The Artifact

by W. Michael Gear

  She crossed her arms, nodding. “It is. We’ve pretty well reconstructed its capabilities. Biomechanics indicate that the upper manipulators could practically crush rock. It had an incredible power grip as a result. The lower set of hands can do things we only dream of when it comes to dexterity. Given that combination of manipulation, it could do anything from bending steel to rewiring a microcomputer. ”

  “And the senses?”

  She ran fingers through her graying hair. “Given the physiology of the eye, we believe it could see not only our visual spectrum, but considerably into infrared and ultraviolet. The antennae consist of highly sophisticated audio receptive vibraculae and chemoreceptors. At the same time, the cone on the back of the cranium acts as a low frequency amplifier with another auditory receptor there. In short, this guy could hear just about anything. As to the sensitivity of smell, well, we’re thinking in terms of one part per two million.”

  “That’s good?”

  “Yeah, that’s real good.”

  “You speak glowingly. I take it you’re impressed?”

  She met his eyes soberly. “Honestly, Worshipful Sir, it looks like it can do anything we can—only better.”

  “What can you guess about intelligence?”

  She rubbed the back of her neck. “That gets us into a gray area. We’re still having problems defining just what intelligence is in humans. To start at the beginning, it has two brains. One for the body—similar to our paleocortex, and a second which might be compared to our neocortex. Since the first was only concerned with running the body, we’ll leave that out.

  The main brain is located under the carapace of the thorax—very well protected, I might add. You could drop this guy from a hundred meters and he could walk away little the worse for wear. The skeleton consists of hexagonally oriented chambers—like the honeycomb we use on high stress parts. But I’m off on a tangent. The brain is fully three times as large as ours. We’re a little unsure about brain physiology since the organ has deteriorated considerably, but I can tell you that compared to a human brain, the structures equivalent to neurons are smaller, better organized, and highly efficient.“

  She paused. “If I were to guess, I’d say he’d make us look like fumbling idiots. You might draw the comparison between human intellectual capabilities and those of a squirrel monkey.”

  Kraal stared at the alien. “That’s ... a difficult pill to swallow.”

  She grunted assent. “Worshipful Sir, I hate to say it, but we’re no longer the bright boys on the block. So far as I can determine, anything we can do—intellectually or physically—this guy can leave us in the dust.”

  As if a big fist had grabbed him and squeezed, Kraal’s guts tightened. He paused. “Well, if they were so damned smart, where the hell are they now?”

  She shook her head slowly. “Maybe they weren’t the bright boys on the block either?”

  Kraal continued to stare, unable to find words, possessed by a sudden awful foreboding.

  * * *

  “Message, Admiral.”

  Sabot Sellers came awake instantly as the comm spoke in the darkness. “Condition?”

  “Eyes Only, sir. Just a short subspace fax with our code ciphers.”

  “I’ll take it on my personal unit, Comm Officer.”

  “Acknowledged, Admiral.”

  In the darkness beside him, a terminal glowed orange, casting a soft light around Sabot Sellers’ cabin which illuminated the voluminous wall hangings. A vacuum suit lay ready to hand. The light made the golden giltwork of the fixtures gleam gaudily. Furs from Earth were piled on his bed while artwork from all over the Confederacy hung on the walls. A use-polished blaster lay in easy reach on the comm table abutting the sleeping platform.

  PALM PRINT AND CHEM ID NECESSARY, printed across the screen. Sellers reached out, touching his unit on the sensor. Immediately thereafter, words began glowing in the darkness. Brief, concise, and remarkable for its brevity, the report ended.

  Sellers lay back as the monitor went dark, the room stygian again. Around him, Hunter hummed and whispered familiarly as it hurtled through the void, leading the rest of the hastily scrambled Arpeggian fleet toward light jump.

  “So,” Sabot whispered, “Carrasco plays war games in space. His crew is splintering into factions, the diplomats are at odds, and Ngoro has been eliminated. Perfect. This time, Carrasco, you, and Archon, and the lovely Constance will all be mine—along with the device which will make me invincible.

