candidates and ran a search for flood patterns.

Meanwhile she and Alex were also dealing with the authorities on the Haakon-Fritz case-which looked likely to put the Practical Darwinists out of business, at least with the general public-and the Inst.i.tute in regards to resupply. Tia was determined not to leave port this time without that ethological tagging kit. Alex was tired of dealing with each crisis barehanded.

He demanded a supply of firearms-locked up until authorized if necessary, but he wanted to have something something to enforce his decisions or to defend himself and others. to enforce his decisions or to defend himself and others.

"What if Haakon-Fritz had gone berserk?" he asked. "What if those canids had been more aggressive?"

Courier Services was agreeable, but the Inst.i.tute was fighting him; their long-time policy of absolute pacifism was in direct conflict with any such demand. The ban was clear; on any site where there were nearby sophonts with an Iron Age civilization or above-and "nearby" meant on the same continent-absolutely no arms were to be permitted in a.s.sociation with any Inst.i.tute personnel, not even those under contract. And since the couriers. .h.i.t at least one dig on every run that came under the ban, they were not allowed any any weaponry at any time. Tia backed her brawn, and she was lobbying with CS and the Lab Schools to help. After all, weaponry at any time. Tia backed her brawn, and she was lobbying with CS and the Lab Schools to help. After all, her her well-being was partially dependent on his. The Inst.i.tute, on the other hand, was balking because there were those who would take the presence of even small arms on board the courier in the worst possible interpretation. well-being was partially dependent on his. The Inst.i.tute, on the other hand, was balking because there were those who would take the presence of even small arms on board the courier in the worst possible interpretation.

Tia could see their point-but Inst.i.tute couriers were the only ones not carrying some kind of hand weaponry. They were likely at any time to run into smugglers, who absolutely would would be armed. If CS made a ruling on the subject, there would be no way the Inst.i.tute could get around it. be armed. If CS made a ruling on the subject, there would be no way the Inst.i.tute could get around it.

Meanwhile, on the subject of Haakon-Fritz, things were definitely heating up. The recordings of his Olympic sprint to shelter had somehow gotten leaked to the media-fortunately, long after after Tia had locked down her copies-along with the following recording of Alex's heroic dash to the rescue via grav-sled. Alex was a minor celebrity for a day-but he successfully avoided the media, and they soon grew tired of his self-deprecating att.i.tude, and his refusal to make himself photogenic. Haakon-Fritz did not avoid the media, he sought them out-and he became everyone's favorite villain. The Inst.i.tute could not keep the incident quiet. The Practical Darwinists came to their proponent's rescue, and only made things worse with their public statements of support and their rhetoric. People did not care to hear that they were weaklings, failures, and ought to be done away with for the good of the race. It began to look as if there was going to be a public trial, no matter how hard the Inst.i.tute tried to avoid one. Tia had locked down her copies-along with the following recording of Alex's heroic dash to the rescue via grav-sled. Alex was a minor celebrity for a day-but he successfully avoided the media, and they soon grew tired of his self-deprecating att.i.tude, and his refusal to make himself photogenic. Haakon-Fritz did not avoid the media, he sought them out-and he became everyone's favorite villain. The Inst.i.tute could not keep the incident quiet. The Practical Darwinists came to their proponent's rescue, and only made things worse with their public statements of support and their rhetoric. People did not care to hear that they were weaklings, failures, and ought to be done away with for the good of the race. It began to look as if there was going to be a public trial, no matter how hard the Inst.i.tute tried to avoid one.

It was on the eve of that trial that Tia finally found her next investment project.

In the Azteca system, the third planet-predictably Terran-known as Quetzecoatl.

Interstellar Teleson, one of the major communications firms in their quadrant with cross-contracts and reciprocal agreements across known s.p.a.ce, had just relocated their sector corporate headquarters on Quetzecoatl. The location had a great deal to be said for it-central, in the middle of a stable continental plate, good climate. That, however, was not why they had relocated there.

