by Larry Niven
Raym wriggled out in a cloud of dust motes. There was something shapeless in the bag. “Sixty, seventy chits’ worth,” he said. “I’ll just take this back—”
“I’ve linked up the hose. What have you got?” Carlot had come at his shout.
Raym showed her the bag.
“Dammit, Raym, that’s sporing fringe! Debby, get away from it.”
“Yeah.” Debby kicked out into the air. She was feeling dreamy…light-headed…happy. But if she’d breathed spores, Raym must have breathed more.
Keep him away from the ship! Debby pulled on the hose until she had the pump. “Raym, take this around to someplace else and start pumping.”
“I’ll take this back,” Carlot said. “Raym, you shouldn’t get near sporing fringe! Sure it’s worth money—” She gave up. Raym was laughing.
Clave had stuck the helmet to a wall with a dab of glue. It watched him in stoic calm. “Try to do the circle in one sweep,” it said.
“Is that how the original was done?”
“First painting was probably a template, but templates wear out. The suits must be painted over and over. Every so often the junior Guardian has to paint it. I’m guessing, of course, but the original looks a little sloppy in Kendy’s pictures.”
Clave pointed the brush like a pencil and moved in a single graceful sweep. The resulting greenish-white circle wasn’t half bad. “Bring it close,” said the helmet. “Too narrow and also a little small. Go around again and add some bulk to the outer rim. Rather, when you leave, drape a cloth over yourself. We don’t want to get it dirty while it’s wet…Stet, Clave. Now the dot in the middle. Stet, leave it tiny. Give me another look at the shoulder—”
“Raym found you something, Silver Man.”
Clave jumped. “What? Carlot, don’t do that.”
“Rather, take it. It’s sporing fringe. Bring it back if you can. It’s worth money.”
Rather took the bag. “What’s it for?”
“If you’re in trouble, throw it. Everyone around you will have a wonderful time while you get away. Make sure you don’t breathe it.”
“Oh. Thanks.”
“Sure.”
“I’m ready to go.”
There was something more that he ought to say, something she expected, but he couldn’t for the life of him think what it was.
“You get tired, I’ll take over,” Debby said.
“No, no, the tank must be nearly full by now.” Sweat slicked Raym wherever his skin showed. He was grinning and panting and pumping his legs with the vigor of a much younger man.
The tank must be full already, Debby thought. They wouldn’t let Raym stop until—
Raym stopped. “What was that?”
Debby turned to where he was looking. “I don’t see anything.”
Tiny twin flames burned in the Dark, receding.
“Huh.” Raym resumed pedaling. “Hope that isn’t the fire getting closer. You never know where it’s gonna be. It doesn’t just drift like everything else, it spreads in spots and goes out in spots—”
Carlot called from the rocket. “Raym! Enough. Let’s go find our mudball.”
Chapter Twenty
THE LIBRARY
from Discipline’s records, year 926 State:
Your orders are as follows.
1)…You will visit each of these stars in turn. Other targets may be added. Where appropriate you will seed the atmospheres of proto-Earth worlds with tailored algae using the canisters you carry. The State expects to settle these worlds, spreading humanity among variable environments, against dangers that might affect only Sol system.
2) The State is aware that you do not require a crew to operate.
The human species is not invulnerable. There is finite risk that the crew of any interstellar spacecraft may find, on its return, that it has become the entire human race. Your crew and their genes are your primary cargo. CLASSIFIED.
3) Your tertiary mission is to explore. In particular, any Earthlike world with possibilities for colonization must be investigated and reported immediately.
—Ling Carther, for the State
Matter was too thick in here to use boot jets. Rather used them to get clear of Raym’s sight, then donned his wings. He wanted to fly straight north, along the axis of Clump and Smoke Ring both. Matter should thin out rapidly in that direction.
