Lieutenant Chung preferred the Meld with a fast, sleek fighter, leading a limitless team with maximum power and abilities at their command, but this was fine compared to the alternative. Even if they somehow entered lifeboat mode, she could exist like this while having only the most tenuous connection to a cryogenically frozen body. But she still needed that connection, that body; it was part of the ship, and the ship was a part of her, but if it died, her thoughts, her personality also died. She was well aware of that.
For three days now she’d flown the ship and experienced the joys of the Meld, but that was about to come to an end, at least temporarily. This was a mission, and she, not just her flying, was a vital part of its completion.
She had watched the three young witches with her enhanced powers, and sensed the enormous energy within those jewels they wore and just how they cloaked their wearers, much as the force field protecting the outer skin of the shuttle protected her. The field would strengthen sometimes, and then weaken, but it was always there, always in at least a minimal way both protecting and controlling the wearer.
Chung did not get close enough to pull that energy towards her own sensors. She was well aware that the mysterious energy was not limited to the wearer but could extend itself, perhaps sufficiently to have taken control of a great star frigate. This shuttle and her own single Meld consciousness and databanks would be child’s play for the energy, and she’d have no defense. So she studied it, and watched it, but from a distance.
The energy wasn’t a visible thing; it was something tangible and living but beyond the abilities of a mortal human to see and feel. Only in the Meld was it clear, a writhing mass of almost protoplasmic pulsing and oozing, pure energy that acted like organic matter. She had never seen or encountered anything quite like it before, but it was clearly real and it was clearly not emanating from the three girls nor their developing fetuses nor from some sort of parasite or some other sort of life that might live cooperatively inside the girls. The source was external, from their gemstones or, more likely, through the stones. There was no evidence of a Meld of any sort with or within the stones; whatever was guiding it was using some sort of remote control. From where, and how, was by no means obvious.
It was clear that it could not stray too far from the stones on its own. It needed the girls to wear the gems around their necks to extend its own limited reach, but if they were in contact with something then it was in contact as well.
Still, mere contact with electronic channels aboard the Thermopylae had been sufficient for it to have penetrated the ship’s primary computer core, at least enough to give it a program to erase the witches from the sensors. And while all three combined didn’t seem to be powerful enough to have actually taken control of the huge ship, they had been able to sustain their modifications, undetectably access the database whenever required, and also essentially operate the three girls’ bodies as remote extensions. That was impressive, and meant that, if those entities wanted to, they could certainly do what they willed with Chung’s own Meld.
The fact that they hadn’t apparently done so meant that either she had nothing to offer but the ride and that’s what they were getting anyway or, possibly, that she had been fully compromised and reprogrammed not to know it. She put that out of her mind for now, though, not so much from paranoia as from pragmatism. If that were true, then it really didn’t matter insofar as there was nothing she might be able to do to discover or counter it.
Chung had watched with fascination as O’Brian’s operator—there was just no other way to think of it right now—had flowed rather nicely into Maslovic’s hand and then through him, until he had sensed it and let go, cutting the contact. That had yielded some very interesting and possibly useful facts. First, that the more it extended into and over Maslovic, the thinner the energy field around both he and the girl had become, so there was a real limit to how much that gemstone device could put out after all. That was probably why all three were needed to do what they did aboard the Thermopylae ; the power had to be combined.
Still, all three together had also been sufficient to have somehow reprogrammed the living sentry’s memory of them leaving, and the memory of anyone who came close to them. The three of them together, in perfect symmetry, had been necessary to create a field that could fog the mind of anyone coming into its proximity. Nobody could create a condition where someone would be invisible to everyone and everything across the whole catalog of senses and monitors, but apparently together, the three could create a thin field that would make no one and no thing notice that they were there. Fascinating.
It also implied limits to that power, however vast. They could put in their clever little program to the ship’s computer, but they couldn’t stay there and keep the girls supplied and protected or, worse, controlled. They could use the girls’ bodies and sensors to explore, almost like robotic probes or ferrets, but the requirement that the field, however thin, be stretched as far as possible vastly limited what they could actually do during those explorations.
She had never experienced this sort of energy, did not know its full properties or potential, so there really wasn’t a lot she could do to tell more about it without attracting unwanted attention from it, but it did allow her to see the energy in its ebbs and flows and something of where it went and what it could do.
It always had at least a slender thread directly into each girl’s cerebral cortex, and it also had a similar hairlike thread into the same region of the nearly fully developed fetuses. It certainly wasn’t using those connections for control, at least not now, but it did occasionally send quantities of energy in short, coded bursts along those connections, sometimes to the mothers but more often to the almost children within.
What would a newborn be programmed to do? What could it do? It wouldn’t even have full vision or control of its muscles for some time. Latent programming, probably, or lots of data and routines to be activated once the child was old enough for it to matter.
Were these, then, a class of invading soldiers being created by an enemy almost from the moment they had a developing brain? Or the perfect agents, or spies? What were the operators on the other side of those stones doing, and why?