It was one of those secretly negotiated High Family contracts, and Tia had no doubt that there was a lot more at stake than just the area. Someone owed someone else a favor-or else someone wanted something else kept quiet, and this was the price.

She was doubly sure when the location came up red-flagged on her geological search. According to the survey records, that lovely, flat plain was a flood basin. Quetzecoatl did not have the kind of eccentric orbit that Largo Draconis did-just a little tilt. One that didn't affect anyone in the major settlements at all. But once every hundred years, that tilt angled the north pole into the solar plane for a bit longer than usual. The glaciers would start to melt. The plain below wouldn't exactly "flood"-or at least, not all at once. It would just get very, very soggy, slowly-then, when the spring rains came, the water would rise over the course of a week or two. Eventually the entire plain would be under about two inches of water, and would remain that way for about three years, gradually drying again for the fourth as the glaciers in the north grew.

But Interstellar Teleson's Corporate Standards dictated that the most sensitive records and delicate instruments, and all their computer equipment, be installed permanently in sub-bas.e.m.e.nts no less than four stories below surface level, to avoid any possibility of damage. Corporate Standards had been set to guard against human interference, not nature's. Corporate Standards evidently did not consider nature to be important.

Whoever was in charge of this project apparently completely disregarded the geological survey. Engineers complained about seepage and warned of flooding; the reaction was to order extra sump pumps. Sump pumps were keeping the sub-bas.e.m.e.nts tolerably dry now now, but Tia guessed that they were going constantly just to keep up with ordinary ground water. They were not going to handle the flood.

Especially not when flood waters were seeping in through the ground floor walls and creeping over the doorsills.

According to the meteorological data, the glaciers were melting, and the spring rains were only a couple of months away.

Meanwhile, half a continent away, there was a disaster recovery firm that specialized in data and equipment recovery. They advertised that they could duplicate an existing system in a month, and recover data from devices that had been immersed in salt.w.a.ter for over a year, or through major fires with extensive smoke damage. Interstellar Teleson was going to need them, and they didn't even know it. Besides, Tia liked the name. Whoever these people were, they had one heck of a sense of humor.

Chuckling to herself, Tia called Lee Stirling and made her investment-then sent out another carefully worded letter to Crash and Burn Data Recovery, Limited.

The public trial of Doctor Haakon-Fritz was a ten-day circus-but by then, Tia and Alex had far more serious things on their minds and no time to waste on trivialities.

Tia's recordings-both at the site and in the main cabin-were a matter of public record now, and that was the only stake they had in the trial. The Inst.i.tute only wanted to keep from looking too foolish. In return for the supply of small arms Alex demanded, they asked that he not testify at the trial, since anything he could say would only corroborate those records. They both knew what the Inst.i.tute people were thinking: records were one thing, but a heroic partic.i.p.ant, who just might might sound impa.s.sioned-no, that was something they didn't want to see. sound impa.s.sioned-no, that was something they didn't want to see. He He was willing-he reckoned it was a small price to pay. Besides, there was little he could add, other than becoming another source of media attention. was willing-he reckoned it was a small price to pay. Besides, there was little he could add, other than becoming another source of media attention.

So while the media gathered, the quiet Inst.i.tute lawyers and spokesmen tried to downplay the entire incident, Alex got his arms-locker, and Tia her ethological kit as the price for their non-partic.i.p.ation. And as they prepared to head out on a new round of duties, there came an urgent message.

The Inst.i.tute contract was on hold; CS had another use for them as the only BB s.h.i.+p on base.

And they suddenly found themselves, not only with a new agenda-but an entirely new employer.

"Kenny, what is all this about?" Tia asked, when the barrage of orders and follow-up orders concluded, leaving them with a single destination, an empty flight plan, and a "wait for briefing" message. So here they were, docked with the Pride of Albion Pride of Albion, and the briefing was coming from Doctor Kennet Uhua-Sorg.

"This," Doctor Kennet replied, grimly, sending the live-cam view of one of the isolation rooms.

Alex gasped. Tia didn't blame him.

