“I will demonstrate. The old tongue contains a verb not found in our present speaking. The verb is . . . the verb of existence. It allows one to assign a static quality to a moving object. It allows one to discuss occurrence, to describe, identify, or amplify. It allows one to indicate status, it allows one to discuss the past as well as the future as identities—
“But the verb to be does not exist in the Phaestor language. And because we now use the Phaestor language, it does not exist for us either. Because we do not have it, because we do not use it, we cannot say many of the things we most need to say.”
Harry Mertz took a deep breath. His voice rolled out across the entire arena. “I was the first Nexus. I am the Nexus again. I am the immortal man. I was born in the Eye of God. I slept for a thousand years in a vessel that plunged across the rift. I am the oldest human being alive.
“I am connected to the minds of twelve TimeBinders. I am the sum total of all of their lives and all of their past lives. I have been male and female, child and parent. I have been dreamer and peasant, poet and soldier, servant and served, teacher and student, savior and saved, idiot and savant—I have been all of this and more. I am humanity.
“And speaking for a thousand thousand separate voices, I have this to say about the state of the Cluster today: I am sick and tired of being sick and tired!”
The Keel
Long tubes of light lined the keel of the mountain—the spinal cord of the machine’s communication network. The thoughts of its intelligence engine passed back and forth through the optical cables. The corridor glimmered off into the distance, fading out into an indistinct blur. Thick stanchions framed the passage; polymer decking felt like slabs of stone underfoot.
As Juda-Linda led them down toward the access-bay to the under-quarters, Gito fumbled around in his duffel. “I brought you a gift,” he said.
“Don’t need no gifts,” Juda-Linda grumbled. “Tall people give gifts. Gifts patronize.”
“No,” said Gito. “This gift doesn’t patronize.” He swung around abruptly and hit her with a hypo-spray injector. Juda-Linda’s eyes rolled up into her head and she toppled over like a small brick dumpling. “Urgh,” said Gito. “She might not forgive me for this.” He shrugged. “No loss, I guess.” He dragged her over to the wall and propped her up, trying to make her comfortable.
“All right, let’s go to work,” said Finn, pulling a gun out of his duffel. Shariba-Jen had already identified an access panel and had popped it open. He plugged himself into the network and went silent for a moment.
“Hey,” said Sawyer, pulling out his own gun. “I forgot to ask. Can we get out of here again?”
Gito glanced up and down the keel as he assembled his weapon. They didn’t expect anyone to interrupt them, but they had still come prepared. “Probably not,” he said, answering Sawyer’s question.
“I didn’t think so,” Sawyer said.
Abruptly, Jen began cursing in fluent binary. To the others, he said, “Some son of a lizard has changed the protocols. All of the intelligence engine’s internal messages travel through this network. Multiple monitors exist throughout the vessel. The redundancy guarantees no data loss—only someone has implemented a very non-standard data coding. Stand by, while I search for the translation protocols. They have to have them somewhere—”
“What does all that mean?” Sawyer asked.
Finn scowled. “It means, we can’t connect the bomb-trigger to the starship’s weapons.”
“You mean, we can’t resolve our previous dilemma about the sanctity of Phaestor life?”
“Sure, we can,” said Gito. He opened Shariba-Jen’s duffel and began attaching a new control chip to the magnetic bottle containing the singularity. “We’ll just put the damn thing on a time fuse.”
“No,” said Sawyer. “We made an agreement—with ourselves. About the sacredness of life. We have to keep our word. Innocent people will die.”
Gito blinked at him, astonished. “No one aboard this vessel can claim innocence. They share responsibility by their presence. You know that. So do I.”
Sawyer shook his head. “I wish I could believe you—but you almost signed on board. And you know that Juda-Linda doesn’t share the Phaestor hunger. Don’t you think that others here might deserve the same compassion?”
“You’ve spent too much time with Harry Mertz. You’ve caught his madness. You’ve turned into a weakling.” Still, Gito hesitated. He stopped himself from arming the new control chip. He turned around and looked at the optical cables running along the walls. He studied the access panel, frowning, worrying, scowling and muttering to himself.
