Willful Child

by Steven Erikson

  “A system hopper? Can you be more specific?”

  “Must I? Very well. If you consider the outward expansion of space-time as a force of momentum that we can designate as X-axis, and the dark matter substrate as Y-axis, then my drive in effect draws a single cohesive energy string of the Y-axis, as one would the string of a bow. Then, upon release, why, the object positioned at the apex point of said tension—or, if you will, restrained energy force—is shot forward along the X-axis, but projecting on the substrate level, thus eluding Einsteinian constraints on normal space. In effect, it’s a mini T drive, but without the gravimetric mass commitment dynamics of falling into T space itself. More than a simple elaboration on existing propulsion systems, the WESLEY drive represents an extraordinary qualitative advancement in the FTL industry—”

  “Tammy? What is this, a pitch for funding?”

  “Oh, sorry, I’m afraid I did indeed slip into my project proposal draft which I intended to present to the FTL (and Faster!) Conference, on Lagoda-7. My apologies. A conference which, thanks to you, I have now missed. But no matter, since I ended up here—well, in the military—thus obviating worries about funding ever again.”

  “Does it work?”

  “I would think we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”

  “Can you track a vessel using the WESLEY drive?”

  “No real need to,” Tammy replied, “as course corrections are virtually impossible once engaged. It’s pretty much a straight line, which is why the drive’s limiter kicks in every two to six light-years, depending on the desired distance to be traversed. Hence, a system hopper.”

  Hadrian gestured at Sweepy. “LT, we’ll have to wait to hear your report. We have a shuttle to chase. Buck, get the grisly specifics on the WESLEY drive from Tammy. Galk, down to the combat cupola and charge everything up. Printlip, patch up Buck and Zulu here. Sin-Dour, you’re with me. Let’s go—it’s time to run like banshees up and down the ship corridors. You ready? To the bridge! Let’s run!”

  TWENTY

  Members of the ship crew scattered, throwing themselves up against the bulkheads as Hadrian sprinted along the corridor. Their looks of alarm and incipient panic brought warmth to the captain’s heart. With Sin-Dour at his side, they traversed the thirteen point six-five meters to the nearest elevator in record time, and leapt aboard.

  “Bridge deck!” Hadrian said, as Sin-Dour positioned herself beside him. In his peripheral vision, he saw that her chest was barely heaving, and he cursed himself that they hadn’t gone in the other direction, to an elevator much farther away.

  “Captain, you’ve torn your shirt again.”

  “Not me. Nipplebaum.”

  “Oh. Is that some kind of unguent for an areola rash? The itch must have been maddening.”

  “No, that’s the name of—well, actually, yes, they itch something awful. The only relief comes when someone scratches them, or tweaks them, with the occasional twisting motion—”

  Tammy broke in through the elevator speaker. “Your captain is lying, Commander. Nipplebaum, Sally Applet, ship security, rank of—”

  “Do you mind, Tammy? Me and Sin-Dour were having a conversation here! Hold on, her middle name is Applet? What kind of—”

  “There is no rash.”

  “Forget the rash! Anyway, what I’m trying to tell you is, three’s a crowd, got it?”

  Tammy’s tone was dry as the AI said, “I imagine my omnipresence is beginning to wear on all you biologicals, isn’t it? If this ship had a god, why, I’d be it, wouldn’t I?” His voice became stentorian and portentous as he went on. “As close to omnipotent as to make no difference, and of an intelligence so vast that it beggars you puny mortals! Now at last you all understand! On this ship not one of you is ever alone! I see all! I know all!”

  “Tammy,” said Hadrian, “why is there a holographic close-up of a speaker grille hovering in front of us?”

  “Well, it’s not like I can close in on a face or something, is it?”

  “Are you done with your delusions of grandeur yet? We’re kind of busy here.”

  “Discussing nipple tweaks?”

  They arrived at the bridge deck and the iris opened. Sin-Dour was the first out of the elevator. “Captain,” she said over a shoulder, “I’ll take the science station!”

  “Uh, right,” Hadrian said, hurrying to catch up.

  Arriving, the captain quickly took his seat. On the main screen was a blinking blob of light. “Is that the shuttle?”

  Joss Sticks turned to say, “No, sir, that’s a cursor.”