There were no ponds; but sometimes you could catch a glint of light from one of the fuzzy-edged fungus jungles. There were white pillow shapes, and flat white lenses streaked with yellow and crimson, and networks of interwoven pale stalks. He took care to avoid touching anything; he flew around clouds of dust or spores. The paint on him would still be wet.
Rather began to understand the beauty Raym found in the Dark.
Straight lines, rare in a tree, were unheard of here, save (rarely) for long beams of blue-white or yellow-white sunlight breaking through the murk. Where he saw these, he corrected his course to cross them. This close to crossyear, north would be at right angles to Voy and the sun. After what felt like a couple of days he was seeing many more. The Dark had grown rarified. Now there was room for jets.
He fired a burst of five breaths’ duration.
Mist flowed past him as he coasted out of the Dark. The day brightened. Too bright. His eyes were slow to adjust.
“Jeffer the Scientist calling Rather. Can you hear me yet?”
Jeffer’s voice was scratchy. Rather turned up the volume. “Reception isn’t good, but I’m hearing you. I’m nearly out, moving north, coasting. The rest of us are in good shape. How long till we get Kendy?”
“A quarter day to spare. Rather, did you bring wings?”
“Yes.”
“Good. You can’t approach Headquarters on jets. I didn’t think of it.”
“I did.”
“I have you located. Make your burn now. You’re well north of the Smoke Ring. The air’s thin, it won’t slow you much, but in less than a half day you’ll be back in the plane.”
“I know, north and south bring you back. So. How long a burn? What direction? I’m well and truly lost.”
“I’ll time you. Three minutes, about sixty breaths. Can you see Voy? The Market is ten degrees west of out from you, and you have to cross four hundred klomters. You didn’t actually get very far into the Dark.”
By now he’d fallen into clear air, with the Dark spread out below. Rather wriggled to point his feet ten degrees east of Voy. He would move nearly at a tangent to the flow patterns in the Dark.
He lit the jets. His body tried to sag into his boots. The Dark skimmed below him, a storm with granulations in it, and sudden red and golden and purple glows where the sun shifted just right. Jeffer counted aloud and told him when to fall free.
Flying. The Dark was thinning out, but coming closer too. He skimmed through the fringes of a raincloud—
“Kendy for the State,” said the familiar deep voice. “Rather, are you on schedule?”
“No problems. Expedition’s in good shape. Raym will probably swear I was there the whole time.”
“Repeat after me. ‘There’s a respectable store of metal here.’”
“There’s a respectable—”
“Try to say it like I did. Listen a few times. ‘There’s a respectable store of metal here.’”
Rather deepened his voice and tried to spit the syllables. “There’s a respectable store of metal here.”
They rehearsed “You wouldn’t want to have to sell your new house,” and “I need to consult the Library,” and “I relieve you.” Rather was lethally sick of it when Kendy quit. “It’ll have to do. Try to be in a cloud when you sight Headquarters. Don’t make your approach without me.”
“Right.”
“I’ve displayed a neudar map of Headquarters for Jeffer. He can guide you if I’m out of range. Back in two days. Kendy out.”
“Jeffer?”
“Here. Rather, you should try to sleep.”
“Sleep?”
&
nbsp; “Nothing natural can hurt you in the silver suit. Sure, sleep. You’ll be less hungry. You’ve got no food.”
“I’ll give it a try.”
He slept not a wink. The turning of the Clump spiral caught him up and he had to make a correcting burn. Houses and decorated puff jungles passed, none close enough to see more than a passing pressure suit. Citizens would wonder what the Navy was doing out here.
Within a layer of haze he found the unmistakable shape of the Market. Headquarters to spinward…“Jeffer? I have it.”
“How close?”
“Forty klomters.”
“Get a lot closer. Approach from the Market side if you can. Rather, it just struck me: there are two ways into the Library, and they have to guard both.”
“So?”
“I don’t think it was ever meant to be guarded. The Library was supposed to be free to all. Just a guess.”
“What’s the word from Kendy?”
“Any breath now.”
