Destroyer of Worlds Part 19

All communication with traffic control had been computer-to-computer. Lest Sigmund overhear any codes or procedures, he a.s.sumed. With a New Terran so distrusted, small wonder Nessus vetoed bringing down Thssthfok and a few of the Gw'oth. (Not that Sigmund, as his planning had evolved, intended the others to land with him. He had only proposed to bring them knowing Nessus would never accept.) Baedeker emerged from elsewhere in the s.h.i.+p and the three of them disembarked.

Sigmund wasn't wasn't whisked instantly to a meeting with the Hindmost. Eric had warned him to expect a tour, first. Puppeteers had long practice, from colonial days, at awing mere humans. whisked instantly to a meeting with the Hindmost. Eric had warned him to expect a tour, first. Puppeteers had long practice, from colonial days, at awing mere humans.

That was fine by Sigmund. He wanted intel.

Stepping disc by stepping disc, following Nessus, Sigmund toured a world. Vast plazas delimited by factories and arcologies whose tops were often lost in cloud. Where day reigned, the sides of buildings shone almost as brightly as a sun. Wherever convention declared the night, similar panels became gigantic entertainment screens. Along some unnamed sh.o.r.e, fusion plants larger even than the arcologies beamed unimaginable energies to enterprises Nessus declined to describe.

Streets and concourses teemed, the Puppeteers packed together like herds of cattle. Their crooning and keening blended into a deafening roar. Like Nessus and Baedeker, the average Puppeteer on the street wore only a belt or sash, but the variety of ribbons, jewels, and emblems seemed unending.

How could could Puppeteers wear clothes? Everywhere Sigmund went the air was like a sauna. Hearth must be like this pole to pole, a trillion Puppeteers stewing in their own heat. Puppeteers wear clothes? Everywhere Sigmund went the air was like a sauna. Hearth must be like this pole to pole, a trillion Puppeteers stewing in their own heat.

The farming worlds of the Fleet hung overhead. Walking across a park, the blue-green meadowplant as lush and close-cropped as gra.s.s on a putting green, the not-quite trees as manicured as topiary, Sigmund found his eyes drawn irresistibly to the nearest of the farm worlds. Sigmund had studied them all, and continental outlines revealed this one as Nature Preserve Five. (A wayward synapse fired, a melancholy face: the Man in the Moon.) NP5 was in full phase, its necklaces of artificial suns running from pole to pole, its turquoise-blue oceans sparkling. White cloud dotted land and sea alike. A cyclone swirled. Except for the shapes of continents, that world could have been New Terra.

Sigmund tamped down his resurgent longing. Penny needed him to be strong and suspicious, not sentimental.

NP5 was the world spotted in flight, so long ago, by the crew of Long Pa.s.s Long Pa.s.s. A curse, that world. Sigmund used the anger to keep his focus. He had to see everything, retain everything. Because anything anything could prove useful. could prove useful.

Like those colossal wall displays. Something about them bothered him. Finally he put his finger on it. "Where are the windows?" he asked Nessus. "I don't see any windows."

High/low, low/high, high/low, Nessus' heads bobbed in alternation. He looked like a Whac-A-Mole, but the gesture meant agreement. "You are very observant, Sigmund. Very few living quarters have windows. Most units are in the interior, of course, and cannot cannot have windows." have windows."

Sigmund had imagined great atria and mile-tall interior shafts to ventilate those interior units-but he had not noticed anything like that from above. The arcology roofs had been solid. "So endless halls of apartments," he mused aloud. "Windowless boxes."

"Not quite," Baedeker said. "No hallways, because hallways waste s.p.a.ce, nor elevators, nor ventilation shafts. Like the tenants themselves, the oxygen they breathe and the carbon dioxide they exhale is moved by stepping discs."

The weight of a trillion Puppeteers pressed down on Sigmund. And yet, that utter dependence on stepping discs, the ubiquity of stepping discs, was encouraging. At least if things did not go well at the meeting.

And why would the meeting go well? Nothing else had.

ONCE SIGMUND AND BAEDEKER DEPARTED for Hearth, Eric and Kirsten found ways to use their newfound privacy.

Ol't'ro did, too. They spent much of their time poring over observations gathered throughout the long voyage. Hyperdrive was wondrously fast-when Don Quixote Don Quixote used it. So why was hyperdrive not always used? used it. So why was hyperdrive not always used?

Flight by flight, Ol't'ro reviewed their travels. When hyperdrive was first activated. When hyperdrive use ended, as Don Quixote Don Quixote neared its destination. They saw no pattern. neared its destination. They saw no pattern.

