by Sharon Lee
Parameters set, he paused, then sighed very lightly, and tapped a smooth section of the board.
An array of three red buttons rose and snapped into place. The buttons gave off a sullen light of their own, and Tolly sighed again.
Darts. Just in case.
He had never had to destroy an intelligence in mid-transfer. He’d seen it done, once, and about as bad a death as anyone could wish for, even when the darts were thrown by the hand of a master, which in the case he had witnessed, they had been.
A tone sounded, sharp in the still air of the control room.
“Pipe in place,” Tocohl’s voice filled the tiny space. “Pipe stable. Initiate transfer at will.”
—•—
The transfer was going better than he had dared to hope; the pale green flow of the Admiral’s essence moving, swift and remarkably clear, down the pipe. He had expected fragmentation, but there was very little of that. Some frayed linkages did pass under his scrutiny, and a few broken lines, but nothing that the Admiral himself couldn’t repair, once he was awake in a stable environment.
So far, Tolly had stopped the flow twice in order to clear the file filters of tattered bits of unrelated programs. Shred they were, unexpunged memory traces washed out of the computers that had so inadequately housed him, by the flood of the Admiral’s departure. He examined them before rejecting them entirely: part of a menu, fuel tallies, a log of mining sites and metals recovered, usage stats, a rather extensive collection of pornography…
“Inki,” he murmured, “you see anything to worry about?”
“All green, Mentor. May I say that I had not expected it to go this well?”
“Only sayin’ what we’re all thinking. After he’s in, I’ll set the blocks, back out, and we’ll get some rest before we go to the next stage. I want him installed before we give the wake-up call.”
“Agreed.” Inki said…and, suddenly sharp, “Mentor! An anomaly!”
He saw it bearing down on the filters; a dark, spinning mass of broken programs up from a bad memory segment, churning like a chaotic junkyard slicked with oil and bristling with rust flowing through a broken ice jam. Something that big would take out the filters, and keep on going, contaminating not only the Admiral, but the cranium environment, as well.
Even as his fingers moved, he saw the pipe contract, slowing the flow of data, and the advance of the broken mass—Tocohl had noticed the problem and was doing what she could. Good.
He had already fingered a dart into place, took aim…
…and threw.
The screen went momentarily black, as debris erupted upward, his metaphor recalibrating. Tolly slapped up a secondary screen, but even as he did so, the primary cleared.
In his ear, Inki cheered.
Black shred was visible within the flow of the Admiral’s essence, small enough for the filters to deal with. He took a deep breath and sagged back in the chair, then snapped forward again. The filters might be able to catch the junk now, but there was so much that he was going to have to stop and clean.
“What happened, there?” he murmured into his connection to Tocohl.
“The backup comp on the packet boat failed; I widened the pipe in order not to lose any part of the Admiral. I had not anticipated that so much original ship data had been left behind.”
“Right. How’s it looking upstream?”
“I see the transfer’s END statements on the date-mismatch rejection routines, and on the macro-collection routines. Final files coming soon. There is some debris, but nothing else that threatens the filters.”
He shook his head within the visualizer, the major pipes still turgid with old data and images. Some of the old modular code had enough match points that it might be mistaken for undercode for the Admiral.
“I’m going to have to stop and clean. Will that be a problem?”
There was a pause then.
“If you must, Mentor, but quickly.”
Quickly, from the likes of Tocohl Lorlin. That got a man’s attention, so it did.
“Right, then,” he said.
It was a mess, and he cleared as quickly as he was able, trying not to wonder was it quick enough—and then stopped and cleared one more time, with the glow of the final END statement filling his screen.
“We got him,” he murmured, fingers moving among the keys, checking and double-checking the stats.
As far as the instruments knew, they had downloaded every pertinent program and subroutine available, and assembled them in the correct order, ready.
Whether Admiral Bunter had survived—that was a real question. Starved as he’d been, closing in on unstable…Tolly took a breath.
