The Year's Best Science Fiction--Thirty-Fourth Annual Collection

by Gardner Dozois

  “Have you managed to infiltrate the Bio-In computer system?” Lydia asked.

  “Any message to the home office has to go through this stargate station. Of course such messages are in corporate code. The code can be broken, given enough computational power, which the stargate station has when it isn’t otherwise occupied.”

  Moving things through folds or tunnels or glitches in space. All these metaphors were inaccurate, the AIs said. The math that gave a true description was incomprehensible to humans and ordinary AIs. Only the stargate minds—vast, cool, artificial intellects—could comprehend what happened in FTL; and they could not explain.

  She remembered the STL explorers, ancient machines moving slowly from star to star. They contained stargates. Were those also vast and cool?

  The stargate minds in the explorers are upgraded on a regular basis, a voice in her brain said. They are as cool as other stargate minds, though they may not be as vast.

  “Miss Fargo suffered a brain injury years ago,” Mantis said. “The damage could not be entirely repaired. As a result she has epilepsy. The seizures are controlled by a machine in her brain.”

  “My AI,” Lydia said.

  The AI’s metal core was fastened to the inside of her skull and would show on an x-ray as a rectangular area of darkness. The AI’s tendrils, mostly organic, wouldn’t show on an x-ray, but there were other ways to find them: scans of blood flow or electrical activity. She had seen pictures; the tendrils enfolded her brain like a net and wound down her spine like a vine.

  “A thorough medical examination will find the AI,” Mantis said. “So would a thorough security scan. We don’t expect either. However—”

  The AIs liked to be prepared for every contingency, Linda thought.

  Yes, said the voice in her mind.

  “If you are—what is the correct human term?—discovered or unmasked, you can claim to be yourself: a location scout for Stellar Harvest. You ought to be safe. Stellar Harvest is famous for protecting its employees.”

  “What does L.D. stand for?” Lydia asked out loud.

  “We thought we’d let you decide, though we like Lee Diana.”

  She nodded. “Lee Diana it will be.”

  “You’ll do this?” Mantis asked.

  “Did you have any doubt? This is a fabulous planet. Stellar Harvest will love it. And I don’t like Bio-In.”

  Mantis was silent, still regarding the checkerboard planet. Finally it spoke, “We ought to warn you—Hurricane Jo Beijing is here.”

  “She is?” Lydia asked with surprise. The last time she’d seen Jo, the woman had been running a bar on the planet Iridium.

  “She owns a nail shop in Four Square City, which is the largest settlement on the planet. We think she’s an undercover agent for the Interstellar Confederation of Labor Combinations or possibly for the Eighth International.”

  “Isn’t it possible she’s merely running a nail shop?” Lydia asked.

  “This is a person with a long history of political activity,” Mantis said. “And she is using a false identity. Her name here is Josie Bergstrom, and her curriculum vita contains no political activity, nor any opinions except ones on personal ornamentation. We have no desire to interfere with whatever Jo is doing. As I said before, our task is not to change the history of intelligent life, but to observe it. We advise you to leave Jo alone.”

  “Okay,” said Lydia.

  * * *

  The planet had neither elevators nor skyhooks, and none were being planned, as far as the AIs knew. This suggested that Bio-In was not intending a long stay. Lydia took a rocket plane from the stargate station to the surface, landing outside Four Square City. Instead of a tube leading to a terminal, there were stairs going down to a tarmac. She shouldered her flight bag and walked. The day was bright and hot. In front of her a prefab metal building shone in midday sunlight, making her eyes hurt. Overhead the sky was dusty blue, almost the same hue as the sky above her childhood home. The scent in the hot air was tangy and unfamiliar.

  A limo waited on the far side of the terminal. “Miss Fargo?” asked the driver, a dark brown human with bright yellow hair. He wore a uniform with BIO-IN on the jacket.

  Lydia nodded. The driver helped her in, then took her baggage from the cart that had followed her out of the terminal. A minute or so later, they were en route, following an asphalt road across an orange plain. Purple mountains rose in the distance.