Perhaps the explanation lay in pilot discretion, not technical factors. Ol't'ro tried to correlate hyperdrive usage to the urgency of their missions. And failed. Perhaps the subjectivity of urgency did not communicate well across species.

Ol't'ro's thorough review had recently come to the trips immediately after Thssthfok's capture. First, Don Quixote Don Quixote had crept to the outer solar system for reasons no one would discuss. Then the s.h.i.+p retraced its course to harvest tree-of-life roots. Only after creeping back to the solar-system fringes had Kirsten finally engaged had crept to the outer solar system for reasons no one would discuss. Then the s.h.i.+p retraced its course to harvest tree-of-life roots. Only after creeping back to the solar-system fringes had Kirsten finally engaged Don Quixote Don Quixote's hyperdrive.

It would have been interesting to know how far Don Quixote Don Quixote had traveled in each instance. Ol't'ro could not calculate the s.h.i.+p's progress directly, since artificial gravity obscured the s.h.i.+p's actual acceleration. They had learned to infer the strength of artificial gravity from the drain on a nearby s.h.i.+p's power circuits. Alas, unrelated drains on the s.h.i.+p's power made such estimates very crude. had traveled in each instance. Ol't'ro could not calculate the s.h.i.+p's progress directly, since artificial gravity obscured the s.h.i.+p's actual acceleration. They had learned to infer the strength of artificial gravity from the drain on a nearby s.h.i.+p's power circuits. Alas, unrelated drains on the s.h.i.+p's power made such estimates very crude.

So they had built their own, independent astronomical sensors. Those, too, offered only vague answers. Probing through habitat walls, interior s.h.i.+p part.i.tions, and hull limited the instruments' sensitivity.

And then Don Quixote Don Quixote came to the Fleet of Worlds. came to the Fleet of Worlds.

Despite the ambiguity and many approximations in Ol't'ro's calculations, clearly Kirsten had used hyperdrive much closer to this destination than to any other. What differed about this place? The obvious difference: These worlds lacked a star.

A star is ma.s.sive ma.s.sive.

And so Ol't'ro's thoughts turned to abstruse physical theory and arcane scenarios. Perhaps hyperdrive was somehow constrained to nearly flat regions of s.p.a.ce-time. To regions far from any gravitational singularity. Far from the type of worlds on which Gw'oth, humans, Citizens, or Drar could live-or, at least, from the suns that warmed those worlds. Far from anywhere a world-evolved species ever thought to experiment with a long-range drive.

Until now.

32.

At a discreet trill, Nessus dipped one head into a pocket of his sash. The few murmurs Sigmund could hear suggested wind chimes.

Nessus' head reappeared. "The Hindmost will meet with us now. Come with me."

Sigmund was more than ready. He followed Nessus onto yet another stepping disc, emerging into a cylinder bathed in blue light. The wall was transparent.

Nessus waited outside among armed Puppeteer guards, looking in.

Sigmund rapped gently on the wall. As he suspected: General Products hull material. GP hulls were transparent to visible light, and Sigmund presumed the overhead illumination could be raised to lethal levels. There weren't any doors. The only way in or out of this antechamber was by stepping disc. He vacated the disc; a moment later, Baedeker arrived. Inside, with Sigmund.

"Remove your clothes. Ribbons and jewels, too," one of the guards directed. (He wore one more ribbon in his mane than the rest, suggesting he was the hindmost for the squad. Sigmund dubbed him Sergeant.) "Pile everything on the disc."

Puppeteers had no nudity taboo. At least the males didn't. Of Puppeteer females, New Terrans knew only that they were cloistered.

Still, undressing came as a surprise and Sigmund didn't like surprises. Till now, Kirsten and Eric's predictions for this trip had been accurate. But they hadn't mentioned disrobing-and New Terrans had had a nudity taboo. This was not a detail either would have forgotten. a nudity taboo. This was not a detail either would have forgotten.

Of course when his friends had seen Nike on Hearth, before independence, the Puppeteer had been a mere deputy minister. Now Nike was Hindmost.

"Is undressing typical?" Sigmund asked as he removed his jumpsuit.

Baedeker had removed and folded his sash. He began unbraiding his few mane ornaments. He gave the impression of being happy to have something to do besides look at Sigmund. "Hardly. I believe that your reputation precedes you."

"Mr. Ausfaller. What is that on your wrist?" Sergeant asked.

"A clock implant." Sigmund held out his arm for closer inspection.