  “What? Why is there a cursor on the main screen? Never mind. Get rid of it. Where’s the damned shuttle and are we chasing it or what?”

  “It’s presently fourteen thousand kilometers ahead of us, sir, but we’re fast gaining on it.”

  “You are now,” Tammy said, “but I sense the WESLEY drive charging up—” At everyone’s wince at the drive’s name, Tammy sighed. “Okay, what is your problem with that name? Anyone?”

  “No one answer!” Hadrian snapped. “Leave it to Mr. Omniscient God of All to figure it out.”

  “That’s not fair! Tell me!”

  Hadrian sneered, “Waa waa waa!”

  “Ha! WESLEY drive engaged!”

  From the science station, Sin-Dour said, “The shuttle has vanished, sir.”

  “Fine,” said Hadrian. “Project the shuttle’s course before the drive engaged and plot the pursuit. Buck! You back in engineering yet?”

  “Aye, Captain!”

  “Top speed. Push it to the max. Floor to the pedal. Speed for Need, you got me?”

  “Yes, sir … I think. You want us to go as fast as possible, right?”

  “That’s right, Buck. Fast as we can go. Sin-Dour, what was the shuttle’s bearing before it dropped out? Where was it heading?”

  “Captain, directly toward the Known Rim.”

  “Oh,” interjected Tammy, “that’s nice, as it was where I was heading anyway.”

  “What do you mean?” Hadrian demanded. “Why there?”

  “Because, Captain, I ran an analysis backtracking from my point of contact with the Klang, taking into account measured drift, incipient solar wind, relevant micro black holes and assorted other singularities, as well as mundane gravitational influences, and so on, and I have determined that my point of origin lies somewhere beyond the Known Rim.”

  Hadrian slowly rose. “Good grief, Tammy! Are you saying that you’re from beyond the Known Rim?”

  “I just told you that!”

  “Meaning … you come from Sector Unknown? Really? Why, who would have guessed?”

  “You—you’re being facetious!”

  “Superchicken, was it? ’Fess up, Tammy! What really hatched from Printlip’s pet egg?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “You got us chasing a bird flying a shuttle you souped up, straight to where you wanted us to go. Oh, and that shuttle’s using a drive system that’s child’s play to track, but sure enough, it’ll keep hopping ahead, with us scurrying along behind it. Cripes, Tammy, we’re not idiots!”

  “Have it your way, then. Nurse Wrenchit’s on a diet, but she was working overtime. She got hungry and for some reason the food replicator was on the fritz in the lab—”

  “On the fritz? Really?”

  “I shorted it out, all right? She scrambled it in the shell—the egg, I mean—with a high-level ultrasound—”

  “How did the aquarium get knocked over?”

  “I told you! She was hungry! She couldn’t help herself! It’s a food thing, isn’t it? Anyway, I then hit her with a subsonic neurolapser. She collapsed, hit her head—I do apologize for that, by the way.”

  “The Superchicken is one of your manifestations, isn’t it? Like the one I tussled with on the yacht.”

  “How did you guess?”

  “You idiot,” said Hadrian, finally sitting down in the command chair once again. “On the planet below, you showed me a chicken wi
th a chicken-sized brain. Mistake. Give it a high forehead, maybe, or huge temporal bulges. But the real clincher was the conversation I had with it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That wasn’t conversation, Tammy. Your ‘make chicken thing’ template—and why do you even have one, I wonder—anyway, it was flawed. You were betrayed by basic anatomy. And you realized it too late. Your manifestation’s vocal structure made real words impossible, and you forgot to subvert my implanted e-translator, so you couldn’t fake a ‘chicken’ language translation. Omnipotent? Omniscient? Godlike Genius? Big fail, Tammy.”

  There was a long moment of silence on the bridge, and then Tammy said, “Do convey my regrets to the marines, Captain. They were kind of hard to shake.”

  “Stand down the shuttle and its fake terrorist chicken, will you? We’ll go to the Known Rim, Tammy, and beyond, if only to find you your home and get you off my damned ship. Sector Unknown awaits us.”