Abruptly, Gito said, “Gotcha!” He pointed. “See that regulator-channel? That controls the arming of the weapon system. I can set a channel detector right next to it. If an abnormal increase in message-traffic occurs, the detector will notice it, and can use that stimulus to trigger the singularity expansion. That’ll accomplish the same thing without the need to tap into the ship’s computer network. Good!” He turned to Sawyer. “Will that make you happy? Will that let you sleep well at night?”
“It will make me ecstatic. I’ll sleep like a baby.”
Gito reached into his duffel and pulled out a third command chip. He clipped it into place on the magnetic bottle, armed it, and locked it. “Done!” he said. “If they target their weapons, it arms itself. If they arm their weapons, it goes into time-bomb mode. If they fire, it triggers. The first thing that’ll happen, it’ll break this cable, interrupting their ability to fire. By the time they reroute, the lens will have begun eating the ship like a Dragon in a garbage dump.” With Jen’s help, they slid the bottle into position, securing it firmly to the wall so it looked like it belonged there.
“What if someone spots it and tries to remove it?” Finn asked.
“It’ll go off. Even I couldn’t remove it now. If anyone even thinks a dirty thought near it, it’ll go off. Now, let’s get out of here before somebody thinks a dirty thought.”
They gathered up their equipment. At Gito’s urging, Shariba-Jen stuffed Juda-Linda into his empty duffel and slung her over his shoulder. They headed back the way they came as fast as they could.
To Be
“We stand here, all of us, as a question. A question asked with a thousand different voices. We are this question: What does it mean to be a human being? Who are we? Who are the rightful members of this body?”
The Nexus looked out over the crowd thoughtfully.
“We could spend the rest of our days asking this question, seeking to define ourselves—and in the end, we will accomplish nothing of value. We will end up only with another collection of reasons, explanations, rationalizations and justifications—excuses for turning one against another.”
He paused, as if gathering his strength for the leap of faith to follow.
“Let me be dangerous. Let me suggest that the question has no answer—no answer that is worthy of any further expenditure of our valuable time and energy. I say this, I assert that the definition of sapience—of sentient life itself—is irrelevant to the real issue.
“The real issue is not who is worthy, but who is willing to be accountable. Who is willing to take a stand here?
“I say that any of us who step forward and say, ‘I am sapient,’ are demanding not a privilege, nor invoking a right, nor even an authority. I say that any of us who dare to make that statement are simply claiming our fair share of the responsibility.”
The Nexus paused, letting his words sink in across the Forum. Some of his listeners frowned unhappily. Others nodded. Many looked puzzled. What did all of this mean?
“And if that is true—then it follows that this is true as well: that none of us here, nor any of us hereafter, may claim the right or the authority to deny any other sapient being its fair share of the common responsibility.
“Or let me put it another way. I ask each and every one of you. What are you willing to die for? What are you willing to live for? That is
the place where justice lives.”
Or Not To Be
Suddenly—
The sound of clapping came ringing down from the top rank of the amphitheater. A single pair of hands, clapped slowly and methodically. The Nexus turned to see who stood there. The audience swiveled in their seats, craning their necks as well.
Kernel Sleestak d’Vashti stood poised at the rim of the arena, flanked by a regiment of ferocious-looking Dragons. As he stood there, the rest of the Dragon Guards stepped into position around the stadium. They had surrounded the Gathering. Gasps of surprise and horror came from the crowd. Many leapt to their feet. Shouts of anger and fury arose.
d’Vashti ignored them all. He came striding down the steps, his great dark cape flowing out behind him like a wind. He walked down almost to the center of the Forum and took a position opposite the Nexus. They stood at eye level.
“You speak bold words, old man. But your Gathering has no validity.”
The Nexus shook his head. “This is the place where the law is made. Here, we are all its servants and none of us may be above it. You yourself have already acknowledged that.”
d’Vashti laughed, amused. “If you insist, I’ll play your charade: I am sapient. I accept the authority. I have to. No one else has the power to enforce it.”