Seconds ticked by while Sergeant considered that. "Very well," he finally said.

Sigmund's garment and shoes, and Baedeker's few things, vanished. Into another sealed hull-material container, Sigmund supposed, one darkened against, say, a flash bomb or laser pistol. He had carried nothing like that-getting caught with a weapon would have sent the wrong message-but he would have preferred to keep his pocket comp (with its snooping modes enabled, naturally) and his transport controller.

"You will get your things back when you leave," Sergeant said. "Mr. Ausfaller, we have a garment and slippers for you, if you wish."

Professionally speaking, Sigmund had to approve of the security measures.

"You may proceed," Sergeant decided at last. A head gestured at the antechamber's disc. His second head clutched a weapon with a grip like a boxer's mouthpiece.

Sigmund guessed the guards and their weapons were biometrically paired. That's what he would have done, lest a gun be wrestled from its owner. Of course Sigmund wouldn't have chosen a tongueprint for personalizing the weapon.

Baedeker and then Sigmund stepped to the main security lobby. Guards fell in around them as Sigmund dressed in the plain jumpsuit provided. "Follow me," Sergeant ordered.

Their route pa.s.sed two more checkpoints before terminating, abruptly, in a most un-Puppeteer setting: a long, narrow patio hugging a craggy mountainside. Sentries ringed the stepping disc. Without speaking, Sigmund's original escort trotted to an end of the patio.

The long terrazzo patio blended seamlessly with a living area carved deep into the mountain. Padded benches, mounds of overstuffed pillows, holo sculptures, and melted-looking oval tables dotted the salon. Only a faintly s.h.i.+mmering force field (weatherproofing, Sigmund supposed) separated indoors from out. Beyond the patio's stone bal.u.s.trade, far below, waves crashed against the sh.o.r.e. A magnificent stone castle, its endless soft curves and rounded features almost Dali-like, climbed hundreds of feet overhead. No other structure was anywhere in sight.

On Earth, a world of eighteen billion, this palace and its splendid isolation would have been decadent. On Hearth, with its trillion occupants ...

"A private audience in the Hindmost's personal residence," Nessus whispered unnecessarily. "Be honored."

The honor did not, Sigmund noted, keep Baedeker from craning for possible exits.

Sigmund wasn't buying into a great honor, either. A new attempt at intimidation, maybe.

With that thought, a Puppeteer appeared inside the salon. He was pet.i.te for a Puppeteer, his cream hide unmarked by patches of any other color. His mane was resplendent with orange jewels. Orange, of course, was the color of the ruling Experimentalist faction.

The Hindmost.

He came through the force field onto the patio. "Mr. Ausfaller," he said in unaccented New Terran English. Earlier in his career, speaking the colonists' language had been a useful skill. With only one throat and one set of vocal cords, no human could speak any Puppeteer language.

"Excellency," Sigmund began. He stood ramrod straight even as Baedeker lowered his heads subserviently. "Thank you for meeting with us."

"You have a strong advocate in Nessus," the Hindmost said, "setting aside that he, too, was not told the nature of the supposed emergency. Regardless, formality is unnecessary. Here in my private residence, I am Nike. And may I call you Sigmund?"

Nike: the Greek G.o.ddess of victory. An immodest choice.

Puppeteers dealing with humans took human p.r.o.nounceable names, and names from Earth mythology were a common affectation. Nessus' true name sounded to Sigmund like an industrial accident in waltz time. "Certainly, Nike."

Sigmund and Baedeker followed Nike back into the grand salon, the force field only a slight pressure and a tickle as they pressed through. Another Puppeteer joined them. Nike introduced the newcomer as Vesta, head of the Clandestine Directorate. The guards sidled closer but remained on the patio, watching from a respectful distance.

Nike stood tall, legs straight, hooves far apart, exuding confidence. It was the Puppeteer dominance stance-he was un unready to run. "All right, Sigmund. Explain what this is about."

Beginning with Ol't'ro's plea for help, Sigmund summarized Don Quixote Don Quixote's travels and everything the crew had encountered. The Gw'oth. The ramscoop fleet glimpsed from afar. Shattered worlds. Deliberations within the New Terran government. The Pak-and their course.

Nike asked few, but always insightful, questions. Baedeker contributed details, often on his own initiative, occasionally in response to Nike's or Nessus' prompting. From time to time aides appeared, apologetically reminding Nike or Vesta of one scheduled event or another. Nike sent them away.

