“I have heard about it,”Crater replied uncertainly. “But it's true I don't understand the phenomenon.”
“Don't suppose you could,” Austine continued, slouching down into the chair a little more. “It's weird. Some say there's a chemical compound in their pheromones that makes them irresistible, only it also repels other people. Bizarre, eh?”
Crater had intimate knowledge of the biochemistry of Dracons. “I'm pretty sure there is no chemical basis for why Dracons attract some people and repel others,” he murmured. “Some things defy explanation.”
Her mouth fell open at his statement. Then she laughed. “Are you kidding me? You're a computer, you're supposed to figure everything out, find explanations for everything! You're all about science, right? And physics? How can you say there's no explanation?”
But I can, Crater thought to himself. Because there is much about me that I believe defies explanation. But how to explain that to her? “Why do you say I'm all about science and physics?” he asked, genuinely curious.
Austine widened her eyes at him, her mouth falling open again. Then she narrowed her eyes. “Who's making you say things like that? Jaime, are you messing with me?” She cepted around for the Starguard.
“No one is making me say things,” Crater responded, hoping he sounded calm and reasonable. “And you're aware that Starguard Cenntl remained on Althaea.”
“Whatever! Are you saying that you have any appreciation whatsoever for, say, the arts?”
Kviatha told me there would be those who refused to accept me, Crater mused, framing a response carefully before speaking. But Austine Tauscher is not someone I can dismiss. “I have a keen interest in ancient music, particularly Gerschwin and DeBussy and Ravel and Mozart.”
Austine straightened, blinking. “I've heard of Mozart, not those others—”
“Early Twentieth century.”
“I imagine you reduce the music to mathematical formulas and choose your likes according to a balance of parameters,” she responded, waving a hand in dismissal. “I imagine you'd also like 28th Century violaz art, right? All those light patterns—”
“Actually, I don't like violaz,” Crater interrupted. “I find it too restless. I prefer Fourth Renaissance silksynth paintings.”
“Fourth!” Austine laughed and slapped her knee. “It's so ridiculous, bringing back the old eternally... and don't they say we're in the Fifth right now? That goofy hod stuff hearkening back to late 21st...”
Crater paused. The twins adored everything hod, he knew. A broad genre involving dance, the manipulation of wave fields, and interesting applications of gel-like fluids, samples of hod had been recovered in 2842 in “time capsules” recovered on Orbglen and Sanz from the very first colonies humans had established outside the Sol System. Hence the “renaissance” that had been going on for the majority of the 30th Century.
“I rather find hod interesting,” he murmured.“If I may make a personal observation, Major Tauscher.?
“Make, make. Have I mooshed you?” She winked at his viewport.
Crater found a reference to “moosh”; it was a just coming into common use, he determined from his store of current news broadcasts around the USC. It meant to bother, irritate, and referred to the sound made by an Eridi septagillie slapping its forelock against a puddle of mud to indicate displeasure.
“Not at all. While we clearly disagree on things, and you persist in maintaining a provincial attitude toward my Humanity, this conversation is nevertheless enjoyable.”
Austine stiffened, her eyes widening again in shock. This isn't possible! A computer that evaluates conversation, and enjoys it? Surely this is all fancy programming! Then she frowned. “Provincial? You just called me an ignorant fooey bird, didn't you?”
“I apologize, Major,” Crater said hastily. “I do not have the status to talk to you that way, and we don't have that casual of a relationship.”
“You talk to Vekta with that mouth?” Austine snapped.
Crater didn't need to look up the expression to understand perfectly what she meant. “I... no.”
“Humanity?” She barked a bitter laugh. “You don't have an ounce of Humanity in you, not a cell of organic matter even. Take that back, computer!”
Oh, I've done it now, Crater considered miserably. I'm going to have to get used to this sort of thing and know my place. He recalled Jaime Cenntl calling him Computerman. “Very well, I take that back. Although I'm at least fifty percent organic in structure... But you're right, of course. I am not Human.”
Somehow it stung to have to say that. But it was true. I am that Medea, unique and universally unacceptable...
“That's better,” Austine murmured, but felt a twinge of guilt. She knew all too well that she did not know much of anything about the Crater design. Could Vekta Rentclifv really have created something new? She took a deep breath. “Well, no matter what, you're something else. Since you're so big on observation, what else have you observed about me, then? As long as we're getting this all out now!”
Crater took note of his other viewports around the deck. There were only three other personnel present, plus a couple down in the Pit, and from what he could tell, they were all listening intently but trying to look busy. And probably hoping the Major has forgotten they were there and wishing they weren't!
“Clearly I've offended you, Major Tauscher,” Crater said quietly, trying to make his voice soothing. “And this is getting too personal for the control deck, don't you think?”
Austine twitched and glanced around quickly. The other three officers hunched behind their displays more as if feeling her gaze on the back of their necks. “Well... damn,” she muttered, sagging in her chair.