As much anxiety as she felt, Chung also felt a great deal of excitement. No more pushing around little toads like Murphy or doing shows of force to get taxes from poor worlds growing poorer; this was what a military was for.
Now there was an enemy, a bit out of the shadows where those like her could see them at work, if obliquely. And if the operators were friendly, why had they spent so much time and trouble keeping in those deepest shadows?
How she’d like to follow that energy back to its source! And not in this little shuttle, either, but with her fighter, perhaps the whole fighter squadron, and on their own, without potential corruption from the mother ship’s master computers!
As it stood right now, though, this ship had four weapons, all personal weapons of no real use in space, and none of them was assembled and charged.
And with the last of the gates looming ahead, they were only a few hours out from those who sent those images that so troubled Maslovic, someone who, like herself, was without the fear of death and whose entire self was devoted to the mission, and not to some intermediaries in this obvious vast interstellar plot.
She saw the wormgate ahead, quite suddenly, but it was no surprise. Directly on the flight path, just where and when it should be, here it was, out then, with only a slight adjustment, back in for one last, very short ride.
It had been decided from the start that she would not communicate with those inside if she could help it, only observe, but they were now at the point where there was no more purpose to the silent treatment, meant to simply not remind the girls and whoever was behind them that someone else was aboard and watching. Now it was moot; they were almost there.
“Please awaken our passengers, Sergeant,” her voice came from the lounge public address speaker, sounding crisp and profe
ssional. “There are clean, loose whites in the locker aft, and whatever else they might wish to wear on exit. They certainly can not exit looking like that, nor, I suspect, would they want to.”
Maslovic sat up straight, almost at attention, and nodded at the speaker. It was conditioning; in this circumstance and until they actually landed, the lieutenant was the captain.
Murphy simply looked startled. It had been long enough since he’d seen the pilot that he’d forgotten that the whole thing wasn’t automated.
“You can clean up and get some fresh clothing as well, Captain Murphy,” Maslovic told him. “We have time yet.” He glanced at his watch, which now read 2:44:06. Murphy did the same, and chuckled.
“Three pregnant lassies, one toilet, one shower, and under maybe four, five hours tops from right now and some of that time strapped in. You’re dreamin’, man!” He paused for a moment, then added, “I’ll skip the prettifyin’, if you don’t mind. Bad for me reputation anyway. In fact, I think I’ll spend this last comfy time enjoyin’ what I can of that pretty good stout, and maybe a couple of scones or sweet rolls to settle me stomach. Tonight it’s a celebration! I’m free of them and all of you starched machines, and it’s payday to boot!”
“Suit yourself,” Maslovic responded, getting up and making his way aft to the beds. Somehow he suspected that the old captain wasn’t nearly as free and clear of this business as he might have hoped.
Murphy was a bit worried about that, too, but he was equally certain that he felt neither kinship with nor obligation to the military folks, now or at any forseeable time in his future. If this was any sort of menace, they were probably the least equipped to handle it with their rigid codes and genetic specializations. Pirates, con artists, and maybe a physicist or two, they might at least make a go of it. He’d grown to like Maslovic, at least a little, and respect his mind and almost con artist-like manner, but, deep down, Murphy knew that the marine was essentially an act, a performance, trained and programmed and superimposed on a hard and cold body and mind. All that surface charm and friendly company could shut down in a moment and the same fellow would shoot him and never think a moment on it beyond that, and blow away his mother, too, if he had one. Of course, his mother had been a machine, so in that sense he and the rest of his kind were the spitting images of their parents.
Not that Murphy didn’t have the con man’s personable manner and coldness of heart as well, but at least, he told himself, he’d earned that in the school of hard knocks.
The sergeant came back in and nodded. “Well, you were right. They can’t even wash their long hair in three hours. Each!”
“Aye. Told you so. Of course, it would help if they had some hair dryers. Guess that wouldn’t be likely in a ship built for a bunch of baldies, though. Well, they’ll make do. This is, after all, where they, or them what’s behind them, want ’em to be, so there’s not likely to be a lot of patience with the folks on the ground if they decide to take a few hours before clearin’ the authorities.”
“You’re probably right there,” the sergeant agreed. “I wonder who the hell is picking them up?”
“Well, they was to be dropped off to members of the Knights of Saint Phineas on Barnum’s World. That’s all I was told. The others I delivered now and then, they was all a bit different, or at least seemed a wee bit more normal, so they just went off while I did me paperwork and that was that.”
“You trusted them?”
Murphy shrugged. “What could I do? Besides, I didn’t do much except transport ’em, and all but these girls I had to bring in kinda on the quiet, if you know what I mean, so there wasn’t much I could do but trust the others. The money was always there, though, in the accounts, ready to spend, and the notation of credit equivalent to the amount was posted with the bank down there. Why not? If they stiffed me, I didn’t exactly have to come back the next time, you know. It’s not like there’s a hundred ships dock regular at Tara Hibernius.”
