Adiamante

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  “Lucky you. How’s the satellite system?” He gestured skyward.

  “Delta’s still out, and Rhetoral’s fuming.”

  “How long? Can we afford to wait?” asked Arielle over the net like the gathering storm she could be.

  “They still haven’t done anything, not to justify that. Do you want to destroy every demi on Old Earth?” I asked softly.

  “Why are we so vulnerable that way?” mused Crucelle. “Sometimes it doesn’t seem so pro-survival.”

  “It’s been that way from The Flight. You know that as well as I do, and it’s not individually pro-survival.”

  “Damned genes.”

  “We are what we are.” What that was happened to be another question, and now wasn’t the time to ask or try to answer it. The only problem was that there wasn’t any incentive to answer it except in times of crisis.

  I walked up the ramp.

  The muscular demi nodded. “You want this sealed until they’re done, Coordinator?”

  “Yes. Until Crucelle’s happy with how things look.”

  She nodded, and I stepped out into the main floor corridor.

  Thirty draffs waited. I thought I saw Miris in the back.

  “We’ve had a power interruption,” I began, stating the obvious. “For some reason, there were some explosions, and we have a team investigating. Leader Crucelle or I will let you know when we have a better idea of exactly what happened.” I hated the lie, but waited.

  “How about the … technicians?”

  “We should know shortly,” I temporized. “There’s at least one fatality, but I won’t speculate further right now because we don’t know how far the damage went.”

  “When was the last time this sort of incident occurred?” asked Miris from the back of the group. Trust him to ask something like that.

  “At least several decades,” I answered, except it was more like several dozen decades. “We’ll let you know.”

  “Majer Henslom?” I asked Keiko on the net, glad that I didn’t have to push the transmission, because I was exhausted, and my legs felt like lead as I climbed the stairs back to the office.

  “He sent a messenger to indicate that he could be found at the residence bloc.” Her response was acid-tinged.

  “Insolence to provoke a response which they can then use as a self-justifying pretext to apply massive force to us.” I paused. “Pass all of this on to the Committee, and make sure Elanstan and Rhetoral know, and K’gaio, Locatio—they’ll try something there—and Crucelle and Arielle. Don’t hit Crucelle until he finishes down below.”

  Keiko had some cheese and crackers laid out on a platter in the middle of the big desk when I reached the third floor. Beside the platter was a mug of high energy concentrate.

  “Eat something before you go. You haven’t eaten since before dawn.”

  “How do you know?” I snapped.

  She just looked at me—black on gray—and I had to grin. Then I ate some crackers, and took a slow swallow from the mug. The concentrate tasted like acidified mud, except mud tasted better because it was buffered. I didn’t quite gulp my way through it all, but there wasn’t anything left before long.

  “Thank you,” I admitted.

  “You’re welcome, Coordinator.”

  I glanced out the windows. High hazy clouds were beginning to form, a sign that the weather would change again, probably with snow in a day or two.

  “Now to see Majer Henslom.” Not that I wanted to, but, if I saw him, I could restrict the insolence to a present issue and make myself the focus, rather than requiring him to assault someone else.

  I decided to dramatize the issue more and pulled off my plain leather working jacket and replaced it with Arielle’s black cloak.

  “Good luck,” offered Keiko as I stepped out of the office.

  “If I don’t get shot on the spot, that will be luck enough.”

  “Stop trying to avoid doing your comptime.” But her smile was little more than perfunctory and revealed more than it concealed.

  Even I didn’t want to avoid it that much.

  There were still draffs milling around on the lower level when I went down, but no one asked me anything more. They looked, but they knew I’d said what I was going to say. That was the way it was.

  Outside, I didn’t need to close the cloak, not with the calm and the slight warming. I walked eastward, taking another look at the statue of the unknown draff caught in the mindblaze.

  “Neither to threaten nor to destroy in anticipation.” The credo drawn from the Construct made life difficult at times like these, damned difficult.