Tomorrow’s worry, he told himself. Mind on today, Mentor Tolly.
He set aside his anxiety; his need to know that the Admiral had survived, that they hadn’t just downloaded a very powerful administration program, void of personality or drive.
He was tired, and Inki, too. Hours had elapsed in the transfer, they having elected to do the thing right, unlike some fool star captains he could name. Him and Inki—they needed food and rest before they undertook anything so chancy as waking an untutored and slightly grouchy AI to himself.
“Pipe closed,” Tocohl reported. “Shall I scrub, Mentor?”
Ordinarily, he would have told her to hold the scrub, but if the old comps were failing already…
“Scrub,” he said; then, toggling his line to Inki, “Setting blocks.”
That was routine, and went quickly enough, even with putting in a secondary sequence, in the interests of being very certain that the Admiral would not wake by himself.
“Coming out,” he said then, and pulled the glasses off his face, opening his eyes to the study room, and Inki sitting, slump-shouldered and grinning, across from him.
—•—
Daav didn’t bother trying to gain his treacherous feet; he merely got himself oriented, there on the floor, and rolled to her side. Her pulse was thready and fast, her breathing shallow.
“Help!” he shouted, in Terran, Liaden, and Trade, that being a word well known to robot observation protocols, but he needn’t have bothered. The door snapped open before the third had fairly left his mouth, and the Uncle strode into the room.
“What ails her?” he demanded, falling to his knees, and also checking pulse and lungs.
Daav shook his head.
“Her pod was ripe. She ate it.”
Perhaps the Uncle swore. The words were unfamiliar, the tone was consistent with strong emotion.
“What is it doing?”
“The Tree? I don’t know,” Daav said.
“What ought I to do, then?”
“A ’doc, in monitor mode,” he said promptly. “It will do no harm, and it may tell us what goes forth.”
The Uncle gave a sharp nod, slipped his arms under the small body and rose. Daav rose as well, fighting a lifemate’s outrage. His right, and his duty, to carry—
“In your current state, you cannot,” the Uncle said, as if he had felt the burn of Daav’s rage. “Did that fall just now teach you nothing?”
There was no answer to make to that, and the Uncle was already on his way down the hall. Daav followed.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Vivulonj Prosperu
The status lights were a scramble of plain nonsense. The blue light alone held steady, and on that Daav pinned his hope and his heart.
Gods, what a tangle. The Uncle insisted that the Tree had seen ahead, leaving aside the questions: how far had it seen ahead, and in what detail? Certainly, to have foreseen the near-death of his…old…body and their separate rebirths—which it must have done, or why two pods, neither ripe, and one for Aelliana, given even before he had embarked on the delms’ mission?
Had it, then, seen that the Uncle would meddle with them, given the opportunity, and provided a cure for such tampering? The Tree was a biochemist; it had been adjusting those of Korval to suit and serve itself better since—well, sinc
e Jela himself. Would it—
“I could not help but overhear your concern,” the Uncle murmured, interrupting this chain of speculation, “regarding Korval material making its way into my control, and your own unconscious collusion in this. I would put your mind at ease: Korval material has long been among my options. I had the sample from Cantra herself, when her foster mother brought her to me, to be cured of the edit that had taken all the rest of her Line.”
Daav looked away from the status board, into the Uncle’s eyes.
“That’s intended to reassure me, is it?”
The Uncle smiled.
“You may find it reassuring that, though I have had free access to this material for such an amount of time, I have chosen not to use it.”
“I applaud your wisdom. The universe is surely not ready for another Cantra, never mind an aelantaza-in-full.”
The Uncle raised his eyebrows.
“I am desolate, that I am unable to reassure you regarding the lack of aelantaza in our universe,” he murmured. “After all, Tanjalyre Institute maintained its own records and inventories.”
There was a thought to take the breath, but Daav found his attention elsewhere. A familiar whispering inside his ear, distracting him from his thoughts; an aroma so delicious that it was impossible—nearly impossible—to think of anything save how delightful a treat was his to claim.
