Pablo sounded curious. “Did you really think that would succeed?”
“It seemed worth a try. Could you pick me up before I sneeze myself to death?”
There was a pause long enough for Pablo to communicate on his implant, and then Aristide climbed to his feet and walked in silence to the door.
He watched his own body move as if it belonged to another person. Courtland had taken complete control of him; he tried at least to move a finger, but couldn’t.
He tried to speak. His vocal cords were frozen.
Aristide’s body came to the door, then paused and turned his head. Aristide saw Pablo frowning and looking at a book on the shelf. Aristide’s glass was still in his hand.
“I’m beginning to think this conversation was a bad idea,” Pablo said, still peering at the book. “I think we’ll do a little brain surgery on you, and then you’ll tell me everything you know or suspect of enemy plans without making me witness these ridiculous gymnastics.”
And you’re petulant, Aristide thought, because I challenged your damned ideas, and you don’t have answers for me. All civilization might die because you’re in a snit.
But he couldn’t say the words. Aristide opened the door, walked down a mahogany-paneled corridor and stepped through another door. A pool of life waited there, shimmering in a cream-colored marble tub. Pablo’s personal pool, apparently, available whenever he had an insight he felt like backing up.
Aristide undressed, dropping his suit in a heap on the tile, and lowered himself into the pool. It was pleasantly warm. He floated for a while, the thick fluid holding him up. His pulse marked time in his ears. Then the pool accepted him and he sank. Fluid covered his face, crawled into his nose. His mouth opened to allow the transformation to happen more quickly.
He silently cursed himself. If he had played nice, if he’d pretended to be persuaded… but no. Courtland was doubtless monitoring and would have known when he lied.
He’d failed miserably. Twice in one day, apparently.
Anger simmered in him, mixed with a kind of distaste at his own failure. He had really thought better of himself than this.
He understood why Daljit avoided him. He was a walking reminder of a part of her life that had gone missing, but in which she knew that she had been a puppet or a raging, mindless burnout with a kitchen knife, in each case the pawn of a distant, unhinged tyrant. Who would want that kind of keepsake in her life?
He would not want to remember this, either.
His booming pulse slowed. He couldn’t feel his body anymore.
A voice sounded in Aristide’s head.
“Pops? How are you doing?”
A bubble of astonishment bursts from his lungs.
“Bitsy?”
“It’s me, Pops. Now just hang on and I’ll get you out of here.”
20
The light was not gentle. Aristide came awake with floodlights stabbing his retinas and his lungs filled with fluid. He turned on his side and heaved up the water of life, then narrowed his eyes and peered out.
The pool of life was stainless steel and stood in the middle of a bare room equipped with functional furniture made of aluminum and pseudo-leather. One wall was featureless white, and featured a steel toilet and steel sink: the other walls were transparent plastic. The room was so brightly floodlit that he could see very little past the walls, only the occasional dim yellow light.
Apparently he was still a prisoner.
Aristide rose, let the fluid escape back into the tub, and then put on the clothing that he found waiting on a chair. He recognized the gabardine trousers and spider-silk jacket twenty years out of style.
He put on his clothing and walked up to the glass and made binoculars of his hands and pressed them to the glass wall. Through the wall he could see human silhouettes beneath the dim yellow lights.
“Hello hello!” he called. “Where are we this time?”
“Myriad City.” Tumusok’s voice came from speakers somewhere above him. Aristide relaxed slightly.
“How’d I get here?” Aristide asked.
“Maybe it’s you who should enlighten us.”
“Surely you know better than I.” Aristide leaned away from the glass, frowned. “I seem to remember my cat talking to me.” He touched the glass. “Is there some reason I’m stuck in a glass room?”
“We’re trying to find out if you’re a bomb wired to explode.”
The voice was Lin’s.
“A sensible precaution,” Aristide said. “Though I presume you’ve checked my code thoroughly to make sure no one’s tampered with it.”
