But first there was the matter of a single Kodiak, untouchable, holding the bones of the Ancestors. Tokugawa could unleash his still considerable forces, and he would win the battle, but in leaving the High Guard ship as radioactive dust, would lose the war of the mind.
He was left with two dead sons, or one as good as dead. Another showed promise, most unexpectedly, true—but what did that mean? Another bloody battle either here on this ship or in the deep levels of Loki in five years, ten years, twenty.
He reached forward, and one last time, opened communications with the Drift—a private line. He knew that the insectoids were listenning in as the comlink was routed, but the conversation he was going to have could be conducted at several levels.
He just knew that he had to have it.
The door slid open once more in the VIP chamber. Dylan Hunt was by now thoroughly sick of this room. Though as he sank wearily onto one of the plush couches, he realized it was not the room but the memories it contained.
Vandat and his codirectors were busy with orders; he was too tired to listen. Avatar-Rommie, standing there in her ripped uniform, her hair matted, her eyes distant, was busy in the med lab on the warship, he knew, and he did not want any distractions keeping her from that duty.
He realized that the focus of the discussion was on Ujio Steelblade, who looked like a Nietzschean to Dylan’s tired eyes. Beka stood next to him.
With difficulty, Dylan forced his mind to concentrate on the conversation.
“… that Otomo Odin-Thor himself was claiming you as one of them,” Vandat was saying, his hands spread. “And so I fear—we all do—”
He turned to face the two Than directors, who nodded, their eyes reflecting the faux stars overhead, “we must ask you to leave.”
Ujio Steelblade said, “I’ll be gone within a watch—” He glanced at Beka, who gave him a subtle nod.
She was hungry, thirsty, tired, and above all filthy, but she would give him the information he asked for before he vanished. By their own rules, he’d helped her, she owed it to him to help him. Rafe would have to look out for himself. Oh, he had been, all his life. But this time his actions were involving the lives of other people.
Just then one of Reflections of the Sun’s tech aids scurried up, whispering to the Than, who turned to the group. “It seems there is the commander of the Pride himself, who is demanding an interview, right now, with Daigo-Ujio Odin-Thor. Is this you?” He looked at Ujio.
Who opened his empty hands, and said with irony, “If you want the entire name, you’d say Daigo-Ujio out of Philippa by Tokugawa Odin-Thor.”
They all stared at him, unsure where to go now.
He let out a deep breath, then said, “If it will help you, go ahead and witness this conversation. But I must request you to stay out of the vid pickup.”
Vandat and Blossoms on the Wind turned to Reflections of the Sun, who indicated for the aide to set up the comlink through the reception chamber.
And so when the screen cleared for Tokugawa, he saw, at last, after twenty years, his son dressed in battle black. In the background there was rich decoration in muted style, the light low so really all that could be seen was Daigo-Ujio’s face. So like his own. But with Philippa’s broad, thoughtful brow, her wide, sardonic mouth.
Tokugawa felt the stirrings of old pain.
“You initiated this interview,” Ujio said, when the silence grew protracted. What he saw was his father in a white chamber, bare to view except for a fine silk panel in the background, one probably ten thousand years old, and worth as much as a planet. The screen depicted Japanese samurai busy gutting one another, while in the background Mt. Fujiyama rose up, steady, serene, and utterly detached.
“Is your mother still alive?” Tokugawa asked, though that was not what he’d meant to say.
Ujio replied, “You abrogated the right to that information when you condemned her to death for using her wits to think differently from the rest of your…” He lifted a hand. “Pride.” The comlink did nothing to diminish the scorn freighting that word.
“She’d become weak,” Tokugawa stated. “I could not have her taint the rest of you—”
“Weak,” Ujio repeated. “You still believe that? Why were you here, besides to collect the genetic data that woman promised you? You could have sent one of your sons to fetch her. You came because you heard that Tyr Anasazi, who reputedly bears the bones of Drago Musaveni, was here. By any other system those old bones would be called symbolic—even sacred—but to a real Nietzschean—someone who actually follows the philosophy of that scrawny little German madman—those are just old, dirty bones. Should have been dropped into obscurity on some planet centuries ago. Or flushed into space. But you and your so-called superior race keep fighting one another for them, until one day there won’t be any of you left. And no one in the universe will have any reaction except relief.”