  “Of those to whom much is given is much required.” Those were Morgen’s words, her way of accepting the Construct, words taken from something much older.

  I shook my head and kept walking.

  With my net full out, I could sense the transmissions as soon as I was in sight of the residence bloc. I almost wished I hadn’t worn the black cloak, but part of the job of Coordinator was being the most visible target. That supposedly allowed everyone else to get on with the work. I hoped it worked that way, but I had my doubts.

  “ … demi on the way … moving quickly. The one in that black cloak. He’s alone.”

  “Majer … the demi’s headed in …”

  “I’ll go out and greet him.”

  As the transmissions promised, Henslom came out of the residence bloc to greet me. “Coordinator.”

  “Majer Henslom. I understand you’ve been having discipline problems with your troops.”

  “I don’t know of any.”

  “Oh?” I paused. “Then you ordered your marcyb to strike Nislaki this morning?”

  “I don’t recall issuing any such order.” Henslom’s eyes narrowed with the lie. Either he had, or one of the junior marcyb officers had forced the attack on Nislaki. The marcyb couldn’t have made such a statement unaided.

  “Then, if you didn’t order it, you must have a discipline problem—unless, of course, your standing orders permit the abuse of bystanders.” I smiled. “They don’t, do they?”

  Henslom stood silently for a moment, but he didn’t use his net.

  I waited.

  “You know, honored Coordinator, I do believe I understand the reasons for The Flight somewhat more personally.” He still smiled, thinking he had deceived me.

  “Perhaps you do. Now … about your discipline problem. I believe Nislaki would accept a written apology from you, since you are the responsible party, and I would suggest that the guilty party be returned to his ship—immediately. If you have a problem with scheduling a lander, we would be more than happy to supply transportation.”

  The majer was seething. That I could tell, but he also didn’t have the backing of his superiors—not yet. And moving one marcyb body wouldn’t change a thing. My intuit senses all said that now was not the time to acknowledge the cybs’ accomplishments with their troops.

  I’d also have to be careful not to venture anywhere near the line of fire of the marcyb squad that would be accompanying Kemra and the naturalist the next morning. Another worry, as if I weren’t piling them up quickly enough already.

  With a nod, I turned and walked away, ignoring the side-transmissions of the junior officers.

  “ … arrogant bastard …”

  “ … coldcock him or shred him … were the majer …” The cybs hadn’t changed, not a bit, and I had to be the one to inherit the legacy of Wayneclint’s partial clemency. Lucky me.

  I pulsed Keiko.

  “Yes, ser?”

  “I’ve changed my mind. Give Majer Henslom maps for the Aquarius/Severe Wash—and don’t bother with a screamer.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “He couldn’t see the sun on Mercury’s dayside with a ten-meter telescope.”

  “As you wish, Coordinator.” Keiko disagreed with my decision, but that was why I was Coordinator. Besides, marcybs weren’t draffs.

  Miris was doubtless waiting, and who knew what else
. I kept walking.

  The draff representative was waiting, but he was alone, for which I was thankful.

  I gestured toward the office. “Would you like anything to drink, Representative Miris?”

  “No, thank you, Coordinator.” His voice was a pleasant bass.

  Keiko closed the door behind us with enough of a gentle thud to ensure that Miris knew the door was shut.

  Miris turned one of the green chairs so that it faced the desk directly, and then sat on the edge, not quite so stiffly as Majer Henslom had. “Your aide told you my purpose.”

  “You believe letting the cybs land on Old Earth violates the understanding behind the Construct.”

  “That’s a fair summary. The incident this morning”—he stroked the dark beard—“seems to prove that the cybs haven’t changed since The Flight. What do you think?” His eyes were dark and intent. Why he hadn’t opted for demi training I didn’t understand, but that had been his choice.

  “What I think isn’t the question under the Construct,” I pointed out. “I cannot strike in anticipation, nor can I offer threats. I also can’t bar any visitor from Old Earth merely because I mistrust him or her.”

