The Lost (The Maauro Chronicles Book 3)

by Edward McKeown

  My first impression of Shasti Rainhell was of a much younger woman, her face was unlined, her body powerful and athletic, though silver shone in bands in her hair. The eyes, jade green, were not those of a young woman, and had seen much.

  “You’re Wrik Trigardt,” she said, her voice musical and higher than I expected. I gazed up at her, fully nine inches taller than me, which made me feel even more like a child. She stepped out of the elevator with none of the slowness or infirmity of age. I felt a stab of jealously at the inhuman perfection of her; it retreated quickly as I remembered that her life had not always been a happy one.

  Despite myself, I threw a salute at her. “At your service, Captain Rainhell.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that she knew who I was. She’d have been briefed on everything Candace knew or suspected before coming here.

  She gave a slight smile. “It has been a while since I was called that. For now young man, Shasti, will do. My visit today is unofficial.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” I couldn’t bring myself to use her first name. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll take you to meet the rest of Lost Planet.”

  She nodded. For all the noise she made as we walked over the stone flooring I could have been alone. How did she move so quietly?

  I opened the door to find all three of my companions standing respectfully. Rainhell swept past me to stand opposite, Maauro. The two looked steadily at each other.

  Rainhell gave a short laugh. “Our designers had similar tastes. Apparently they liked pale skin, black hair and green eyes, albeit our shades are different. Mine liked height though.”

  Maauro cocked her head, as if unsure what to make of the comment. “Alas, neither my coloration nor appearance are factory original. My form is something I chose shortly after I was found. I was originally forty percent larger as well.”

  “More proof of your superiority then,” Rainhell, said. “I certainly couldn’t be reduced by forty percent of my mass and still function.”

  She gazed at the others. “Jaelle Tekala. I always enjoy meeting Nekoans; one of my best friends was Teleera D’abo, the first of your people I met.”

  “Yes, Madame Rainhell,” Jaelle said, “I know. D’abo is a name greatly honored among my people.” For the first time in my experience with her, Jaelle looked overwhelmed.

  When Rainhell’s eyes swept over Dusko, they were chilled. “You are the Dua-Denlenn, Dusko.” There was no mistaking the menace in her voice. “I have had many experiences with your people and few of them have survived those.”

  Dusko turned to Maauro. “She does indeed resemble you.” Turning back to Rainhell he replied. “I know of no feud or quarrel that lies between us. Nor would I be fool enough to risk any such. As for the rest, Maauro guarantees my good behavior on similar terms to what I imagine you would employ.”

  Rainhell’s eyes returned to Maauro. “Even after all I have seen in a long life, it’s remarkable to converse with a being from when my species— and I do consider myself a human—lived in caves. Still more amazing to me is that you, too, are artificial in nature. Your creation makes my own look like a child’s experiment.”

  “Shall we sit?” I said.

  We did, though Jaelle immediately got up to bring more drinks and some cookies and chocolates into the room.

  “Ah,” Rainhell said. “Can it be that you knew it was me coming?” She reached out and took a number of chocolates.

  “Happy accident,” I said. “Maauro is fond of them too.”

  Surprise registered for a moment on her face. “How remarkable, it never occurred to me that you might eat.”

  “I enjoy the ritual of meals with my network,” Maauro said. “I can convert anything to energy, but food is so slow and limited. When I dine on nuclear materials or other forms of high energy, I do so alone.” She took a cookie and nibbled on it delicately with teeth that I knew could turn into serrated cutting edges capable of shearing bone.

  “Is Captain Fenaday with you?” I asked, unable to restrain myself.

  She smiled warmly at the mention of her old friend and lover’s name. “No, Robert seldom leaves New Eire anymore. While his health remains excellent for one hundred and five, he is a standard human and age has bit harder on him than on me. One consolation of being cobbled together from good genes, I was built to last.” Her eyes had been drifting through the room studying the pictures, paintings, souvenirs and trade items scattered about. They froze when she looked at the shelf where the model I’d made of her ship sat. She rose and walked over to it. I followed.

  “The Sidhe,” she said, in a soft voice, “my ship.”

  “Wrik made it,” Maauro said.

  Shasti turned to me. Did I imagine a slight brightness to her eyes? “You have captured every detail; it is like seeing her from a distance.”

  I could not control blushing like a twelve year old. “Must seem rather silly,” I managed. “Not like I don’t have my own ship but…”

  “I’m honored,” she stated simply.

  I felt like someone had pinned a medal on me.

  “Maauro helped.” I added, unsure of what to say.

  She shrugged. “I made a very small nuclear reactor for it.”

  “Oh,” Shasti said, “a small nuclear reactor. Is that all?”

  “Wrik rather jealously guarded the rest of the work for himself.”

  “Most spacers have some hobby to while away the days in transit. I paint,” Shasti said to me. She put a hand to the blood-red hull then sighed. “If I still had her and more freedom, I might not be here looking for your help, but be off on a voyage myself.”

  “Do you want to tell us what brings you to Lost Planet?” I added.

  We walked side by side back to the table. “Your advertisement fits my mission well.” Shasti began as she slid back into her seat.

