The City and the Ship

by Anne McCaffrey

  * * *

  Joat cut off the connection with Nomik Ciety's data link and turned to Rand.

  "Did that . . . ?" Before she could finish asking if the cutoff had helped, they were reconnected with a sharp plink. She turned and cut the link again, again it reinstated itself.

  As far as she could tell something was flooding rapidly into her comp, but nothing was going out. At least not yet.

  And there was only one way to do anything at all. No human brain reading code could deal with this in the sort of time-frame necessary. But the alternative was hideously dangerous; if you linked yourself directly, your software was vulnerable.

  Her hands danced across the console.

  Cutting the link only delayed the worm program's progress for seconds at a time, but she continued to do it. Yet it continuously broke through everything she could throw at it. Subtle stuff. Whoever thought this up knew their hand from a hacksaw.

  Cold sweat flowed down her forehead into her eyes and beaded her upper lip, tasting of salt and despair. Her hands grew tired and clumsy at the controls, and her fear for Rand distracted her. More than once she'd regretted being human, never more so than now. She wasn't fast enough, she wasn't calm enough, she was losing Rand! Here I had to go and design an AI that was my friend. It wasn't even a real person, just a very good imitation . . .

  "Fardle." Her hands picked up the interfacer unit and snapped home the connector. It settled over her head, blocking vision and hearing. She was alone in a world of darkness.

  "Execute."

  * * *

  . . . standing on a featureless plain that stretched to infinity in every direction.

  The air smelled dead, with a sterile metallic tinge. The ground underfoot was some gray metal, grooved in endless parallel lines. Scattered about were boulders, each a geometric shape, squares, polyhedrons, eye-hurting things like angular Möbius strips.

  Overhead the sky opened its eye. Threads dropped from it towards her, writhing, sentient eyelashes like velvet serpents. They wound around her wrists and pulled her upward. Behind her the metal plain suddenly collapsed, turning sandy and friable, then melting into a smooth bath of liquid that smelled sickly-sweet beneath her. The thick sugary surface moved, sluggish and smooth, as things squirmed beneath it.

  exterior interface compromised, off/on circuitry compromised.

  The eye blinked closed around her. Within was a garden, green and yellow and purple, in bright primary colors that looked too artificial to be tangible; yet she could feel the grass beneath her bare feet, smell the cinnamon scent of the flowers. A figure walked towards her with jerky quickness, a figure shaped like a man sculpted out of living water.

  help . . . meeee . . . it said, in a breathy whisper. Something stirred in the middle of its forehead, between blank silver eyes.

  Joat reached in and grasped the tendril, pulling it out into the light. It came easily, and then slid through her fingers. The end of it split and split and split again, into hair-thin threads that reached for her eyes and ears and mouth.

  A knife appeared in her hand; where the edge moved, the stuff of space split and bled chaotic patterns of moving light. She used the knife to section the onrushing tentacle, then again, so that there were four ends. Those she wrapped around her wrists, moving hands and arms in an intricate pattern that tied the tentacle into a huge knot whose convolutions led the eye down and away along a path with no ending. More and more of it flowed out of the water-sculpture figure, turning it clear and transparent. The silvery fingers came up and began to knot and twist at the body of the tentacle themselves, and . . .

  . . . she fell forward into the figure's open mouth.

  Stone jarred beneath her feet. She was in a library, an ancient library of leather-bound books in shelves that reached towards the dark coffered wood of the ceiling. Gilt flaked from their spines, shining in the light of the burning logs in the big stone fireplace that occupied one wall. A stranger in a plush smoking robe was sitting in an overstuffed leather armchair beside the fire, eating books. His mouth stretched as each folio-sized volume was pushed home; then he belched slightly and took a sip from the snifter of brandy in his other hand, before reaching for a new volume. Gaps stood on the shelves, like raw wounds, bleeding sorrow.

  There was another chair and table on the other side of the fire. Joat sat in it, and opened the book lying closed. The page was blank, but columns of figures and letters appeared as she ran her finger across it. Pages flipped forward, and then she was standing with the book held open before her.