No one asked about the Pak military capability, so Sigmund volunteered. Among clans so warlike, any weapon that could be built would be. Minimally the Pak would have powerful lasers and fusion-driven missiles with nuclear warheads. The former would pa.s.s right through a General Products hull. Concussions from the latter would scramble anything inside a GP hull.

By the time Sigmund finished, he felt drained. He felt he had been talking forever. A glance at his wrist showed more than two hours had pa.s.sed.

Now it was Nike's turn.

THROUGH THE CLEAR SPOT in the cell floor, Thssthfok monitored the room below, ascertaining the pattern of crew visits. The two-headed thing no longer appeared, nor did Sigmund. Only two other humans-from overheard conversations, Kirsten and Eric-came into the room, usually together. Sometimes they came to take food from synthesizers. Sometimes they exercised. Several day-tenths usually separated their visits.

Eric, wearing battle armor, had brought the last few plates of food and removed Thssthfok's waste. During these brief visits, artificial gravity pinned Thssthfok in place, while even Eric, the motors in his armor whining, moved slowly.

Thssthfok's feedings, too, followed a routine.

If the room below was the crew's only food source-and why would there be more?-Eric and Kirsten were now the only jailors aboard.

Two unarmed humans, taken by surprise ... soon the s.h.i.+p would be Thssthfok's.

A CONCORDANCE WAR FLEET! Commanded by the New Terrans!

Baedeker almost fled, the ideas were so outrageous. Sigmund had traveled so far to propose this this? Had Sigmund asked for an opinion, Baedeker could have saved them a trip.

"I expected as much," Sigmund told Nike. "But we are discussing your stars.h.i.+ps, so I believed it appropriate to begin there. Consider this, Nike. Lend New Terra the s.h.i.+ps to defend us both. We'll train our own pilots."

"Of course, Sigmund." Vesta looked himself in the eyes. "Why wait for the Pak to destroy us? Why bother to wonder if the Gw'oth will develop into rivals? You You can destroy us sooner with our own fleet! Or will you, merely, use our s.h.i.+ps to evacuate New Terra and leave the Concordance to its fate?" can destroy us sooner with our own fleet! Or will you, merely, use our s.h.i.+ps to evacuate New Terra and leave the Concordance to its fate?"

Baedeker wanted to run, but where could he go? This was madness! "My apologies, Nike. I was unaware of the request Sigmund intended."

Nessus cleared his throats. "Excuse me, Nike. I have seen Gw'oth. Today I saw a Pak. Let us a.s.sume our astronomers will confirm the danger headed our way. They will, for Sigmund would not have concocted such a story if our astronomers could refute it. Then what?"

As it became clear that no one had an answer, Baedeker's right forehoof, with a mind of its own, began scratching at the Hindmost's floor.

EVEN BEFORE HIS ABDUCTION to New Terra, Sigmund had studied Puppeteers. Everything he now read in their body language revealed irrationality or shock. Nike and Vesta, clearly angry-at Sigmund, rather than confronting the real problem. Baedeker, on the verge of collapse. Only Nessus had remained focused, and his his glittering eyes conveyed-what? Manic excitement. glittering eyes conveyed-what? Manic excitement.

Sane Puppeteers didn't get manic. The only way Nessus and the very few like him ever managed to leave the Fleet was by suppressing their fears beneath mania.

Sigmund pictured Nessus frenzied like this when he decided to kidnap Sigmund from Known s.p.a.ce. Sigmund didn't have a warm feeling for whatever Nessus might be thinking now.

"I have a suggestion," Sigmund said. Stall. Stall for time, while I play tourist across Hearth, looking for opportunities to steal steal s.h.i.+ps. Talk one-on-one with Nessus before he acted on his latest wild idea. "But we've covered a lot today. Perhaps we can meet after everyone has had a chance to sleep on it?" s.h.i.+ps. Talk one-on-one with Nessus before he acted on his latest wild idea. "But we've covered a lot today. Perhaps we can meet after everyone has had a chance to sleep on it?"

Heads bobbed-up/down, down/up, up/down-in vigorous agreement. Whac-A-Mole. "An excellent suggestion," Vesta concluded.

But Sigmund didn't get the chance to reconnoiter a landing field, nor to consult with Nessus. Nike invited Sigmund and Baedeker to stay at the official residence.

It did not seem to Sigmund like an invitation.

Pacing the s.p.a.cious guest suite, armed guards posted outside the door-"In case," as the Hindmost put it, "you need anything"-Sigmund had to wonder. Was there another place anywhere anywhere on Hearth without stepping discs? on Hearth without stepping discs?

He had become a prisoner.