  “Lost Planet Expeditions,” Jaelle quoted, “we find the lost.”

  “Yes,” Shasti said and there was no mistaking the grimness in her now. “I need you to find those who are lost. Lost beyond my tracking, beyond even the formidable assets I have begged, borrowed or outright stolen.

  “First you must know some background. Genetic engineering was banned on Olympia after Robert and I brought down Pard’s government. But many cling to the old Mandelian Selective method of combining the best genes in natural parents, and that is still allowed.

  “My daughter, Melisande, married Kasten, who also came from Engineered Stock. They have a son, Maximillian. He’s one of the few third-generation, fully engineered humans and is descended from Vaughn, the highest legitimate Engineered created, and me, the X factor of the Black Labs.

  “Maximillian is my youngest grandchild. If he still lives, he’s seventeen years old. Unlike most of the family, Maximillian showed no interest in politics and power. He quarreled with his father over college and career choices. Maximillian favors academics. He wanted none of the life that his father, his grandfather, or I had. I supported him in this, to his father’s disgust. In many ways I have had more to do with raising him than his parents. I think I am closer to him than any being other than his Uncle Robert.

  “There is no way to completely evaluate his capabilities. Maximillian is large and physically capable, like most of us from Engineered stock. His mind is sharp. So at a young age, he was allowed by his parents to go off-planet to Earth to study with Professor Bexlaw. Bexlaw is one of the leading xenoarcheologists and an expert on the Lost Colony.”

  “The Lost Colony?” Jaelle and Dusko both said.

  “Late in the 21st century,” Shasti said, “a small group of human rebels escaped the tyranny that followed the Resource Wars on Earth. Legend has it that they refurbished an experimental ship with an alien hyperdrive found on Titan just before civilization collapsed. They escaped the Sol System and no one knows where they went, but there have been, over the centuries, sightings of the ship, the
New Hope and rumors of a human colony.”

  “I’ve heard something about this,” I said, hesitantly, “but I thought it was a tale for children.”

  Shasti nodded. “There have been other tales of lost colonies as well, but the New Hope was the first expedition to leave Sol System and the tale has never faded. There is also historical evidence establishing that they did lift off. But with an alien hyperdrive and no knowledge of which of the many hyperspace entrances near Sol they used, finding them would be wild luck, until recently.”

  All of us leaned forward, even Maauro. “Ten years ago, a lifeboat from the New Hope, was found in a system far out on the edge of Confed space. There were two bodies aboard, both mummified.”

  “There is no public record of such an event,” Maauro stated.

  “Correct. One of the bodies was a human; one was a new, alien species. The Interstellar Ministry classified the discovery and the lifeboat, bodies, all tapes and data disappeared out of Confed Navy hands. The rationale was that our meetings with new alien species have been a mix of blessings and disasters. No one knew which way this would break for the Confederacy. The ISM was still dealing with having encountered the Solari and the Drisnians. They didn’t want a possible panic over another species.”

  “A lifeboat could only travel in the same system and even then two or three AUs at best,” I said. “Then the colony would be—”

  “Nowhere near that system,” Shasti interrupted. “Confed Navy searched it. We do not know how the lifeboat got there. There was evidence of an attack on it, with burns on the hull; its electronic systems virally destroyed. It’s believed the two aboard died almost immediately on launching, as there was untouched food, water and air aboard. The only message was scrawled on actual paper, crude handmade paper with a pencil. It said, “Help, Seddon,” in an old Terran language from before Standard. The last word may be incomplete and meant nothing to any linguistic analysis.

  “Somehow Professor Bexlaw learned of the lifeboat; I assume someone sold him the information. Xenoarcheologists have traded on questionable markets before and Bexlaw was the leading authority on the Lost Colony and a bit of a madman. I’d have had him killed if I realized what was to follow. He gained financing for a small ship, the Isadora, and crew, padding that out with his graduate students.”

  “Which included Maximillian?” I said

  She nodded. “That expedition lifted off two years ago in a small ship before I learned of it. Even his parents were left in the dark. Bexlaw knew that if his information and destination were known, he’d be stopped, possibly imprisoned. So he filed false flight plans and did not convey back any of what he found. That ship is now missing, presumed lost as it has exceeded its life-support capacity. My grandson is either dead on that ship, or lost on some world that it touched.

  “Despite all I could do with my own resources, and I have called in every favor ever owed me, I can find no trace of Maximillian. Confed Intelligence has been very obliging. Not always willingly, but between Robert and me, we know of too many skeletons that they would rather remain buried.

  “I was stalemated until I heard of something remarkable, deadly, incredibly intelligent and unprecedented,” she turned to face Maauro. “You. All else has failed, but you are a quantum computer with the versatility of a living being. Maybe you will find clues where the rest of us have not.

  “While it is not sensible to believe that Maximillian can be found, it was not sensible to believe that Robert Fenaday would find his wife’s lost ship and rescue her after all those years. I have seen the living example of what one person can do who will not be stopped. I will not have it said that I did less for my grandson than Robert did for his wife.

  “That is my mission. Will you accept it?”

