by Spoor,Ryk E
Alztanza still did not look entirely happy, but he rocked his claws to indicate some level of assent. “Better, yes, Leader. But…”
“Place it all before me at once, ‘Tanza! Don’t draw it all out!”
“As you say, Daj, but then remember you asked and don’t strike at me without thinking.”
What in the name of the Homeworld?
Alztanza raised himself a bit higher. “In all honesty, Daj …I don’t know if this entire thing is a good idea.”
“You…” He felt his eye flicker. “You mean teaching the human undercreatures a lesson?”
“I mean exactly that, Daj. Remember, you promised!” That last was said with a sharp warning buzz, as Dajzail found his fighting claws rising of their own accord. He forced them down with difficulty as Alztanza continued. “Daj …Leader, we already have conflicts with several Factions. None of the Great Factions at the moment, although relations with two of the others are very strained and there are skirmishes, but several others. Speaking as a Fleet Master, I truly do not relish the thought of opening a new war-front without having eliminated at least one of the ones I already have. Especially doing so while drawing down our forces significantly. A single Force, or even two, that’s nothing to worry about, but a Fleet is many orders of magnitude more likely to cause problems.”
Dajzail waited; it was clear that Alztanza was not finished.
“And …we get into these wars so easily, Daj. Let us look clearly in the water and see what it reflects, not what we would prefer to see there. These First Emergents came out, found us on their world, and managed—through methods we do not know—to defeat our scouting force. They have won multiple other Challenges and lost none, to our knowledge. I studied what is known of these ‘humans’ carefully—if I am to lead a force against them I must know them. And…”
He paused, then sighed loudly, a whistling sound, and continued. “And we do not know enough, Daj. We do not know how they defeated a scout force with two and only two of their number. We do not understand how their Leader was able to gain the power to defeat Amas-Garao. Her defeat of the Blessed Leader Sethrik seemed due to utter insanity. And their most recent victory is even more inexplicable, implying that some of their number have learned how to evade some of the Arena’s most well-known restrictions. Truthfully? I would rather have a less conflicting interaction with them, perhaps to learn some of these truths.”
Less conflicting …? Dajzail heard the whistle-shriek of a breath drawn suddenly, knew it was his own. “Alztanza …you of all my people, you cannot be …a Beast-Talker?”
“What? No! Daj, I’m cautious, not insane!”
He felt a tiny bit of relief. “Well, they claim to be sane, you know.”
The Nest of Accommodation, more familiarly and insultingly called the ‘Beast Talkers,’ were a small faction of Molothos who claimed that the undercreatures weren’t really under-creatures, but actually PEOPLE, hard though that was to believe, and that the Molothos should learn how to “go past” their usual behaviors and start treating these beings as equals. Of course, what they wanted everyone to “go past” was the obvious and inarguable truth that the Molothos were the only truly civilized species in existence and start consorting with undercreatures little better than mindless beasts.
The Beast-Talkers were a splinter movement from the Rational Reward movement, which was fairly radical but had shown some good results from creating a system of more generous rewards and privileges for undercreature slaves, and they had been a splinter from the Maintainable Nests, who were perfectly respectable and had created the current system that provided more sustainable undercreature service resources rather than the traditional methods which even Dajzail felt had been ridiculously wasteful. Because of this line of descent, there were a small—but unfortunately increasing—number of people who thought this implied there might be something to the Beast-Talkers’ ravings. This was the classic fallacy of the Extreme, similar to someone noting that you needed two milligrams of silicon carbide every day to keep your exoskeleton strong and from that claiming that you could be invincible if you just ate forty grams of it.
“That said …I am close to converting to the Rational Rewarders. Their results are impressive. But no, my point, Daj, was that we’re going up against a species that’s got too many unknowns in it and I’d rather try to trick, steal, or buy some of those secrets first before throwing my people into a mouth-grinder.”
“The longer we wait,” Dajzail said after a moment, “the more the humans will expand and fortify their position, Alztanza.”