Tokugawa gestured, a flat hand. “Perhaps. I do not deny that we are our own worst enemies, but that is a necessary part of survival of the strongest.”
“Strongest? Are you really sure of that?” Ujio retorted. “Just before I left, I watched your treasured First Daughter, Pimiko, who was the biggest, strongest, and most beautiful of all the girls. I remember she used to encourage her kludge girl servants to have pets, just so she could torture them and watch the girls cry. And you know what? The girls learned not to have pets—or learned to keep them secret. What did Pimiko learn? To gloat, to think herself superior, and maybe another way to do her hair. I wonder if she ever did figure out that those human girls, so small, so stupid, were already out-thinking her. I’ll wager you the entire Loki system she never did.”
“Perhaps. However, just today I acquired the means to strengthen our genome. There is time, and resources, to see our Pride achieve a new level.”
“Of what? Warfare? You can make yourselves as strong and fast as slip-fighters, you might even have the means to develop mind-to-mind communication, but what will it be used for? To destroy your enemies, and then one another, to an exponentially more lethal degree? The Nietzschean system is barren, Father.”
Tokugawa said, “So what are you doing with your life that carries more meaning than everything your ancestors strove for?”
“You abrogated the right to that, too,” Ujio replied, his tone even. “But I will tell you this. If what I strive to achieve is successful, I will be remembered, I will not be waiting in the night for the knife of one of my enemies or my own sons, who will fling my body out into space to float forgotten, while he spins away time waiting for the knife of either his enemy or his own son. I am building a civilization. One sentient at a time.”
Tokugawa did not move, or betray any emotion whatsoever. “I think,” he said, “we shall discourse further in person. At my leisure.”
Ujio smiled. “It was a mistake on my part that led you to my trail—I acted in haste—but it won’t happen again. I will be gone within an hour, and you will not be able to trace me.”
Tokugawa said, “We will meet again.”
The screen blanked.
Vandat wrung his hands. “Does that mean he will attack? What—”
The door opened behind them, and Delta Kodos entered, tired, her plain hair hanging lank, her servant’s gown rumpled. “I think—I think they’re going to have other trouble soon,” she said.
Dylan had risen to stand beside Beka.
All of them turned to face the biggest screen, on which the techs amplified the view, relayed by transponder on the edge of the system, of the Nietzschean fleet just as the slip-fighters bearing Otomo’s body and Alphyra Kodos entered their landing bay.
“What are we seeing?” Vandat asked. “What is happening?”
Delta gripped her hands. “Watch.”
THIRTY-FIVE
Even a cruiser battle group is not as lethal as the deliberate revenge of the intellect.
—FROM THE MUSEVENI COLLECTED PROVERBS
Alphyra Kodos repressed the urge to sm
ooth her gown. She was surrounded by towering fighters, Nietzscheans, arrogant, cold. They looked down on her mere humanness, she knew that—except they did respect biotech. Especially anything that promised to strengthen the genetics of the evolving human species.
She lifted her chin. I have generations of precious knowledge, and they cannot do without me, she thought. I must show them my own superiority.
It was the only way to maintain her position of strength against these people.
She followed in silence as they moved toward a door. Walked through a very tight filtration force field, judging from the ache-in-the-teeth sensation, the snap of energy through her bones, which ended, surprisingly, with a brief, almost cold sensation at the top of her head. Soon gone. She was glad she had not chosen to hide a weapon in her clothes. No, she came as she was, herself—beautiful, unflawed—with the gift of precious knowledge.
