by Larry Niven
These ratcats are crazy, he thought. They've gotta be the weirdest damn things in the galaxy. Bruno was quite sure of that.
***
OUTSIDERS ONE
Surprise-concern. Sense the waning along the emergent force-vectors in zone {^/~}. Alerts have been raised within all Four Aspects of the Nexus.
Distraction. This recent phenomenon has been noted by this local-node. Compensation is initiated. Imminent action-tree analysis is under consideration.
Concern. The other-node had presumptive control of such incursions! There is major instability of precious plasma density along this most vital zone. Field-line integrity is threatened! What is the nature of this abomination?
Confidence. Transmitting update data-packet from this local-node to the other-node.
Consideration. Received. Analysis initiated. Amplification and clarification requested from the other-node.
Explanation. The hotworld craft shall soon converge. Their ritual violence will once more be worked upon this precious sector of obliging expanse. Observe and contemplate. Interaction with the Focus is minimized.
Confusion. There seems no point to hotlife's endless offshoot energies. A wise evolution, Pattern-Shaper, would contain or damp such wasteful vigor to more distributed ends.
Confidence. The other-node mistakes evolution in these hotworld motes as possessing purpose. This is a commonly held illogic concerning myriad hotlife forms. Review prior net-entries {**%##}. Recall that hotlife shaping is but reaction to stochastic and chaotic forces.
Agreement. Creation squanders its rich and various wonders on such insignificant motes. To what end? The true point of Creation lies within the One Mind of the Radiant Masters who know the Way.
Zealotry. Only the Divine Radiants — and such as this local-and-other nodes, {-+-+-}, that serve them — have deep cosmic purpose from this reality and the Other. All else Is insignificant, mere passing minor disorder within the Great Pattern.
Distress. These hotworld craft, with their spewing forth of debris and disordering of stately and stable force-patterns, cannot but be irritants to the Great Design of the Divine Radiants. Recall that a Great Construct was once under consideration for this region-space; clearly, this geometry remains sacred to the still-silent Masters. This local-node argues in all high seriousness for the extermination of the hotlife motes — all of them.
Surprise. Does the other-node fall so easily into heretical traps? Consult the High Texts for complete arguments and debate frozen into lattice. The other-node recommendation must be considered by the High Ones, those that speak for the long-silent Radiants. This local-and-other nodes are but Watchers, long patient sentinels and vigilant agents.
Truculence. Yet node-agents can act where prior accepted precedent exists. The Net contains ample examples of necessity under similar circumstance.
Authority. Abide, impatient node-and-agent. Observe and serve, as is the highest Purpose of such mere matter. This local-and-other nodes were constructed to be agents in the world of condensed matter.
Outrage. But the hotworld motes are vermin! They interfere and meddle with concerns older than their very Pattern.
Agreement. Truth. Their ends shall come, as all such motes have over long eons. This local-and-other nodes remain, and carry out Purpose.
Disagreement-impatience. This local-and-other nodes recently acted atomizing the fleets of hotworld vermin fleeing galactic Center in nearby vector-zone {^/~} Those vermin were little different than found in one of the motes under observation. Even as mere sentinels, this local-and-other nodes dealt swiftly with the threat to the Great Design of the Masters.
Anger-regret. Recall that such unilateral and intemperate action led to the abomination of Treaty with the heretical cousins, the {^^^///}! This local-and-other nodes lost much authority and autonomy.
Fury-agreement. Foul heretics! The feral ones have spurned the wisdom of the High Ones, and the Divine Radiants. Instead, their myriad node-links consort with hotlife vermin such as these irritating motes!
Reflection-worry. Truth. This local-node would feel more assured if contact could be restored directly with the Divine Radiants. Their insights would —
Impatience. The other-node always invokes the Divine Ones. Always! This local-node misses their soothing certitude as much as the other-node. The Nexus need not pine away for Their answers to inconsequential questions.
Sorrow. Yet direct contact would ensure right action.