  "Perhaps you'd like to eat this?" she said.

  There was no mind behind the eyes that looked up a her, only hunger. The figure's hands snapped out and dragged the book near; she braced her feet and hauled backwards, but the strength in the fetch's arms was beyond her. The book plastered itself across the avid face of the eater.

  His lips parted in a vast dolorous gape to take it in, but the book grew faster. Joat could feel it sucking at the skin of her fingertips as she released it; the leaves closed around the eater's face, and now his hands were scrambling to pull it free, but the book wriggled forward, growing, licking hungrily at his skin. The head began to squeeze forward into the jaws of the book, and the figure rose and staggered off across the library. As its substance flowed forward into the pages it dissolved, matter breaking up into a whirlpool of off/on/off/on/off, databits streaming into their new matrix.

  The walls of the building shook as the book finished its task and fell to the floor.

  Joat stooped to pick it up, and—

  * * *

  Bros stood, watching the figure slumped in the chair. He could see the sweat running down from below the padded rim of the interfacer unit; figures scrolled by on the screen before her, blurring in their speed.

  His teeth clicked together in shock. Direct interfacing like that was illegal, outside carefully-supervised research settings. There was no telling what could happen when you linked your brain's own operating code with a comp system like that!

  And there was nothing he could do; interrupting would be more dangerous than leaving her be. He felt an enormous upwelling anger, and wondered at it even as the muscles of his neck and shoulders tensed in rage.

  What's it to me if the idiot kills herself? A waste of potential, yes, but—

  Joat started convulsively and threw the interfacer helmet aside. Sweat darkened her flax-colored hair and plastered it to her skull; dark circles stood out like bruises beneath her eyes. Bros opened his mouth to speak, or bellow.

  "Get out of here," she growled, turning back to her work with obsessive intensity. Her fingers blurred across the keyboard.

  "Gotta be sure, gotta be sure," she muttered to herself. "Got it."

  Bros craned his neck, trying to make out the flying stream of data. Joat did something and its progress slowed enough that the individual characters could be made out. They were some sort of encryption, vaguely familiar. He leaned forward for a better look and thoughtlessly placed his hand on her shoulder.

  The punch was so unexpected that it almost connected. His hand snapped up to catch her fist, moving automatically to clench and stab at a nerve junction. Joat sprang to her feet then, putting the coiled strength of her body behind a head-butt aimed at his jaw and strong enough to shatter bone. Bros yanked her off balance and spun her around, twisting her captured hand up behind her back.

  But gently, he didn't want to hurt her and he sure didn't need to add to her hostility. That nearly cost him a broken pubic bone as her heel drove backward. He staggered away, curling around the pain in his lower gut, and Joat writhed free like an eel.

  Is she on drugs? he thought, breath wheezing out behind clenched teeth. Blank ferocity met his eyes, and he forced himself into the ready position.

  * * *

  Seg watched in astonishment as the two Terrans wrestled. Why are they fighting?

  Bros had assured him that Joat was on their side: He glanced at the screen where she'd been sitting a
nd his attention was caught by a familiar symbol. Ah, yes, he knew this one.

  Flexing his fingers to loosen them up, Seg took Joat's seat and began to work.

  query; identity.

  He entered it and continued, all twelve fingertips hitting the board microseconds apart. Yes, it was the program—and very neatly tied up in mid-operation, if in an unorthodox way. But it was all there, ready to come out the minute the AI's own defense program relaxed. Better to deactivate it completely . . .

  "Thank you."

  Seg looked up, blinking each pair of eyes in sequence. A voice-program too; very good, perhaps a little flat on the intonations.

  "You're welcome," he said. "That ought to do it. And this will set it to eating itself. You can let it go, now."

  * * *

  Joat froze. The cable-strong arms that pinioned her relaxed.

  "Will you stop trying to kill me, please?" Bros said in her ear.

  "When you stop trying to break my arm."

  They rolled free and stared at each other warily. "Spook," Joat muttered, disgust in her tone.

  "Maniac," Bros Sperin replied, then smiled at her. The grin caught her unawares, and she found herself smiling back. It was crooked, but genuine.