He could see that his friend had no immediate answer to that, and went forward. “I’m not being overconfident here, ‘Tanza. Even the Master of Forces thought we could probably do it with a Seventh-Force, but I told him not to be stupid, and I’ve made it two full Forces. These are First Emergents, Alztanza. They’ve had a turning and a half in the Arena, and some of that was just getting home. They’ve got a few allies, and are trying to gather more. Right now they only have whatever they’ve been able to build on their own, which will be far from optimal for highspace Arena operations, and perhaps a few loanships from the Survivor.
“But if we wait and maneuver and try to bait them into revealing secrets, they will only be getting stronger. And we cannot allow these undercreatures to get away with their prior insults; you must agree with me on that?”
Alztanza stood immobile for a moment, then dipped all legs and his claws. “As you say, Leader. They cannot be permitted to do this with impunity.”
“And …? ”
The Fleet Master gave a buzzing sigh, then laughed. “And you’re right, Daj. A full Force is probably ridiculous overkill, but if we wait a few more turnings we could find that they’ve made alliance with one of the Great Factions that’s willing to fight for them, or they get new Spheres, or something else. Sorry for bothering you with my misgivings.”
Tremendous relief washed over Dajzail. I absolutely feared getting in an argument with him—and if I had, I’d have had to remove him from command, something we might never have been able to forgive each other for. “Do not apologize, Alz; your points made sense. I just think this is the best course, and you seem to have agreed in the end. So it’s just been a good chance for me to face the reflection myself.”
He linked claws with his friend for an instant, and the two of them began to move up the corridor again. “Then let me get settled into Claws of Vengeance while you give the Seventh-Masters their final instructions prior to departure.
“Tomorrow we begin our mission of purification!”
Chapter 26
“Doctor Alexander Fairchild,” repeated Simon, studying Oasis closely.
The Hyperion-born woman was still not entirely herself; the strain showed in the stiffness of her arm as she reached out for the water pitcher and poured herself a glass. She drank, looked aimlessly around the conference room that Simon had chosen when they had returned—in haste—to the Embassy. “Yes,” she said finally.
The name finally clicked. “Masaka. That was the name of the Hyperion AI that nearly—”
“—did kill me, Oasis, forcing K to take me in. Yes.”
No wonder she’s so shaken. Fairchild literally ripped her mind apart trying to take her body. “But …K, you seem just as upset as Oasis, so to speak. That is, it seems that all of you is terribly shocked—by what has to be a coincidence or misperception.”
Oasis’ smile was weak and without humor. “You are right, Simon. I am upset, and if DuQuesne were here, he’d be freaking out, too.”
“Why? Oasis,” he put a hand gently on hers; she immediately gripped his painfully hard. “Ow. Oasis, why?”
“Because Doctor Alexander Fairchild was DuQuesne and Seaton’s worst enemy in their universe, Simon.”
Other people might not have quite grasped the import of that statement, but Simon had been around enough Hyperions to understand. If Fairchild had been a long-running enemy to DuQuesne, it meant he was at least
DuQuesne’s equal. “I see. Yes, that would be terrifying. But, Oasis, you know it’s impossible. Fairchild was an AI. Formidable as he might have been, there is absolutely no way he could enter the Arena.”
When she did not immediately answer, he went on. “We know this. AIs do not work here, ever—unless the thing we call the Arena is an AI, and in that case it suffers no rivals. The Minds of the Blessed have spent tens of thousands of years, perhaps more, trying to evade that law of the Arena’s, and failed completely. According to both Orphan and Sethrik, the Minds have tried placing versions of their intellects into bodies prepared for them, bodies otherwise perfectly identical to any other Blessed. The bodies collapse upon entrance. The Arena is not fooled.
“So you see, what you saw was a trick of perspective, a chance coincidence of form and color. It had to be, because there is absolutely no way that—even if this Fairchild is the renegade Hyperion AI we encountered in our own space—he could possibly be here in the Arena.”