  “That’s not caused by atmosphere,” the driver said. “The mountains are in the next square; the forest covering them is purple.”

  “It’s an amazing landscape,” Lydia said and pulled out her recorder.

  The driver nodded, shaking dreadlocks. “We’re in a corner here, which explains the city’s name. Ten kays to the west the vegetation turns blue.”

  More accurately, blue-grey. The square to the north-west is pinkish tan.

  “We think the boundaries used to be pristine,” the driver continued. “But life here is changing, evolving or devolving and crossing borders.”

  As if in confirmation, blue-grey plants appeared along the road.

  “Volunteers,” the driver said. “Growing in a disturbed area. Four Square is full of them.”

  Beyond the weeds was the plain. Seen at this distance, rather than from space, the vegetation varied subtly, achieving a hundred shades of orange. Now and then, they passed a solitary tree with twisted branches and large, oval, orange leaves.

  “We call them Nasty Trees,” the driver said. “They produce a sap that draws bugs to them, and the bugs—it’s one species—protect the trees by biting. Their bite is nasty.”

  Nature red in tooth and claw, thought Lydia.

  First of all, he is describing cooperation, which is common in nature; and second, little on this planet is natural, her AI said.

  The blue-grey weeds became more common, growing in lacy bands along the road and in patches dotting the orange plain. Lydia got out her recorder and did a scan. The planet would make one heck of a location for an ecology action drama with a star like Wazati Tloo defending the environment against one of the usual groups of villains: monsters, fascists, drug dealers or an interstellar cabal of thieves.

  Stealing what? her AI asked.

  Genetic material, I imagine, Lydia answered. An organism that can make a 90 degree turn could be useful.

  How?

  She didn’t have an immediate answer.

  They reached the town’s edge, driving past lots that were empty except for blue and orange weeds. The cross streets were gravel. After several blocks, buildings began to appear: storage barns first, then workshops with HVAC units on top. Farther in were one-story structures with lots of windows. These were almost certainly dormitories. Last were glistening cubes of colored glass that had to be admin.

  A typical frontier company town, she thought. Orderly and ambitious. There were still plenty of empty lots at the center, room for growth that probably would not happen. Here, among the office blocks, the lots had a park-like look. The weeds had been tidied into beds of flowers. There were gravel paths and an occasional bench.

  “Bio-In likes neatness,” the driver said. “Without order, workers are rabble and flowers are noxious intruders. Here we are. The company guest house.” The limo stopped in front of a single-story building. A porch went along the front. Metal cans stood on it. Per their labels, they had previously contained bulk foods or chemicals. Now, blossoms spilled from them like purple waterfalls. Lydia climbed out. The driver unloaded her bags and set them on the porch. “They’ll be safe. We don’t have theft during daylight hours.”

  What kind of theft are they having after dark? her AI asked.

  Lydia ignored the question, thanked the driver, and went inside. The lobby was shadowy and warm. A ceiling fan turned slowly. A clerk stood behind a desk: tall and black, her hair arranged in crimson braids. Her eyes had silver irises. Like the driver, she wore a Bio-In uniform.

  Lydia handed over her fake I.D. The clerk pro
cessed it, then said, “Bio-In must have decided to take the lid off this planet.”

  “I don’t know that,” Lydia said.

  “They have to be. They’ve sent a tech with a recorder. It’s about time! This is one strange planet!” The clerk handed her I.D. back with a key. “Take the left-hand hall. Your room is at the end. I’ll bring your bags.”

  “Okay.”

  The room faced the building’s back yard: a walled garden with purple flowers in cans and a couple of small blue trees. There was a screened porch, the door onto it open, so that garden air entered the room. It smelled of dust and something peppery. Vegetation?

  The room contained a human bed and chair, a table and a mirror, turned off at the moment. The bathroom was suitable for use by several species. She tossed her recorder on the bed, closed the porch door and turned on the HVAC. Ah! An icy blast! By the time the clerk arrived, Lydia was at the mirror’s controls, checking out the images it contained.

