by B. V. Larson
Straker did so, “You, spiders. Surrender or die!”
The spiders spread their limbs, showing empty “hands” formed of feathery fingerlike structures. “We surrender.”
“Zaxby, can you get into their computers?”
“I’m on my way with my equipment. Don’t let them touch anything.”
One of the spiders was slowly, casually reaching toward a console. Steiner fired his laser and sliced off the offending limb, chuckling.
“Don’t move,” Straker said belatedly. “The next one of you who tries anything will lose more than a leg.”
Zaxby soon arrived, festooned with gear. “This is fascinating. It’s my first look at the interior of an actual Arattak ship. It will yield a wealth of knowledge.”
“The only knowledge I care about right now is where our people are.”
“Fortunately, my superior brain can handle caring about more than one thing at a time.” Zaxby selected connectors and plugged boxes and modules into various ports on the Arattak control boards, and then wired his own brainlink into the cobbled-together network, closing his eyes. “Hmm. Hmm. Interesting. I think I can... hmm.”
Zaxby talked to himself like this for some time. Five minutes went by, and then ten. Steiner began twitching with impatience, and Straker was about to bark at Zaxby when he opened his eyes. “I’ve bypassed their security and copied their data. They tried to delete it, but they don’t use a one-command system wipe like we do.”
“Good job. Do you know where our people are?”
“I know where the Hercules was taken. We can depart now.”
“Let’s go,” Straker said.
Steiner lifted his laser to aim at a spider. “What about these guys?”
“We don’t murder POWs, Sergeant. Leave them for the Thorians or the Humbar to collect and interrogate.”
“That’s no fun.”
“Zaxby, can spiders regrow their limbs?” Straker asked.
“With regeneration technology, of course.”
“And will they survive having a couple lasered off?”
“They will. Unlike you primates, superior beings like me or these arachnoids do not keep vital amounts of bodily fluids in their vulnerable limbs.”
“You never miss the chance to take a shot, do you?”
“Not when presented so temptingly, no.”
Straker sighed through his teeth. “Sergeant, shoot their hands off. That’ll ensure they don’t try anything funny before they get picked up.”
Steiner’s voice smiled. “Wunderbar.” With several cheerful slashes of his laser he chopped off the limbs of the spiders that served as hands.
The creatures screamed and writhed in pain, and then fainted and curled into tight balls. Straker felt no guilt. They deserved far worse for kidnapping Carla and her crew, and for allying with the even-worse Korven, whose crimes were heinous and widespread.
Back on the Redwolf, well away from the Humbar, the Thorians, and the crippled Arattak ship, Zaxby presented his findings. “Interestingly, the Hercules was boarded by spiders, not by Korven as one might expect. The Arattak seem to be the senior partners in this alliance. Perhaps they wished to exercise the right of first seizure. They took off eleven males. The twelfth—the weapons officer, Bortmann—is listed as ‘celebratory.’ I believe that means they had the Arattak version of a victory dinner, with him as the main course. The ship—and the females—were turned over to the Korven.”
“Lieber Gott,” Steiner said. “They... ”
“Don’t say it,” Straker said, feeling his heart sink. “Zaxby, do we know where they sent the women?”
Zaxby aimed all four eyes at Straker. “Unfortunately, they sent them to Hell.”
Chapter 8
Loco, aboard Cassiel.
Loco glanced over at Chiara as they sat in the cockpit of the Cassiel. The ship droned through sidespace on her way to the Mechrono system, where Lutan’s information said some of the Hercules personnel had been contractually sold.
Chiara caught Loco’s movement and twitched, but didn’t return the glance.
Okay, she was still in a mood. She had b`een ever since they’d lifted off. Ever since the conversation about... about them, their relationship, whatever it was.
“Chi—”
“Save it,” she snapped.
“Why are you mad at me?”
Chiara muttered something under her breath.
“What?”
She blinked rapidly, several times.
Could that be tears? Loco couldn’t believe it.
