Uinzleej dropped a dismissive finger toward the floor. “You fail to deduce the logical answer: that only this pocket of sapience survived the conflagration that we call the Final War. That is consistent with the proposition that this region of space attracted migrants and refugees because it was remote from the centers of power.”
Riordan knew a circular argument when he heard one. He leaned back against a deactivated robot, smelled dust rise up. Time to shift gears, hopefully move Uinzleej in a more useful direction. “Do you know what caused the Final War?”
“There were bitter disagreements over life prolongation, conferral of equal rights for all species, constraints upon exploration, exploitation of primitive societies, and the legal standing—if any—of virtual beings.” Uinzleej rubbed his hands fretfully. “It was not a war that began or was waged swiftly. For the better part of a millennium, there was sweeping, unthinkable destruction…” He stopped when he noticed Riordan’s unintentional frown. “You doubt my account?”
Riordan shook his head. “No. I’m just trying to reconcile why, if it remained untouched, your ‘homeworld’ does not have a more complete record of the war.”
Uinzleej’s reply was sharp, irritated. “Extrapolate, human. If this astrographic region was at great remove from the centers of power, then it was equally distant from major information repositories. The result resembled your Dark Ages, except imagine that it was global and that every community was rapidly and utterly isolated.
“Picture it as an extreme version of that terrestrial analog. Ships no longer make port or appear on the horizon. Fearing marauders, city fathers burn docks and collapse mountain passes, praying that the epidemic of war will burn itself out before it can arrive in their darkened streets. Let a millennia pass. Then another, for good measure.”
Riordan frowned. “But surely every community kept records—”
Uinzleej leaned forward abruptly. “They were records that ceased to have meaning as the centuries passed, that succumbed to the vagaries of time and folly. Consider another, albeit earlier analog from your own history. Only a single library burned in Alexandria, but you still feel the loss of it. In what detail can you now recount the movements and machinations of Rome? Of Athens? Of Egypt, Sumeria, Assyria and the many states with which they contended? You have only scraps from which to infer the greatest deeds, let alone daily activities, of the empires which first shaped your world. Data from what we call the Times Before is exponentially more rare and fragmentary.”
Riordan’s frown persisted. “At least you Dornaani retained some of that data, some memory of those times. The rest of the species were…what? Primitive tribes brought along as a labor force?”
Uinzleej’s eyelids opened wide as he looked at Riordan. “Those species were much more than a mere labor force.” His gaze became thoughtful. “The term the Elders used for all of you, collectively, was Seedling Races.”
Seedlings? “Just how widely were we seeded?”
The old Dornaani’s gills fluttered briefly. “There is no quantitative data on that. But the Elders’ records do indicate that the Arat Kur were the least widely seeded, as they were used solely for subterranean resource exploitation on gray worlds.”
Riordan’s breath caught in his throat. “So when everything collapsed…” Caine shut out the scene conjured by his imagination: an airless world, its rocky depths filled with cranky, industrious, wry Arat Kur trapped in their caves, dying, no chance of reprieve or rescue. “And the other races?”
“When left to manage their own affairs, the Hkh’Rkh tended to revert and savage each other to the point that they lost communal viability. However, there may be some pockets of fully recidivistic survivors somewhere.”
My God, feral Hkh’Rkh. Not intelligent, just canny, vicious predators over two meters tall. It was a scene from a horror movie. “And the Slaasriithi?”
“They were seeded more frequently and successfully. But since their reproductory and social complexity makes their communities particularly fragile, their fate was usually the one you witnessed on Delta Pavonis Three: profound devolution.”
Caine swallowed. “And us?”
“Humans. You were the great triumph. And the great tragedy.”
Riordan frowned. “Why that?”
“Why which?”
“Why both? Either?”
Uinzleej sputtered; an almost human sound of dismay. “Surely the tragedy is obvious. The Ktor genecode is human and their atrocities are innumerable. They also demonstrated a corresponding tendency to destroy themselves in internecine strife. Of course, on that point, your own history hardly warrants pride.”