  Chapter 3

  We spoke with Captain Rainhell for another hour, reviewing the information that she had with her. She was disappointed not to receive an immediate response, but understanding when I said that I wanted to review the matter privately with my colleagues before giving her a decision. For myself the decision is easy and immediate. Two years ago I broke free of my programming as M-7, as a machine made for a merciless war. After that I decided I would use my powers to save life and to aid those in distress. Conflict seems my destiny and I could not deny that I seem to reach my ultimate potential by it. Perhaps it is also true that my appreciation for beauty and gentleness was heightened by my proximity to battle, a paradox of existence I cannot fully understand.

  However, I knew that Wrik and Jaelle would need time. The disruption in our network caused by their differing needs and wants is deepening. It is beyond my power to aid in this. Indeed I fear I am its root cause.

  Dusko and I work on stores and other matters related to current refit and upgrade going on the Stardust. If we are to voyage, the former Guild blockade runner will sport new and more effective armaments and electronics. Some of these have been obtained through Dusko’s contacts and I suspect Candace might be unhappy to learn of them. So the work of arranging for payments and installation is tedious and careful and consumes most of the rest of the day. Wrik and Jaelle are busy with their own business and perhaps each other. I am careful to avoid surveilling either, though I do detect Wrik leaving the office earlier than usual.

  Dusko and I say goodnight. He has not commented further on the mission, knowing that his going or staying will be determined by Wrik and Jaelle’s vote.

  I am leaving the office when I detect Jaelle waiting outside. I open the door and nod to her.

  “Hello, Maauro.”

  “I am surprised you have not gone home. Wrik left an hour ago.”

  “I wanted to talk with you. Walk with me, Kit-sister.”

  I fall in behind her and we take the staircase to the roof. This surprises me. With the sun down, it is cool already, and Jaelle, who dislikes the cold, wears only a light jacket. But she does not hesitate and we walk onto the railed rooftop and its steady breeze. Jaelle turns up her collar and we move to a spot protected from the wind. Star City and the port glitter with lights. Before the Confederacy moved the capitol to this world, it was known as Harun II. Hardly anyone remembers that name now. The world had no native sapient life, just a decent biosphere that, with minimal terraforming, made it an ideal capitol for the expanding Confederacy of twenty-three member species, wary of being governed from Earth.

  Overhead, two small moons roll through the sky. The galactic core shines brightly and ships add their lights as they climb through the darkening sky.

  I wait patiently for Jaelle to begin. I know this conversation is apt to be unpleasant and use those weapons I am least comfortable with: words and emotions.

  “I am not going on the expedition,” Jaelle says.

  “I feared that might be the case,” I reply. “Your lack of enthusiasm was apparent, even to me.”

  “Enthusiasm,” she replies flatly, “for voyages off the charts, into dangers we can’t imagine, searching for people who are likely dead? No. I have built a business and its succeeding. I want a life, Maauro. I told you about my dreams that night on Cimer. They don’t include constant risk of death and disaster. There’s more. Fertility in my species is limited to our early life. I’m well into my fertile time and nearly thirty years old. I don’t know how long this mission could last and I am not putting kits on hold for an unknown period.”

  “I understand,” I reply. “Have you told Wrik yet?”

  “No, Kit-sister. I want to settle some things between us. That’s why we are here.”

  “It seems clear to me that Wrik will remain here with you,” I say. “He has already wondered how he could be away from you while you are pregnant, not to mention that time he would miss with what he refers to as his future stepchildren.”

  Jaelle makes a gesture I recognize as equivalent to a sigh. “Ah, Maauro, therein lies part of the problem. Those are human feelings about it. Nekoan mal
es have little to do with the raising of kits, our marriages are contractual affairs usually of short duration compared to what humans attempt. I will likely bring some females from my mother’s line to help me with the kits. Kits are raised in the matrilineal family until adulthood when they formally become part of the patrilineal family, as I did with my rat-catcher of a father. It’s very different from humans.

  “While I want Wrik to enjoy and play with them, it would be bizarre in my culture for him to be around me that much during pregnancy. The only thing more useless than a Nekoan male around childbirth would be a human male.”

  “You have not explained this to him?”

  “We have touched on the issue. Sometimes it’s my culture that causes the confusion, sometimes his and sometimes both. In this case it rather sneaked up on me. My fault, not to take seriously his desire to be involved more in the process.”

  “Why have you chosen to tell me first?” I say. “This is against what I understand of biological relations.”

  “Because you are wrong. Wrik is going with you.”

  “I do not agree.”

  “That’s because you don’t know what you are talking about!” she snaps.

  There is a long silence.

  “Maauro,” she says more calmly, managing a smile that even to my eyes is forced. “Wrik will go with you for several reasons. The most important of which is that if he does not go, he will pine and fret every second you are away. He will blame himself for anything that happens to you. He will miss you every damn day and I will have little joy of having him stay with me.

  “You’re right. Given a choice, he would stay with me. But the truth is he wants to go and he wants to go to be with you. I am not going to give him that choice because I don’t want what I will win out of it.”

  “I do not begin to understand,” I reply. I feel heat rising in me as every resource I have kicks into overdrive to deal with this network aberration.