Spheres of Influence-eARC

by Ryk E. Spoor

  “Marc,” Ariane said, and her voice was very gentle, but somehow still had notes of steel beneath, “I’m very sorry for your losses, and I hope something can be salvaged. But I need to know—is that all?”

  DuQuesne took a breath, blew it out. “No. One more wet blanket for your party, and I’ll be done, though. After everything, Mentor had a message for you.”

  They waited.

  “The message is: ‘Boskone exists.’”

  Ariane’s next words were ones that made Simon wince, as she very rarely used language like that. Then she said, “I presume that ‘Boskone’ was behind the attack?”

  “He gives it a five-sigma probability, yeah.”

  “Excuse me, Arrie,” Gabrielle said, “but could you explain that?”

  “Simply? Mentor was designed after the…well, head of the good guys in the Lensman series. More complicated than that, but anyway, the big adversary for several books was just called ‘Boskone,’ after they heard one of the bad guys calling himself ‘Helmuth, Speaker for Boskone.” So when Mentor says ‘Boskone exists,’ he means he’s found rogue AIs organizing and up to no good—maybe against the whole human race. And if they were behind what happened to Marc’s friends, he’s right; no one gains from wiping out the Hyperions except, just maybe, AIs who plan on taking control and know that the Hyperions managed to break out of their own cages more than once.”

  Bloody hell. And shimatta. “Have you been able to determine anything else about this adversary?”

  “Not much yet. I figure they’ll know more by the time we get back—which will be soon, unless I miss my guess?”

  Ariane nodded grimly. “Not much time to lose. I can’t keep both Michelle and Oscar locked up forever, and things up here need to be organized—yes, Marc, we’re going back tomorrow, I think. Unless you have something else to do here.”

  “No, no. We need to get back and straighten things out.” He looked around. “Sorry to kill the party. Really, you’ve got things to celebrate. Maybe me and Oasis—and Wu—aren’t up for a party, but there’s no reason to let it die.”

  “I hope you can at least be quiet wallflowers or something, Marc,” Simon said. “Our guests will want to see you.”

  “Who are we waiting for?” DuQuesne glanced around. “Tom? Is he on his way?”

  “I tried to get him to come, believe me,” Steve said regretfully. “But there’s so much going on at the Sphere and Tom’s been doing so much of the coordination—you know he used to do that for a living—”

  “Yeah, I know. He was running Empty-5 almost by himself when I recruited him. Okay, so then who?”

  Ariane smiled for the first time in several minutes. “Really, Marc, only two people could be invited for this without blowing the secret—”

  The door chimed. “Orphan and Sethrik of the Liberated request admittance.”

  “—and there they are!” She raised her voice slightly. “Come in, Orphan, Sethrik!”

  The two tall, green and black figures strode through the doorway and then slowed, looking around at the heavily-decorated entrance hall.

  Hm. Their wingcases have tightened. That indicates considerable discomfort…

  “Captain Austin,” Orphan said, an uncertain tone in his voice, “I had not heard…but perhaps I assume overmuch. What are those?” He pointed to the streamers.

  “We call those streamers. They’re decorations we use for various types of celebrations.”

  “So, they are a positive sign, then?” Both Orphan and Sethrik visibly relaxed.

  “I presume,” Simon said, “you have something similar in your culture that has less positive connotations?”

  “Correct, Doctor,” Sethrik said, a note of relief clear in his reply. “We call them shroudlines; they reflect the appearance of dying plants, especially certain trees, on our homeworld, and so are used at funerals, executions, and trials for the gravest crimes—such as both of us would be subject to, were we captured by the Blessed.”

  “I’m so sorry!” Steve said, contritely. “It never occurred to me, and it should have, especially since I knew we hadn’t used streamers at our last party. Of course symbolism will be different between species.”

  “Worry no more about it,” Orphan said with a much more relaxed wave of one hand. “We are both…well experienced in the ways of the Arena, and if the setting seems a bit…macabre, well, it is made up for by the companionship. What, then, are we celebrating?”