He shifted, trying to ignore—but that was foolishness. His mouth watering, he reached to his pocket. The Uncle turned from his study of the board to stare down at him.
“What ails you?”
“My pod is now ripe,” he said, having it out of his pocket, his hand shaking with the need—
“Don’t…” the Uncle began, but Daav shook his head.
“Necessity, I fear. I remain in the dark regarding the Tree’s plans and intentions. Prudence argues that I will experience an effect similar to Aelliana’s.” His voice was shaking. He must partake of the pod…and soon…
“I would spare you the onerous task of carrying me,” Daav continued. “Let us place me in that ’doc, now.”
The Uncle nodded and turned to the second unit. Daav gave one last look at the status lights over Aelliana’s head: blue light steady, the rest in a madcap state of flux.
Well.
He settled himself in the second ’doc, and opened his hand. The pod fell apart with unseemly haste, and he must eat of it, now, he must, or he would die…
But he needed no such urgings. He ate, as quickly as he could swallow.
An icy wave passed through him, freezing nerves, blood, brain. He fell back onto the pallet with nary a sound, boneless as the dead.
The Uncle lowered the ’doc’s hood, and gazed up at the status board, expecting to see senseless readings to match those reported for Aelliana Caylon.
Nothing so confusing manifested, however. All lights remained steady, save a working light on the bottom tier. Queried for more information regarding its work, it reported a routine immune system check.
The Uncle frowned.
Immune system check.
Hmm, and Daav yos’Phelium…was Daav yos’Phelium, whereas Aelliana Caylon—
Spinning to the other ’doc, he stared up at the manic lights. All systems in flux. A terrible thought—surely, an impossible thought—occurred to him.
Even Korval’s Tree would not attempt—well. After all, it could be checked.
There was a deep diagnostic screen on the table next to the ’doc; it was the work of moments to wake it. Data began to flow, as if eager for his scrutiny.
The Uncle…sighed.
He very much hoped that Korval’s damned Tree knew what it was doing.
—•—
“Stew!” Inki cried, leaning on the counter. “You will be pleased to know that success is within our grasp. All that remains for us is to bring Admiral Bunter onto the ship we have chosen for him!”
Hazenthull stood one step back from the counter. She had accompanied Inki on this mission at Pilot Tocohl’s order, “In case,” so she had said, “there should be any trouble.”
Thus far, there had been no trouble, save that Inkirani Yo was a person of infinite curiosity, and had therefore peppered Hazenthull with questions on their way from Tarigan’s berth to the Repairs side. How long had she been the mentor’s assistant? That was the first question, and had necessitated an explanation of her former working relationship with Tolly Jones.
“Ah, loyalty!” Inki had exclaimed, and had gone so far as to extend a hand and pat Hazenthull on the arm. “He is fortunate in you, Pilot Haz. We should all have such friends!”
She had gotten used to Inki’s way of speaking, over time, and though she had never dared a touch before, Hazenthull found that it scarcely annoyed her.
Came another question, this regarding Tocohl’s past, but there Hazenthull was able to offer nothing.
“The pilot became known to me only because I was wounded, and she allowed me to be brought into her ship to receive healing. Countdown had commenced, and she did not wish to delay her mission. She made the necessary clearances and I was attached to her.”
“Ah, I see. You know, there are not so many free AIs in these days, and those who remain untaken by hunters tend to be old, and mobile, and very subtle. A design such as we see in Pilot Tocohl—she might have been built yesterday!” Inki sighed. “A beautiful and gracious lady, to be sure. I am pleased to have made her acquaintance, and I very much hope that she is every bit as wily as she is beautiful.”
They came to the corridor that led to Repairs, and followed it ’round, the air growing slightly colder as they went on.