I really don't want to be telling you how obvious you are around Stander Kvaan, Crater thought, half-hoping she would mentread him. And that a lot of people already are wondering about that. Crater had the luxury of being able to continually study the body language of the control deck personnel, just as he'd studied Vekta Rentclifv closely in the months since his activation on Orbglen. He couldn't help seeing Austine's frequent, furtive glances toward the Pit, or how she subtly leaned toward the man whenever in Stander's presence. If he'd examined further — and he'd been careful not to — he'd have seen more physiological responses in her body to the colorless male Dracon's presence.
Then there was the drinking. While Austine never drank alcoholic beverages while on duty, he could detect from samplings of air around her that she imbibed in her quarters — and often. Crater couldn't help but wonder if others either smelled that, too, or cepted it. Not my business, he reminded himself. What are you thinking, Austine Tauscher?
Austine was in fact thinking that she could mentread the cybernism, but was aware he'd probably been observing her. A lot. Swallowing carefully, she replied to his question. “You're right. And I don't think I want to know anyway.” She looked around the deck again, and snorted. “Besides, we've given them enough entertainment for one day!”
There was a slight cough from the communications station, then nothing.
“Ah, well,” Austine said, sighing somewhat dramatically. “How long is the stuff on Xanda going to take anyway?”
“Hours, I believe,” Crater answered simply, relieved.
Austine uttered an obscenity that Crater couldn't place, but it must have been a strong one, for all three of the listening officers jumped in their seats.
*
A couple hours later — the Gezdra very much still going on — Scorpa decided to gather information outside that which he was asked to gather. Materializing in the office of the Chief of Computer Operations — Novella's — he sank into an overstuffed chair opposite the desk, waving off a questing Freen tendril. “Hey, Crater...”
Crater was fascinated by the Gezdra, probably the only one giving it proper attention as even the Dracons were growing weary of it, but he was intrigued to see the galactic interloper, still wearing the Fleet u
niform, and intrigued that the entity addressed him. I can record it through my Sixtheye connection with the Colonel, view it later, he considered. “Can I help you, Scorpa?”
The man twitched and grimaced at the name. “No one's ever going to forgive me for that business back there, are they? What's a ____________ got to do to get respect around here?”
Crater had collected the rare tidbits of Scorpa's native language whenever the entity deigned to let one drop. It wasn't enough to reconstruct the whole language, though. “A what?” he asked, genuinely curious. The phrase had been a gargling assortment of unpronounceable sounds.
Scorpa waggled a finger at him. “A gent, a dude, a guy, something like that. Englang's a messy language. And I think I'm pretty all right with it, not like that goofy Pollunanxega.” Which is a stupid name. I knew him as Curhef.”
“Probably you don't want to keep bringing up the subject of that entity,” Crater murmured. Indeed, I am surprised at his adept absorption of Englang... a species trait? Curhef? What kind of name is that?
“But the name I've been given is a constant reminder to that nasty little thing I did. It was just a distraction, and I've been good since then! If we're all going to move forward, I need a new name.” He hadn't realized it when he contacted the cybernism, but that was exactly what he needed.
“A new name?” Crater considered the man carefully. “Well, often a name reflects a quality of a person, which is why I suppose Major Colonel Rentclifv gave that one to you. And the twins, incidentally.”
Scorpa frowned and pointed at the viewport. “Why are you called ‘Crater,’ then? Isn't that a silly name, too?”
The cybernism had wondered that, too. “My guess is that a crater is just a big hole to fill up, and certainly my Stoma data storage system has a considerably vast capacity. I like to think I'm a little more than a data bank. But I don't mind the name. It's the name given to my class of cybernisms, and I guess it's appropriate since I'm the first one. Right now possibly the only one.”
The man sank down further into the chair and crossed his legs, sighing. “So you're unique here, too. Well, I think I'm going to have to come up with a new name, and insist it gets used. Since it appears I'm stuck here.” Then he muttered sotto voce: “It's not like I've got a home to go back to.”
Crater thought about Scorpa's involvement since Vekta came to Xanda. He's trying... and he is a good observer. A sentinel? Hmm... “I have an idea,” he spoke up with faint amusement.
“Oh, this ought to be good,” Scorpa said with a bit of a groan. “Okay, sure, what is it?”
“You've been performing well as an observer and you're good with details,” Crater noted. “Since you're not really required to interact with the Xandee, you've been able to watch them closely and see a lot of things that others cannot. Since you're some sort of energy entity, you don't even have to manifest to observe a situation. I can't begin to wonder how you exist, but you do.” He resisted the impulse to inquire into that. How can something be unmanifest but exist in reality? “Anyway, you're a sentinel. One who watches on the periphery for dangers, one who looks out for the tribe. The roots of the word come from older words that mean to perceive or be vigilant. So you could adopt a name using that.”
The man's eyes had widened. “Sentinel? But don't most humans have two names?”
“A family name which either precedes or follows a given name, is the usual convention,” Crater replied. “But you have no family.”
“No, wait.” The man looked away, frowning. “No more descriptive names. I don't want to be known for what I do, not anymore. Rather it might be something about the change I've made in my life. Like a philosophy.”
Crater scanned his database, though philosophy wasn't an area for which he'd absorbed many references. Still, he had studied a few. Maybe a name based on a system of philosophy... Then he thought of something. “Zen.”