  “I bet you can guess part of it,” Ariane said, offering them both drinks of the punch (which, Simon knew, both Laila and Gabrielle had carefully gone over to make sure it was both safe and likely to be tasty to their guests as well as to the humans present).

  “As sufficient time has passed, I presume you have heard favorably from the Minds themselves,” Orphan said, bob-bowing and accepting the drink, as did Sethrik. “What was their counteroffer?”

  “No counteroffer, that’s the beauty of it. They simply said ‘yes’—in rather more flowery language.”

  Sethrik nearly dropped his punch, then gave a buzz of incredulity. “I can…scarcely imagine this. The Minds yielded everything?”

  “Admitted they had completely screwed up and that our demands were perfectly reasonable, especially as we had already gone out of our way to preserve—and even enhance—their reputation instead of destroying it. Yes.”

  “That is cause for celebration indeed!” Orphan raised his glass to them; Sethrik mimicked the gesture.

  “Oh, it gets better,” Ariane said, and smiled warmly at Marc. “After the message was delivered and the bargain concluded, the Arena signaled that we had just won a Class Two Challenge.”

  The two Liberated exchanged startled glances. “A most auspicious event indeed, Captain Austin. Your Faction has now won, if I count aright, four Challenges—two of them Class Two, which are quite rare, comparatively speaking—in considerably less than one year! For even a moderately large Faction that would be noteworthy; for a faction so small, I believe it may be unprecedented.”

  “I certainly have never heard of such a thing,” Sethrik said. “But having fought alongside you—and raced against you—I am less surprised than I might have been.”

  “Not done quite yet, either,” Ariane said. She raised her voice. “Arena!”

  “I hear,” answered the quiet, earthshaking voice.

  “I, Ariane Austin, Leader of the Faction of Humanity, direct that one of the three Spheres won by Humanity from the Blessed To Serve be given directly to the Liberated.”

  “Acknowledged. One of the three Spheres shall be given to the Liberated. The transfer is recorded. It is done.”

  Simon saw Orphan and Sethrik’s wingcases literally sag open with shocked astonishment. Finally Orphan found his voice. “I…Captain…why?”

  “Orphan,” Ariane said, and there was unmistakable affection in her voice, “we can’t argue that you haven’t been a…sometimes frustrating ally, and you’ve often been clear that your ultimate goals were focused on your own faction—a faction consisting at the time solely of yourself.

  “But when it’s come right down to it—when it was you being forced to make a decision—you’ve come through. Twice, when we really needed you. First daring to confront Amas-Garao,” and Simon saw an amazed glance from Sethrik. Oh, that’s right. No one but us really knew what happened there.

  But Ariane was continuing. “But then second, choosing to come after me. You did this knowing you were pursuing your most dangerous adversaries into their own territory, chasing a ship which would be able to use its full firepower against you while you dared not use your full power against it. You chose to do this because you thought of us as friends, as allies worth possibly dying for. You did this even though your death would end the Liberated. You risked the entirety of your Faction for me, for the sake of my friendship and that of DuQuesne and Simon.

  “And so you’ve damn well earned that Sphere, no matter what other…plans or motives or anything else may be behind yo
u now, or in the future.” She dropped to the floor, and so did Simon and the others, even Marc and Oasis after a momentary pause. They all did the full pushup-bow. “Humanity pays its debts, Orphan, and we owed you something very big.” She got up and grinned. “I can’t quite figure out how to gift-wrap it, though.”

  Orphan was staring at them, and for a moment he quivered. Then he sank to his knees, braced in a triangluar pose by his tail, and emitted noises that were translated more as sobs than anything else. Sethrik looked unsteady as well, but stood near his Leader, waiting for him to recover.

  Simon was momentarily amazed by the reaction, but then light dawned. I think I see. Orphan hasn’t had anyone show him such…generosity. Perhaps ever.

  “My…my friends. My true friends. I…” Orphan paused. “I cannot describe my feelings,” he said, finally, “though perhaps my reaction gives some idea.