“So then how are humans a triumph?”
“Is it not equally obvious? The Ktor are but a genetic aberration of your species. However, your unaltered genecode mitigates strong aggression-protection instincts with equally powerful tendencies toward cooperation and innovation. Of particular value was your flexibility in rebalancing these extremes as circumstances dictated.”
Riordan smiled bitterly. “So we were simply the Elders’ most self-regulating tool.”
Uinzleej squinted. “There is nothing ‘simple’ about that quality, human. You were aggressive if required but inclined toward consolidation and group cohesion in the absence of adversity. That quality was highly attractive to the Elders, not merely because it made you versatile, but because it made you self-sustaining. You took possession of your own fate. You were naturally inquisitive. You were productive. You were excellent explorers.” Uinzleej’s voice faltered. “In point of fact, you were to replace us.”
Riordan recoiled in surprise. “As the Elders’ assistants?”
“That and more. When the war arose, the Elders were grooming us to become what was called a ‘peer race.’ Upon making that transition, our tasks would have necessarily passed to another species. Fragmentary records suggest that the Elders considered humanity best suited and that we agreed.” His voice darkened. “However, others disagreed. Pointedly.”
Riordan nodded. “One of the war’s catalysts?”
“It was what prompted the Oldest Ones to very nearly annihilate my race.”
Riordan frowned. “How did you survive their attacks?”
“They did not attack us themselves. They used proxies.”
Caine nodded, suddenly understanding. “The loji.”
Uinzleej raised three emphatically rigid fingers in affirmation. “The Oldest Ones had long aided and abetted any low-gee natives who vigorously rejected Dornaani culture’s presumed primacy of a planetary existence. Within half a dozen generations, few of them were physically capable of surviving, much less reproducing, in a gravity well.
“By the time the Final War commenced, our forces were fully engaged repulsing loji insurgencies. Ironically, that may be part of the reason the Oldest Ones did not bring their doomsday weapons here: the internecine strife left us too paralyzed to influence outcomes elsewhere.”
Riordan saw an opening to shift the conversation closer to topics that might ultimately lead to finding Elena. “Do you have any details on these advanced weapons?”
Uinzleej pointed a single desultory finger toward the floor. “That knowledge is lost to us, along with many other wondrous accomplishments and devices.”
And there’s the opening. “Yet I have seen that not all the knowledge of the Elders has been lost. And much of what remains is not fully understood.”
For a moment, Uinzleej seemed disoriented by Riordan’s observation. Then his mouth twisted slightly. “So, we come to it. Virtuality. Yes, it was originally created by the Elders. However, what you call virtuality is merely a shadow of the greater miracle they achieved.”
Riordan straightened. “What do you mean?”
“Seek my colleague, Oduosslun. In the Sigma 2 Ursa Majoris 2 B system. She will tell you, or maybe show you, something useful.”
“Something useful?” Not good enough. “I wish I had time to visit Sigma 2 Ursa Majoris 2, but I am compelled to restrict my trav
el to systems where I might pick up the trail left by my mate’s abductors.”
Uinzleej’s gills popped softly: mild exasperation. “Then Sigma 2 Ursa Majoris 2 B is the next logical step on your journey. Oduosslun will acquaint you with the miracle I mentioned. It is, I suspect, the therapy of last recourse for your mate, one that would both maintain her cognitive functions and sufficiently stimulate her nervous system. Find where such miracles are still performed, and you will find her.”
Before Caine could get his mouth open for another question, the old Dornaani slashed two rigid fingers through the space between them. “No. We have come to the limit of my expertise. Our discussion is over.” He paused. “Except…I would welcome observing you at greater length. I could offer considerable inducements. I can arrange for a new mate who is, in all meaningful measures, superior to the one you are currently pursuing. You look unimpressed. Ah, multiple mates, then? Within reason, I am quite certain I can procure—”
Riordan was careful to keep his interruption calm. “I am not interested in other mates.”
“Ah. Well. I am also able to provide you with material riches. I believe your species persists in its obsession with gold? To use your idiom, I would pay you handsomely for any successful breeding activity. Even if you do not wish to stay afterward.”