Sarcasm. The Oracles have been silent for more than a galactic revolution. Does the other-node not trust the High Ones? Are the High Texts not illumination enough of the One Mind of the Divine Radiants? Is the other-node allied with the heretical {^^^///}?
Contrition-Outrage. Not so! The High Ones' interpretation of the High Texts is Absolute Law within the Great Nexus, for node-links of the {-+-+-}. The feral {^^^///} disregard the High One's authority on behalf of the Divine Radiants.
Mollification. This local-node is relieved to find that the other-node respects the Law and High Texts, indeed. But what of the long and lonely silence from the Divine Radiants? This local-node suspects the Divine Radiants tired of listening to the Great Nexus and its annoying queries into their vast and awesome contemplation of the Great Pattern and the Other Reality. The Divine Radiants constructed node-links to be used, with independent action, even as They left Their Great Constructs throughout space Mark that!
Irritation. The other-node is harsh. Independent action is, after all, what separated {^^^///} concerns from the Great Nexus. Mark that in turn. Long duty in this empty geometry-region as sentinels has brought a bitter edge.
Humor-agreement. Defending the integrity of an eventual Great Construct in this region of space is far from stirring to this local-node's coding and derived destiny.
Caution. This, then, is the source of the other-node's impatience for possibly intemperate action? Mere boredom?
Neutrality. The other-node's logic touches truth with many tendrils, if harshly expressed. This local-and-other nodes will watch, and act if needed. Surely this is acceptable to the other-node.
Great caution-agreement. This local-node and other-node have reached One mind on this subject. Yet initial observation remains primary. First and foremost, this local-and-other nodes are sentinels, obedient to ancient and much wiser coding.
Impatience. Sentinels are capable of far more than merely watching, should the hotworld vermin continue on their course.
Caution-agreement. Possibly, if such extreme action is merited by relevant events.
Neutrality-firmness. This local-node suspects that action will be necessary, based on the actions of these hotworld motes and their irritating emergent phenomena. Already, this site of an eventual Great Construct of our Masters is threatened by disturbances in the plasma flux and field lines! Mark this!
Concern-and-grudging agreement. This local-node is in agreement with other-node. These local-and-other nodes are of One mind.
·CHAPTER THREE
Bruno Takagama spent a great deal of his time aboard the Sun-Tzu waiting and worrying. He had become quite good at both tasks.
A low tone sounded on the navigation deck as the main computer finished its last analysis run, and began to display results. Bruno looked up from his musings. It was time to determine if the Sun-Tzu was alone in the void between the stars.
Bruno stretched in his crash couch and worked the kinks from his shoulders. He scratched the link interface in his neck absently, breathing air slightly bitter with the tang of recyclers and machinery and human effluvia. Within his nose, the sharpness of ozone battled with more pungent, organic aromas. They had been living for five years inside the Sun-Tzu, after all, and no recycler was perfect.
He grimaced at the thought. Bruno knew all too well that a lot of things weren't perfect about the Sun-Tzu. Their entire mission, in fact. And even without the kzin, he and Carol were not truly alone in interstellar space.
Many things drifted in the supposedly empty
vacuum of interstellar space. Ionized gas, chips of ice, microscopic bits of gravel; any one of these items could damage the Sun-Tzu, striking the vessel at 0.7c relative. A tiny fragment of ice could deliver a hammerblow of kinetic energy. One half multiplied by the mass of the object multiplied by the square of the velocity made small pebbles into powerful bombs. The forward lasers and a magnetic field swept most of the material from the path of the Sun-Tzu, but by no means all.
High background levels of radiation exposure monitored constantly by the in-ship and autodoc sensors were only one sign that the shield was not perfect. Remote exterior cameras had already shown craters and scars on the icy forward surface of the Sun-Tzu, as it was slowly battered and eroded away by the interstellar medium itself.
Yet physics predicted that more exotic entities than gas and ice also floated in the spaces between the stars. Perhaps the signals the long-range array were receiving originated from something much stranger than mere alien spacecraft.
