Marque of Caine

by Charles E Gannon

  However, broadening everyone’s qualifications on diverse EVA gear was not why Riordan had initiated the training regimen. Partly, it had been to get away from the mindless routine of sleeping twenty hours, exercising aggressively, cramming special foods into his mouth and then exercising again. Space was a good place to think, to get outside of himself by getting outside of the ship.

  In the distance, he spied a tiny flare of blue-white. It lasted ten seconds, then was gone. That was Hsontlosh and his primary proxrov, counterthrusting as they returned from finalizing the ship’s maintenance arrangements. They had also surreptitiously canvassed the civilian highport to confirm the lead they had picked up seven days ago in the LP 36-181 system. Specifically, that the ship that had taken Elena’s medical cryopod from the biohousing facility on Leltlosu-shai had passed through Depot only a few weeks later. Without even stopping to refuel. Clearly, that ship was going someplace in a hurry.

  Hsontlosh’s imminent return meant that it was also time to finish the plan that had necessitated Caine’s instigation of the EVA program, since that made his access to space a routine rather than notable event. He released the smart flap on the suit’s right leg pocket and removed a small matte black sphere: the emergency beacon that Alnduul had given him the day Olsloov set course for Leltlosu IV.

  Riordan considered its featureless surface, wondered if he was being prudent or paranoid by deploying it here. So far, the greatest danger he or anyone else had experienced was the anxiety of living on a ship operated by so small a crew: Hsontlosh, Eku, two proxrovs, and a handful of repairbots.

  But Depot was the end of Collective space. The enigmatic Border Worlds lay beyond. Hsontlosh was mostly unfamiliar with them, Eku wholly so. So this system was akin to that line delineating the far margin of an ancient explorer’s map, marked with the legend terra incognita: the last place to leave a message in a bottle. Or to discreetly deploy Alnduul’s beacon.

  Riordan squeezed the sphere, felt it pulse three times: activated. With one steadying hand on the hull, he lobbed it into the black, felt the perpetual muscle soreness in his chest and shoulders as he did. Happily, that ache would soon decrease. This was his last day of treatment and incessant exercise. Less happily, he still had one last set of free weights to push through.

  Both Hsontlosh and Eku agreed that Caine’s post-Virtua recovery had not merely been successful, but remarkable: almost no degradation of memory and full recovery of his original mass within the first thirty days. However, he had continued to boost his weightlifting regimen. His reflexes were still wired for the additional muscle he had accrued in Ur Virtua, which had saved his virtual life on a few occasions. No reason not to have it here in the real world, too.

  Riordan turned his back upon the red dwarf star, reentered the airlock, cycled it, and opened the inner hatch.

  Eku was standing directly in front of him, less than half a meter away. With one hand pushed deep in the pocket of his duty jacket, he gestured for Riordan to back up. Back into the airlock.

  Riordan balked. Neither Eku’s expression nor posture were threatening, but—

  “Quickly,” Eku muttered urgently, “before the autonomous surveillance subroutine decides to record us.”

  So, this isn’t an ambush. I hope. Riordan remained facing the factotum as he reentered the airlock.

  As Eku stepped forward to follow, he yanked his hand from his pocket, stuck it out toward Riordan.

  Who aborted his reflex to parry in mid motion. Eku was holding what looked like an oversize remote control fob.

  “What is it?”

  “Take it!” Eku whispered. As Riordan slipped the fob into his own pocket, Eku explained, speaking more rapidly than Riordan had ever heard. “Alnduul instructed me to give this to you if our safety ever became uncertain. It is a universal access and override—a backdoor passkey into all Custodial systems. Including every one on this ship.”

  “Can it—?”

  “Be silent. It can also leave behind a hidden signal in any system that has a communications network.” He turned to leave.

  Riordan grabbed his arm—it was surprisingly muscular. “Eku, why are you giving this to me now? Has something happened? Do you no longer trust Hsontlosh?”