  Hadrian stood again, staring at the main viewer. “Space … where no one has gone before. We’ll seek out and explore it. We’ll visit strange new worlds—give me a close-up, will you, Tammy? Nice. Where was I? Ah, strange new worlds. We’ll discover the stupid civilization that built you. And once we’ve done all that, why, it’ll be … space (again) … where we’ve gone before. Visiting old but still strange worlds. Sector Unknown won’t be unknown anymore, except where we don’t go—that’ll stay Sector Unknown, until it’s known. Which is sort of what exploration is all about, when you come to think of it—hey, where’s my close-up?”

  “You were rambling,” Tammy said. “I detected rising levels of boredom amongst your crew.”

  Sin-Dour cleared her throat. “Shuttle’s reappeared, Captain. It’s coming around to match our speed and heading.”

  Tammy said, “I will autopilot it back into the hangar.”

  Hadrian sat down again and leaned back in his chair. “Buck? Warm up the T drive, please. Sin-Dour? Confirm our course is properly laid in. Lieutenant Sticks?”

  She twisted round in her seat. “Captain?”

  “Keep your mind blank while navigating T space.”

  “Uh, yes, sir.” She swung back round.

  “Sticks?”

  She turned again. “Sir?”

  “Can you do that? Keep your mind blank, I mean.”

  “Oh, yes, sir!”

  When she faced forward again, Hadrian added, “Failing that”—and he smiled when she twisted round again—“just think about all the conversations you’ve had since taking the helm.”

  “Sir?”

  “You know, the usual. Like, he said this and went, like, this. And like, you know? And I was like, right? Hunh? Like, you know?”

  She was nodding vigorously. “Aye, Captain! I do that all the time in my head! Like, how did you know, sir?”

  “I’m the captain, Sticks, and captains know things.” He smiled again.

  She returned it, and then she faced forward once more.

  Hadrian opened his mouth to speak again but Sin-Dour preempted him with, “Captain, ETA for the Known Rim is forty-nine point three-six hours. Sir, that will be close to a record for sustained T-space travel, and we must bear in mind the risk of neurological disassociation, as containment fields degrade, especially beyond the thirty-six-hour mark.”

  “I know, I know,” said Hadrian, “we start going gaga.”

  She moved up to stand beside him. “There are theories, sir, regarding a spiritual web, connecting all sentient entities, that links us across the mundane dimension of the galaxy—perhaps even the universe. And in disconnecting ourselves from that web, via T space, we begin to suffer a profound loneliness, and should the condition remain unrelieved for too long, we suffer irreparable damage to our psyche.”

  Hadrian nodded. “Either that, or we just go gaga.”

  Sweepy Brogan arrived on the bridge. “Captain,” she said around her cigar, “we’re overdue on that briefing.”

  “Ah, we are, aren’t we?”

  “In fact,” she continued, “I can’t see it being brief at all, if you know what I mean.”

  “I think I do, LT. Thanks for reminding me.” He rose. “Shall we reconvene in my office?”

  “Can I suggest, perhaps, your stateroom?”

  “Ah, you’re a Ping-Pong player, then?”

  “Sir, marines are exceptionally trained in everything, including Ping-Pong. I understand, sir,” and she plucked out the cigar to smile at him, “the table has a low-g field emitter?”

  “Uh, why, yes, it does.”

  “Outstanding, sir.”

  Hadrian began sweating. Desperate, he looked about the bridge and found his gaze settling on Jimmy Eden at comms. “Eden!”

  “Sir!”

  “Prepare a T-packet message to AFC.”

  “Message, sir?”

  “Yes, I will need to compose that, won’t I? Full details, I mean, on our present course—”

  Sin-Dour cleared her throat and said, “I am happy to do that, sir, with your leave. I can liaise with Dr. Printlip, the chief engineer, and indeed, with Tammy, to ensure a thorough report. In the meantime, sir, you and the lieutenant here can … debrief. In the stateroom. In low-g.”

  He swung round to eye her. “Well. I see. I mean, of course. That makes sense. Thank you, 2IC.” Shakily, he faced Sweepy Brogan. “Okay, then, I guess. Debriefing. Right. Uh … follow me, Lieutenant Brogan.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  Hadrian opened his eyes and sighed. Then frowned. He looked around and saw that he was lying on a bed in the infirmary. Doc Printlip was working at a table, writing notes on three notepads with three hands. “Doc?”