  “Yes, I did choose to rescue you; but that had already brought me a new brother, who once had been a great enemy. I had never expected…this.”

  “If you had, I probably wouldn’t have given it to you,” Ariane said bluntly, but with a smile that took some of the edge off. “You didn’t expect or ask for anything. You did this for yourself as much as for us—for your own self-respect, for the things you valued, and that told me a lot about you.” She grinned. “Besides, it’s not all that valuable right now. It’s not like you’re filling up a solar system—or much more than a metaphorical teacup, even—with your current membership.”

  Orphan stood and his buzzing, rippling laugh echoed out. “Oh, most certainly, Captain Austin. Yet I still think I have gained far more than you—and I, at least, do not have to face the difficulties I suspect lie ahead of you in your own system.” He raised his glass. “So—in your own tradition—to Captain Austin!”

  “To Captain Austin!” Simon repeated cheerfully.

  Chapter 50.

  “My God!”

  The words were wrenched from Ariane as she stepped through the final door to the Inner Sphere region nearest the place Steve had dubbed the Foyer.

  The multiple rooms and tunnels were filled with people; the murmur of conversation of hundreds echoed through the halls. Where the huge rooms had been were now buildings, pathways, workshops, play areas—an incredible mishmash of everything that interested humanity, placed almost at random throughout the Inner Sphere—not just here, she could tell, but extending much farther through the Sphere and obviously to the Foyer area as well.

  “That’s right, you haven’t been back here in a while,” Steve said. “More than a thousand people in permanent residence now, and with the work crews and SFG study groups and others I think it’s close to two thousand total, so we just expanded into this area too.” He grinned. “And that is with the CSF and SSC filtering it and our schedule controlling access to the Sphere.”

  Ariane was, for a moment, utterly speechless. It’s one thing to hear about it, another to walk into it. Wu was also goggling a bit wide-eyed at the scene. The others seemed impressed, but not quite so surprised. After a moment, she realized why. The last time I was here was right after we made the first trip with Zounin-Ginjou, a couple of months or so ago. Everyone else except Wu and me—even our prisoners—have been through here since then.

  Before she could finish pulling herself together, a deep voice shouted out, “Ariane! Steve! Welcome back!”

  Tom Cussler emerged from a nearby archway, waving, his dark skin standing out from the bright green outfit he’d chosen to wear that day. “I knew you were coming soon—why didn’t you let me know?”

  “Because I hadn’t been paying attention, really, to how busy you must be getting. Sorry, Tom.”

  “Don’t apologize. I heard about your little problems.” He levelled a quick glare at Oscar and Michelle, who were being escorted by an extremely vigilant Oasis.

  Still doesn’t excuse my inattention to begin with. Well, Ariane, you finally realized what you need to be doing; don’t waste time beating yourself up over it, just get to doing it. “So Steve tells me you’ve ended up running things?”

  “No, no. Just…trying to keep things going smoothly. I help organize, really—it’s what I learned to do on a much larger scale with AISage help. While I do miss Maxine’s input,” he continued, referring to his own old AISage, “back then I was also coordinating a space station for over half a million people by myself. I can manage to help keep things going for a few thousand pretty easily.”

  Three people came jogging up at that point. “Tom—” one began.

  “Yes, David, I know it’s going to be difficult, but there really isn’t another practical path for that shipment. You’ll just have to close up everything and let them through.”

  The man named David—and his two companions—looked pained. “Look, Tom, this is the fourth time this week! I can’t keep closing up every time—”

  Cussler’s voice shifted from his usual friendly, professional tone to something just a hair sharper—and with about ten times the authority. “Dave, I understand it’s frustrating. But I did warn you about how heavily used that set of passageways was and how tight those alcoves were. You decided that the high traffic was an advantage. And from what I hear, you were right, overall; people going to and from the Upper Sphere are always grabbing snacks at your booths. This is the price you pay for being on that route. Now please don’t complain about this again. Either deal with it, or move. I know at least two other people who would love your spaces.”

