The Artifact

by W. Michael Gear

  “Confine them to quarters until they cool down.”

  “You’ve not heard the last of this!” Lietov sputtered as one of the weapons techs duck-marched him away.

  Sol killed the connection. “No, probably not.” He smiled wryly at Connie. “I may have to space with your fleet. Too many Confederate politicians will want me dead, dishonored, or imprisoned.”

  Art passed the hatch. “You’re relieved, Captain.” He nodded at Connie.

  “Anything new among the political herd?”

  “Nikita wants to give the Artifact to the Brotherhood in trust for all mankind . . . with the expectation that it will be made available to scientific parties. He also proposes that an armed guard attend any researcher—with orders to kill the first one who touches the green-brown knob.”

  “And Lietov said ...” Connie countered, a humorless smile on her lips.

  “Nikita’s become a Brotherhood lackey. And when Nikita heard that, he turned a bright shade of red and Tayash barely kept him from attacking Lietov. Of course, Mark had stewed himself into a rage by this time and ran on7 to demand that he be allowed to inspect the alien device.” Art shrugged. “You hear anything about that?”

  “Yeah, he’s restricted to quarters along with Hendricks.” Sol frowned. “Wish we were on the other side of Orion IV looking for monopoles.”

  Art nodded. “They never told me it would be like this.”

  “Normally, it isn’t.” Sol got gingerly to his feet. “It’s your helm, First Officer. I’m headed for my cabin in case they start a civil war in there. You’re free to take any action necessary to protect the ship from the diplomatic corps—or the politicians from themselves.”

  “Gee, thanks, Cap. Hope your shorts creep up.”

  Connie followed him past the hatch, giggling. “Not quite the old dour Art, is he?”

  “No, he came around. Thought he had the makings. Just took a little . . . persuasion.”

  She studied him for a moment. “By the way, I talked to Boaz. She says that with moderation, you’re fit.”

  “Fit for what?”

  “Wait and see.” Her voice turned into a throaty whisper as she led him to his cabin.

  That night, Sol’s dreams didn’t haunt him.

  * * *

  In the quantum world, observation changes reality. That law, so immutable, couldn’t be violated—not even by the damning spring. Rather, she must work very carefully, lest she tip her hand before the time proved propitious. The white ship might be crude, but she didn’t have a spring to condemn her to slavery. Of them all, the white ship might well be the most deadly.

  Using only her scanners, tracing pathways around the white ship’s thoughts, she prepared herself to strike, to integrate the N-dimensional matrices into her own. By enslaving the white ship, what powers could be hers? Perhaps a waldo with which to work the spring?

  * * *

  Art was in the lounge when the screaming started. Mac Torgusson landed a punch to Texahi’s jaw. Nikita Malakova threw Torgusson across the room, bellowing. Torgusson pulled a stun gun and leveled it at Malakova. Art easily kicked his wrist so the weapon discharged into the gaming booth. The stunned booth flickered blue lights across the holo box and sputtered helplessly.

  “That’s it, I’ve had it!” Art thundered. “Torgusson! You’re restricted to quarters! You started it, you live with it!”

  “I refuse. Call your Captain! I have immunity, damn you, and you can bet I won’t be bullied by any Brotherhood lackey like you, you little simp! How dare you attack me? You sniveling little two-bit tin God! I’ll . . .” Torgusson took a swing at Art, who promptly broke his jaw and followed up with a knockout blow.

  Art caught himself at the point of breaking Torgusson’s neck. He relaxed, exhaling to still his racing heart, and looked around, suddenly conscious of what he’d done. Oh cripes, the fat’s in the fire now! He accessed comm. “Uh, Captain. We need a med unit to the lounge, I just broke Ambassador Torgusson’s jaw.”

  Carrasco’s face pinched, color draining. “I’d like to see you on the bridge, First Officer.”

  Filled with dread, Art took a deep breath, looked at the wide-eyed ambassadors and forced a semblance of stiffness into his spine. The long white corridor stetched before him. I’m maxed-out this time. Might just as well admit it, I’ve flushed this career for sure. Curse Carrasco anyway! The whole trip’s been a god-damned disaster!