A security tech just inside the lift waved a hand and she was silently escorted into the lift, bounced up numerous levels, then conducted into a long, curved corridor. She had not been on a ship for a long time; the smell of cleaning fluid seemed to be sharp on the cold air. But of course she said nothing: meet silence with silence, arrogance with arrogance. That’s the way to deal with Nietzscheans.
So when the tall, golden-haired woman who waited on the Command Deck said, “You must be Alphyra Kodos,” she merely gave a single regal nod.
“Please show me to my chambers,” she said. “And I trust there are adequate laboratory facilities.”
The golden-haired woman lifted her brows in surprise. “You seem to presume a great deal, kludge woman.”
“I am the head of a family of scientists,” Alphyra Kodos stated, hating having to look up into this young woman’s scornful face. But she altered her posture so she would not be seen to be supplicating. “I have that which is valuable to your Alpha—where is he that I may speak to him of my plans?—and therefore valuable to your Pride. Or you would not have come here to get it.”
“You don’t know why we came here,” the woman said, looking up. She smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile, it was the smugness of private knowledge.
Alphyra felt danger, and tried to repress the emotion. These were dangerous people. She knew that. She had to establish herself as their intellectual equal—their superior in learning—right away. A tiny spurt of regret zapped through her. It would have been so much easier if that idiotic High Guard captain had just had the wit to cooperate—he would have been easier to deal with.
Well, she’d just send him to hell.
“My chambers? Lab?” she said, trying to regain control of the conversation.
“Let’s just see what you have to offer,” the woman said, and stepped close. As if she would wrest the flexi from Alphyra. “I am Pimiko First Daughter,” she added. “Of the Alpha of Odin-Thor Pride. I will be closely involved with any genetic experiments, you may be certain.”
Alphyra slid her hand into her gown, removed it, and smiled. “It’s all coded to my own genome,” she said. “My own codes. Of course. But I can display the headers if you like—show you much of promise.”
Pimiko indicated a flexi slot right there on the Command Deck. Alphyra shrugged, trying to ignore the derisive stares of all those men standing around, none of whom had introduced themselves. The Alpha was not even here.
But maybe he watched from another cabin. So she bent to drop the flexi into the slot, and as she did, one of the pearls from her graceful, tasteful hair ornament dropped—no, sped down.
On the Drift, Delta Kodos said, “One of my bees is with her now.”
Alphyra glanced down in dismay, but there was no catching it; she looked up, realized no one had seen. The pearl was too tiny, it moved too swiftly.
On the Drift, Delta said, “I loaded it with her own personal codes, those I have known all my life, and with her own genome. It will, perhaps now—for she will be eager to show them what she brought—be melding with the flexi. The codes matching up, just enough—”
On the big screen in the refreshment chamber, they watched as the running lights of the flagship Bushido flickered, then came back on in emergency mode, dim, orange.
Onboard the warship, the lights on the Command Deck blinked out. Then the emergency system came on, in safe mode—environment and engines only. The moment of grav loss swooped through Alphyra’s stomach. She landed on her feet again, and gasped. “What? What?” and wrenched the flexi out of the slot.
It had changed—the entire flexi had changed, with a single message glowing across the otherwise worthless plastic sheet:
Drone.
On the Drift, Delta drew in a deep breath. “I still do not know how to explain the Shadows. You must ask Trance Gemini, who is part of the High Guard crew, for that. But I can tell you this much: When I programmed one of my bees to seek my sister, and lodge as one of the ornaments in her hair, the Shadows that curled around it seemed drawn by Alphyra’s genome, her codes. I sensed—I sensed—” She thought of her own predecessors, dying down in the labs somewhere, unmourned, perhaps unnoticed except for Alphyra, and shook her head. “I can only say that they somehow shift space and time enough not to alert filters.”
“So…” Beka spoke up. “What you are saying is, you just crashed the flagship’s entire system?”
“Yes.”
THIRTY-SIX
After such knowledge, what forgiveness?