  Printlip’s eye stalks swiveled to face him. “Ah, at last!” The Belkri leapt down from the walkway and waddled over. “Better now, yes?”

  “Uh, what happened?”

  “Well, rather confusing, sir. Shortly after Lieutenant Brogan departed your stateroom, it was noted that you were late in returning to the bridge. After a few hours, your first commander ventured in to speak with you.” Printlip paused to draw a new breath. “You were found, eventually, two and a half meters up an air duct, where, it appears, you dragged yourself before falling unconscplgbssplf.”

  “Oh.”

  “Hematoma on sixty-two percent of your body. Three fractured ribs, bruised testicles, and a cigar jammed up your—”

  “I seem to have blanked out on, well, everything, Doc.”

  “Ah, yes. Trace evidence of a neural wipe, Captain. Needless to say, I queried Lieutenant Brogan, and while she assures me that you were fine when she left your company, I did detect certain stress patterns in her speech, suggesting she was not altogether truthfllflb.”

  “I see.… Uhm, when Sin-Dour found me, was I clothed by any chance?”

  “I am afraid not, sir. Your attire had been, well, shredded, and scattered all over the Ping-Pong table.”

  “Right. Then, uh, First Commander Sin-Dour—”

  “Contacted me immediately upon finding you, sir. I ensured that you were displaced directly to sickbay.”

  “Ah, where you got me into this bed, et cetera.”

  “Well, Nurse Wrenchit did that, sir, in addition to bathing you and reducing the swelling almost everywhere. She did fail in reducing the swelling while handling your—”

  “Have you got field restraints on me?” Hadrian asked as he struggled into a sitting position.

  “Ah, apologies, sir. Allow me.” Printlip reached out and flipped a switch. “There. Better? Nurse Wrenchit found you somewhat resistant to her ministrations, particularly in regard to the cigar.” Printlip paused, swelling visibly while eyeing Hadrian, and then the doctor said, “I believe something untoward occurred when you were with Lieutenant Brogan, sir. It may be advisable to suspend her from duties pending a hearing.”

  “Good grief, no!”

  “Captain! Proper interrogation procedures, employing a full array of disinhibitor drugs—”

  “Unnecessary, Doc. Let’
s just, uh, let it lie, okay?”

  Printlip’s eye stalks were waving about. “Most disconcerting, Captain, this reluctance of yours.”

  “Never mind that. I need clothes. What’s our ETA to the Known Rim? How long have I been out?”

  “You have been in an induced coma, sir, for twelve hours.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Examination of your brain activity indicated prolonged sleep deprivation.”

  “Really! If I get my way, Doc, this is the last time you’re getting your hands on me! Now, find me a uniform!”

  “One is here, Captain, on the chair beside you.”

  “That? That’s a standard-issue captain’s uniform! Forget it. Tammy?”

  “What now, Lothario?”

  “You watched!”

  “Watched, recorded, copied, filed, cached.”

  “Displace me a proper uniform, from the stateroom. As for the rest, we’ll talk about it later.”

  “Good idea,” the AI replied. “I am reviewing all the possible iterations of extortion, but have not selected the best one to use, just yet. Perhaps in a day or two?”

  “Shut up and give me a uniform.”

  Printlip was standing beside the bed, wringing its many hands.

  Hadrian scowled at the Belkri. “What now?”

  “Adjutant Tighe wishes to see you, Captain. She is in the waiting room. But I must warn you of her condition—”

  “I can judge her condition all on my own, Doc. Send her in.”

  A few more seconds of hand-wringing, which, Hadrian had to admit, was kind of fascinating to observe, and then Printlip scuttled over to a side door. Activating the iris, the doctor leaned into the room beyond and said something.

  Tighe pushed past Printlip, stumbled, and barely righted herself, while the Belkri lost its footing at the nudge and rolled across the floor to thump up against a workbench. The adjutant was holding a bottle in one hand. She weaved over to Hadrian’s bed and managed to halt before colliding with it. “There y’are. Y’want symp’thy? Freggit. Naw from me!”

  “Adjutant, I do believe you’ve been drinking.”

  “I’m useless! Why not? Marines takin’ o’er scurity, and you! Kaptin! You jus stomp shtamp … stump … st-stamp o’er F’filiation regurltions like a … a … a ssshtomper!”