“Please remain here,” the Adjutant said. We waited with one guard as the adjutant moved forward, rather slowly I thought. Perhaps it was my imagination, but it seemed that the guards present were positioned so that they could cover us and each other.
I could hear nothing of the exchange between the adjutant and the leader of this new party. Their limbs did not stir and they could all have been frozen in a tableau. This went on for what seemed a long time until finally the adjutant turned and made a beckoning gesture with one of his upper tentacles.
We walked forward, although I immediately noted that our last naval guard remained where he was. Once on the spiral staircase, we found ourselves surrounded by the new detail with just our adjutant for company. The material of the spiral held our feet firmly as we rode it upward, something of a cross between a magic carpet and a slidewalk and fortunate, as with so many heights in the Ribisan section, it was not railed.
“I’ve never been here before,” McCaffer said. The older man’s face was haggard as the high-G sapped his strength, “nor met the Pillar directly. This is an honor we’ve not received before. I hope it was wise to incur it.”
“Me too,” slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it. But my evident caution seemed to please the older man.
Thirty seconds more took us to an ornate landing of columns that looked like frozen waterfalls and contained mobile floating lights, a relief to the eyes, but inadequate for natural vision. There was something that was either statuary or exploded metal, I couldn’t tell. I was sure the walls were festooned with art and the whole place was a Xeno-anthropologist’s dream, but to me it was mostly dim, filled with strange shapes.
We walked toward large metal and glass doors that opened onto the largest room we had yet seen. The room was created to impress and did. In its center, surrounded by Ribisans was a raised dais with two Ribisans on it. Screens of various sorts flickered about the room and it was clearly a communications hub. The tallest Ribisan was entangled in something that looked like a golden web. Since Ribisans did not sit, I assumed this was the equivalent of a throne or other ornate chair.
“I must remain here,” the adjutant said. “Human McCaffer, I believe you know enough of our customs to conduct the introductions.”
“Yes, I have been in most of the city negotiations. I will do my best.”
“It is essential that you do. I will not be able to assist you.”
Two guards stayed with the adjutant and two more came with us as we approached the Pillar.
McCaffer hailed the Pillar and began both a series of gestures with his hands and a short introduction of who we were.
“Maauro,” I sent, “I get a feeling from all these actions that neither we nor our naval escort are welcome here. We may have found the first of the faction lines we have been searching for.”
“Yes,” she replied, “it is difficult for me to sense intent in biological entities, still more ones as different as these, yet there has been wariness among the guards. They seemed as much concerned about each other as about us. The fact that the adjutant is not welcome to approach closer is indicative of something.”
McCaffer was continuing, describing the courtesy to his office intended by my visit. He turned to me. “I’m on our private channel, at least I hope it’s private, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. We will not be speaking directly to the Pillar. I’m not sure why or what it means, but the smaller Ribisan up there is his, I don’t know, call him the Major Domo, he will speak to us on behalf of the Pillar. I am getting a bad feeling from how we are being greeted. The sooner we are done here, the better.”
Finally the smaller Ribisan moved forward slightly. An indicator on my helmet’s heads-up display told me it was speaking, or I would not have known which one of the group to focus on.
“The Pillar has heard of your mission and your courtesies. Both could have been delivered electronically, without the need for you to so struggle in our environment.”
“It is kind of the Pillar to express concern for our health,” I replied. “My orders as a Confederate officer and the courtesies due a planetary head-of-state do not take personal comfort into account.
“I have also come on other duties that have doubtless been brought to your attention. The disappearance of a number of scientists—”
“The Pillar has already responded through proper channels on this matter and has nothing more to add.”
Curt, I thought – and undiplomatic to cut me off. “Then there is the matter of the attempt on my life.”
“Regrettable,” the Major Domo said. “The Pillar leaves all such matters in the tentacles of the Commandant, who you have already had an interview with. The Pillar has nothing to add to that interview.”
“Fels,” McCaffer whispered urgently. “The Pillar seems to be very busy toda—”
“And scant of courtesy toward the Confederacy,” I replied, watching as he blanched in his helmet.
Despite the pounding in my chest, I switched back to the main frequency. “The matter is not a small one to the Confederacy. In fact, neither matter is a small one. Confed headquarters is very interested in what project brought the disappeared so far from home.”
There was a long silence during which no being moved. I began to wonder if I had pushed our collective luck too far.
Finally, to my surprise, the Pillar itself stirred in its golden webbing. The indicator told me that the Pillar itself was speaking. “If you have inquiries as to the business of UDEXCO, inquire of UDEXCO, a legal entity of your Confederacy. Ribisan internal matters are not within your purview.”
The indicator flicked to the Major Domo. “The Pillar is considering a complaint to your superiors about your intrusive and perhaps illegal actions.”
“Maauro,” I sent.
“Agreed, we withdraw.”
Aloud, I said. “I apologize to the Pillar if in my zeal, I have given inadvertent offense. I wished to express my personal appreciation that the Commandant has assured me that we will receive all possible consideration in the matter of the assault on my person.