The view that Doctor Kennet gave them of this, the Pride of Albion's Pride of Albion's newest isolation patient, was blessedly brief. It had been a human at one point. Now it was a humanoid-shaped ma.s.s of suffering. Somewhere in the ma.s.s of open sores were eyes, a mouth, a face. Those had been hands, once-and feet. newest isolation patient, was blessedly brief. It had been a human at one point. Now it was a humanoid-shaped ma.s.s of suffering. Somewhere in the ma.s.s of open sores were eyes, a mouth, a face. Those had been hands, once-and feet.

Tia was the first to recover. "Who is that," she asked sharply, "and what happened to him?"

"Who-we don't know," Kenny replied, his face completely without expression. "He was from a tramp freighter that left him when he didn't get aboard by lift-off time. We don't know if they expected something like this, or if they were just worried because one of their bogus crew turned up missing, but they burned out of Yamahatchi Station with a speed that simply didn't match their rather shabby exterior. He was under false papers, of course-and there isn't enough of his fingers or retinas left to identify him. And unless he's ever been a murder or crime-of-violence suspect, his DNA patterns could take years to match with his birth-records."

Alex nodded. It wouldn't have been too difficult to deduce his s.h.i.+p; anyone logging into a station hostel or hotel had to list his s.h.i.+p-of-origin as well as filing his papers. That information was instantly cross-checked with the s.h.i.+p; the s.h.i.+p had to okay the crewman's ID before he would be allowed to check in. Pa.s.sengers, of course, used an entirely separate set of hotels.

"That kind of speed probably means a pirate or a smuggler," Alex said.

"I don't think there's much doubt of that," Kenny replied. "Well, when his logged time at the cheap hostel he'd checked into ran out, they opened the door to his room-found that- that-and very wisely slammed the door and reported him."

"What about the hostel personnel?" Tia asked.

"We have them all in isolation, but so far, thank the deity of your choice, none of them are showing any signs of infection."

"For which favor, much thanks," Alex muttered.

"Just what is it that he's got?" Tia asked, keeping her voice even and level.

Kenny shrugged. "Another plague with no name. Symptoms are simple enough. Boils which become suppurating sores that seem to heal only to break open again. A complex of viruses and bacteria, reinforced with modified immune deficiency syndrome. So far, no cure. Decontamination sterilized the hostel room completely, and we haven't seen anyone else come down with this thing. And, thank the spirits of s.p.a.ce, once he checked into the hostel, door records show he never left his room."

"There is no reason for a pirate to come down with something like that," Tia pointed out, "but an artifact smuggler-"

"Precisely why I asked for you two," Kenny replied, "and precisely why the Inst.i.tute loaned you to us. Oh, Alex, in case you wondered, I'm in this because, despite my specialty, I seem to have become the expert in diseases a.s.sociated with archeology."

Alex cast an inquiring glance at her column. Tia knew what he was asking. Could this be the same disease their mysterious "Sinor" had told them about? Could it be that the man had given them a true story, though not his true name?

She printed her answer under Dr. Kenny's image. It's a coincidence. Not the same as Sinor's phony plague-he would have been frantic if he truly had this to contend with.

He signaled his question with his eyes. Why?

Immune deficiency. Contact or airborne. Think about it.

His eyes widened, and he nodded, slowly. The nightmare that had haunted the human world since the twentieth century; the specter of an immune deficiency disease communicated by an airborne or simple-contact vector. No one wanted to think about it, yet in the minds of anyone connected to the medical professions, it was an ever-present threat.

"You two are a unique combination that I think has the best chance to track this thing to its source," Kenny said. "Medical Services will have more than one team on this-but you're the only BB team available. The Inst.i.tute doesn't want any of their people to stumble on the plague the hard way, so they subcontracted you to Medical for the duration. I'm delegating the planning of search patterns to you. Got any ideas on how to start?"

"Right," Alex replied. "Then if that's what you want, let's do this the smart way, instead of the hard way. First off, what's the odds this could have come off a derelict-station or or s.h.i.+p-out in hard vacuum?" s.h.i.+p-out in hard vacuum?"