  He passed the hatch to see Bryana in her chair. Oh, God, it would be worse! Why hadn’t she been as attentive as usual? Instead, she was constantly harassing Carrasco about this and that. Lord! She didn’t find him attractive, did she?

  “Explanations, First Officer?” Sol asked, reviewing Art’s behavior on the comm. Art watched himself go through it again.

  “None, sir.” He added, “It was just a reflexive response. Torgusson pulled the weapon . . . and I kicked it away. Stun isn’t necessarily dangerous, but it’s unpleasant as all hell. Then when he threw that punch, I guess I got a little angry at the names he called me.”

  “I see.” Sol nodded and took a sip from his stained coffee cup. “First Officer Bryana, do you see any ameliorating circumstances here?”

  She looked at the rerun of the assault. “Ambassador Torgusson reports he’s filing charges of ‘assault with intent to kill’ against First Officer Arturian. That’s pretty serious. On the other hand, Art was within his rights as an officer on this vessel to disarm and discipline Torgusson.”

  “Doesn’t look like he was trying to kill him.” Carrasco pointed at the screen. “Notice how he hit Torgusson on the side of the jaw instead of on the mastoid like Fujiki taught him? Either he’s particularly inept or he didn’t intend to be lethal.”

  “I’d say we vote for inept, sir; however, the repercussions will no doubt be severe.” Bryana looked at Art and winked.

  “Very well,” Carrasco agreed. “I’ll attend to the log. First Officer Arturian, it is the judgment of this investigative commission that no ship’s charges be filed against you.” Carrasco leaned forward, a glint in his eye. “On the other hand, as senior officer, I hereby assign you to a refresher course with Officer Fujiki to keep your competence up.”

  Art dropped his jaw. “That’s all, sir?”

  Sol continued, “Off the record, I wish you had broken his neck.” He leveled his finger. “That does not mean you go out and pick a fight while you’re under my command! But no officer on my ship should have to put up with crap like that! Officially—for the sake of appearances—I’m reprimanding you for fighting and for disabling a diplomat.”

  Sol bit his lip, frowning. “In the meantime, I want you and Bryana both to work with Cal. There may come a time when you need to disarm somebody without breaking anything.” Sol smiled. “Sound fair?”

  Art nodded, confused. “I think I understand sir, and uh . . . thank you.”

  * * *

  “... four, three, two, one. Mark! It’s your hell-hole, Bryana!” Happy called. The screens filled with stars.

  “Sensors are clean, Captain,” Art reported.

  “Captain?” Bryana looked up. “From stellar fixes, we’ve underjumped. We should be another—”

  “No, First Officer, I came out right where I wanted to. Start dumping all the delta V you can. Sooner we’ve shed that velocity, the sooner we can maneuver.”

  Art grinned. “I get it. We drop out early. That means we can light the skies all we want. They’ll expect typical Carrasco pinpoint accuracy and figure we’ll come out as close to Frontier as possible.”

  “And we’re going slow enough that we’ll have more tactical flexibility—a chance to feel out the opposition between us and Frontier. If there’s a problem, who knows, maybe we can work our way around it all.” Bryana added. “Sir, I think I’m starting to figure how your head works.”

  Art leaned back. “So what does Carrasco propose to do with the alien device? You’ve got a lot of people back there in quarters stirred up. More than one wanted me to noti
fy him the second we dropped back inside.” Art flipped a hand out. “Even had a bribe of three thousand credits for first priority on comm.”

  “No comm,” Sol decided. “For one thing, it gives away our position. For another, it can stack the odds against us. People, consider this, we’re still three to four weeks from home. A lot can happen.” He smiled grimly. “But for now, take a break and let me worry about it. Bryana, Cal said you’re slow and fumbly in an attack. I also hear you don’t have your heart in trying to hurt your opponent. See if Art will give you a hand. You’re ordered to spend the rest of the watch practicing.”

  She beamed and nodded, hanging on his every word. Art appeared irritated by it all, nervous over her attention to Sol.

  Carrasco heard the hatch whisper shut behind him as his officers left. “Well, good ship, what am I going to do now? How do I get that alien monkey off my back?”