“True,” Lin said. “But Vindex has been full of surprises up till now, and—”
Tumusok interrupted, his voice harsh. “Of the forty million-plus men sent to Courtland,” he said, “you’re the only one who’s come back.” There was a pause, and then: “Even I didn’t come back.”
Aristide looked at the dimly lit figures beyond the glass.
“Did I come back with a cat?” he asked.
“Not a cat,” Lin said. “Some kind of amphibian mammal. And what appears to be a lot of data, much of it astronomical. Not in size, but in content.”
Aristide smiled.
“Perhaps you can explain,” Tumusok said, “why you came back from Courtland when so many others didn’t.”
“Well,” Aristide began. He gave a wan smile, then sighed. “I’m afraid the answer won’t reflect well on me.”
“It’s lucky that Vindex is lonely,” Bitsy said. “Otherwise he might not have been so susceptible to a glossy, shiny-eyed mammalian bouncing up and down in his lab asking ‘Where Master? Where fish?’”
“He didn’t scan you?” Aristide asked.
“Of course he did. He pinged me to find out what components answered his hail, but as I’m an avatar of Endora, I have the power to tell my higher functions not to answer.” Bitsy narrowed her eyes in a piece of smug self-congratulation. “Besides, I acted like a good little pet. I managed to convince him that I was nothing more than what I seemed. I’m a pretty good actor, if I say so myself.”
“You’ve had enough practice at making me think you’re harmless, that’s true enough.”
Bitsy did not deign to reply.
In a government Destiny limousine provided by Tumusok, Aristide and Bitsy were speeding toward Aristide’s pink marble hotel from the Domus’ bland, white headquarters with its rows of identical windows—whatever state architect had designed the building hadn’t realized that, in a place like Myriad City, it was the inconspicuous buildings that stood out.
Aristide had spent three days being debriefed in his glass-walled cell. Bitsy’s confinement had been even more rigorous: she’d been brought to consciousness only in a bare virtual space, surrounded by ferocious firewalls while being simultaneously probed, analyzed, and interrogated by Endora and ferocious attack programmers—”hattackers”—employed by the Domus.
Eventually both Aristide and Bitsy had convinced the Domus of their bona fides, and they were released in order to prepare a formal report on their activities, to be delivered to the Standing Committee the following afternoon. Bitsy’s virtual personality and memories had been downloaded into the physical Bitsy that had remained in Myriad City. Though now possessing two complete sets of memories, Bitsy seemed to have little trouble reconciling them.
“Is my formal report prepared yet?” Aristide asked.
“Yes. You might want to read it before you sign it.”
“And your formal report?”
“Also ready.”
“Perhaps you would favor me with some of the details?”
Bitsy did so. When she was swallowed by the undersea trap on Hawaiki, she found herself in a medical facility equipped with pools of life and large, menacing robot guards to hold the victims beneath the surface until their brains were restructured along the Venger’s lines. The robots hadn’t been told what to do if their ambush caught only an animal, and so they kicked the matter upsta
irs.
Pablo’s rebellion hadn’t developed a lot of bureaucracy by that point, so he handled the matter himself. When he arrived, Bitsy was hopping around the room and wailing for Master. The distress was only partly feigned. Bitsy was wicked smart but hadn’t anticipated meeting the Dark Lord in person anytime soon.
“Wait a minute,” Aristide said. “You were transported to Courtland? Not to a pocket universe?”
“Specifically, I was transported from Hawaiki straight to Greater Zimbabwe. That’s where Vindex has his headquarters.”
“Pablo has developed a way of calving off wormholes to connect one place to another in our universe?”
Bitsy was matter-of-fact. “He has achieved that particular holy grail, yes.”
“Can he project them, or must they be carried from one place to another?”
“Carried. As the Priests of the Venger carried their wormholes with them from Courtland to Midgarth.”
“We could be invaded!” Aristide said. “Pablo could push an army through an unknown wormhole into any pocket, at any time!”