  David grimaced, then nodded; his two friends looked momentarily uncertain, but followed David as he left.

  “You handled that well,” Ariane said. “What was that about?”

  “Well? Eh. Acceptably, I suppose. David’s currently running a snack stop between the Inner Sphere and Upper Sphere, just before the Elevator. Right now it’s for interest vector and bragging rights, but he’s made some noises about maybe trying a real, honest-to-God business, a market stall somewhere in the Grand Arcade. He makes real good stuff, but he’s still relying on the AIWish type gadgets, so I don’t know how well he’ll do just on regular…ingredients, so to speak.”

  Ariane nodded. “We could certainly use some people doing that kind of business. Right now our only presence in the Arena is through our Embassy. On the other hand, I’m sure that trying to establish and run a business in the Arcade is as much a shark tank as the politics of the Arena itself. What’s the big traffic here?”

  A powered cart rumbled past, dragging something large enough to make them all squeeze agains the walls. “Basically two main sources of large shipments: the power station, which we’re expanding constantly, and the defense installations.”

  “So we are getting some firepower up there? Good,” said DuQuesne emphatically.

  “Quite a bit now, plus of course the ships that Orphan lent us.”

  One more thing I should have been making myself keep up on. “What is the status of our defenses?”

  Tom turned and started down the corridor. “Come with me, I’ll show you.”

  Ariane noticed how people waved, and made room, for Tom. She smiled suddenly. That actually solves one problem I was wondering about.

  They entered the Foyer; Ariane managed not to stop dead upon seeing the entire place almost filled with various buildings, and the formerly twisting artificial arroyos carved out into straighter roads. Ha. I’ve started to get used to the challenges of the Arena, where you can’t go using nanotech or other tricks to get things done faster or more efficiently. But if they’re shipping in loads of charged batteries and the nanotech still works in here, of course they can get things done a lot faster.

  Tom led them to the central building, which retained something of the look of the original little house that he and Steve had lived in during the time they were mostly alone on the Sphere…but was about ten times bigger. “Come on in,” Tom said, leading them into a semicircular living room more than large enough for all of them. He glanced at Oasis and the two prisoners. “You can lo
ck them in the spare bedroom, down that hallway, second door on the left.” He tapped the side of his head and grinned. “I’ll know if they’re up to anything; put a security feed in there just for this.”

  Oasis grinned back. Oscar Naraj’s lips tightened, but neither he nor Michelle Ni Deng said anything; they walked quietly in front of Oasis down the side hall; a moment later they heard the click of a lock, and Oasis reappeared, looking slightly more relaxed.

  “Now that that’s settled,” Tom said, “Steve, you want to grab people some drinks while I set up?”

  “Sure, Tom. You want your usual?”

  “Sure. What’ll the rest of you have?”

  Ariane restrained her instinct to hurry. This is exactly the sort of thing I need to know about before I go back for the showdown, and a few hours, or even another day, won’t make a difference. “Since we’ve got a full-template AIWish back there—how about a pomegranate martini?”

  “Persephone’s Curse coming up,” Steve acknowledged. “What about the rest of you?”

  While Steve got everyone else’s preferences, Tom Cussler gestured to empty air; lights began to flicker. “Let me fire up the displays.”

  He remembered that I prefer to get information from my regular senses. I’ve gotten some better at taking straight downloads through my interface—it’s got a lot of convenience—but I really prefer doing it this way. “Thanks for indulging me, Tom. I know it’s a pain.”

  The broad shoulders shrugged. “Oh, not really. We’ve actually got a fair minority of people like you here, since we have been selecting for people who aren’t AISage dependent. Besides, it’s good training to keep these kind of skills; if any of us are leaving the Sphere for the rest of the Arena, we’d better know how to deal with it.”

  A large screen covering the entire gently-curving wall across from where Ariane and the others were sitting lit up, became a three-dimensional display in which a model of Humanity’s Sphere (one of three, now!) rotated slowly.