  “Mr. Riordan, I have not trusted anyone except you since Alnduul left me on Leltlosu-shai. I did not even trust Irzhresht, at the last. I suspect she did not trust me either. Nor does Hsontlosh, now; he has denied me access to certain parts of the ship. There have been, and continue to be, too many unknowns for my comfort. But if we encounter trouble in the Border Worlds, use this universal access key to leave a signal for Alnduul. It will help him find us. You have already taken the first step by deploying the beacon just minutes ago. He will use that as the marker from which to begin his search.”

  “Wait: how did you know that I just—?”

  “Did you truly believe I would not know when you activated the beacon? Now, come. We must reenter the ship before we are missed.”

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  JANUARY 2125

  INNER SYSTEM, BD+37 878

  Sweaty and six weeks post-therapy, Caine jogged toward the one iris valve that always seemed reluctant to get out of his way. But as usual, it did so just in time, revealing the outsized compartment that his team had repurposed into a human common area.

  Seeing it was full, Caine wondered if he should hit the showers first. Bannor was already there, and they’d spent the morning sparring. After which Rulaine had worked out with the archaic dumbbells that he took everywhere and were some kind of family heirloom. Riordan suspected that their combined reek might even be too much for Dornaani air filtration to handle. On the other hand, this was certainly one way to test its limits.

  Dora nodded gruffly in Caine’s direction. She, like Riordan, had just been roused out of two weeks of cold sleep. Tagawa and Bannor, who were about to return to their cryopods, greeted him more sociably. Yaargraukh looked up from rebrewing the Dornaani equivalent of tea at the all-purpose and mostly automated refectory station. Given the Hkh’Rkh preference for strong tastes, he had to brew it three times.

  As soon as Riordan sat, too tired to even get a bulb of water, Dora leaned toward him. “You get the memo from Hsontlosh about wanting our permission to stop at a cordoned world?”

  Riordan nodded. The Dornaani captain had made the inquiry when Riordan and the rest of first watch—Dora, Duncan, and Craig—were still in cold sleep. It was becoming a trend; Hsontlosh didn’t seek permission for anything potentially hazardous until Riordan was in cryo. “Other than it being isolated from Collective contact, is there anything particularly noteworthy about the planet?”

  Bannor shook his head as he bit into one of the many mystery sandwiches that had been transferred from Olsloov. “No intel either way.”

  Riordan looked away from the sandwich. The bread looked normal, but the fillings, while agreeable, were enigmas best left unexamined.

  Bannor mercifully made the rest of the sandwich vanish. “I understand why Hsontlosh minimizes how often we go dirtside. But not being materially involved in the search? That irks me.” He stretched his arms. “Of course, we don’t know the language and the locals consider us boors or vermin. Or both.”

  Dora snorted. “Don’t forget, we’re cretins, too. And pinheads.”

  Which, Riordan had to admit, was an accurate summary of how they’d been treated on the few occasions they’d made planetfall, usually to search for human-edible provisions. After six weeks of travel, they’d gone through more than two thirds of all the rations that Olsloov had transferred. The only way to significantly reduce the rate of consumption had been to split into three watches, two of which were in cold sleep at any time. “What about you, Ms. Tagawa? What are your impressions about Hsontlosh’s latest request?”

  She set down her own post-workout beverage: weak tea. If she perspired at all, it was a faint sheen. “I observe two trends. Firstly, Hsontlosh provides admirably detailed summaries of what transpires
during his visits. But secondly, no matter how long his report, and no matter how much activity he undertook on our behalf, we never spend more than a few days inactive in any system. Whether this is because he is able to swiftly determine that there is no further profit in tarrying, or some species of urgency, I cannot discern.”

  Riordan nodded. Technically, their journey was turning out to be exactly what Hsontlosh had predicted: a lot of monotony until they found a good lead. But since they hadn’t found one yet, they spent a great deal of time reading and training. And there would be even less to do after Rulaine, Tagawa and Newton rotated back into cold sleep after dinner, so maybe…“How about another match, Bannor?”

  His friend glared at him. “Caine, I promised myself I wouldn’t ask, but now I’ve got to. What the hell were you doing in Virtua? Fighting barbarian hordes?”