“I’ll come in through that cloud bank. You see it? I think there’s a pond in there. I’ll come around that.”
“Kendy for the State. Rather, are you in place?”
The boy sounded edgy. “Ready. You missed some interesting stuff.”
Headquarters was four hundred meters distant. They’d lose a few minutes crossing that. Kendy sent, “Something I should know?”
“No, just interesting. I watched two triune families arrange a marriage.”
“If your helmet faced it I didn’t miss it. Time to move. Just wings.”
Kendy watched the guards as Rather approached. Would they expect him to have an escort? They spread arms and legs as he came near, with a hand and foot to hold the harpoon. That position had been Attention! for any military man in free fall since long before Kendy’s birth. The door behind them was large and massive, and closed.
“Just go in unless they do something,” Kendy said. “I’ve watched them every orbit. You won’t need a password because your helmet’s closed. Don’t hurry. Let them open the door for you.”
Checklist: Communications systems nominal. Drive warming. Course correction ready. Kendy didn’t intend to burn fuel until everything else had gone right.
The guards waited until they could read Rather’s insignia. One rapped the door with his spear butt. It slid open in time to let Rather pass.
“Left. There’s a hall, then another door.” Kendy noticed pads of cottony-looking vegetation on the far wall. “Pause. Wings off, then clean your suit. You’ll be expected to. Pat, don’t rub. Remember the paint.”
Rather patted muddy rainwater off his suit. Kendy wished he could see the result. There were paint smears on the pad. The boy moved down the corridor.
The inner door had one guard. He starfished the way the others had. “Captain-Guardian? You’re early, sir.”
“I want to consult the Library.”
“But that’s…yessir.” The man didn’t move.
Kendy sent, “You’re still carrying your wings. Tether them to your chestplate.” The guard must expect that, and it would give Kendy time to think. “No hurry. Aristocrats don’t hurry. Shin sticks toward your chin.”
To door: no hinges visible. It would swing in. What was protocol here? Have to guess. “Open it yourself, Rather.”
“How?”
“Paired handles on door and wall. Grip both. Push the door inward. No, pause—”
As Rather finished tethering his wings, the guard finished pushing the door open and moved aside. “In,” said Kendy.
Rather entered. He turned at the sound of the door closing. There was no handle on the inside, though a scar showed that one had been removed.
The light source was electric. Would that bother Rather? No, he was used to electric lights in the CARM.
A man in a pressure suit waited. He held a crossbow. The bow and quarrel were both hullmetal: lengths of stiff CARM wiring, with superconducting cores. So this was how they used their heritage.
The Guardian’s voice had to echo through helmet and faceplate. He sounded tinny (as Rather would; Kendy had counted on that) and surprised. “Captain-Guardian?”
“I know I’m early. I relieve you. I need to use the Library.”
Rather was slow. “I know I’m early—”
“That’s all right, Captain-Guardian.”
“I need to use the Library. I relieve you.”
“Yes, sir. For what purpose, sir? I’m required to ask.”
While Kendy mulled possible answers, Rather had started to speak. Kendy listened. Rather said, “We want to locate an integral tree west of here. I want its probable orbit.”
No way to read the silver man’s face. The Guardian said, “Yes, sir,” and rapped on the door. It opened for him and closed after him.
“Alone at last,” Rather said.
The room was much bigger than the machinery it housed. The CARM control system had been remounted in a wooden cradle. There were wooden handles on its four sides. Hadn’t Booce Serjent said that it was sometimes displayed to the citizens?
Cradled against an adjacent wall was a small portable fusion generator. The Library’s light source was a panel running around its rim. The power cable was coiled against its side. “Rather, do you see a coil of line, thick as your wrist, black—”
“Got it.” Rather moved toward the generator.
“The free end has to go into a hole in the CARM controls. At the near end, near the wall.”
“There are a lot of holes.”
“I’ll guide you.”