“I said,” she began, then broke off, “…no, it’s my fault. I’m not mad at you alone—I’m mad at myself.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m... ”
He waited. A minute at least ticked by, but he resolved to wait her out.
“It’s complicated. If I let myself talk about it right now, I’ll say something I regret. So just drop it and concentrate on work, Mister Paloco.”
“What work, Captain?” He gestured at the steady displays, the formless void outside the crystal viewport.
Chiara pushed herself up from the chair. “I got stuff to do in the hold. You’re on watch. Read up on Mechron and the Mechrono system.”
He took a deep breath, let it out. He decided not to push. “Okay.”
Fortunately, the trip to Mechrono was short—six more uncomfortable hours. He occupied himself as his captain had ordered, reading and watching vids on the Mechrono system. He laughed at himself as he ruefully thought about her “orders.” Hell, she sure thought she was in charge. Guess she was—it was her ship after all. Still, it’d been a long time since anyone but Straker had ordered him to do anything in such a preemptory tone.
The Mechrono system was a weird place, even for the Middle Reach. Some kind of machine intelligence claimed and controlled the entire star system—an SAI, it seemed, or perhaps a highly reclusive, literal-minded true AI. Its name translated as Mechron, and so the system was called Mechrono.
The AI seemed to be centered on a massive, planet-sized artificial station in close orbit around its enormous type-O blue star. Mechron flew strange, spherical ships, which appeared like reflective bubbles of electromagnetic force. These patrolled the area rigorously, examining visitors and destroying any who broke the AI’s rigid rules.
Fortunately, most of those rules had been worked out by visitors from brutal experience over millennia of observation—because Mechron never communicated except through its arbitrary actions. It never comlinked, texted, vidlinked or messaged in any way. Instead, any violation of its rules resulted in instant destruction for the violator. Over time, people had worked out a pretty good set of things not to do.
On top of that, just to keep things interesting, the AI would occasionally do something outside of the known rules set. It was like living with a capricious, uncaring god.
The main rule seemed to be a prohibition on use of high technology—use of, not mere possession. Ships using fusion drives—which were basically reaction rockets, no matter how the energy and expelled plasma was generated—seemed safe. But if any captain dared to turn on an impeller—a reactionless drive, far more sophisticated and efficient, though inherently limited in thrust—the results were disastrous. An invincible bubble-craft would quickly render the ship into its component molecules by means of disintegration-beams of unknown type and incredible destructive power.
Also prohibited were destructive weapons more advanced than conventional explosives. Or shields, or armor reinforcement, and a long list of other things.
Basically, if the tech was in use in Old Earth’s twentieth century, it was probably safe. If more advanced... destruction was imminent.
Every now and again somebody would mount an expedition to study Mechron. They’d send robot ships with lots of sensors, make attempts to provoke behavior and exhibit technology that could be studied. Mechron foiled them all. It wasn’t some mindless computer which could be played with over and over, like a vi
dgame SAI opponent. Its responses were not entirely predictable, and it seemed to have a sense of patience—patience that would wear out quickly from repeated offenses.
Mechron also learned, and it never forgot what it had learned. Attempts to return later, even decades later, after some disastrous experiment, seemed to bring on more disaster. Every species that interacted with the machine might as well be ants attempting to understand and analyze the human village they lived beneath—a seemingly impossible task. Some speculated Mechron was composed of multiple AI personalities—a society rather than a single entity—which might explain some of its unusual properties.
Loco wondered whether Indy might be able to make some progress. Perhaps only an advanced AI could understand one of its brothers.
By the time they were half an hour out, Chiara seemed her old self again and acting as if there was nothing wrong. Loco resolved to play it cool too.
“So why exactly are we going to Mechrono, other than the fact Lutan told you some of our people had been taken there?”
“Other than?” Chiara gave him a flat stare. “That’s the whole thing.”
“Come on. You never tell everything you know.”