The Nexus responded in the voice of the Twelve. “Responsibility is not authority. You may claim only your share—and no more than that.”
d’Vashti pointed to the mountain in the sky. “That is my authority. Where is yours? You don’t have thirteen TimeBinders here, do you? Where is Willowar?”
The Nexus didn’t answer that. He frowned.
“Tell me it doesn’t matter. Tell me that you have critical mass,” d’Vashti said. “I say it does matter. I demand that the TimeBinder of Willowar step forward and add his authority to this Gathering. Where is Willowar?”
And abruptly, the Nexus knew what d’Vashti wanted. He said, “If the TimeBinder of Willowar is present, let him step forward and join us. He will be welcome.”
d’Vashti smiled. He reached into his robe and pulled out a shimmering headband. “Thank you,” he said. “I will.” He lifted it to his head and lowered it carefully to his temples. Gasps of horror rippled across the arena.
The Kernel of the Phaestor authority staggered for a moment, but he held himself erect, letting the headband establish itself. Then, abruptly, he became another person. His face relaxed, became peaceful—and at the same time, shaded with emotion. He stared across the intervening space at the Nexus.
“Do you feel me now? Do you feel my strength? My power? Do you feel the authority of the Phaestor in your head? Go ahead, old man—create something for me. Create a new Regency. One even more powerful than before!”
The Nexus staggered as if two great armies fought a war within his head. He collapsed to the floor of the pedestal, struggled for a moment, clutching his head, clutching the constricting headband, as if trying to pull it off, then he uttered a great gasp of horror and shook as if possessed by a fit.
Around him, the TimeBinders also staggered. Nyota began wailing in pain. Three-Dollar sank to his knees. The others collapsed where they stood or clutched painfully at their skulls.
Only d’Vashti remained unaffected. “None of you can match the power available to a single well-trained Phaestor. You gave us dreamtime. We used it to master ourselves—and now I will use it to master all of you!”
Harry Mertz pulled himself laboriously to his feet. The connection to the TimeBinders had been broken. He spoke only for himself now. But he knew it would be enough. Somehow, he managed to get the words out. “Your authority exists only because we gave it to you. Now we revoke it. The stand we take here will outlive us. Already the word goes forth. The Regency is dissolved.”
“On the contrary,” said d’Vashti. “I am the new Nexus. The Regency will continue, stronger than ever—with myself as its ultimate leader. I now order this Gathering dissolved.” He flung his arms wide, as if in victory. Harry Mertz staggered as if struck. He sank to his knees. Several of the TimeBinders fell to the ground, gasping and clutching their heads or their chests.
“You see?” said d’Vashti. “You never had a chance. I’ve had you under my guns since the moment you started. Now—” He started to gesture.
Somehow Harry managed to get the words out, laboring to make himself heard. “You fool. You don’t understand the power of the linkage—”
d’Vashti laughed. He completed the gesture.
Nothing happened.
And then . . . everyone in the arena looked up. A soft puff of light had flashed against the hull of The Black Destructor.
“What was that?” asked d’Vashti.
Escape
“Oh, shit—” said Gito.
“Uh—?” asked Sawyer.
“Somebody had a dirty thought.”
“Huh?” Finn didn’t want to believe it either.
“Didn’t you hear it? Something went fwoop!”
They looked back down the seemingly endless corridor. Something dark grew there. The channels of lights blinked and pulsated alarmingly.
“Goddammit,” said Finn. “I knew we couldn’t trust the little bastard, but I didn’t think he’d go off that quickly!”
The walls of the starship nearest the singularity began to wrinkle. The event-horizon of the pinpoint black hole now stood as a three meter sphere. It flickered like an uneasy ghost. Around it, the panels began pulling off the walls. They flung themselves through the air and tried to wrap themselves around the event horizon—then they just vanished into it. The bigger pieces folded themselves into crumpled balls and pulled themselves into the black hole with a dreadful crackling and crunching sound—flickers of radiation and static electricity began flashing across the surface of the sphere, and every object coming near it. St. Elmo’s fire danced up and down the corridor.