—T. S. ELIOT, 1920 C.E.,
FROM THE COLLECTION OF SACRED PROVERBS
OF VISION OF FAITH VII,
KEEPER OF THE WAY
Vandat and the Than stared at Delta, whose desolate gaze and thin, tired mouth showed no hint of triumph, or even of accomplishment. But of course. What she had destroyed was all the work of a lifetime—everything that had gone into her own genetic design—everything.
Vandat said, tentatively, “The lab technicians. Maybe we could recover that portion that is helpful to our various species—if we make a deal with them.”
Delta shook her head. “They only know tiny slivers of the overall. My—the Kodos family was long-sighted that way. No one knew much about what the others did, no one below the head of the family knew how it all fit together. That’s why it was so easy for Alphyra to hide so much from me, because I only knew what some of the teams were working on.”
“Torbal?” Vandat asked.
“I don’t think he knew much more than the general headers. He was not a scientist so much as an enforcer. Not that he had to threaten anyone very often. The reward for a breakthrough was too often death, or a brain wipe. Though I was told they were accidents, and for a long time I believed it. Then I had to believe it.” Delta drew a deep breath. “It’s all gone.”
“How much did your sister know?” Reflections of the Sun asked, the gentleness of his voice vibrating like a mourning violin.
Delta turned on him. A tear dashed down her cheek, ignored. “She knew the most, but she was not a tech. She preferred design theory. Strategy. It was for the rest of us to find a way to make her goals real. She did know how some of the information was put together, but I don’t think she can re-create a whole, any more than you could rebuild the console you use every day.” She nodded at Vandat, who placed his hands together and bowed in acquiescence.
Delta looked around, saw them all listening. She said bleakly, “So Alphyra never bothered with details. That’s why I existed, that is of course to serve in executing humble tasks so that she would never have to dirty her hands. But I earned my life by building her the perfect control room, and others existed to perform only those tasks she assigned them. It’s gone now… the family legacy, bad, good, evil, saving grace—all of it impossible dreams.”
Beka dropped down next to Dylan on the couch. “Well, that is sufficiently depressing.”
“Except that Alphyra Kodos does not have that data,” Dylan said. “You never met her. I did. If she wasn’t evil, she had accustomed herself to evil as an everyday affair, a practical affair.”
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Beka winced. “I believe I’ve met the type.”
Vandat and Reflections of the Sun began talking to Delta in low voices.
Under cover of their conversation, Beka murmured to Dylan, “What’s going on with Harper and Cyn? I hope you included that poor deluded girl—”
Dylan looked up at Rommie avatar, who stood, hands behind her back, her gaze steady. “Tyr is just leaving the hangar now; Blossoms on the Wind has given him priority departure. I am vectoring the Andromeda in to hasten the pickup—Trance says their vital signs are very—”
On the main screen the Nietzschean ships suddenly began to move.
Everyone fell silent except for Dylan, who rapped out to Rommie, “Diversionary maneuvers.”
Rommie shifted into ship mode, taking control from Tyr. She began a diversion, a desperate attempt to get the Andromeda between the Nietzscheans and the Drift, which had no hope of defending itself against attack from the Bushido.
Onboard the Bushido, Tokugawa stepped onto his Command Deck. Everyone was silent. “Status report.”
Rommel bit his lips, then said, “The flexi apparently was loaded with bit bombs of a type we’ve never seen before, tailored to this woman’s personal data. Our neural net was taken completely down. All ships’ functions are redundant, and we can fly on auxiliary power, but all data is gone. Wiped clean. No records, even, not until we return to Loki and perform a backup—and that data will be only up-to-date with our departure.”
“Do it,” Tokugawa said.
And Rommel gave the signal for the ships, which had been speeding up, to vector onto the Slipstream entry point.
Pimiko came forward. “I’ll take charge of the woman,” she said, pointing to the stricken Alphyra, and smiled. “Since all the nanobots will be used for repair and restoration, I can use someone to scrub all the recycling areas, and clean the galley. And serve in the rec pens—”
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