  "Is that another spook?" she said, moving towards her control couch. "And what the fardling void is et doing with my AI?"

  "Yes, I am a spook," the Sondee said. "Seg !T'sel, male, weapons development specialist. I'm clearing up this infiltration program. I helped design it, it was stolen—it's all on a need to know basis."

  Bros smothered a snort at the sound of the phrase.

  "I do, really, really, need to know," Joat began dangerously.

  "Yes, I think we do," another voice said from the entranceway.

  Joat and Bros turned. Joseph stood there, arms crossed; in his right hand was a compact, chunky-looking weapon. Bros recognized it; chemical-energy sliver gun. Messy, but very effective; the length of duramet tubing Alvec was holding in one hand and tapping into the palm of the other probably would be, too.

  "How long have you been there?" Joat asked.

  "A few minutes."

  "And you just stood there?" she demanded in disbelief.

  "Watching you, as long as you were winning," Joseph said. "Mr. Sperin is, in a sense, our employer . . . and has valuable information. About a man who may well have dealings with the Kolnari."

  "Right," Joat said. "You can tell—"

  The com chimed and the three of them looked up in quick surprise at the forward screen. The respond yes/no blinked on for a second, then the screen went to two-way in a manner supposedly impossible.

  A thickset man in late middle age was staring back at them. I've seen corpses with more expression, she thought.

  "Good evening Mr. Sperin," the stranger said in a mellow, cultured tone. The small hairs bristled on the back of her neck.

  "Good evening," Bros said pleasantly. "Joat, this is Chief Family Enforcer Vand Yoered."

  Vand nodded, his heavy face wearing a neutral expression.

  "Captain," he said quietly. "And Mr. !T'sel. I'm a great admirer of your work, sir," he told the young Sondee. "It's a pleasure to have you as our guest."

  Seg turned to Bros and whispered, "See! I told you I'd be recognized."

  Vand stared at him for just a moment, as though put off his stride by that simple statement, then he turned to Bros and Joat.

  "You're all friends, I take it?" he asked with a raised eyebrow and a sardonic glance at Alvec's club and Joseph's sliver gun.

  Joat blushed and shrugged, moving herself out of Bros's vicinity.

  "I've never met Mr. !T'sel before," she said, "but Bros and I are well acquainted and any friend of his, as they say."

  "Mr. Sperin broke into your ship, Captain. With a device so illegal that I believe CenSec is the sole owner of the remaining few. We don't allow that on Rohan."

  "That's a sort of challenge we've made to each other," Joat said, laughing nervously. "He, uh, breaks into my place, I break into his and we try to keep our security arrangements ahead of our creativity."

  She couldn't seem to figure out what to do with her hands when she was through speaking. She wanted to cross her arms, but was afraid that would look too defensive. She dropped them to her hips, then settled for clasping them behind her back.

  Oh, Ghu, a Family Enforcer. No, make that the Chief Family Enforcer. Sperin had been back in her life under ten minutes and already she was looking death in the face and lying like a trooper on his behalf.

  CenSec Intelligence was building up a heavy account of favors owing.

  * * *

  "That's fascinating," Vand said slowly. "My information reports that you two had no contact prior to a meeting on New Destinies."

  "Actually," Bros said, "we've known each other for some time. I first met Joat on SSS-900-C, just after we drove off the Kolnari."

  The Enforcer's eyes lit. "Ah!" he said, "how very interesting. The Kolnari."

  That was a clear request for information, one to be denied at Bros's peril. He decided to take a chance and ignore it, offering only part of the truth.

  "I'm here on a personal mission," he said. "I heard about Joat's trouble on New Destinies and came to offer her my assistance. I'm hoping she'll go back there with me so that we can get this thing straightened out."

  "And . . . the presence of Joseph ben Said on her ship . . . ? This is an accident? The Bethelite head of security comes to Rohan, visits Nomik Ciety, this is unrelated to you in any way."

  "That is between Joat and Mr. ben Said," Bros said grimly. "I assumed he'd returned to Bethel as I had strongly urged him to do."