The devastation expanded. The radiation increased, growing brighter every second. A great wind began sucking into the flickering sphere. The ship’s atmosphere poured into the artificially widened singularity, pulling pieces of debris and scraps of material along with it. A stanchion crumpled and broke with a great creak and clang of metal. A section of corridor collapsed.
At the far end of the passage, Shariba-Jen said calmly, “We have less than ten minutes.” He pointed. “The docking ports lie that way.”
The mountain shook then. The great ship shuddered with an impact that knocked Sawyer sideways into Finn and both of them to the floor. Gito grabbed a stanchion. Even holding Juda-Linda, Jen compensated and held his balance. Alarms began going off. Loud clanging noises, raspy saw-toothed buzzers, klaxons, bells, chimes, and crisp metallic voices announcing, “We have a breach of integrity in the lower keel.”
All the air-tight doors on The Black Destructor began slamming shut, one after the other. They knew it wouldn’t help. The pinpoint hole had become a sucking maw with an incredibly intense gravitational pull. It would pull the entire starship into it, inexorably. The monster ate. The vessel crunched and crashed and continued collapsing loudly into it.
Sawyer and Finn came up against a sealed door. Sawyer kicked it and slammed it with his hand, instantly regretting his anger.
Jen said, “Up there—we’ll have to use the manual accesses.” He pointed toward a metal ladder. Finn went up it first, popping the hatch into the main escape corridor. Immediately, he turned around and pulled Sawyer up after him. Jen handed up Juda-Linda, and Gito followed.
Panicked crewmembers came running from all directions, racing toward their emergency stations. Sawyer wanted to warn them that they should abandon ship, but he knew he didn’t dare. They ran past him, ignoring the strangers in the passage. The corridors had begun to shake now, as if the ship had caught itself in a state of perpetual earthquake.
Jen scooped up Juda-Linda and began leading the way again, straight toward the aft docking bays. But as they charged around the last corner, they came colliding up against—Lady
Zillabar and her guardians, just coming in from the opposite way!
For a moment, all of them stared at each other in a horrified tableau.
“You?!” Zillabar said to Sawyer and Finn Markham.
“You?!” They said in reply.
And then—without even thinking, they fired. Gito shot the first Dragon Guard right between the eyes, Jen tossed the still-unconscious Juda-Linda to the rear and used the reaction from that gesture to plunge his arm right into the chest of the closest Dragon. He activated his industrial laser-finger and burnt out the creature’s heart. Finn shot the third Dragon in the balls, then sliced his beam upward to stab out the creature’s eyes. Sawyer hit the fourth one with a stun-grenade, then kicked sideways to disable the Vampire youth who led the party. They had the advantage of surprise and readiness. The Dragons toppled like dominoes.
Finn turned to check behind—and saw Zillabar going for one of the Dragon’s guns. He leapt after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her back. He let her have it with a roundhouse punch.
Coming up quickly to cover him, Sawyer said, “That ain’t no way to treat a lady.”
Finn grimaced. “She ain’t no lady. Come on, let’s go.” Finn bent down and scooped up Zillabar, tossing the woman over his shoulder. He headed for the nearest shuttle. Shariba-Jen had already grabbed Juda-Linda, and Gito had popped the door.
“Huh?” Sawyer stared. “Why—?”
For some reason, Finn felt he had to answer in the Old Tongue. “Because,” he said. “Life is sacred. Everywhere.”
Around them, the great structure of the Armageddon-class warship creaked alarmingly. It sounded like a slow-motion avalanche, a death-rattle, a metallic cry of despair. The scream of the metal frame went on and on and on, as it bent and cracked and poured itself into a three-meter hole. Sparks and explosions echoed somewhere in the distance. They heard screams and panic.
A Covenant of Justice Page 35