Riordan forced his molars to unclench.
Uinzleej moved on to his next offer. “What else—ah! Many of your species enjoy hunting. This world is full of creatures you may kill for your gratification. To use another of your idioms, you would be lord of all you survey.”
Lord over a decaying, backsliding world. Is he serious? Well, given his opinion of humans, he probably is. “Uinzleej, your offers are not enticements. On the contrary, they repel me.”
“They repel you?” Uinzleej looked crestfallen. “That is most distressing.”
Riordan could not resist one last, ironic comment. “I’m sorry you’re disappointed. It must come as a shock that most humans are actually civilized, now.”
The old Dornaani started. “Civilized? You? Absurd. I am disappointed because you have misled me. Despite your adequate demonstration of primal abilities, you now claim to be repelled by your species’ primal value-objects. That strongly suggests you are a defective specimen. My test results are ruined. Begone. You are of no further use to me.”
* * *
Alnduul stood when Riordan reentered Olsloov’s bridge. “You seem unharmed,” he breathed.
“I told you I was.” Four times since I left the surface.
“And your leg is…?”
“Just fine.” But Riordan was careful lowering himself into his couch.
“I must apologize for Uinzleej’s inability to accept humans as a truly sapient race. And for his willingness to expose you to such dangerous conditions.”
Riordan didn’t care when the couch conformed to his posture. “You warned me he might. And I never expected any different.”
“Even so, I am grateful for the patience you have shown when dealing with the many…idiosyncratic Dornaani you have encountered thus far.”
Riordan smiled. “I waited three and a half years for a chance to bring Elena home, so I’ve had a lot of practice being patient. Still…”
“Yes?”
“I’ll be a lot happier when we’re one shift closer to her.”
Alnduul turned to his crew. “Irzhresht, calculate navigation values for shift sequence to Sigma 2 Ursa Majoris 2 B. Ssaodralth, commence preacceleration.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
JUNE 2124
AOZHOODN, SIGMA 2 URSA MAJORIS 2 B
Shortly after Olsloov came out of shift near the smaller, orange star of the Sigma 2 Ursa Majoris 2 binary system, Caine Riordan had the uneasy feeling that everything was going too smoothly. They had reexpressed just twenty-two planetary diameters from the main world of Aozhoodn, received an immediate reply to their arrival hail, and were cleared for refueling in less time than it took to complete the formal request.
Very soon, reasoned Riordan, something had to go wrong.
But refueling proceeded without mishap, and Alnduul accessed Oduosslun’s comm code without any delay or difficulty. She picked up on the second page but, as had Uinzleej, answered in voice-only mode. “We have not met, Alnduul, master of the Olsloov.”
“That is true, but we have a common acquaintance.”
“And who is that acquaintance?”
“Uinzleej, keeper of Issqliin. He asks us to convey his regards.”
“Does he? That is most unlike him. Do you know him well?”
“No, Oduosslun. Our personal contact was brief. It was my companion who spoke with him at greater length.”
“Then why is it you, rather than your companion, who elects to contact me?”
“My companion’s command of our language, and mastery of our customs, is somewhat basic.”
A pause. “So, your companion is a human. From Earth, not a factotum.”
“That is correct.”
“Is he too fearful to speak for himself?”
Caine moved closer to the audio pickup. “I was simply waiting for an invitation to speak, Oduosslun.” Formal Dornaani introductions required using a common acquaintance as an intermediary.
“That was cannily worded, human. You seem to have a passable understanding of our customs, after all. When you have learned more, return. Perhaps I would be sufficiently interested to speak with you then—”
Alnduul interrupted. “Oduosslun, I suspect you will be interested in speaking with him now. Given your interests.”
“And what do you know of my interests, Alnduul?”
“Various sources consider you the preeminent independent expert on Dornaan’s modern era. And Uinzleej has implied that you have facilitated your research with esoteric research tools.” Which Riordan understood as a euphemism for gray market virtuality access.
