— 69 —
Valerena surveyed six identical versions of herself. A little unnerving, looking at all those Valerenas. Only they were not exactly Valerena anymore, were they?
To work up a proper Other, you had to put time into the details, especially motivation and indoctrination. But she was always so damned busy.... Face it. She did everything half-assed. These were her six best Others, but she had no idea how they would jump if a shitstorm hit.
She fixed her attention on viewscreen and controls. The shuttle's inertial system was up to max. The escape and evasion programme was poised to zag out on the first shot. On screen, the Guardship filled the entire field. Its surface seemed worn, abraded, even scruffy. It made her think of old, old stone, barren except for patches of lichen.
She thought the thing looked unhealthy.
The comm kept squirting a semi-hysterical, "We come as friends" message. There was no response, but there was no shooting, either, and the shuttle was well inside the traditional killing radius.
The color of fear is brown. Those old farts on the Directorate were dribbling it down their legs. After this none of them would dare say anything about her courage.
Only a few kilometers now.
She was soaked inside her EVA suit. Her hands trembled. What was it Simon had said about the day he and Lupo had taken the House? "Going in with assholes so tight you couldn't drive a nail up them with a sledge." She knew what he'd meant.
She was having trouble breathing, gobbling air in gulps. Her suit cautioned her against hyperventilation.
She exploded in one of those goofy laughs that had become her father's trademark. She understood that now, too. It bled the tension.
She glanced at her Others. Buttoned up the way they were, she could read nothing.
Eyes to the screen. Still nothing from the Guardship. It was not showing lights. Wait. To the left there, just above her line of approach. A bay door had opened.
That was message enough.
She laughed again before forcing trembling hands to make course adjustments and switch on forward lights. A fighter nest. She made out a dozen pursuit ships. Like the Guardship, they looked neglected.
Nothing but ominous shadows moved in there.
She eased the shuttle in, rotated it to face outward. Like she really expected she could make a quick getaway. The bay door closed. Fifteen centimeters of armor, proof against any weapon the shuttle carried.
No Tregesser had come this close. In this she had outshone Simon already. "Just the beginning," she promised herself. "Grab it by the horns and ride it."
Shuttle said no atmosphere was being released into the bay. She swallowed a big dry egg.
No turning back.
One of the Others cycled the personnel hatch.
"Better take hand torches," someone suggested. Not only was there no air, there was no light.
"Right." Take charge. Do something. "Full kit. In case the whole dammed thing is this way."
She had asked Lupo to brief her. He had given her a big nothing.
He divided Guardships into four kinds: Normal (thirteen units), Strange (four units, including I Primagenia and XII Fulminata), Weird and Deadly (three units, II Victrix, IX Furia, IV Trajana), and Insufficient Data (all the rest, including VI Adjutrix). Based on its current behavior, he suspected VI Adjutrix was Weird and Deadly.
And she had jumped right down the dragon's gullet. Like some silly sacrificial virgin.
Personnel egress from the bay was sealed but not locked. The corridor beyond was empty of air and light too. Surface paint was cracked, chipped, peeling. There was dust everywhere.
"Is it deserted?"
"Somebody shot at our drones."
"Somebody opened that bay."
And closed it again, too.
Valerena took the lead.
Hours passed. Nothing changed. Was it all for show? A test to nervous destruction?
Maybe. She was riding the edge of getting spooked. They came to a huge hall. It was dark but there was a trace of atmosphere. "We'll break here. Feed ourselves."
Valerena swallowed a mouthful of liquified slop. Four hours already.
"Hey!"
"What?"
"I saw something. Over by that display."
Six lights beamed that way. Valerena examined the instrument pack she carried.
"There!"
"I didn't see anything."
"I saw it, but I don't believe it. He was naked."
"Put the weapons away," Valerena cautioned. "Sit tight. See what happens." The pack said there was somebody out there.
The watcher hung around the edge of the light, shy as a fairy. Valerena glimpsed him once. A young him. He wore no protection against cold and vacuum.
Fed, rested, less rattled despite the improbable observer, Valerena said, "Let's catch him."
Ten minutes later, she knew they were being watched more closely than was possible for one pair of eyes. She could not surround him. She was being led. That imp stayed right there at the edge of the light.... She let the chase continue because he was the only contact they had made. Impossible as he was.
He left bare footprints in the dust.
Valerena saw the boy slip through a hatchway a hundred meters ahead. "I'm ready for another break."
Someone said, "I feel like I'm caught in a fairy tale."
The adventure became more unreal by the minute.
Valerena stepped through the hatchway—into intense light, acceptable warmth, decent atmosphere. The place appeared to be a battle command center. "Spread out and squat. This is the place." A minute later, "This is getting too weird. Did I have some damn fool reason for coming here?"
Time passed. Some of the Others cracked their suits. The boy flitted, watching. He grew more bold. But not much.
"The hell with this shit. I'm crapping out. Long as we're all right don't wake me up."
— 70 —
Turtle glanced up as Midnight bustled in. "What is it?"
"We're going to Tregesser Prime. A Voyager just came for Blessed. He's taking us with him."
He just looked at her.
"Aren't you excited?"
"No."
"Oh."
He had explained his moral quandry. She understood but was not worried. He was Turtle, and Turtle did not hurt people.
He wished he had faith in himself. Temptation and rationalization had him back-against-the-wall. "Have you seen Amber Soul?"
"Yes. She wasn't excited, either."
"I'd better pack if I'm going traveling."
It worked. Midnight said, "Oh! Me too!" and fluttered out.
Turtle did no packing. He had none to do. He settled back to ponder an odd question Blessed had asked recently. Had he ever heard of a stardrive, overdrive, hyperdrive, whatever, that ignored the Web?
He had. But in no context suggesting such a thing was possible. It was the intellectual toy of fantacists who carped against the restraints imposed by the Web.
Turtle had asked why.
"Curiosity. My hobby is trying to figure out where the human race came from. It didn't evolve on any of the worlds it occupies today. It didn't migrate into Canon space on the Web. Its first contact with the Web came a thousand years before Canon's founding, when the Go visited M. Vilbrantia in the Octohedron. All eight systems there had been occupied for several thousand years before that.
"Pity about the Go," Blessed had said.
In its first millennium on the Web, humanity fought eighteen wars with its benefactors. There was no need for a nineteenth. The Guardships came onto the stage of the Web in triumph complete and absolute.
Blessed scowled at Nyo. "Let the bastards grumble. I don't move till everything is set. I want nothing left for Provik's scavengers or the Guardships. Cable."
"Yes?"
"What's the data situation? They haven't come back, but that doesn't mean they didn't get something. Did they?"