  “I thought that would be what you said.” He smiled, faintly. “How do you plan to protect the locials?”

  “We are implementing contingency plans.” I shrugged.

  “It might not hurt to have people review emergency evacuation routes.”

  Miris nodded. “So you will destroy them.”

  “I could not predict any action on those lines. I am still working quite hard under the Construct—”

  Miris laughed. “You’re amusing, Coordinator. They picked you because you’re crazy enough to bend the Construct without breaking it. What you did to that cyb agent—I do have access to some things as the locial draff representative—was as close to a threat to them as possible even under your interpretations. And they chose not to see it.”

  “Perhaps they will. I can’t sign death warrants for most of the demis by taking any further action now.”

  “Your people took it too far. Encoding passive resistance genetically, even into all the draffs … that was suicide.”

  “No. Preemptive warfare nearly destroyed Old Earth and has annihilated several of the former colonies. The Construct works. It has a high price, but it works.”

  “For you.”

  “It works for you. That’s why everyone got the mods. Do you want to be turned into the equivalent of marcybs?”

  Miris stood. “I didn’t expect much more, but you know we’re concerned.” He walked toward the door.

  “I know. I’m concerned, too.” I stood.

  “For what it may be worth, Coordinator, I’d rather have you behind that desk than anyone else.” The draff rep paused, his hand on the door frame. “Try not to wait until the de-energizers are slagging the place, though.”

  “I have to try not to let it get that far.”

  He nodded and opened the door. He nodded to Keiko on his way to the stairs.

  How long could I afford to wait before officially deciding that Majer Henslom wouldn’t issue an apology or “act” on the morning’s “incident” with Nislaki? A day? Two?

  I shook my head. I needed to link with Locatio and see if we could figure out a better strategy for Ellay.

  Outside the office, Keiko frowned, but said nothing as I walked to the window and looked down at the park and the winter-browned grass.

  XVIII

  The navigator stretched out on the narrow couch in the small cabin with the temp-controlled-wall colors, waiting for the net conference. One hand brushed back sandy hair, and she frowned as the chime rang, both in her head and on the invisible speaker beside the door.

  “Commander’s conference,” announced MYL-ERA. “Report.”

  “Kemra,” the nav announced, waiting as the others reported.

  “All on net,” MYL-ERA announced.

  “Subcommander Kemra. You spent time on the previous day with the demi planetary coordinator.” Gibreal’s words were cold-forged.

  “My report is on the net. I’d be happy to answer questions.”

  “You indicated the probability of higher technology. On what do you base that?”

  “As I indicated …” the cybnav paused, “an array of subtle signs … .”

  “No weapons, no systems that produce miraculous results?” Gorum’s words dripped with acid, hissing as they fell upon the net.

  “Item one,” snapped Kemra. “Houses that have remained intact for five millennia, perhaps longer—yet no sign of such structures outside one area of designated ruins. Item two: instantaneous communications that I could barely sense but not even analyze basics. Some transmissions were not even detectable. Item three: none of the draffs live outside the locial areas. Item four: the extraordinarily stable and long-lived culture. Item five: the ability to respond to our arrival within hours. Item six: a functioning satellite planetary navigation system. Item seven—do I have to go on?”

  “Does anyone else have something more concrete to support the subcommander’s listing?” asked Gorum, words now coated so thickly with honey that several anonymous gagging sounds permeated the net.

  “Gorum … your agent in the Deseret locial was neutralized,” announced Gibreal.”Despite the fact that he was a trained systems technician, the entire locial control detected his entry and isolated him in one structure before he could accomplish more than minor damage.” Gibreal paused.”The last impulses from the compboost indicate that he was killed by the demi Coordinator—by hand. Their draff commnets have only indicated a maintenance failure, and no one questions it.” Gibreal’s words got harder.”Systems?”