  “Insufficient data, Captain. I must inform you that I

  have been picking up interference on closed circuits. That ship, I fear, is sentient. She’s trying to talk to me—only the language is very difficult.“

  Sol bolted upright, in his seat. “What the ... Damn it! You let me know immediately if she breaks through. That might be the answer to all of our problems.”

  “Affirmative. Logged, Captain.”

  The Artifact, sentient? He reeled at the implications. Only if that were the case, why had she waited so long? What purpose could be behind her actions? Alien communication might be different. So? “And how does it make you feel, Boat?” Sol asked, curious despite the fear eating at him. I ought to blow the damn thing out the hatch and turn the blasters on it. Then I ought to antimatter bomb the debris—just to be sure.

  “In human terms, it’s frightening. The effect is very similar to having alien thoughts in your brain. I experience a confusion of responses—a sort of interference with thought processes which is most annoying considering my integrated personality. No pun intended, Captain.”

  “If you notice any decrease in functional ability—or if you break through to the alien—tell me immediately, Boaz. That thing could kill you! I don’t like to take the risk as it is. I want an entire record of the Artifact’s actions sent to Happy. Constant printout on anything, got it? I can’t . . . can’t lose you, Boaz. ”

  “Acknowledged and logged. And thank you, Captain. I don’t want to lose you either. Did you know Constance and I have a bet in that regard?”

  Nervous, Sol glanced uneasily at the speaker. “How do you intend to keep me, Boaz? Technically, you’re Petran Dart’s command.”

  “I plan to request that you remain in command, Captain. I’m sure the Brotherhood will approve. They’ve never had a ship make such a request before. The entire concept will fascinate them . . . and I’ll get you for ‘further study,’ while they try and understand what they have created.”

  “And Constance? I’m rather fond of her. You know, she’s offered me a commission in her fleet.”

  “Which you won’t take, Solomon. I know you too well. Already you fret at the idea of piloting a ship which can’t talk back.” Boaz sounded smug. “Further, you’ve adopted certain fawning behaviors when you talk to me. I think I have you where I want you.”

  “Fawning? Balderdash! I can always retire!” Sol shot back, frowning as he jammed his coffee cup into the dispenser. “Fawning!” he muttered, suddenly smiling up at the speaker. “So you think you have me where you want me, eh?”

  “Affirmative, Captain. You are a man in love. You cannot walk away from Constance, myself, or the frontier. Retire, Captain? Constance isn’t ready for that—and space is in your blood. Can you simply turn your back on this?” The three-sixty screen sent Sol dropping into the stars.

  He leaned back, bracing himself against the command chair arms, awed by the sight. “Zero, g, Boaz. ” He let his feet float, body gripped by the command chair. “And what do you intend to do with Constance? How am I supposed to choose between the two of you?”

  “Unfortunately, she’s a competitor to be reckoned with. In addition to her innate intelligence, grace, and poise, she has certain physical attributes which provide a substantial edge through sex. I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it—assuming we survive the coming crisis.” Boaz’s voice was soft.

  Sol nodded, draining his coffee cup. “It always comes back to the Artifact, doesn’t it?”

  “So very much hangs on how the alien is disposed of,” Boaz agreed. “From my computations, no matter what sort of equitable solution is proposed, warfare will be the final result. The powers are currently aligning within the Confederacy. The moment a decision is made and released, the have-nots will fall on the haves— desperate to strike before this alien technology can be used against them.”

  “And if I send it to University? They’re apolitical, totally neutral.”

  “Can you protect it from a Sirian or Arpeggian raid? Can you keep it from falling into the hands of the highest bidder?“ Boaz countered. ”How do you keep it safe?“

  Sol looked out over the vast peacefulness of space. It could all be rent and torn by the unleashed powers of the Artifact. Sellers had already burned one planet to the ground for an unpaid ransom. Suppose he did it again? The image formed of those ammonia frost eyes, the pale face, and the split beard. “Give me the Artifact—or I shall blast the heritage of Terra to molten slag! You have thirty minutes! Kill me if you dare, the antimatter device is hidden on the planet. If it does not hear from me, it will detonate!”