She squeezed his hand again, then looked up, but her eyes were still haunted. “I wish I could be so sure, Simon. But it’s possible that that rule doesn’t apply to Hyperion AIs.”
“What? Why not?” He remembered something. “Does this have to do with whatever you discussed in secret with DuQuesne?”
She nodded, twirling one of her four ponytails absently. “Yes.” Oasis bit her lip, thinking. “Simon, I think I have to tell you. Because honestly, you could probably find it out anyway, if you wanted, and you haven’t. Right? I mean, that power of yours could do that, don’t you think?”
“Yes. Probably.”
“Then …why not try? I’m going to tell you anyway, so it’s not like you’d be stealing the information.” Her voice was more animated, and he could tell she was genuinely curious, and the question at least was drawing her back out of the completely atypical state of tension and fear she’d been in.
Nonetheless, the question made him tense, as any serious consideration of using that ability always did. Still …he could think of no sensible reason to refuse the test. He drew in a breath, preparing himself. “Very well.”
Preternatural clarity rose up within him more swiftly, more readily than before, infusing him with an absolute perception of his surroundings; he could hear Oasis’ breathing, sense her heartbeat, observe the tiniest motion of each hair on her head, watch motes of dust in their random courses across the room, and hold it all within his head as easily as a three-letter password. Great Kami, I forget. Every time, I forget what it’s like to have this power …yet I always remember enough.
He focused now, focused on a single question: what was the secret DuQuesne told Oasis here, before they left?
The answer came to him in a flash.
He opened his eyes, then closed them as he banished that godlike perception once more. His hands shook and he took a moment to calm himself.
This time it was Oasis’ hand on his, and his squeezing hers tightly. “What’s wrong, Simon?”
“You don’t understand, do you?” he asked quietly. “Yet …of all people, you should.” He drew another breath, let it out slowly. “Even the fringes of that …power, perception, access to the Arena …goes beyond anything a human mind should be able to process, yet I do, it seems like mere child’s play. I can rise up, see …oh, anything, it feels like, expand my perceptions and knowledge so far that, honestly, I have never even tried to push its limits. A part of me fears there are no limits, even if that sounds utterly ridiculous.”
He could see a dawning understanding in her eyes. “And it feels so right, so perfect, especially for a scientist, someone whose goal has always been to understand the world. I want this power, Oasis. And I am terrified of it.”
Oasis’ eyes were wide and he could see she did understand. “Oh, God, Simon, I didn’t realize …of course you would be. One moment you’re not all that …and then you are ‘all that.’ You can see anything, know anything …and that’s your heart’s desire. And maybe your worst fear, because if you ever did know everything, what would be left to know?”
“And if I did know, not everything, but even a measurable fraction of the Cosmic All, as Ariane’s Mentor calls it, what would I be thinking then of the people who could not even understand a billionth of it?” he murmured. “Would I still even be human? Would I care about humanity?”
She suddenly reached out and hugged him. “Simon, your asking those questions is one of the best arguments that you would. You have to trust yourself …and maybe us, too …to keep you anchored to who you really are, no matter what …head-rush the Arena-sense gives you.”
She let go, but the warmth and affection, the comfort, of that embrace lingered, and he felt the fear and apprehension fading. “Thank you, Oasis. Yes, I’m afraid of all that …but you and Ariane and DuQuesne all seem to think I can handle it. So perhaps I should trust you and use this power more often.”
“Well, don’t go too far. I don’t want to have to deck you if you go all glowy-eyed ‘A GOD AM I’ on me. And I’ll do it, you know.”
He chuckled. “I am sure you would. And I give you full permission to do so, if that ever happens.”
Her smile answered his, then faded back to a more serious expression. “So? Did you get it?”