  “Yes, ser?”

  “What’s your success in tapping their nets and links?”

  “The same as the subcommander’s. To date we’ve been unable to tap anything except the draff public comm freqs and the totally open-weave transportation traffic net, and that’s designed to be penetrated on the top level. We can’t go below that.”

  “Why not?”

  “We don’t know. If we knew …”

  “What’s stopping you?”

  “First, the frequencies shift continuously, and they’re entwined multiples to begin with. Second, it’s all encrypted, and even the encryption changes continuously. We can’t even figure out the basis of the encryption, and that’s with the combined analytics of the entire fleet. Third, from what we’ve tapped on the transport traffic control net, they’re using a proprietary data compression module.”

  “You’re saying that they’re better cybs than we are.”

  A withering silence froze the net.

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Honesty’s cold comfort, Systems.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “Let’s just fry the bastards and go home,” snapped Gorum.

  “Bad idea,” the nav found herself replying.

  “That was one of the mission goals, wasn’t it?”

  “I don’t dispute that,” answered Kemra. “But think about our welcome. No medical quarantine, no tests—just an offering of food and drink and some general information.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you see? This people’s actions bespeak a form and depth of confidence—or arrogance—that suggests we’d better be careful.”

  “The ancient Mandi thought their empire was the center of the universe, and they had more culture and sophistication than the Anglas. The Mandi went down under the bigger guns. I’d suggest we use the guns and forget about culture,” said Gorum.

  “Is the marine commander correct, MYL-ERA?” asked Gibreal.

  “Yes, Commander. We can blast anything on the planet at present. There are no defense screens in place. Interrogative objective?” MYL-ERA’s tone was cool, carrying the sense of stale refrigerant.

  The cybnav gagged, but kept that feeling clear of the net.

  “The cities—those minuscule energy concentrations that wouldn’t be villages o
n Gates—after one or two go, they’ll agree,” insisted Weapons.

  “Observational and behavioral profiles indicate that analysis is flawed.” The sensed odor of refrigerant chilled the net more with MYL-ERA’s response.

  “Explicate.”

  “Old Earth has nothing Gates needs—except the technology in those cities. To date, no cybsenser can penetrate that technology, and the probabilities remain that effective use of that technology is unlikely without demi help, specifically the help of the ones called comps. The comps refuse to assist, and the draffs know nothing. The draffs appear restricted to the locials, but the demis appear to be able to live anywhere. The death of the last agent indicates that any isolated cyb can be killed without triggering the sensis.”

  “Get to the point.”

  A net-sense of an old-human shrug followed. “Destroying the cities will hurt the draffs, but not the demis. The probability approaches unity that one or more technological replication stations exist in locations unknown and unsensible by our equipment.”

  “Frug …” muttered Gorum. “You’re saying that we can’t force them, and we can’t destroy them. So exactly what are we supposed to do?”

  “If they were confident of destroying us or could do so or wanted to,” answered Gibreal, “they would already have acted. So we have nothing to lose by waiting and seeing what else we can discover while we amass the energy stores necessary for our primary mission.

  “For now, the nav will return planetside, with the naturalist, and attempt to use her influence with the demi Coordinator to gain greater advantages, such as the key to the main demi systems.” After a pause, Gibreal added, “We will continue the power-up.”

  XIX

  I actually had my flitter secured below the locial tower before Lieza and the magshuttle drifted in, or before the cyb lander had thundered out of the gray sky and rumbled down the strip.

  I checked the knife and slugthrower on opposite sides of my belt and then sealed the flitter. As I walked toward the magshuttle through the unsettled air that mixed comparative warmth and chill, Keiko caught me on the net.

  “Coordinator?”

  “Yes, Keiko? What’s the status on Delta?”

  “K’gaio isn’t happy about your cannibalizing equipment from three locials, but she’s not complaining too loudly. Elanstan thinks that they might have the station operational in two to three days.”