  “You’ve got only one ship to stand against my fleet. Now we’ll replay the scenario off Arpeggio. This time, you’ll face me for the prize—and you’re already outgunned and lost, Carrasco. Lost.

  “The device, and all humanity will be mine.”

  CHAPTER XV

  Sol stopped at the bridge companionway and took a deep breath. He passed the bridge hatch, grabbed out his coffee cup and stuck it into the dispenser as he dropped into the command chair. All systems read normal.

  “Report, Boaz. You monitored the funeral. Which of the suspects betrayed themselves?”

  “None, Captain.”

  Sol rubbed his forehead. He’d been hiding this ace in the hole. He’d thought surely Boaz would detect abnormal behavior with her sophisticated scanners.

  “No one seemed unusually distraught?” He stared glumly at the comm, frantic to take back his promise to Archon.

  “Elvina Young, Constance, Malakova, and Mikhi Hitavia were visibly upset,” Boaz reported. “Their blood pressures were abnormal, galvanic skin response on IR rose, and breathing increased. Constance excreted tears and her breathing became highly irregular. I believe this is a result of sorrow. Parameters of behavior for Elvina Young are normal in that she appears to be emotionally volatile. Mikhi Hitavia recently suffered through the death of his brother on Reinland. Probability in psych programs would indicate this is associative behavior. He still feels the loss and Representative Ngoro’s funeral reminded him of that. I must admit, Amahara, too, gave distraught signals—but well within bounds for such an occasion. As to Malakova, he had known Ngoro for some time. His reactions fall within parameters of human grief.”

  “But no guilt or relief?” Sol probed.

  “No, Captain.”

  “Who? Who could it be? And . . . will they kill again?”

  “Current data is insufficient to make that determination, Captain.”

  * * *

  “So, what you think? Is curious, no? Only man who could verify words of mealy mouthed politicians is dead.”

  Tayash cleared his throat and swallowed hard as he stared across the lounge where most of the passengers had congregated to talk quietly about Ngoro’s death—and what it meant to the various political alliances involved.

  “You’re suspicious of Ngoro’s death? What? You think it’s assassination?”

  “Bah! How do I know? Heart attack? Ngoro was healthy as proverbial horse. So, tell me, is heart attack common killer? Eh? Like black plague, or stroke, or smallpox or HIV or any other once deadly pestilence? What are chances that here, on this ship—”

  “It came on him of a sudden.” Tayash tapped his shiny black cane to underscore his point. “If you cut your leg off too far from a med machine, you’ll bleed to death, too.”

  “But Ngoro was not predisposed to heart trouble. I

  ask Amahara . . . he’s disturbed, too. True, didn’t come right out and say so, but I see it in his eyes. Worry . . . like Ngoro shouldn’t have died so.“

  “So? The poor man was responsible for him. How would you feel? I mean, keeping track of Ngoro was a full-time job. You never knew when he’d wander off the end of an axis inspection ladder in someone’s station and fall to his death. Probably fall through somebody’s roof or something to compound the liability problems. If Amahara had been following along, he’d have been able to call for help. Ngoro would be alive today—that’s what’s eating at Amahara. He’s probably feeling like he shirked his duty to keep—”

  “Too much
at stake!” Nikita slitted his eyes, staring at the knot of diplomats. “You watch and see. Way too much at stake. Only Lietov and Jordan and Medea don’t seem to ask questions. You notice that? Everyone else— like you and me—hound Archon continually to find out what is behind so delightful a junket. And what do we get in return? Sticky sweet assurances that we go to inspect Star’s Rest. Bah! Somewhere, hidden deep, is true meaning. And I will have it by time—”

  “You see too many spooks in the shadows, Nikita.” Tayash shook his head. “Comes of living with that rabble fermenting in Gulag Sector. You’re all pesky revolutionaries, spies looking for other spies. Like the Afghans of old, if you couldn’t fight with someone else, you fought with your neighbor—just to keep in practice.”

  “And for fun of it!” Nikita grinned wickedly. “But I know something is rotten in undercurrent here. Medea is stewing, and when woman that powerful is furious, look out.”

  “Over Elvina?”