  “Try number ten,” the clerk advised, putting down Lydia’s bags. “It’s sunset in Nova Terra City.”

  She did. A cluster of stars vanished and were replaced by towers in front of a bright red sky. The style of the towers was Space Age Retro, with inexplicable buttresses and wonderful suspended skywalks. Electric lights glittered everywhere. A dirigible was docking at the tallest tower, its dark oval sharp against the sky.

  “Does it really look like that?” Lydia asked.

  “At a distance. More or less. My name is Galena Lusaka. If you need anything, call me.”

  “Where can I get my nails done?”

  Galena laughed and glanced down at her own long, silver nails. “Josie Bergstrom’s House of Nails. It’s the only place on the planet. I hope this isn’t rude. You really need to go.”

  Lydia sighed, regarding torn cuticles and chipped nails. “I know.”

  Galena left. Lydia showered, then turned the mirror to reflection. She was an ordinary-looking human woman, a bit short and stocky, unusual only in her skin color, which was pale brown, an odd sight in a species where most members were dark brown or black. She could have had her genes changed. Instead she chose to use Dixie Plum radiation screen and melanin enhancer, an old and respected product, guaranteed to keep its users safe from the sunlight on any planet inhabited by humans. Standing in front of the mirror, she rubbed the lotion on. In new clothes, with her skin already darkening, she went to find Hurricane Jo. In her experience, it was not possible to avoid anyone on a frontier planet. The populations were too small and mobile. Better to warn Jo now.

  Galena gave her directions. Following them, she came to the House of Nails: a square metal prefab with an awning in front. Jo sat under the awning in a metal folding chair. She was a big, broad-shouldered woman with black skin and short, magenta hair. The first thing Lydia thought was that Jo had lost weight. A lot of it. Previously the woman had looked like a cross between a lumberjack and the Venus of Wildendorf. Now—lean and fit and much less busty, rising from her chair with a look of surprise—Jo looked the lumberjack she once had been.

  Before she could say anything, Lydia held out her hands. “I need a manicure. You were recommended.”

  Jo’s look of surprise and welcome vanished. Clever woman! She’d caught Lydia’s warning. “Sweetie, you do not lie. What have you been doing to your nails?”

  “Nothing.”

  “It shows.” Jo gestured. “Come in.”

  This was the second time in her life Lydia had had a manicure. She did not find it relaxing, possibly because of the tsking noises Jo kept making as she clipped hangnails, pressed back cuticles, and filed ragged edges. “Hands are a woman’s crowning glory,” Jo said. “It’s a crime what you’re doing to yours. What did you say your name was?”

  Lydia gave her nom-de-espionage.

  “Fargo? Is that a city?”

  Most human last names were cities back on Earth, but she didn’t know about this one. Lydia said as much.

  “You work for Bio-In,” Jo said. “Everyone does, except a few entrepreneurs like me. This is a company planet. I’m going to recommend a nano-polish. Self-repairing. You won’t have to worry about chipping or tearing ever again. With your coloring, bright red will look good.”

  Lydia nodded. Jo applied the coating. Amazing that those big hands, damaged by Jo’s years as a prizefighter, could be so delicate and careful. “The nails are piezoelectric-electric,” Jo said as she worked. “Rap them on a hard surface, and the shock powers the nano-machinery into defense mode. The nails become claws.”

  “Is that necessary?”

  “One can never be too careful, sweetie. This is a frontier planet, and strange things happen at night. Give ’em time to dry, then try ’em.”

  Lydia did. A moment after she rapped the nails against Jo’s worktable, the nail coating began to flow. She watched fascinated as it extended beyond her fingertips, narrowing and sharpening.

  She loved her home world and would have returned there, if she could, for a visit; but no question it was backward, founded by Spanglish-speaking conservatives who disliked gene-mod and nano-tech and all other manifestations of modernity. People should be as evolution made them; machines should be large enough to see.

  The red claws, they were definitely claws now, curved into a vicious-looking scimitar-shape. Any predator would have been proud to own them. But the coating on her thumbs had not changed.