  “Actually, we never faced off against barbarians. Just about everyone else, though.” Riordan glanced meaningfully at the Dornaani version of PVC pipe that they kept in the commons as training swords.

  Bannor shook his head. “I’m done. Dora?”

  She tilted her chair back. “I kicked the Commodore’s ass first thing this morning with short blades. Well, short pipes. But with the swords? Nah, I’ll let D’Artagnan here bruise someone else for a while.” She glanced evilly in Yaargraukh’s direction. “What about you, Grendel? Bet he won’t be so eager to close in on you.” Dora smiled at her brand new nickname for the Hkh’Rkh.

  Which was evidently not as private a joke as she had anticipated; Yaargraukh’s eyes retracted. “You seem to forget, Ms. Veriden, that my other human language is German. Narratives from related and origin languages were required reading.”

  Dora’s response was one Caine had never witnessed before: she looked abashed. “So, eh, you got the reference?”

  “I did,” Yaargraukh rumbled. “As for sparring with the Commodore, I have already had the honor.”

  “And?” she pressed.

  Yaargraukh’s neck swiveled around its axis: a Hkh’Rkh shrug. “It is in the nature of our two species that I am stronger, run faster, and leap farther. The commodore is more agile and dexterous.”

  “And?” she pressed.

  “I have more bruises, but his are larger. Now, if you will excuse me…”

  Before Yaargraukh could take a step toward it, the iris valve whispered open. Hsontlosh stood on the threshold. “May I enter?”

  “It’s your ship,” Dora muttered, looking the other way.

  Even the loji was able to decipher her reaction; his tattoos darkened slightly.

  Riordan rose. “Please, come in. Some of us”—he cut sharp eyes at Veriden—“are getting frustrated with the lack of progress. Particularly since Eku tells us we’re nearing the end of the Border Worlds.”

  Hsontlosh’s eyelids cycled slowly. “I share your impatience for more promising results. That is the reason for my visit. We must soon choose whether or not to chart a course that leads to Psi Tauri III, one of the cordoned worlds I mentioned at the start of our journey. If we elect not to go there, our path forward becomes more uncertain.”

  Riordan gestured to the one saddle-shaped Dornaani chair in the room. “Let’s discuss that.”

  “Very well.” Hsontlosh looked around at the other faces, perhaps trepidatiously, but then slid into the chair. “What are your concerns?”

  Riordan’s crew had grown very quiet, focused. “You said at the outset that cordoned worlds are high risk, that you wished to avoid them if possible. But now you’re telling us we should go to one. Why?”

  Hsontlosh shifted uneasily in his seat. “In several recent systems, there have been rumors of special services that might be available on Psi Tauri III, or at least contacts who know where they are offered. However, the gray marketeers in this system insist that Psi Tauri’s access to these services is not mere rumor, but fact. If they are right, this cordoned world may provide an answer that leads to the successful completion of your quest.” Seeing Caine sit up sharply, he waved temporizing fingers through the air. “I emphasize: it may provide an answer.”

  Riordan worked to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “Hsontlosh, I appreciate you are trying to manage my expectations, but right now, I need you to be direct.”

  Hsontlosh touched his index fingers together; Riordan noticed they were trembling. “Let us begin by acknowledging that finding Elena Corcoran is but the first of many steps in restoring her to you. Agreed?”

  “That’s always been understood as the probable situation, yes.”

  “Now let us recall the possibility that, due to neglect or inoperability, her body cannot be healed. Even in that dire circumstance, there may now be a means of reclaiming her that is available on, or through arrangement with, this cordoned world.”

  “And this means of reclaiming her is…what?”

  “Recarnation.”

  Dora scowled. “What else are you offering? Voodoo?”

  Hsontlosh ignored her, kept his focus on Caine. “Not reincarnation. Recarnation. To furnish her mind with a new body.”

  Riordan was confused. “But her mind would still be trapped in her original body.”

  Hsontlosh’s long exhalation fluttered his gills. “That statement may not be completely accurate.” He folded his hands. “It has always been legal for the minds of the dying to remain embedded in Virtua. Factotums have long availed themselves of that option. So do an increasing number of Dornaani who are no longer able to rejuvenate their bodies.”