“In regards to… the other matter, I have my orders, but I understand the limits of my jurisdiction. It appears it would be as well for my party to return to our section of the city and leave matters here in the hands of your authorities.”
“Indeed,” the Major Domo said. “This interview is terminated. Please withdraw. It is time for one of our religious observances that are not to be conducted before unbelievers.”
“Of course,” McCaffer said, hastily. He again made the complicated hand gesture and began offering ceremonial words of departure. I slowly added a Confederation salute, not wanting to alarm the guards, and let it drop, not waiting to see if it would be returned. Then we backed away from the dais. Deep down I wanted to run, but that would have been suicidal in this gravity and maybe for other reasons. Maauro brought up the rear as we went, backing all the way even after McCaffer and I turned to avoid falling over our feet in high-G.
We regained the side of the Adjutant. “Let us move with haste,” he said leading us out.
Again the guards and the spiral staircase, this time the trip down seemed to last forever. We picked up our other guard and his entourage and made our way back to the frosted cake aircar. Everyone clambered in despite the high-Gs. We weren’t even seated before the Adjutant took off, making McCaffer and I grab for poles.
“Apologies,” he said. “Again, haste serves.”
“That could have gone better,” McCaffer said, his voice hollow with exhaustion.
“Perhaps,” Maauro said, “it would be best to remain silent until we regain our side of the station.”
“Careful,” I sent, “you sound like Maauro, not Lostly.”
But McCaffer nodded and we spent the trip back to Interface airlock in silence.
The Adjutant drove us right up to the airlo
ck door and practically leapt out of the vehicle to open it. The two guards took up flanking positions, their weapons held upward pointing at the heights around us. “In, in,” the Adjutant urged.
It took no further persuading and with no goodbye to our escort we walked into the airlock. It closed, blocking off the view of the nightmare city. I fought an instant’s dizziness as the gravity gradient went from 1.8 to 1.2. What blessed relief. We walked down the corridor to the entrances to our section, then another airlock, now even more relief, one gravity, yellow light and air.
We quickly undid our helmets, not even waiting for the suit chief, who’d entered as soon as the atmosphere was safe. He went straight to McCaffer, the oldest of our party and helped him out of the heavy, servoed suit. McCaffer looked like hell. I suspected that I looked scarcely better. Only after I got out of the suit did I realize how rank with sweat I was, shaking with every limb.
The suit chief pushed a drink on me. “Anti-inflammatories and restoratives. You’ll feel like shit tomorrow. You were out there a damn long time. You buying real estate, L-tee?”
I just gave him a tired grin.
He looked over at Maauro. “They must breed them tough where you’re from, Miss. You look fresh as when you went out.”
Damn. One of those little cues we hadn’t realized. But if the Chief was frankly surprised, McCaffer looked too exhausted to notice. Maauro gratefully clutched at the drink and complained of aches and pains in an unpersuasive manner.
“Let’s take this up tomorrow,” I said, so drained and strained that it was hard to climb to my feet even in one-G. “Chief, get Mr. McCaffer into a cab. We’ll look after ourselves. Thanks for everything.”
“Sure L-tee. Come on Mr. Mac, you’re not on overtime like the help. Time to get you home.”
McCaffer just grunted at us as the chief led him off.
I looked at Maauro. “Sometimes your adorable perkiness can be quite annoying.”
“Sorry,” she replied, slipping under my arm and putting one of hers around my waist. “I would carry you, but it would be remarked on.”
“It’s not that bad,” I said moving slowly and wondering if in fact it was. “But my plan for the evening is a bath, food and a long nap.”
We return to the hotel and follow Wrik’s itinerary. He lingers in the showers soaking out the soreness of our expedition into high-G. I attend to the details of the meal. Despite what I judge to be a selection of his favorite foods, he eats mechanically and talks little, even begging off finishing the meal to lie down. Once stretched out on the bed he is instantly asleep.
I take advantage of this to do a medical scan. The results upset me. Wrik has taken a battering since we arrived, including a few seconds of technical death. Over all this has been the strain of living under the eyes of our enemies and today, hours in high gravity. His body shows damage in many levels, his metabolism is highly stressed.
This is unacceptable. I immediately begin production of anti-inflammatories and other medicines far superior to what is available save at the best Confed medical facilities. I inject these with either air pressure or needles of great fineness. In addition I send in a detachment of micromachines to repair overloaded blood vessels and strained and sprained muscles. I add minerals and vitamins as I deem necessary.
Wrik is not resting comfortably. He has fallen asleep on his face and I know he normally sleeps on his back. Gently, I turn him over, undress him and arrange him properly for sleep. It is a measure of his exhaustion that he does not stir.
I remain concerned at the level of injury and damage. Exhaustion is cumulative in biological life and Wrik has been subjected to far too much in far too short a period. Tomorrow, I decide will be spent entirely in rest and healing. I administer a light tranquilizer that will ensure his sleep will last a full twenty-four hours. There will be no more sojourns into high-G unless mission failure is at stake. Even then I will weigh if it exceeds my primary mission parameter of Wrik’s survival.