  "What about this evening's attempt to break into Nomik Ciety's comp?" Vand asked, his face closed now.

  "That is personal," Joat declared vehemently. "Very. A family matter." She stressed the word "family," and the Enforcer raised a brow.

  "I'm inclined to believe that at least," he said smoothly. "Only family can provoke that degree of bitterness." He paused and sat considering them for a time. "All right," he said at last. "I'll let the matter drop. For now. But I warn you, do not interfere with our respected citizens."

  Only a slight pause drew a line of irony under the phrase. "Nomik Ciety enjoys the Family's protection while he is our guest on Rohan. None of you will in any way interfere with his business here."

  He looked directly at Joat. "There will be no further attempts to break into his comp. Is that understood?"

  The three of them nodded. And be good children, Joat thought to herself sarcastically. It was a while since she'd been scolded; she'd forgotten how unpleasant the sensation could be.

  "Excellent, then this interview is at an end. Don't stay on Rohan too long, Mr. Sperin. You're liable to prove too great a temptation to some of our more impulsive guests. And frankly, as my staff is somewhat overextended at the moment, we might not be able to adequately protect you." He reached out and cut the contact.

  The three of them drooped as though someone had cut their strings. Breath went out in a communal sigh.

  "Rand!" Joat called.

  "Sssshhhhh!" Seg whispered, waving his hands, palms out, at her and Bros. "Ssshh, ssshhh, ssshh!" Then for good measure he placed one upraised finger against his suckerlike mouth and turned to the com. His fingers flew over the controls and then, following a graceful whirl of his wrist, he pressed his forefinger with dramatic finality on the cutoff switch.

  "Now," he said, "we may talk."

  Joat stared at him for a moment, then turned to Bros.

  Bros was staring at Seg with a speculative glint in his eye. "You're sure he's gone?" he asked.

  "Oh, absolutely," Seg said comfortably. "And locked out too. That is until the next time we access the com . . . or someone calls in. But then, we can just lock 'em out again." He folded his arms across his chest and looked smug. "Can't we?"

  "Rand?" Joat called, her voice tight with anxiety.

  "Present." Its voice was flat and abst
racted.

  Joat frowned. "Are you all right? You sound different."

  "Regrettably, I am different. Several sections of my memory were infected by the worm program and partially destroyed. I decided to simply erase those sections and reboot them from storage. I've lost a great deal of my personality and a small amount of vocal inflection. On the plus side, I was able to erase the infected sections without tripping any eggs. A worm program this aggressively vicious often leaves a small bundle of encryption that can start the whole business over again."

  "I took care of that," Seg volunteered, raising his hand.

  "Thank you," Rand said. "Joat, I was able to find and hold onto a transmission from Ciety's files before the worm's attack became too overwhelming. If you like, I can concentrate on decoding it before repairing my other programs."

  "Yes," she said fervently, "please." Then Joat turned to Seg, where he still sat at the com. She took his hand in both of hers and looked him in the eyes, two of them anyway. "I'm in your debt," she said softly. "If there is ever any way that I can be of service to you, you have only to ask."

  Seg's face and ear whorls suffused with color and he began to stammer in embarrassment.

  "You-yer-you're p-perfectly welcome, Captain. I'm a uh, a weapons specialist and as an adjunct to m-my usual interests, I-I-I sometimes develop worm programs like this one. That one rather, since it's gone." He laughed inanely and hurried on. "I helped to develop it, in fact. That's how I recognized it so fast and knew how to neutralize it."

  Joat blinked, a little taken aback by that revelation.

  "Yes," Rand said, "I thought it had a certain Sondee subtlety to it. Almost a rhythm."

  "Precisely!" Seg exclaimed and began an earnest conversation with Rand.

  * * *

  Joat turned to Bros. He stood with his feet apart, arms folded across his chest, watching her with an unfathomable expression in his dark eyes.

  "Thank you for bringing him," she said, indicating Seg.

  Bros smiled. "You'll have to excuse him, he's not at his best. We did a pub crawl halfway across the docks looking for you or your crew and my young friend imbibed pretty heavily."