"Odds? Not likely. Hard vacuum kills all of the bugs involved. That does does eliminate anything like an asteroid or EsKay situation though, doesn't it?" Kenny looked fairly surprised, as well as pleased. "Let me get Lars in on this, he's been monitoring the poor devil." eliminate anything like an asteroid or EsKay situation though, doesn't it?" Kenny looked fairly surprised, as well as pleased. "Let me get Lars in on this, he's been monitoring the poor devil."

It took a few moments for Lars to clear his boards enough to have attention to devote to a vocal circuit. During that time, Tia thought of a few questions she'd like to ask.

"Lars, has he said said anything?" she asked, as soon as Lars joined the conference call. "Something that could give us clues?" anything?" she asked, as soon as Lars joined the conference call. "Something that could give us clues?"

"Ravings mostly-do you think you can get anything out of that?" Lars sounded fairly dubious. "It's not as if he was an astrogator or anything. Mostly he's been yammering on about the weather, besides the usual; either pain and hallucinations, or about treasure and gold."

"The weather?" Tia responded immediately. "What about it?"

"Here, I'll give you what I've got-cleaned up so you can understand it, of course."

A new voice came over the circuit; harsh, with a guttural accent. "Treasure...gold...never saw s'much. Piles'n'piles...no moon, frag frag it, how c'n a guy see anythin'...anythin' out there. No moon. Dark 's a wormhole. Crazy weather. Nothin' but crazy weather... snow, rain, snow, sleet, mud-how ya s'pposed t' dig this stuff up in this?" it, how c'n a guy see anythin'...anythin' out there. No moon. Dark 's a wormhole. Crazy weather. Nothin' but crazy weather... snow, rain, snow, sleet, mud-how ya s'pposed t' dig this stuff up in this?"

"That's basically it," Lars said, cutting the recording off. "He talks about treasure, moonless, dark nights, and crazy weather."

"Why not a.s.sume he's complaining about where he was? Put that together with an atmosphere and-?" Tia prompted. "What do you get?"

"Right. Possible eccentric orbit, probably extreme tilt, third-in Terra-type position, and no satellites." Lars sounded pleased. "I'll get Survey on it."

"What about the likely range of the s.h.i.+p that left him?" Tia asked. "Check with CenSec and Military; the docks at Yamahatchi had to have external specs and so forth on that s.h.i.+p. What kind of fuel did they take on, if any? Docks should have external pictures. Military ought to be able to guess at the range, based on that. That should give us a search area."

"Good." Kenny made notes. "I've got another range-how long it probably took for our victim to come down with the disease once he was infected. Combine that one with yours, and we should have a sphere around Yamahatchi."

"Kenny, he couldn't possibly have shown any symptoms while he was in in s.p.a.ce-they'd have pitched him out the airlock," Tia pointed out. "That means he probably went through incubation while they were in FTL and only showed symptoms once they hit port." s.p.a.ce-they'd have pitched him out the airlock," Tia pointed out. "That means he probably went through incubation while they were in FTL and only showed symptoms once they hit port."

"Right. I'll have that calculated for you and get you the survey records for that sphere, then it'll be up to you and the other teams." Kenny signed off, and Alex swiveled his chair to face Tia's column.

"There's an information lag for that area," Alex pointed out. "Yamahatchi is on the edge of known s.p.a.ce. Survey is still working out there-except for really critical stuff, it's going to take weeks, months, even years for information to make it here. We need a search net net, not just a couple of search teams."

"So-how about if we have Kenny call in not just Medical Services, but Decontamination?" she asked. "They don't have any BB teams either, but they do have the AI drones and the med teams a.s.signed to them. They can run the net as well as we can. Slower, but that may not be so bad."

"I'll get on it," Alex replied instantly. "He can be mobilizing every free s.h.i.+p and team they've got while we compute the likely targets."

"And Intelligence!" she added, as Alex got back on the horn with Kenny and his team. "Get Kenny to get in touch with Intel, and have their people inside that sphere be on the watch for more victims, rumors of plague or of plague s.h.i.+ps, or s.h.i.+ps that have mysteriously lost half their crews!"