As I sit by the unconscious Wrik, I consider if the accumulated threats to my network have reached that point. We are targeted, albeit erratically, by an unseen adversary but have found no target to counterattack. The tactical situation is not desirable. Further, we have not succeeded at locating any information or the personnel we were seeking. There is no immediate prospect that we will do better and the longer we are here the greater the risk of discovery.
Yet I know that if I decide to withdraw, I will face resistance from Wrik, who will believe, correctly, it is being done for him. As he has said, he must be a contributing member of our team, so he will not accept this. The equations remain balanced in my mind, the mission will continue for now. However I promise myself that if the balance changes, I will extract my network, by main force if necessary.
I place orders for more food to be delivered when Wrik awakes. He will be ravenous, both from the healing and the elapsed time between meals. I will continue my monitoring and intervene with more medications and restoratives as soon as his body is capable of processing them.
While part of my mind remains present with my deeply sleeping partner, the rest ranges through Tir-a-Mar, checking data reports on Wrik and me from Mysol’s various spies, avoiding cyber traps, maintaining my fictitious virtual identity. I avoid the Ribisan dataports, although I am tempted to crash through and see what the Pillar and the Commandant are doing and what reports they have created on us. But it is too dangerous; their superior defenses are too powerful to attack without triggering all manner of alarms. Yet it is the dual nature of the cyber world of Tir-a-Mar that has facilitated my efforts. Ribisan and Confed systems are vastly different, almost as much as the lifeforms themselves. Perforce there must be translation programs and intermediaries. These different code languages create a “no man’s land” between the systems where I easily conceal myself.
Hours pass in this way before the channel in my mind opens
“Maauro?”
“Yes, Jaelle. Are you in danger?”
“No.”
There is a brief silence in my mind. “Are we alone?”
I am confused by the question then I realize she means, “Can we be overheard?”
“Dusko can only hear you when you push a thought at him or are excited and alarmed. However, if you like, I can suspend the connection. He will not be aware of it. If he calls you I will restore it.”
“Do so.”
“Done.
But only more silence follows. I sense confusion, even some pain across the link and again wonder why it is that so much more travels across the link between Jaelle and I. Is it that she is Nekoan or female? I wish I had data with which to consider the point.
“Are you all right?” I prompt.
“Mostly, I suppose.”
“It is the early morning when you should be asleep. Clearly something is upsetting or concerning you.”
“Oh, so many things, Kit-sister.”
“Am I one of those things, Jaelle?”
Confusion, tinged with guilt and a touch of anger comes back. “You’re not a thing to me, Kit-sister.”
“I am a complication to your life, to your relationship with Wrik.”
“Yes, Wrik, who I gather is lying asleep next to you and not next to me.”
“Yes, we ventured into the Ribisan section today. I am concerned that he has exhausted himself over the dangers of the past few days. I have administered a tranquilizer to keep him down for twenty-four hours.”
“Damn it. I should be there watching over him.”
“Mission necessities, Jaelle. But he is your lover, not mine.”
“Yet you do love him.”
“I do. You know this. It is not a physical love.”
“Oh, is it something higher, and purer, above all the physical groping and lust?” she snaps.
“I mean that it is different, only that.”
“Do you love me, Maauro?”
My quantum brain, so adept at hacking, at managing of ships, systems and weapons fails me. I am at a loss for how to respond for 1.8723 seconds. “You are a very important part of my network, original and irreplaceable.”
“That would be a no, then.”
Hesitation. “My feelings for you are not the same as my feelings for Wrik; I am unable to tell you why or quite how. I lack the life experience to formulate answers, or even perhaps to fully understand what you are asking me and why. I care for you, value you, seek your company and guidance, but I do not love you.”
“That’s ok, I don’t love you either. You’re my friend. I think of you that way; for all that I seldom understand all of what is going on in that ceramo-alloy skull of yours, not even when we are connected in this intimate way. “
“We are friends,” I say cautiously. “We value each other. Yet there is a friction between us that plays out in those mock combats and this verbal sparring. That cannot be denied.”
“I have hopes, Maauro, and dreams. Some involve a life free of danger, free of violence, with a beautiful house on a hill, kits tumbling over each other on a lawn. Do you have dreams like that?”
“I do not dream, Jaelle. My mental state is always self-conscious in varying degrees unless I am damaged or power-drained. I have a maintenance mode I slip into when nothing more complicated is required of me.”
“That’s not what I mean, Kit-sister. You know that.”
“Then no, I do not have dreams. It sounds pleasant, to create, whether consciously or not, to create scenarios of a happy and secure future. I could do so, but it would not fulfill any need for me.”
“So there is only the now for you and the past.”
“Yes, the now. And the past, though I used to delete those parts of my past when they troubled me, or when I felt that they did not help me.”
“Such as?”
I do not wish to respond but I also fear shutting down this communication between us that seems so much more open and honest than most of our interactions. “My actions during the Infester war, there are periods there that I have deleted. I have kept all of my memories since my resurrection on the asteroid where Wrik found me.”
Against That Time Page 18