“The fact that he didn’t,” Bitsy said, “argues that he can’t. Apparently we swept up all his wormholes when we arrested his first set of agents, and the wormholes collapsed in self-defense.”
“But—”
“There is a good deal about this in my report. Would you like to read it?”
Aristide sighed. “Not at the moment.”
“May I continue my narrative?”
“By all means.”
“I became a pet,” Bitsy said. “Vindex gave me a saltwater pool and mackerel to eat, and I had the run of the palace. Since everyone in any of Courtland’s pockets worships and adores him, and there’s no domestic opposition or criminal underground, as a culture they’re not being very sophisticated about security right now. Through observation and some guesswork I was able to gain access to some of the Venger’s systems and files and physical systems, just not enough to make much of a difference. I was able to get Daljit’s astronomical data, because Vindex made it generally available to his own astrophysicists.
“After your arrival, I was able to use the Venger’s codes to subvert the instructions given the pool of life, and instead of altering you, you were disassembled and uploaded. I uploaded myself likewise along with any data I’d been able to find, and pulsed the information to each of the Loyal Ten on one of the Venger’s electron beams. I reckoned they’d be able to read all the dots-and-dashes, and so it proved. Here we are.”
“You get the Grand Trophy for Extreme Cleverness, that’s certain. I shall try to think of a way to reward you properly.”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps,” Aristide said, “some fatty tuna.”
Both were present at the Standing Committee, which had changed only slightly since Aristide’s last appearance. One of the deputy prime ministers had been replaced, as had the Minister of Industry. Tumusok attended in his full military uniform, though rumor was that given the failure of the invasion his head was on the chopping block, and he might soon be replaced.
Which if true, Aristide judged, wasn’t entirely fair. Tumusok had hardly been alone in planning the invasion, hadn’t been in charge of the whole thing, and the attack had always been risky in any case. Yet, if Coy Coy fell, perhaps his replacement would make a better commander. Or a worse one—there was always that risk.
The Prime Minister, Aristide was informed, was watching the meeting from a secure location elsewhere, and the meeting was also being broadcast to other, more obscure functionaries and committees located here and there in loyal space.
As a Force Five gale spattered water against Golden Treasure‘s windows, Aristide and Bitsy each presented their reports and then summarized them orally. The woman from the Advisory Committee on Science spoke next.
“The Venger’s calculations have been checked and are correct. Assuming of course that his data is accurate, his conclusions are justified. The universe is an artifact.” She shrugged. “Of course, we’re living in an artifact now. I honestly don’t see what’s got him so cranky.”
Bitsy looked up from the forepaw she was licking. “I have always known that I was an artifact,” she said. “I know who created me and why. The human race, long convinced of its special place in a universe created especially for them, may require some adjustment to the new reality.”
“Which leads me to suggest,” said one of the deputy prime ministers, his voice thoughtful, “that we consider an Elite Committee to study this data, and make recommendations for policy.”
“Policy?” asked the woman from the Advisory Committee.
“Vindex claims to have discovered not only the origin of the universe, but the person or persons responsible. This has profound implications for our relationship with communities based on religion.”
“We should keep the data secret for now,” said the other deputy prime minister, the curly haired one.
“Absolutely,” said the Chancellor.
“I’d like to volunteer for the committee,” Aristide said. And then, “And I’d like Daljit to be recruited as well.” He smiled. “My avatar’s partnership with her was formidable. I should like to see if we can re-create such a team.”
“Right.” Tumusok turned to the woman from the Advisory Committee. “Could you bring me a list of names by, say, tomorrow?”
“Ah—I suppose I could, yes.”
“What implications does this knowledge have for policy?” asked one of the deputy prime ministers. “Does it actually make any difference to the war that we know the Venger’s goals?”
“Yes,” Aristide said. “It gives us the option of offering Vindex what he wants.”
Eyes turned to him in surprise.