That would effectively increase their available eyes and ears a hundred-thousandfold.

"Or of s.h.i.+ps that vanish and don't come into port," Alex said grimly. "Somewhere along the line that so-called tramp freighter is going to do just that; go into hyper and never come out again. Or come out and drift with no hand on the helm."

Tia wished she could still s.h.i.+ver; as it was, she felt rather as if her hull temperature had just dropped to absolute zero.

No computer could match the trained mind for being able to identify or discard a prospect with no data other than the basic survey records. Alex and Tia each took cone-shaped segments of the calculated sphere and began running their own kind of a.n.a.lysis on the prospects the computer search came up with.

Some were obvious; geologic instability that would uncover or completely bury the caches unpredictably. Weather that did not include snow, weather that did not include rain. Occupied planets with relatively thick settlements, or planets with no continents, only tiny island chains.

Some were not so obvious. Terrain with no real landmarks or landmarks subject to change. Terrain with snow and rain, but with snow piling up twelve feet thick in the winter; too deep to dig in. The original trove must have been uncovered by accident-perhaps during the construction of a rudimentary base-or by someone just outside, kicking around dirt.

Places with freelance mining operations were were on the list; agri-colonies weren't. Places marked by the Inst.i.tute for investigation were, places with full Inst.i.tute teams weren't. While Tia would not have put it past someone with problems to sell out to smugglers, she didn't think that they'd care to cover up a contagious disease on the list; agri-colonies weren't. Places marked by the Inst.i.tute for investigation were, places with full Inst.i.tute teams weren't. While Tia would not have put it past someone with problems to sell out to smugglers, she didn't think that they'd care to cover up a contagious disease this this hideous. hideous.

As soon as they finished mapping a cone, it went out to a team to cover. They had another plan in mind for themselves: covering free-trade ports, looking for another victim. They could cover the ports a lot faster than any of the AI or softperson-piloted s.h.i.+ps; the only one faster would have been someone with a Singularity Drive. Since those those were all fully occupied-and since, as yet, they had only one victim and not a full-scale plague in progress-there was no chance of getting one rea.s.signed to this duty. So AH One-Oh-Three-Three would be doing what it could-and trying to backtrack the "freighter" to its origin point. were all fully occupied-and since, as yet, they had only one victim and not a full-scale plague in progress-there was no chance of getting one rea.s.signed to this duty. So AH One-Oh-Three-Three would be doing what it could-and trying to backtrack the "freighter" to its origin point.

They were running against the clock, and everyone on the project knew it. If this disease got loose in a large, s.p.a.ce-going population, the chances of checking it before millions died were slender.

"Alex," Tia called for the third time, raising the volume of her voice a little more. This time he answered, even though he didn't turn his dark-circled eyes away from his work.

"What, m'love?" he said absently, his gaze glued to a topographical map on the screen before him, despite the fact that he could hardly keep his eyes open.

She overrode the screen controls, blanking the one in front of him. He blinked and turned to stare at her with weary accusation.

"Why did you do that?" he asked. "I was right in the middle of studying the geography-"

"Alex!" she said with exasperation. "You hadn't changed the screen in half an hour; you probably hadn't really looked at it in all that time. Alex, you haven't eaten anything in over six hours, you haven't slept in twenty, and you haven't bathed bathed or changed your clothes in forty-eight!" or changed your clothes in forty-eight!"

He rubbed his eyes and peered up at the blank screen. "I'm fine," he protested feebly.

"You're not," she countered. "You can hardly hold your head up. Look at your hand shake! Coffee is no subst.i.tute for sleep!"

He clenched his fist to stop the trembling of his hand. "I'm fine," he repeated, stubbornly.

She made a rude noise and flashed her screens at him, so that he winced. "There, see? You can't even control your reactions. If you don't eat, you'll get sick, if you don't sleep, you'll miss something vital, and if you don't bathe and change your clothes I'm turning you over to Decontam."

"All right, love, all right," he sighed, reaching over and patting her column. "Heat me up something; I'll be in the galley shortly."