“Ah, yes. I did, I believe.” He studied her, replaying the revelation and what it might mean, and found that even without the cosmic vision it was an awesome thing to contemplate. “That the Hyperions—by virtue of having been raised from birth in settings that were completely real to them, by people whose sole purpose was in making those lives as real as possible, those people as real as possible—may potentially have the same powers and abilities here in the Arena as they did in their Hyperion worlds.
“The Arena gives to those entering it the abilities that were natural to them, even to the extent of tailoring environments in all ways. To the Hyperions, the worlds they were raised in were natural—they had not an inkling that they were not, and their creators had no other thought in their minds but to fulfill that perception. In other words, they are not limited by the restrictions of the Arena on other species, and may even be aided by the Arena in achieving abilities that would normally be …well, utterly impossible, but are natural to them.”
“That’s it. We already know one big piece of evidence: Wu Kung gets to talk to, and influence, animals in the Arena. No one else—that we know of, anyway—can do that. And his winning of the Challenge proves that he’s not subject to the normal physical limits, anyway.”
Her brows came down. “And that is why I’m not so sure about Doctor Fairchild. Sure, a normal AI couldn’t find a body and move into the Arena …but a Hyperion AI who, like his physical counterpart, had been designed and raised to be a particular person, who believed they were that person, who lived the life of that person …I’m not so sure that they couldn’t pull that off. That the Arena wouldn’t see them as legal entries, so to speak. Maybe it would, but maybe not.”
The thought gave Simon something of a chill. “I wish I could disagree, but you’re right. It fits with what we know of the Arena’s rules. As an AI—in a computational chassis—I am sure he would not be allowed. But if he could transfer himself into a human body, then …yes, it might be something the Arena would permit.”
He stood up. “Oasis, this is of course your secret. But I think it has now become imperative we share it with Laila and Carl, if no one else. Because if it is possible that a Hyperion AI—or, as Mentor said, possibly as many as three—has even the slightest chance of entering the Arena with their full fictional capabilities, we are not going to be the only people in danger.
“It could be every Faction in the Arena.”
Chapter 27
“Your words tantalize me, my friends,” Orphan said as DuQuesne was still trying to wrap his mind around this latest revelation. “It is clear—it has, in truth, always been clear—that there is some great mystery surrounding Doctor DuQuesne, and his compatriots Wu Kung and Oasis and, I believe, Maria
-Susanna. I have to believe it also has to do with Wu Kung’s extraordinary performance in the recent Challenge.
“It seems that these connections now encompass our Captain as well, yes?”
“In a way, yes,” DuQuesne admitted. “But we’re not going into detail here.”
Wu Kung was looking puzzled, unlike Ariane who was still shellshocked. “I’m right, aren’t I?” she said, and transmitted an image to him.
The man in the faded denim was undeniably familiar, and the details that DuQuesne could notice—a particular faint scar on one cheek, the pattern of wrinkles around the eyes—confirmed it. “It checks out, Ariane. That’s Bryson, all right.” He grinned suddenly. “And you know what, it makes a whole lot of other things make sense. How many people these days even heard of Doc Smith’s work? He’s not even a fringe thing, he’s ancient history, older than Shakespeare was in his time, and never even vaguely that popular. I never met another person in my life outside of Hyperion who recognized my name; hell, he wasn’t much remembered only a century after publication, and now it’s three hundred fifty-plus years later than that. Your parents let you get half-raised by that old throwback and that’s how you came to be this way.”
“But …but you said he was alive!” The dark-blue brows had come together and he could see anger welling up within her. “He died in a fire. They even found a body, so—”
“Maria-Susanna,” DuQuesne said quietly. “Saul and I helped him run to start with, but he had to live his life, or lives, real careful. I’ll bet he stuck around a lot longer than was safe, watching you grow up. But finally he knew he’d pushed his luck too much and had to die. A clone body’s not hard to get made if you know the tricks to it.” He reached out, touched her arm. “Don’t be mad at him, Ariane. He did it for his safety and yours. He probably didn’t think Maria-Susanna would hurt a kid, but he couldn’t be sure. She’s not easy to predict.”