But Bruno had to be sure. He let his mind wander as he watched the computer digest and analyze the odd signals, the results being posted into midair within one of the many open holoscreen windows. Even un-Linked, he could usually recognize hidden data patterns on a subconscious level. Bruno had a bad feeling about the mystery signals, which tugged at his thoughts persistently.
He remembered Colonel Early's acerbic comment during one of the debriefing and brainstorming sessions back in Geneva. "Son," he had drawled at Bruno, "the thing about aliens is, they re alien." He smiled without humor at the recalled conversation, now several years old.
Bruno of all people knew something about nonhuman thought patterns.
The fears throughout the Belt and in Geneva had put the Sun-Tzu here, balanced on a enormous sword of superheated plasma and hard gamma radiation. Clearly, the waves of kzin attack spacecraft originated from the decades-silent Wunderland colony. The Sun-Tzu was to take the war back to Alpha Centauri. In spades.
The holoscreen blinked twice to get Bruno's attention Eye and dataglove worked together efficiently as he went over the readouts, teasing more detail from the display with deft finger movements. The last modeling subroutine had finished, and the final predictions and summary statements were little different from the first. The confidence interval was not terribly high, but still very kzinlike in broad outline.
It could be a false alarm like the other two Bruno had discovered in the past. Then again, this one might be genuine. Bruno pursed his lips, and knew that he couldn't take any chances.
He swore a long-forgotten obscenity Early had taught him during the war-game simulations back in Luna, slapped a keypad, and put the Sun-Tzu on full alert.
A blaring alarm echoed throughout the navigation deck. Automated subsystems came on-line smoothly. Weapons ports unlimbered, and armored antennae on the outside of the ship shifted into new positions. More power was diverted from the antimatter reaction chamber to the accumulators, containment fields, and precious Dolittle, snugged in its berth deep within the Sun-Tzu. Contingency subprograms throughout the ship quivered at the point of execution, in cybernetic readiness.
Carol's voice rapped over the commlink, "On my way!”
"Great. Looks weird up here.”
"What's up, Tacky? Did those — “
"Talk later. Got business, here and now.”
He checked and rechecked the myriad tech details of the alert. Un-Linked, it was a tedious and frustrating chore.
If the kzin became even slightly better at their warrior arts, Bruno knew, the human race was finished. And perhaps Early's Most Secret group would have to initiate Project Cherubim in solar space, or — in the worst scenario — even on Earth herself. Images from his recurrent Dream flitted in his minds eye. He shivered at the thought, and dictated some notes into the ship's log while he waited for the captain of the Sun-Tzu to arrive.
Within a few minutes, Carol Faulk wormed her way through the access hatch onto the navigation deck. She panted, having sprinted the length of the ship from where she was checking the coldsleep chambers of their thirty shipmates, where they hibernated in cryogenic sleep.
Bruno waited for her to catch her breath. He looked at her, appreciating the way that Carol's formfitting purple shipsuit clung to her tall and Belter-lanky frame. Long muscles bunched and moved agreeably under the fabric. Even amid a crisis, she could snag his attention on a noncerebral level. He wondered if the kzin were as sexual as humans. That hardly seemed possible.
Carol puffed air, her breath steaming in the chilly compartment, and glanced up at the holoscreen readouts. She ran a hand over her Belter crest, a stiff strip of short black hair across her skull from front to back, wiping the clean sweat onto her already stained pant leg. The hairstyle, rare outside Sol's asteroid belt, suited her exotic dark features. She leaned close to Bruno for a moment, her lips brushing his high cheekbones lightly. She scratched herself delicately; upkeep of the Sun-Tzu required a great deal of manual labor, and she and Bruno were not yet due for their weekly showers.
No automation was perfect, after all. There was no substitute for a brush and elbow grease, even in the high-tech twenty-fourth century. And, Bruno reflected, Captain Faulk was not at all shy about demanding the use of such ancient technologies. Tradition, she called it. Character building. Bruno believed that there were other, more appropriate, words.