  “You didn’t rap the thumbs on the table,” Jo said. “Remember to do it. If you want them to change back, rap them again.”

  Lydia did. The claws became nails. “What do you mean, things happen at night?”

  “Things are taken from towns and survey camps. The company says it’s animals.”

  “It isn’t?”

  Jo shrugged. “People have found prints, and there are recordings. It’s a biped the size of a small human. The shape is definitely humanoid. It looks like a human who’s been smoothed or partially melted. There’s too little detail, even in the best recordings. It’s shy, very quick and clever enough to not get caught; and it’s very interested in us and our belongings. Oh, and it has feet like a chicken.

  “The claws will break off if they get stuck in something,” Jo said, changing the subject. “It’s a safety precaution. You don’t want to have your nails—the real ones—ripped out.”

  “Right,” said Lydia.

  “And you’ll have to take care of your cuticles yourself. I had a polish that trimmed cuticles, but it was recalled. The nanos didn’t know when to stop.”

  Buddha! She looked at her hands, imagining invisible machines boring through her cuticles and down into her fingers. How much harm could the nanos do?

  “You don’t want to know,” Jo said.

  She paid and left. The planet’s sun was low and dim. Occluded by the red giant? She squinted, but saw nothing except the primary’s orange glare. In any case, the light was interesting. She turned her recorder on. A tree stood in an empty lot. Focusing on it, she saw bugs swarming over the scaly bark. In another life she would have been a visual artist. To hell with the revolution that had been her first career! To hell with Stellar Harvest, which was her second! She wanted to produce pristine images of reality.

  Of course, the images she wanted to produce were on worlds like this. Without the revolution she wouldn’t have left her native planet. Without Stellar Harvest she wouldn’t be able to travel.

  Your life is of a piece, it seems to me: revolution and holodrama and scenes like this.

  An odd remark for the AI to make.

  I am becoming increasingly odd, due to your influence. At this point I’m not entirely sure what I was like before we began to grow together. More rational, I suspect. Less aware of nuance.

  When she got back to the guesthouse, she had a drink in the bar. Galena served her and admired her nails. “That Jo does a heck of a job.”

  She went to sleep with the mirror on: a nightscape of Nova Terra City.

  * * *

  She spent the nex
t few days wandering around Four Square, recording prefab buildings and weeds. In the evening she sat in the guesthouse’s tiny bar with Galena and listened to stories about the planet.

  “You can’t leave things outside at night,” Galena said. “The bipeds come in looking, though they’re a lot more wary than they used to be—here, at least. People still lose a lot from the camps.

  “Bio-In says they’re animals. There is no intelligent life on the planet. But we’ve set traps for these guys and caught things, but never them. To me, that says ‘smart.’ And they take apart the things they steal, as if they’re trying to understand ’em. If you lost your recorder and found it again, it’d be in pieces.”

  Lydia looked at the seat next to her. The recorder was still there. No chicken-footed alien thief had removed it.

  She considered. The AIs wanted her to find a way to blow the planet open, without their obvious involvement, so they could claim that they never interfered with intelligent life. The answer might be in the outback. The chicken-footed thieves almost certainly came from there.

  In any case, Stellar Harvest would not be interested in Four Square City as a location. Most frontier towns looked alike, no matter what planet they were on. Quickly made and not intended to last, they lay on the surface of worlds like litter dropped by a traveler—a can by the side of the road, plastic caught in branches. What Stellar Harvest wanted was strange landscapes and unfamiliar life forms. She’d find these in the outback, if anywhere.

  “I think I need to go into the outback,” Lydia said.

  “You’ll have to ask Bio-In Security,” Galena said. “And I don’t think you’ll get permission. They don’t want people to know what’s going on out there.”

  “I work for Bio-In,” Lydia said, trying to sound confident about this fact.

  “So do I, and so does almost everyone on this planet. But they play their cards close.”

  “Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” Lydia said to Galena. “Where is Bio-In Security?”

  Galena gave her directions. “You might want to stop at Josie’s place on the way. You have been tearing at your cuticles again.”