  “Wait, are you saying that when their bodies die, their minds do live on?”

  Hsontlosh’s fingers flapped erratically. “That debate continues. However, there are new, albeit secret, developments that suggest that true consciousness may persist. My contacts in this system intimated that well-resourced Dornaani have had their minds linked to cloned bodies in the same way that bioproxies are slaved to their owners.”

  Caine leaned forward. “So maybe a mind can exist after its body dies, and maybe it could operate a clone-puppet by remote control. That’s still a long way from the recarnation you mentioned. There’s got to be more.”

  “That is precisely what I said to my sources, Mr. Riordan.”

  “And?”

  “And their answers became cautious, oblique. They included a very long overview of the Collective’s ambiguous legal attitudes regarding attempts to fuse achievements in cloning with those of machine consciousness. I will spare you the details.”

  “Gracias a Dios,” muttered Dora.

  “Specifically, there are no laws against combining the two technologies, but nor are there approved procedures for experiments or testing. Consequently, practitioners in the Collective avoid involving themselves in such unconventional researches.”

  Bannor leaned back. “But anything that the Collective avoids, the loji gray market sees as an opportunity.”

  Hsontlosh rose two affirming index fingers. “Yes, and they may have achieved a breakthrough. Using a machine-contained consciousness and a cognitively inert clone of the original body, they have reportedly developed an interface that enables a mind-to-body transfer.”

  Riordan forced the skeptic in him to move well in front of the hopeful lover. “Even if what you’re describing is possible”—Could it be? Really?—“we are no closer to finding Elena’s body. And without that, none of this matters.”

  “That may not be entirely accurate either, Mr. Riordan. Consider the following facts. Elena Corcoran’s mind exists within the most sophisticated mind-machine interface—and retention facility—of all: Ur Virtua. Samples of her blood and tissues have been taken and stored by numerous medical overseers. Psi Tauri III is either the location of, or gateway to, a mind transfer facility.” Hsontlosh paused, letting the facts sink in. “She can be recarnated, Mr. Riordan. Healthy and whole.”

  He rose. “There is another factor to be considered. If we pursue this option, we will necessarily dive much deeper into the Border Worlds’ underworld of illicit enterpr
ises. Ironically, though, that may also put us in contact with persons who can locate her actual body.” He waited. “Mr. Riordan?”

  Caine was still trying to control his breathing, keep his thoughts ordered. “Yes?”

  “As you required direct answers from me, I require a direct answer from you: do I have your permission to plot a course that will ultimately bring us to Psi Tauri III?”

  Riordan nodded. “You do.”

  Hsontlosh was already halfway through the iris valve before he flared his fingers in an abbreviated version of the Dornaani gesture of farewell.

  The common room was quiet for a long second.

  “There’s no way that’s gray market tech,” Bannor muttered. “That’s black as a shark’s eye.”

  Riordan nodded. “No doubt.”

  Dora was staring at the floor. Hard. “Caine, we came along as muscle to take Elena back by force if her abductors didn’t comply. But with this cloning plan”—Dora shook her head—“you don’t just need muscle. You need money. Uh, ‘resources.’ And you’ll need lots.”

  Again Riordan nodded. “One problem at a time, Ms. Veriden. One problem at a time.”

  Ayana’s voice was quiet, wistful. “I suspect our uncertainties would be fewer if Alnduul were with us.” Solemn and unanimous nods approved her observation.

  Riordan sighed. “I agree, Ms. Tagawa. And I suspect that, right about now, Alnduul would be far happier sharing our problems than dealing with his own.”

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  JANUARY 2125

  GLAMQOOZHT, BD+80 238

  With some effort, Alnduul focused on the blue-on-blue horizon beyond the broad window, where the sky and sea seemed to converge upon the towering Elder structure in the middle distance. Glamqoozht’s most distinctive and iconic structure, it was a silent reminder of the regional capital’s power and antiquity.

  When Alnduul was sure his voice would not quaver, he asked, “How did Glayaazh die?”