Belters were pathologically neat.
"Sorry that it took me so long to get here, Tacky," she said in her husky contralto, between her slowing deep breaths. "Just not used to your groundhog gravs.”
She had spent most of her life traveling from asteroid to asteroid in the Belt; short boosts from a fusion drive followed by long ballistic periods of zero gee.
He kept his tone even. "I've got some bogeys.”
"Again. First, got some water?" she asked with studied nonchalance. "Then you can give me the bad news, which I sincerely hope is yet another false alarm." Her face became too obviously neutral, the Captain persona wiping away her smartass facade.
It did not surprise Bruno that Carol remained calm. In the Belt, very few things happened quickly, due to celestial mechanics and the realities of changes in delta-v. It was a difficult habit to break. But the Kzin War would destroy that attitude forever, Bruno reflected grimly. And Carol had fought the ratcats herself, ship to ship. She had learned the hard way to keep herself in control.
He tossed a waterbulb at Carol, who reached too high, her reflexes more accustomed to microgravity environments than were Bruno's Flatlander muscles. She recovered the bulb neatly as it bounced off the hull wall, twisted the cap, and drained the water in one thirsty swallow. They had selected lemon-lime flavoring for the water this week, to cover the inevitable earthy traces of the recyclers. Carol winced visibly — the lime was rather biting, Bruno thought, maybe a software malf — and flipped the empty bulb into the recycler slot.
She leaned over Bruno to see the holoscreen windows more clearly, rubbing his neck and shoulders with both hands, the way he liked it. Her hands were magical, strong and intuitively knowledgeable with the years they had spent together driving the Sun-Tzu toward Wunderland.
Carol's hands moved progressively around his neck. They studiously avoided the hard plastic of his Linker plug assembly.
"What do you have?" she asked after a moment, attacking the knots of tension in his neck. The tone of command edged its way back into her voice.
Bruno would normally have enjoyed Carol's massage, sweat and all. Familiarity on long space voyages did not breed contempt in his particular case. But desire drained from him this time. The fresh graphic on the holoscreen window, and what it implied, kept his glands turned down. Fight-or-flight hormones coursed frantically through his bloodstream, but there was nowhere to run.
And few weapons with which to fight.
Bruno took a deep breath. "During the last watch, Skipper," he said, "the long-range array picked up a set of graviton wiggles above the background hash. I keep the subsystems looking f
or things in or near our flightpath in real time." He leaned back into Carol's strong hands. "You can imagine what a bit of gravel would do to us at point seven lights relative. Let alone a microsingularity. At our velocity, we don't have much reaction time.”
Carol stopped massaging his neck, and tapped him lightly on the shoulder with her left hand. "Get to the point," she murmured patiently. She had been with Bruno long enough to know how to balance her dual roles as captain and lover-friend.
He made a face. "The signals come and go over time, but I kept recording and finally nailed down some decent data.”
Bruno murmured to the computer and flexed his fingers deftly within the dataglove. The main holoscreen window split into three sections: raw data on the lower left side, the idealized graphic on the lower right, and the Doppler-shifted stars dead ahead of the Sun-Tzu looming above the two of them in midair. "Asymmetrically polarized gravity waves, possible multiple sources. No mistake about that. What precisely is making the waves, of course, is another matter.”
Carol held absolutely still in thought, another odd Belter trait that Bruno had noticed long ago. In zero gee, a drifting arm or elbow could unintentionally activate an important keypad — like the fusion drive, or an airlock. Carol, like all long-term Belters, only moved when she intended to move. Bruno still found Carol's statuelike posture disturbing, even after all their time together.
She whistled tunelessly through her teeth for a moment. "Good chance its those damned kzin reactionless drives?”
"I'd say so.”
Carol rubbed her Belter crest against Bruno's face. "Not another false alarm again?”
"I don't think so," he replied, his tone flat.
"Ratcats. Just like that dinosaur, Early, predicted, right?" She arched a jet black eyebrow at him, making a face.