  “Texahi drools all over self every time he sees her. She walks up, smiles, and dimples chin, while leaning on him and rubbing boobs around his arm. What you think? Medea likes being made fool of?”

  “And Joseph Young ignores it?”

  “Bah! Young is so blinded by Mormon mass opiate, he can’t see wall in front of nose. You hear him talk of anything but Joseph Smith and Moroni and golden tablets? Even Paul Ben Geller avoids him . . . and who is more feisty than Jew?”

  “Another Jew.” Tayash chuckled happily. “Or a Gulagi fanatic! Hah! Don’t you look at me like that! You’re just as bad. Face it, your anarchy’s just another form of fanatical religion! All of you out there, you’re all the same! Ripe, I tell you, ripe for conversion to some fundamentalist bullshit.”

  “Insane! I hear babblings of demented fool of Confederate propaganda! To think any Gulagi—champion of people’s liberation—would fall prey to social slavery of mindless opiate of religion is ... is ... unthinkable!”

  “You two at it again?” Constance came over to kneel beside their gravchairs.

  “You bet!” Tayash slapped a horny hand on a knobby knee. “This old Gulagi fool’s so full of hot gas, he could be mistaken for an H II nebula.”

  “Bah!” Nikita waved it away. “He’s old, you know. Lost sense along with vitality of sequestered flesh dangling between legs. Too much fluid builds up—affects mind. Antique friend here is threatened and insecure in presence of overwhelming virility like demonstrated by yours truly. Which brings us to new point. Lovely Constance, you are ready to run off with me and live forever on uninhabited Eden planet I know of?”

  “I wouldn’t dare. The thought of being stuck forever somewhere in the midlist of your wives would be a fate worse than death.” She winked at him, blue eyes twinkling.

  “You be only wife!”

  “Constance,” Tayash interrupted their banter. “What do you hear? Is anyone besides us concerned about Ngoro’s death? I mean, something about the circumstances just doesn’t flow like superfluid.”

  Her deep blue gaze bored into his. “Sure, I’ve heard some speculations, but more to the point, I’ve seen the data. I found the body, remember? I was there when the medical unit and Physician Wheeler did the postmortem. The autopsy stated myocardial infarction in luminous letters on the printout.“

  “Is still on far boundaries of probability,” Nikita grunted, chin dropping to his massive chest, smoldering eyes on the diplomats where they clustered around Archon. Lietov and Jordan stood to one side, conversing in low voices. Texahi shot hidden glances at Elvina while Medea unconsciously kept moving to stand between him and the Mormon wife. Hendricks gestured with busy hands as he offered condolences to Amahara.

  “Yes, it is,” Connie agreed, “but we don’t need a freak chance to lead to recrimination and open warfare among the diplomatic personnel.”

  “And that would be serious?” Tayash lifted an eyebrow. “I take it you’re looking for some sort of consensus from the people here? If I had a hint as to the policy requirements ...”

  Connie closed her eyes, shaking her head. “I wish, just once, that someone would let me get through a conversation without pumping me for all the information they could get.”

  “Come to my room. I pump you in very different—”

  “Nikita!” Tayash exploded. “Must you always descend to such—”

  “Still jealous? Because aged prostate has failed is no reason to begrudge me mine.”

  Connie rubbed her eyes with thumb and forefinger. “Tayash, I think I’m safe. I can run faster than he can. Sure, Nikita’s a barbarian—but lewd barbarians are easy to deal with. You always know where you stand. It’s the smooth ones you need to look out for.”

  “Yes,” Tayash agreed, gaze straying across the room. “And Jordan isn’t missing a thing. He’s been watching you like a raptor over a crippled rodent. Perhaps Nikita isn’t your only admirer.”

  She cocked her head. “Seriously?”

  “Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?”

  “I don’t like rival.” Nikita winked lustily at Connie before shifting to brace himself on a thick arm, speculative eyes on Jordan.

  “I haven’t had time to look at a man that way for ... well, a while. No, I hadn’t noticed—but I’ll keep an eye on him.” She patted Tayash’s arm in appreciation.

  “What about keeping eye on me?” Nikita demanded. “What has overdressed Mainiac dandy got that Malakova doesn’t?”