“Mikey, you don’t want to know everything I know.”
He had a sense she was disappointed in him, that he’d again failed some vague test. Was it just that she’d been battered so much by life that she felt she had to constantly act superior, as a defense mechanism? And why was he even worrying anyway? He ought to just write her off as relationship material, complete this mission and move on to someone else.
Bullshit, he thought. Unfortunately, his heart had a mind of its own. For now, he’d just play it cool.
“What was that?” she asked, and he realized he’d muttered aloud.
“Nothing,” Loco said quickly. “Can’t you give me any more intel?”
“I’ve never been here before. We’ll both be feeling our way through it. In fact, if it weren’t for our people, I’d stay the hell away from this system. Visitors die here. A lot... though I have talked to a few people over the years who come to trade.”
“With the AI?”
“No, with the natives,” she explained. “Or inhabitants, I should say, as they’re probably not actually native. They live on Mechrono-7. They’re intelligent plants. Nasty creatures when they want to be. They use non-plant Contractors to do some things they’re not very good at.”
“See, there’s info I could use. Keeping everything so close-hold is pointless.”
Chiara chewed that over. “You’re right. Sorry. I’m used to working alone. Never had a partner I could trust.”
“Well, you can trust me—in every way.”
“Why?”
“Huh?”
“Why can I trust you?” she demanded.
“Uh…” His mind skittered away from saying anything about love. “Because I’m totally loyal to my friends.”
Chiara picked at a nail, avoiding his gaze. “Is that what we are?”
“Gods and monsters, what do you want me to say? I like you, a whole lot, very much, more than anyone ever. That makes us friends—plus benefits, plus more if you want it.” This last slipped out despite his better judgment.
“More if I want it?” she asked. “What’s that mean?”
He sighed. “I thought you told me we weren’t talking about ‘us’ right now?”
“You’re right, we’re not. But okay, I guess you’re my friend, even if you’re not a Breaker anymore.”
“I’m both. Discharging me is just a legal fiction—and you’re a Breaker too.”
Chiara turned to him with genuine astonishment on her face. “Me?”
“Of course. You and all your people. Everyone under Breaker protection is a Breaker. So you’re also my sister-in-arms, which doubles down even more, right?”
“Right.” She rubbed at the corner of her eye, turning her head away slightly and breathing deeply. “Sorry.”
“For what?”
“Nothing.”
Loco wasn’t sure what had just happened, except that the atmosphere had lightened. He felt like he said something right this time—thank God.
Then he laughed at himself for using that phrase. Thank God. Whether or not he believed in the God of the Italians—the Catholics, they’d insisted on being called—it seemed more concise and natural than saying ‘Unknowable Creator,’ more personal. It made him wonder about the military society he’d been raised in, and how it had programmed him with assumptions from infancy.
“So, anyway,” Chiara said as if nothing had passed between them, “the inhabitants, the plants I mean, they call themselves The Living. Animals like us—biologically speaking—are Halfers. They consider us only half-alive, since we’re not rooted in soil, and that unlike themselves, we have fixed lifespans. Machines, they call Unliving.”
“What do they call Mechron?”
“Mechron, or so it translates. Might as well be a god, it’s so powerful within the system.”
“But they must have machines, Unliving things, right? Since they have a name for them, I’m sure they use them. How do they reconcile using machines with being ruled by one that’s like an Unliving god?”
Chiara chuckled. “Every society, religious or not, explains away or ignores blatant contradictions if they need to.”
“Breakers don’t.”
Chiara turned to face him. “You’re joking, right?”
“Not meaning to…”
“Okay, here’s a few of the top examples of Breaker bullshit I’m aware of,” she began. “One, you say we’re all Breakers in Utopia, but sometimes we’re not. When there’s some military decision to be made, I have to hear about it afterward, and try to butt in as the Mayor of Paradiso, because nobody bothers to inform me or the city council. Two, Straker claims to be upholding constitutional rights, but we have no constitution—we’re just using whichever parts of the Earthan Republic constitution we all kinda agree on, and thank God he’s not a tyrant, but who knows if he will eventually become one, because power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Three, we’re supposed to be a free and equal society in town—it’s written in the original expedition charter—but I’m still dealing with a patriarchal subculture that doesn’t much like having a woman in charge. They keep citing ‘tradition,’ as if that excuses it.”