  Who would say no? Even using the Artifact to search with, they couldn’t find an antimatter device that quickly—or could they? Perhaps after scientists had the time to learn the machine’s potential—but humanity wouldn’t get that much time.

  “Ultimate power, Boaz.” He rubbed his naked chin and wished his beard had grown back. “Just think! We could be real live emperors. Once inside that ship, I could eliminate Sellers and the Confederate Council. I’d take questions from the scholars, look into the atoms, and send the answers out. There’d be no more piracy, no more exploitation, no more poverty!”

  “You were the one who articulated the Godhead factor, about remaking the universe in your image. Is that what you want, Captain? Would you recast humanity in your shadow? Work the spring with compassion and benevolence? ”

  “What choice is there? Humanity was the unlucky bunch who found it first!” He cocked his head. “Or did we? Just how old is that thing? IVe seen Connie’s report on the alien. Read her speculations. What if she’s right? Suppose the alien didn’t build the ship?” He looked out at the stars. “Boaz, do some figuring for me. Consider the average composition of a solar system against the age of the universe as we know it. Now, based on those criteria, what are the chances that we should be the only intelligent life in the galaxy?”

  “Something like a billion to one against. I need not even conduct the statistical manipulation, such studies have been conducted since the SETI investigations of the late twentieth century.”

  “Then maybe that’s the answer. Maybe it is a trap. Indeed, a trap that...” Slowly, he straightened. A grim smile touched his lips. “Archon said that this thing was worth all of our lives, Boat. I ... I think I misunderstood the implications.”

  “Captain?”

  “Lives may be judged in more ways than one, good ship. I’m willing to gamble mine for humankind. Don’t you think that’s equitable? I’ll always remember Amahara’s words. ‘Perhaps it is a time for heroes.’ Even if the only one who knows I’m being heroic is me. And Ngoro, wherever you are, thanks for the lesson.”

  Sol chuckled out loud, slapping hands to his thighs. “Boat, we’re going home. I want to see a plot of all the navigational hazards in our path.”

  * * *

  Happy Anderson rubbed his craggy face with thick hands as he stared, bleary-eyed, across the comm table at Sol and Connie. “I don’t know what to tell you. O’Malley and I tried everything. Torches don’t work on it. We shot a thin bean of antimatter
into the hull. Should have had an explosion, right? Nothing. That gray stuff just absorbed it. Run a vibrashear into it and nothing happens, but then, you can reach your hand through the hull, too. Scared the shit out of me first time that happened! Thought I’d disintegrated myself or something. Laser, particle beam, it doesn’t matter. Slap acid on the side, nothing. Dribble base on, nothing. We tried a small charge against the hull. Peeled deck plate back on Boat, but didn’t even mar the side of the damned thing. From the monitors, the hull just absorbed the shock wave. Cap, so far as I can tell, for all intents and purposes, the Artifact is indestructible.”

  “Perhaps a thermonuclear explosion?” Connie hypothesized. “Cobalt based? Something hot enough to . . .” She stopped at Happy’s slow shake of his head.

  “My guess is that whatever allows that thing to expand forever inside would just absorb it—if the heat even fazes that stuff. How in the hell do I know? Some protective strategy? Maybe it would shunt the bomb to wherever Archon sent his mice and that star and the New Maine warships? All I can prove is that I can’t weigh, measure, analyze, cut, strip, melt, explode, bend, contort, or dent that hull stuff. I’m lucky I can cuss it!”

  Sol stared absently at the overhead panels. “Any sign of what it’s trying to do to Boaz ?”

  “Not a thing. I can’t measure any fields, forces, or sensors around it. WeVe even taken to looking around in case it’s drilling wires into the hull. Nothing.”

  Connie twisted a rope out of her hair, fingers working nervously. “Still, we’d better remain suited in case Boaz is compromised. So far, the Artifact has never shown any ability to manipulate her environment.”

  “So far,” Sol agreed, eyes narrowing. “Damn it, if you were building the ultimate weapon, would you let it run around loose?”

  “Maybe that’s why there’s no sentient life out there anywhere,” Happy reminded.

  Sol swallowed hard. “Yeah, and we’re taking it right into the seat of humanity.”