Interstellar isolation. And this time there would be no Gueran search mission to come rescue them.
Masada couldn’t think about that now. There were still too many other things to do. And besides, if he ever really connected emotionally with what this evidence would lead to... he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.
So instead he folded his hands before him and moved to the next subject at hand. “That’s only one end of the trail, of course.”
Gaza said between gritted teeth, “Lucifer’s going home to Earth. That implies it came from Earth in the first place. Yes?”
“Maybe.” He was uncomfortable with such speculation, and knew that insightful kaja such as these two could read it clearly in his face. “There’s no proof of that yet. And even if it’s true, there may be others involved. We found this mail drop because of a signal Guildmaster Varsav intercepted in his node. It was supposedly sent from one of the Earth extremist stations, I believe called the New Terran Front.”
“Bastards!” Gaza muttered, but the Prima put a warning hand on his arm.
“Supposedly?” she asked.
“The signal did come from that station. Which hints that the New Terran Front is in league with Earth, part of a larger conspiracy. The only trouble is... Guildmaster Varsav believes the signal didn’t originate with them.”
Gaza was stunned for a moment. It seemed to take him some effort to speak. “I assume you checked the point of origin. The audit codes. Yes? Did it come from the station or didn’t it?”
“It came from the station. But Varsav insists it wasn’t originally transmitted from there. He seems to know these people well enough to judge such a thing.”
“Based on what kind of proof?” Gaza demanded.
The Prima overrode him with a short gesture. “So what are you saying? Someone set that station up? Wanted them to get caught?”
“That is Varsav’s suggestion.”
Gaza asked sharply, “And you? What do you believe?”
“I’m a creature of data, Director. You knew that when you hired me. I need more data now before I can evaluate this. We know where the trail is meant to end, and a probable point of origination for Lucifer, but that isn’t enough. That still leaves someone inside the Guild who is involved in this, remember?”
“You’re still convinced of that?” the Prima pressed.
“There’s no question in my mind. The virus simply couldn’t have been designed without a core of Guild code. Maybe the designer had hoped to disguise it well enough that no one would figure it out... but he failed at that. Punishing Earth without finding that person still leaves the Guild vulnerable. Especially if Lucifer’s designer isn’t on Earth when punishment is meted out.”
“He’d wind up in outspace, trapped here with us. Frustrated, furious, cut off from his homeworld. He’d have a whole planet to avenge, and a whole lifetime to do it in.”
“Precisely. And if there is still someone in the Guild willing to feed him code—for whatever reason—he could design something far worse than Lucifer. Something not programmed to sneak around and spy on us, but simply to destroy.”
“All right.” She nodded. “You’ve done well, Dr. Masada. I thank you. The Guild thanks you. What more do you need from us now?”
He shook his head. “Nothing more than you’ve already given me. I may travel. There are others who’ve been tracing Lucifer, it seems. They may have access to data I don’t. Different types of data.”
“Guild?” Gaza demanded.
Masada met his eyes directly. It was a thing he did rarely, and he knew for that reason it had power. “No. Not Guild.”
The Prima hissed softly. “Dr. Masada . . .”
“I know the security risk.” He met her eyes now. “You know I’ll be careful.”
“Who is it?” Gaza asked.
He shook his head. “No. No names yet. I don’t want you watching them. I don’t want them scared away.”
Despite herself, the Prima smiled. “You make this sound like some kind of wild animal. Bolting for cover at the first sign of danger.”
Masada’s normally impassive face brightened. “Yes. That’s it. Just so.” He nodded graciously to her. “I thank you for the metaphor, Prima Cairo. I’ll remember it when I write my next book. Most appropriate.”
“I hope you find your trail soon,” Gaza said darkly. “Before the one you search for realizes you’re looking for him, and destroys the evidence you need.”
The half-smile faded from Masada’s face as quickly as it had come. “Yes, of course. You’re quite right, Director. It’s a race now, isn’t it?” And he nodded to Gaza, but his expression was grim, and it had a different meaning. “I will try to be ... efficient.”
Even in this world of instant communication and precise data flow, the ancient modes of social intercourse still have power.
SORTEY-6
On Human Power
PARADISE NODE PARADISE STATION
THE CASINO ROYALE was busy tonight.
Wealthy humans of all Variations gathered around gaming tables, dressed in their most elegant finery. Precious jewelry glittered about throats, on arms, on tentacles. Waiters moved effortlessly through the crowds, offering drinks and drugs to the patrons. Red velvet curtains framed windows that looked out into the majesty of space, and two false moons hung perennially in view, replete with their own illumination.
In this setting even a presence like that of Sonondra Ra might go unnoticed for a time. If not for the delicate kaja painted on her face she might even be mistaken for a Terran, for her minimal formalwear showed far more of her body than most Guerans ever revealed. But that was a first impression only. Closer examination would discover the network of jeweled receivers embedded in her copper skin, with lines connecting them so fine that they were sensed rather than seen. And, of course, the eyes. Once her jeweled eyes turned in your direction, there was no mistaking who she was, or what. No one ever forgot those eyes.