Loco raised his palms. “Hey, that last one has nothing to do with us Breakers.”
“I know—not blaming you—just showing you how there’s hypocrisy everywhere. Why do you think aliens should be more rational or less hypocritical than humans?”
“Yeah... I guess so. I’ve seen how weird Ruxins can get... though they think they’re normal and we’re the weirdoes.”
“Normal is all local, Mikey. Here’s a quote I heard: Everyone’s weird but you and me—and even you’re a little weird.”
“Am not.” He grinned. “Okay, maybe a little.”
“You’re missing my point—or making it. I’ve been dealing with aliens my whole life. I guarantee you, humans are just as weird when you view them from the outside. From the inside, everything thinks they’re the normal baseline standard. The Living see themselves that way. Here’s a factoid for you: whenever a new society is discovered, human or alien, most of the time their word for themselves translates as The People. Which means... ”
“Which means everybody else isn’t. Okay, okay.”
Chiara waved her hands, emphasizing her words with gestures—something she’d been doing more and more the longer she was among the Italians again. “The Living see themselves as the normal people, the chosen people blessed by Mechron, dwelling at the center of the universe. Everybody else are half-people—Halfers.”
“Not so different from how the Korven, or the Arattak, or the Opters see humans.”
“Now you’re getting it,” she said.
“How does that help us get our people back?”
“I’m not sure yet, but you wanted to know more abo
ut where we’re going, so I’m telling you. I’m trying to give you information. Briefing you, as you military types call it.”
The arrival chrono countdown beeped a one-minute warning.
“Thanks. Here we go,” Loco said, turning back to his copilot dashboard. “Barring someone waiting to ambush us like they did the Hercules.”
Chiara checked over her piloting readouts and took the controls in her grasp. “In this case, Mechron is a good thing. I hope it won’t allow ambushes within its territory.”
“Hope ain’t a plan.”
Brock poked his head into the cockpit. “Raj is on the tail gun,” he said.
Loco twisted to look at the badger. “Tail gun? We have a tail gun?”
“Yup.”
He switched his glare to Chiara. “And I’m not manning it because... ”
“Because our mercs are already checked out on it, and they’re crack shots.”
Loco digested that. “Okay. But wouldn’t it have been smart to get me checked out on this until-now-secret tail gun sometime during this trip?”
“It wasn’t a secret. I just forgot to say anything. Sorry. I’m... ”
“... used to working alone and keeping your mouth shut. Yeah. Let’s try to update that attitude, can we?”
Chiara’s petulant lips pursed. “I’m trying. Emergence in three, two, one... ”
Fortunately, the tail gun proved unnecessary. Neither passive sensors nor the simple, primitive radar pulse they sent out found anything nearby.
Until Mechron showed up.
“What the hell is that?” Loco pointed at an unbearably bright pinpoint that rapidly enlarged. The viewports darkened to almost opaque in response, and the viewscreens tried to compensate.
“That’s a bubble approaching us at half of light speed.”
“Half light speed?” Loco said incredulously. “Nothing goes that fast in normal space.”
“Bubbles do. What you see is the blueshift as they come straight toward us. Every EM freq that hits them and reflects in our direction gets compressed. Fortunately there’s only a tiny bit—but even that tiny bit gets blueshifted to very bright levels.”
Suddenly, the brightness vanished and the viewports cleared. Outside, at a distance of about one hundred meters, floated a bubble perhaps fifteen meters across. It was completely reflective, like a mirror. Stars, the system’s bright blue sun, and the Cassiel herself could clearly be seen in its surface.