“We tell him that we will try to build this hypertube to the origin of the universe,” he said. “If he is convinced of our sincerity, he may cease his attacks.”
“But we wouldn’t be sincere,” said the other deputy prime minister. Then, in confusion, “I am correct in assuming we’d be lying, aren’t I?”
“The Venger’s project would take many years,” said the woman from the Advisory Committee on Science. “And it may be—probably is—completely unfeasible.”
Tumusok’s face held a look of sullen triumph. “So we could use this offer to delay, until the balance of power swings decisively to us. And then—” He slapped a hand down on the table. “We destroy him.”
“We’d have to assume that he’d be aware of that likelihood,” Bitsy said. “I imagine he’d demand guarantees.”
“Of what sort?” asked Tumusok.
“Observers, perhaps?” Aristide suggested. “Allowed to move freely in our zone to verify that we’re not cheating?”
“That’ll be bloody inconvenient if we are cheating,” muttered the Chancellor.
One of the deputy prime ministers tilted his head as he listened to something in his implant. “The Prime Minister says that observers in Topaz are completely unacceptable,” he said. “We don’t want them spreading another plague here.”
“Exactly,” said Tumusok.
“So much for the truce idea,” said the Chancellor.
Commissar Lin spoke. “Not necessarily. We can always offer and see what terms he demands. Even fruitless negotiations may serve to delay matters until Vindex can be dispatched.”
“I don’t know what’s in train for, ah, dispatching him,” Aristide said. “I claim no more than the average amount of foresight, but if I were you I’d take a close look at the segment of the Kuiper Belt between here and Epsilon Eridani.”
Lin looked at him. “Yes?”
“He told me that he halted his journey on a Tombaugh Object, where he built a place to live, and where he incarnated himself physically. It was there that he first opened communication with Courtland.”
The woman from the Advisory Committee frowned. “Ye-es,” she said, calculating.
“If all he wanted to do was talk to Courtland, he didn’t have to stop on a rocky p
lanette and built a house. I think you should consider that it might not be a house, but a base.”
“Uh-oh,” someone said.
Tumusok turned grey. Bitsy flopped on her side, her tail twitching, and Aristide idly rubbed her belly.
“Vindex might have left something out there,” he said. “Instructions for nanomachines to build a mass driver, for example.”
“We have a mass driver of our own!” blurted the Minister of Industry. The others looked at him in silent reproach.
As a culture, the political class in Topaz was not good with secrets. There was little point, when the information was usually available to fill any citizen’s curiosity, either with data or inference based on data.
Aristide spoke into the awkward silence. “I had rather hoped you’d build one,” he said. “Preferably on a moon with a photochemical atmosphere, so preparations will not be observed.”
By expressions on certain faces, he knew he had guessed correctly.
“With luck,” he continued, “you can finish Courtland with one shot. But bear in mind that if Vindex is building a driver out there somewhere, he’s had many months’ head start.”
The woman from the Advisory Committee put a hand to her head. “It would have to be immense.”
“Correct,” said Bitsy. “The RCDA—Rogue Comet Detection Array—is pointed outward. From the Kuiper Belt, Vindex would have to accelerate the projectile to relativistic speeds in order to be sure of knocking out one of the Loyal Ten before we would see it coming—and if he uses rockets as an element of the acceleration, we’d see it anyway.”
Bitsy’s tail lashed. “I suppose he wouldn’t use just a singlerail gun,” she said, “but a whole series of them, each imparting another push to the projectile.”
“How is he powering it?” asked the woman from the Advisory Committee. “I can’t imagine he’s managed to build a nuclear power station out there, out of nothing.”
Aristide viewed the committee with interest: his speculation about the rail gun had now, in the minds of the committee, become a desperate fact. All looked haunted, if not panicked, by a thought they hadn’t considered until just a few moments earlier. The atmosphere was heavy with the scent of desperation.
Implied Spaces Page 29