Oduosslun’s reply was arch. “And did Uinzleej tell you that my insistence upon using those ‘tools’ cost me my post as Academician?”
“He did not.”
“At least he is not a shameless gossip. Very well. So you know who I am. Now explain why I would wish to meet this human at all?”
Alnduul’s nostril pinched: a frown, probably because Oduosslun had still not asked Caine’s name nor invited him to speak. “My friend has been directly involved with significant events in recent history.”
“Name one. Be sure that it will, as you claim, interest me, or we are at an end.”
“He is the human who made contact with the devolved Slaasriithi on Delta Pavonis Three, and later reported his findings and analysis at Earth’s Parthenon Dialogs. At which he suggested that humans had been taken from Ea—”
“Enough,” Oduosslun interrupted. “I know this human.” The gray haze of the comms holosphere brightened. The Dornaani imaged there was of indeterminate age but unusually well muscled for her typically slender species. “Congratulations, Caine Riordan. You must be quite proud of yourself.” Her tone suggested he should be anything but.
“I simply did the job I was sent to do, to the best of my ability.”
Oduosslun’s mouth pinched into an unsightly squiggle. “I am not speaking of you personally, but of your entire, intemperate species. We Dornaani maintained relative calm among the races of the Accord and deflected inquiry away from the origins of the Ktor for thousands of uneventful, uncomplicated years. But now, a short-lived creature, a half-witted mayfly, simply skims across these subtly complicated seas of statecraft for a few short months and leaves a typhoon of chaos roiling in its wake.”
Caine knew better than to start a point-by-point debate. Win or lose, that was likely to make her an adversary who would be unwilling to aid him. So he turned the argument around. “I agree. It is a strange turn of events, Oduosslun. I wouldn’t think a mere mayfly was capable of discomfiting so many purposive patterns and profound plans.”
Oduosslun’s response was sharp, but also eager, engaged. “The s
mallest creature can cause the greatest changes if it happens to be in just the right place at just the wrong time. As you were.”
“Of course. But why was this particular fly in the right place? Again and again?” Riordan expected Oduosslun to ask what he meant by “again and again,” and so, open a wider door that touched upon the other historical events to which Caine had been a party.
But instead, the Dornaani stared intently at him. Then her eyelids flickered. “That is an interesting question. I have wondered it myself. But presently, I am wondering why you need to speak with me at all.”
Riordan nodded. “Uinzleej indicated that virtuality was an invention of the ancient races and that a more sophisticated version still exists.”
“It is called Virtua. Why do you wish to know more about it?”
“I believe my mate is connected to or embedded in it. I need to find or at least contact her.”
“So. You need to know where you may enter Virtua.”
Riordan nodded again, then remembered that the Dornaani might not understand the motion. But Oduosslun returned his nod. “I have the information you seek. But it is not free.”
Here we go again. Riordan shrugged. “What do you want me to do?”
“Land at the primary downport. You will find a headset waiting for you. Put it on. Then travel to these coordinates.”
“That’s all?”
Oduosslun’s mouth twisted. Wickedly, Riordan thought. “Once we meet, I will require proof that you are who you say you are.”
“What kind of proof?”
“Cell and tissue samples. Painless. Harmless.”
Riordan glanced at Alnduul, whose eyes were grave. Caine met Oduosslun’s unblinking gaze again. “And how does that prove who I am? Do you have access to the CTR’s genetic ID database?”
“It is not your DNA that will prove your identity.”
“Then what does?”
“Your willingness to give the sample at all. It demonstrates that your need is genuine. You would not risk sharing it otherwise.”
Riordan raised an eyebrow. Whatever Oduosslun knew about him, it clearly didn’t include his near-gutting on Glamqoozht, where physicians had taken plenty of tissue samples. On the other hand, Oduosslun and her peers were operating with little or no oversight. They could easily use his genes to create some kind of doppelganger or clone or god knows what. But right now, that didn’t matter. Getting Elena back did. “Very well. And once you’ve confirmed my identity, what is it that you want?”
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