“I see what you mean. Well, there’s no sneaking these young women in, I don’t think. Not now. And that means either somebody meets them or they have to use their voodoo on the authorities down there. Either way, I figure they aren’t going back on this shuttle!”
“No papers. Be interestin’ to see if they are expected, won’t it? Uh, that is, interestin’ for you.”
Maslovic smiled. “Yes, for us, I guess.” Like Murphy wasn’t dying to know who or what was behind this, particularly now that he’d seen the power in back of it and the possible real money and valuables they had at their beck and call. “The Knights of Saint Phineas, you said. Know anything more about them?”
“Nope. It’s been eons since I been anywhere near a church, let alone catechism school, and I’ll be blamed if I ever heard of a Saint Phineas, although, I admit, that blamed church’s got ten saints for every day that is, was, or ever will be.”
“Fascinating. Not one of the major ones, then.”
“Definitely not. I dunno. Maybe they ain’t so well known down there, if you know what I mean. I don’t know if I should ask about ’em, strictly out of concern for the lasses, you understand, or keep me trap shut. Sounds like some old crusader stuff, or order of soldiers for God, like the Knights of Malta back in ancient times, but I don’t think these folks would be them kinda soldiers, and not for God, neither.”
“Well, not your old god, anyway,” the sergeant said. Maybe for some dark gods lurking in the shadows of a cave upon some bleak and distant world, though, he added to himself.
The full ship’s intercom came alive, and Lieutenant Chung’s voice announced, “Five minutes to gate emergence. Depending on traffic control, no more than twenty or thirty minutes insystem until at least orbit.”
“Put the traffic control low on the speaker when you emerge, Lieutenant,” Maslovic requested. “And if we can get a visual of the planet and resolution to ground as applicable, I’d appreciate it.”
“I will do it if I can, Sergeant,” the pilot told him.
Murphy shrugged. “It’s generally an easy in and out. Mostly freight modules in orbit, a few tugs but mostly storage containers, and service bays for two freighters. Port Bainbridge is the single ground spaceport, but it’s pretty decent size for the fairly low traffic it does. When they export, though, it’s usually very large and often fragile consignments, so they need the equivalent of a much larger planet. There’s towns with specialists all over the world, including a large number of underwater domes, but the only one that can be called a ‘city’ is Port Bainbridge, population under half a million, and that’s where we’ll come down. Almost entirely import-export and inland supply. That’s all they do. A lot of the world is self-sufficient, or so they say. I never been more than a few kilometers beyond the spaceport meself. Why bother? Go out into the bush and wind up gettin’ eaten or worse, or spend time in a station feelin’ like you’re infested with creepy crawlies. Nope. Not me cup of tea.”
“It doesn’t sound like a particularly good place to send three girls, even these girls, pregnant and without much knowledge of the outside.”
“Oh, I don’t think that’s a problem for ’em here. They’re from a far more rural place than even this, ’cause it’s not so high tech and managed as Barnum’s World. They’ll have good facilities for birthin’, and, let’s face it, somebody is expectin’ ’em. Be hell tryin’ to track ’em if they go off into the bush, though. Never thought of it before, either, but Barnum’s World’s actually a pretty fair place if you want to keep secrets and be out of the public view. Wilderness, mostly, lots of ways to hide and lots of places where even if you were found you couldn’t be snuck up on, high tech as you need it, low population for less questions, and yet a fair amount of in and out interstellar traffic. If it wasn’t for them creepy crawlies, I’d say it’d be a good place to run anything not legal, come to think of it. Me, though, I got this thing about them creepy crawlies.”
“What do you mean by that?” Maslovic asked the old captain.
“
You’ll see. Think of the whole world as a zoo, an animal preserve, and a botanical gardens to boot. Just about everything that was still livin’ when the place was set up, a century or more before the Great Silence, goin’ back to Old Earth species and through any of the stuff we found out here. Animals, plants, you name it. So if some nasty booger comes along and all Tara Hibernius’s sheep get sick and die, here’s where they come to get more, genetically perfect and maybe immune as well. New Siam short on their kind of elephants? Got some. And if you’re terraforming a place to specific design, here’s the plants and bugs and bacteria and crap you’ll need, and they can be specially produced to adapt perfect to what you can’t terraform. Hell of a business, even now on some worlds. And now that nobody can go back and pick up any species not already extinct, and there’s tons of those, the folks down there think they got a kind of sacred trust. Me, I just think most of ’em prefer animals to people.”
“I scanned the database on it. Fascinating sounding. But I’ve never been on a world with a full ecosystem including everything down to the microbe level. This could be quite interesting.”
“The first time you get stung by a bloodsucker insect and then you come face-to-face with a jumpin’ spider bigger’n your head, you’ll think different, Sergeant. I promise that.”
The intercom came on again. “Out of jump. All nominal,” Chung reported. “I’m now in the system control region of Barnum’s World. Too far out for a really good picture but I’ll give you what I got.”
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