  Connie stood up, bracing hands on hips. “You really want to know?”

  “Of course!”

  “Style, Nikita. Lots of style . . . and he’s in line to be a king. Can you top that?” She winked conspiratorially and signaled thumbs up, heading for her personal quarters, composed, hips swaying in that balanced manner of an athletic woman.

  “If I were only younger,” Tayash sighed. “She’d make a most wondrous addition to my—”

  “Younger! Hah! You finally admit orbit of manhood has decayed?”

  “If I ever admit it, I’ll have already burned on reentry,” Tayash hissed sibilantly. “At least I don’t talk to a lady like I was an Arpeggian pirate.”

  Nikita seemed to ignore it, eyes on Jordan. “Royal Mainiac is fop. You think she ceuld seriously be interested in such as him?”

  Tayash studied Jordan, so perfect in every detail of posture and dress, not a hair out of place. “The man’s a martinet. No, Connie’s got more sense than to be fooled by the shell—no matter how pretty.”

  “Um. But Jordan can be smooth. And he is rich and powerful. Sometimes there is no telling about women, old friend.”

  Tayash wiggled his lips back and forth. “If only he didn’t look at her that way.”

  * * *

  The watcher narrowed his eyes as the woman left, clutching her robe tightly about her, hurried steps taking her down the corridor.

  Carefully, the watcher stepped out, placing a palm on the lock plate. This time, the hatch slid open easily.

  “Mister Representative?”

  Silence.

  That watcher stepped warily into the sleeping quarters. The man lay on his side, nude, mouth slightly open. The air carried faint traces of the earthy musk of copulation, bedding still damp.

  “Mister Representative?”

  No reaction.

  The watcher approached the side of the bed, gloved fingers taking a pulse. From the pouch on his belt, a cylinder was withdrawn. From behind the earlobe, the watcher took a cubic millimeter of blood, pausing to make sure the sample would be adequate.

  On silent feet, he returned to the hatch—checked to see the way was clear—and left.

  * * *

  “Boaz, I want Happy on the line.” Sol leaned back in his command chair, face wooden. About him, the bridge functioned flawlessly, the curious, transparent coating mirroring vague reflections of him in the instrument-packed command chair. When he poked the stuff with a finger, it had give, a spongy feel.

  “Hiya, Cap!” Happy’s perpetually flushed face filled the bi
g monitor. He wiped a knobby finger under his bent nose and grinned, dimples adding to the lines that dived into the salt-and-pepper shot beard sprouting on his cheeks.

  “Happy,” Sol looked up, nervous fingers tapping the chair arm. “I need to see you on the bridge immediately. Leave Kralacheck on duty.”

  Happy’s face went stiff and formal. “Right, Cap. I’m on my way.”

  Boaz asked, “What do you intend?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “I monitor anxiety, Captain. The entire ship seems to suffer from it. Are you about to do something illegal?”

  Sol shivered slightly. “You were the one who told me to commit myself to the success of this voyage, Boat. Well, you’ll be happy to know I’ve given it a lot of thought. Representative Ngoro was murdered—possibly while I was drowning myself in my own insecurities. So, after all that thought, I’m making commitments which will be irrevocable.”

  “Would you like to discuss them first, Sol?” She sounded almost intimate.

  He smiled and shook his head. “No, Boat. Thank you, I appreciate your concern, but, you see, I’ve already made up my mind. The responsibility’s mine, I’ll bear the cross for it.”

  The Chief Engineer passed the hatch and settled himself into Bryana’s chair. “What’s up?”

  “Seal the hatch, Boaz,” Sol ordered, enjoying the cunning look that blossomed on Happy’s face.

  “Sealed, Captain.”

  “All right, this conversation is private—First Officer clearance or higher.”

  “ Acknowledged.”

  Sol took a deep breath, turning to the engineer. “Happy, I want monitors installed throughout the ship. I want visual as well as sound piped right into Boaz. I want her to know what’s going on everywhere within her so she can scan everyone and every conversation in any room.”

  Happy’s face went grim and his lips twitched. “Cap, you know the regulations on that. One of the things the Craft insists on is—”