She made a quiet entrance through the grand front doors of the casino and nodded to the servants there with regal grace. A few of the nearer gamblers saw her enter, and paused to favor her with a nod or a bow or some Variant-specific gesture that acknowledged her presence. A smile was all she offered in return, but that was enough. Dice rattled in their metal cages. Plastic cards riffled at one table, then another. Holographic homunculi evolved through a series of random mutations, while gamblers bet on the results.
She crossed the main foyer quickly, her diamond-and-black silk formal gown fluttering as she walked. Three quarters of the way across she paused at a shimini table, where gyroscopic gaming pieces danced across the board in seemingly random display. There was a man, of Terran stock, and he was just putting his thumb seal on his recent winnings when a gentle touch on his shoulder informed him that she was there. Just that. She waited until he glanced back to see who it was, then went on her way as if nothing had occurred. Past a Yin who was playing the machines, while guards watched to make sure he stayed away from any game involving human thought. Past a Saurin whose gleaming scales had been studded with precious stones, a most extravagant display. Past a sextet of Belial twins, who for some unfathomable reason were playing poker against each other.
Up the stairs at the end of the foyer she went, and into a lush room situated beyond. A one-way mirror in the shadowed chamber would let her watch the games below if she so desired. She didn’t, and turned it off.
A moment later the Terran followed. In a gesture as old as time itself—or the civilized portions of time, which were the only centuries that really mattered—he took her hand in his and raised it gently to his lips, brushing the receptors on the back of her fingers with a kiss that hinted at intimacy yet to come. She squeezed his hand gently in return and murmured, “You’re winning, I take it?”
“My casino. My option.”
Her smile betrayed pearl white teeth, surfaced with the shimmer of abalone dust. “You are evil, Sergey.”
“And you, Madame Ra, are th
e mistress of evil incarnate.” He stepped back from her with a smile and folded his arms across his chest. “And how may I serve you this evening? Or have you merely brought your beauty here to humble us all, a reminder that Earth no longer possesses all that is precious in the universe?”
“Your tongue is golden, as always.”
“It is my business. As always.”
“I daresay you could talk your way out of a federated prison with skill like that.”
“And in fact I have done so. As you know.” He bowed, a faintly mocking smile adding spice to his refined features. “How fortunate that I found a patroness willing to let such a soiled creature set up business on her station.”
“How fortunate that your business is clean.” Then she smiled. “Mostly.”
He laughed, a clear and clearly practiced sound. “So how may I serve you, Guildmistress of my heart? Besides with my own personal attentions, which are better called worship than service?”
“I think perhaps you overstate your skills,” she mused.
“I think not.” He smiled. “Maybe you undervalue them.”
She laughed softly. “Today I need something sweeter than love, my dear. And harder to find.”
“And that is?”
“Information.”
“Ah. I see. About what?”
“Let us say... Terran matters?”
He shook his head sadly. “My queen, you would blind us with your beauty until we would even betray our race for you. How cruel.”
“Nonsense. I give you choice commercial sites, keep the pol from reminding you of legal appointments you have... forgotten... and shower you with political favors.” She flicked his chin with a long dark finger, capped with a sterling nail. “That’s worth more than beauty, I think.”
“A hard choice,” he mused.
“And besides, you’re not Terran. Not as Earth uses the word. Born in the outworlds and raised in the outworlds, with nary a desire to tread the sacred soil of the motherworld.”
“I do hear the air there is very unclean.”
“And I hear you do commerce with those who breathe it.”
“If I did, I would certainly keep that a secret.”
“Ah, Sergey, but secrets are so ... boring.” She blinked; thick lashes swept downward over the faceted surfaces, leaving them clean to glitter in the room’s dim light. “Don’t you think?”
“Nothing bores me that interests you, my goddess.” He took a step closer. Her receptors translated the colors of his clothing into a caress along her skin, and the warmth of his body into color within her brain. “What is it you want? You know I can deny you nothing.”
She held up a hand, keeping him at arm’s length. For the moment. “Corporations,” she said softly. “They’re here, and they’re invading my security. I’m plucking their annoying little programs out of my cam system right and left, and Customs has a ship full of bits and pieces of things that look like they might become weapons, if properly assembled. And strangely enough, they all seem to come from Earth.” The jeweled eyes fixed on him. “I thought you might know why.”
The change in his expression was almost imperceptible; a scaling down of the warmth of his smile by one degree, or maybe as much as two. He did not step back, but he did stop pressing forward.
“That’s quite an answer,” she assessed. “Elaborate.”
“I don’t know much.”
“I’m not quite sure I believe that yet... but do go on.”
“The company behind it’s called Tridac. It’s an Earth corporation, and one of the more competitive ones.”
“A shark among sharks, as they say.”
He nodded.