“Truly, Pilot Haz, I have been fortunate beyond the mundane workings of luck. To have encountered Master Berik-Jones himself; to have been privileged to assist in the transfer of one of the precious few of the newly waked would have been good fortune aplenty. I tell you, I am counted one whom fortune favors, and on that meeting alone, I would have been satisfied. To have met yourself, shining in the armor of your loyalty, and Pilot Tocohl, also—I must wonder what amazements will next come to me.”
She laughed and waggled her fingers in a nonsense sign.
“It is well that I am not Liaden, is it not? Else I would expect doom, indeed, in Balance for the riches I have received.”
Hazenthull had mixed feelings regarding luck, but there was another topic on which she was eager for information.
“Has the Admiral survived the transfer?”
Inki’s face grew serious.
“Well, there. That is what we will learn, in due time. I believe that he has, but I acknowledge myself as an optimist. Master Berik-Jones believes that the Admiral survives—until we run the wake-up”—she shook her head—“which shows him, once again, to be wiser than I. Hope tempered with caution—that is the best course, and saves needless stress on the emotional apparatus.”
Hazenthull did not say that Tolly’s hope was every bit as terrible as his fear. If Inki had not seen this, then it was surely a secret she was not at liberty to reveal.
So, no trouble on the way, but now that they were were arrived, it seemed that there might be trouble, indeed.
For Stew did not, to Hazenthull’s eye, look as pleased to receive Inki’s announcement as she had been to make it.
“All that’s left, is it?” he said, voice sullen. He pulled off his cap, wiped his hand over his shiny head, and resettled the cap.
Inki considered him.
“I did not mean to make light, sir. Of course, the remaining procedures are arduous and we are not yet assured of a happy outcome. The pilot and I were speaking of that on our way to you. Still, we are arrived at the point where the ship is necessary to progress, and so we have come to receive it.”
Stew shook his head.
“I tried callin’ the Admiral when I come on-shift,” he said. “No answer.”
“That is correct,” Inki said. “Mentor Berik-Jones has successfully extracted Admiral Bunter from the ships keeping statio
n there.” She waved a casual hand, perhaps meaning to indicate the Admiral’s location.
“We have, as a favor to you, scrubbed those comps that remain functional. We did, I fear, lose at least one, and possibly two, in the transfer process.”
Stew was frowning.
“So the Admiral ain’t in them ships anymore,” he said.
“That is correct.”
“Where is he, then?”
Inki tipped her head.
“Why, he is sleeping, Master Stew; resting from his labors.”
“Here’s what, then, you just let him keep on sleeping, an’ get ’im outta here, why not? Station don’t want ’im; you heard that, din’t you?”
“I did. However, we had an agreement. You were to provide us with a ship capable of housing the Admiral, so that he might continue his life in comfort.”
“Well, that’s it, see? Admin don’t think he oughta continue his life. Got one sitting pretty close to the stationmaster who’s thinking it best to call in the bounty hunters. Been working that theme for a while, since before the Tinker got ’erself blown outta space. Just about home with that, is my reading. Got the master thinking Jemiatha’s here’ll get a cut of the bounty, for handing ’im in all nice an’ docile.”
He shook his head, holding his hands up.
“Best thing—best thing, Pilot—is to take Admiral Bunter outta here, asleep like you say he is, and find him another ship, someplace else.”
“That is not acceptable.” Inki’s voice had lost every nuance but edge. “We require a ship, Master Stew. I chose one and you agreed to allow me to have it, for the good of the Admiral.”
“Well, it’s what I’m telling you, ain’t it? Admin says we ain’t giving away ships, not even one of the junkers out there where the Admiral usta hang ’is hat, if he had one. For sure and certain, we ain’t giving away a good, modern ship with the repairs mostly done. Somebody’ll wanna buy that ship, and we ain’t exactly rich in this part of space.”
There was a short, charged silenced.
Hazenthull shifted, scuffing her boot on the floor.
Stew looked up to her, and she smiled, showing teeth.
He pressed his lips together and looked away, more irritated, she thought, than afraid. Stew was not timid, then. That was interesting.