They played “cold” and “warm” with the end of the plug. It was taking too long. The power plant might be dead. The computer might be dead. The programs might be scrambled. There would be no second chance: Rather Citizen was probably trapped behind locked doors, with Wayne Mickl already on his way. Once Kendy had established contact with the Admiralty, he might be able to buy Rather loose. The boy was doing his best, after all, fumbling, but doing his best—
“Just push it in hard and turn it counterclockwise. Stet. Face the controls. Tap the white key.” A white cursor appeared. “Say ‘Prikazyvat Voice.’”
“Prikazyvat Voice.”
“State your authority,” said a voice so like Kendy’s that Rather squeaked in surprise.
“Say ‘Rather Citizen for Discipline. Open contact.’ Watch your accent.” With another part of his attention he began beaming his signal to the old CARM computer. Voice was activated; the computer would hear. Kendy for the State. Discipline to all CARMs. Kendy for the State.
The computer must be trying to answer. It wouldn’t be able to find Discipline with its navigational instruments severed. He sent, Beam to pressure suit 26.
“Something just started humming in my head.”
“Everything’s fine, Rather.” The signal was being relayed. He sent, Status?
CARM #2 sent its tale of woe. Massive malfunctions. Internal sensors out, external sensors out, motors not responding, life support systems not responding, navigational systems not responding, power low. Records intact. Presiding officer: Admiral Robar Henling…
Kendy sent, Copy.
All?
Y.
The Admiralty Library accepted the Copy program, hummed thoughtfully, and began beaming its records.
That would take twenty-six minutes. Kendy activated the course change he’d worked out hours ago. Discipline was about to use a good deal of fuel. It would hold him over the Lagrange point for long enough.
The records arrived in reverse order. Common practice. Recent records were likely to be more urgent. Kendy dipped into the flow. The control board had seen little while housed in the Library room. There were glimpses of the sky during ceremonies. Records of births, deaths, marriages. It had been dismounted in year 130 SM. The CARM hadn’t crashed; it had deteriorated over the years, helped by deteriorating maintenance…
He couldn’t spare attention with so much else going on. The drive ran smoothly. Tank less than a fifth full. Dis
cipline accelerated, drive swinging out to point at the stars, to hold the ship close above the L4 point against its own spin. Rather was exploring the room; his pulse and breath rate were rapid. He was bored and anxious. Jeffer, crouched above CARM #6’s control board, was in similar shape. The neudar view of Admiralty Headquarters showed fog-spots clumping, then moving in two streams toward the Library.
Something was happening. Little lights brightened and dimmed on the CARM control panel. His helmet hummed. It wasn’t particularly entertaining. Rather said, “Kendy?”
“It’s working, Rather. Don’t bother me.”
“Jeffer?”
“Here.”
“Kendy’s busy and happy.”
“You’ve got more than two hours—about half a day before Mickl’s on duty. Nobody should bother you.”
“I’m hungry enough to eat a swordbird, and may the best entity win.”
“Did everything go all right?”
“I’m scared, Jeffer. I may never get over being scared. Why on Earth are we doing—”
The door opened.
Rather saw a silver suit pointing a crossbow a few degrees wide of his navel. The insignia was familiar. He and Booce had spent half a day painting it on the silver suit, from pictures taken by the silver suit’s camera.
The door—
Rather’s radio spoke in his helmet. “I know who you are,” said the voice he’d been trying to imitate. “What I want to know is why. Let’s—”
Rather leapt straight at Wayne Mickl, and fired a burst from his jets for extra force. He couldn’t let the door close.
The silver man swung his crossbow aside and braced to kick, too slowly. He’d expected the jump but not the jets. Rather slammed into him. Mickl bounced away. Rather struck the jamb and, spinning, was through the door and out into a horde of Navy crew.
“I know who you are—” Wayne Mickl’s voice, pressure suit #5, radio frequency badly distorted by time, and Kendy locked on it. He beamed instructions to the Library: Record the view through pressure suit #5 cameras, one snap per ten minutes, henceforth.