“Did you know that sharks kill other sharks even while they’re still in the womb?” Her jeweled eyes glittered. “I always wondered if we shouldn’t use that as a symbol for the Guild, rather than the natsiq. But perhaps it applies to Earth politics even better than it does to us.” She nodded. “Please go on.”
“Rumor has it now they were after something Shido Corporation had. Shido is now dead and gone, and I do mean that in the literal sense; Earth Corporate law isn’t a gentle thing. And that something they had is now free in the outworlds.”
“Indeed? That something would not have happened to wander aboard my station, would it?”
“So Tridac seems to think.”
“Perhaps in the form of a young Terran woman? I ask only because there are a few identity sniffers roaming about looking for such a person. In fact, more than a few.”
“I wouldn’t know, Madame Ra.” His dark eyes sparkled. “Your sources are much better than mine.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that.” She smiled. “But they are ... different. For instance, my sources indicate that the Guild lost track of such a person several weeks back in Reijik Node. That’s an interesting coincidence, isn’t it? One young girl, with all these important people chasing after her. You wouldn’t have any idea what that was about, would you?”
“Alas, I fear you overestimate the quality of my contacts. Would they have access to Guild secrets? I think not.”
“But do tell me what the Terran grapevine is chattering about, won’t you? I do know they don’t say a word that you don’t hear. And record. And use for profit.”
He spread his hands in mock humility. “You flatter me.”
“Nonsense. I am merely...” She tapped a slender finger to the side of one diamondine eye. “... observant.”
“Of course.” He bowed his head, acknowledging the point. “It’s said that Shido was experimenting with something that would give them access to the ainniq. True access. Something that would permit the Terrans to have outpilots of their own, and break Guera’s monopoly.”
She hissed softly between glittering teeth. “Ah, that would be... bad.”
“Depending on where your investments lie, Madame. I hear stock in Tridac is doing quite well, right now. I picked up a few shares on Monday.”
“There are things more important than money, Sergey.”
“No, my queen, there you are wrong. There is nothing more valuable than money... because everything can be bought. The only question is price.”
“And what is your price?” she said softly. “What coinage buys your loyalty?”
He took a step forward then and took her in his arms. His fingers brushed over the hard nubs of receptors as he ran his hands along her bare back, drawing her to him.
The kiss was long and deep and not at all innocent, and when it was done, he held her close to him, his hands resting on her waist through the cut-out sections of her gown.
“My price was met,” he told her. “I’m no longer for sale.”
“How fortunate,” she purred. “For me.” She ran a hand up through his hair, long dark hair, fine and silky; her receptors translated the sensations of it into nameless flavors within her brain. “I want more information, Sergey. You have the contacts. You be my ears. I want to know who she is, and what she is, and who is coming after her, and with what, and why.”
“I can’t answer for the Guild,” he warned.
“Leave the Guild to me. Petty little Guildmasters, seeking to play chess with the fates on my station! I’ll make them sorry they ever turned their eyes in my direction. You just tell me what the Terrans are doing, and leave the rest to me.” She kissed him softly. “Yes?” And then again, more deeply—much more deeply—a kiss warm and wet with hints of pleasure to come. “Yes?”
He answered her. But not in words.
Sometimes silence is a far more binding promise.
Take an almost infinite database. Plug a hundred trillion human brains directly into it, young and old alike, trained and untrained, Terran and Variant. Give them access to everything, let the net interact with them, let it absorb their living motives and their excesses and their human hungers and even their madness.
You think you can predict what the result will be? You think you can control it?
I think not.
DR. KIO MASADA The Pygmalion Factor
PARADISE NODE PARADISE STATION
THE LAST person Phoenix ever expected to get a real vid call from was Nuke. He’d have sworn the guy didn’t even know where his vid software was, much less how to use it. But there it was, a pretty clear holo with reasonable sound, just the kind of image you might send home to mom. If you ever talked to mom.
He said, “Shit, man, you’ll never guess what’s happening.”
Phoenix banished the lines of code he’d been working on, that ran across Nuke’s face like some weird kaja pattern. “I guess it’s a pretty big deal if I get to see your face. And a lovely face it is, too.” He gave it demon horns and little smiley faces for eyes; somewhere behind him he could hear the girl stifle soft laughter.
“Seriously, man.” Nuke squinted for a minute as if looking at something, then shook his head. The alterations disappeared, and in their place for the briefest moment was a fisted hand, middle finger upraised. “No jokes, man, I’m serious. Guess who’s on the fucking station?”
Normally he enjoyed talking to Nuke, but right now he wasn’t in the mood for games. He’d gotten some new leads on the virus which were sending him in all kinds of different directions, and then there was the girl and ... well... there was the girl. Amazing how hard it was to think of programming, sometimes.
“Just tell me, Nuke, okay?”
The figure drew itself up melodramatically, paused just long enough to build the irritation level to a peak, and then said, “Kio Masada.”
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