“Zen?” The entity blinked. “What's that? I like it.”
“Zen is an ancient school of thought emphasizing direct intuition through meditation. You're very intuitive—”
“Here we go describing me again.”
“No, I mean...”
Scorpa grinned abruptly. “But I like it! Zen... Zena! My name will be Zena.” He pronounced it “zen-ah,” keeping the original philosophical name. “Kinda rolls off the tongue. Now, about that family name—”
“There's no family name that would apply to you.”
“I'll be my own family. That Polluxanvega told the twins I'm from a universe called Hendor. Though you might call it, say, Kappa? What he was calling Hendor is really Gamma. So let's try... Hendrian. Zena Hendrian. Ripples through the ether like music, don't you think?”
“Zena Hendrian,” Crater repeated, amazed. “I... I like it, too!”
*
“We can stay with you now on the Andromedea, right, Bapa?” Story asked their father when he finally came to see them on the Elektra.
Vekta took a deep breath, his gaze shifting away from the earnest ones of his children. Story and Cory had made a favorable impression upon the Xandee, that was clear. There were no dangers to be found here in Xost Universe, but all too soon there would be the return to Gozgazel — another problem altogether. For now, though, it seemed logical and safe that the big Defender-class starship could be home to his family.
“Yes, for now,” he murmured, and his breath went out of him all at once when the twins crashed against him in their fervor and excitement. “Since Prater is apparently inactive, and you did not get along with your guardian—“
“Oh, HER,” Cory snorted. “Crater is here, though! He's all we need, well, and you.” She nuzzled his chest. “I know it's not permanent. Just for now.” Beside her, Story nodded firmly.
For now... Vekta echoed in his thoughts. I owe them this.
23: Unrequited
“You can go whenever you're ready.”
Novella heard the softly menttransed words from the Pelan, but she ignored them. I don't even know who I am anymore...
Per her own request, Thho helped her develop autoemform controls that were equal to those of any Tryker because she knew she was going to severely need them, particularly around Vekta Rentclifv. She was going to need this sharpened Attitude of Compassion to curb the feelings that had jelled and even solidified over the two weeks she was gone.
For Novella Aurand did know one thing, and that was that she'd fallen in love with Vekta Rentclifv. On the one hand there was the undeniable fact of the mental matching they'd discovered in each other. And the fact that they were now — for the time being — the only two Human Attitudinals in existence. But sweeping all that aside, she'd realized that she'd lived a life of safety, even for one whose career kept her in outer space much of the time.
It was the safety of regulations, research directives, Fleet procedures and policies. It was the safety of keeping herself from involvement with anyone When she allowed herself to remember, there certainly had been other “anyones.” Fellow crew members, research associates, all of whom she'd carefully and strictly kept at bay. Looking away first, politely ending conversations, making excuses. There had been a very few dates in her thirty-one years — all single dates, no repeaters.
The love she'd allowed herself was for her work, now prominently known, in nanotechnology. Now her microids — microscopic mechanoids — all but invisibly kept Defender and other class starships in the Perseus Defense Fleet in constantly optimal condition. She'd become a “name” in her field, an expert others went to with their ideas.
But microids did not love her back. Personal satisfaction was not companionship. Here on Pel, removed from everything she knew, Novella had had time to reflect that she did not even have friends. It was sad, she realized, that she could not think of anyone to whom she could confide her feelings for Vekta.
Well, maybe one.
She'd watched as the crisis on Xost Universe's Vega V played out. I should have realized V
ekta was a master negotiator, she thought, marveling how this man who made her heart beat fast was so good with people, far more than she. He'd won the trust of the teleXandee, convinced Commander General Peter Cenntl, and held off the wrath of Fleet General Staff in order to begin the process of moving the teleXandee to Vriesia in Alpha Universe. It was a huge project because there was so much at stake: weighing the impact of the environment, the acceptance of the Vriesians, and the acclimation of the teleXandee to a new home. It seemed impossible. But it was happening.
Hugging her knees, Novella closed her eyes and looked within her emmind to her carefully grown feelings for this amazing man who was her mental match. Maybe someday he can accept my love, she mused, her heart full. I think he will need this from me... eventually. Not soon. But I will wait, and keep my love strong and ready. I must.
“You're right, it's time,” Novella replied to the Pelan, watching her from her pool. “But first I need to talk to someone.”
She could read the Pelan's smugness. “Someone of my own species,” she added with a snort.
*
The distance was daunting. Taking a deep breath, Novella settled her mind into consci4, the heightened state of an Attitudinal, then proceeded to rise to consci5, required for the reach across universes. The first time she'd successfully done this, she'd gotten very dizzy until she'd managed to shut down her normal senses altogether, almost as if she was leaving her body behind.
Now she erased awareness of her body, of the cave and the Pelan, of Pel and the global star cluster. She was pure energy, finding the membrane-like barriers between universes. Through the Attitude of Being, Novella was able to cept and discover the barrier to the Xost Universe, then cept beyond and zero in on Vega. Once the blue, ellipsoid Vega was located, it was a simple matter to fine-tune further to locate the fifth planet and the Defender starship in orbit.
“It's me,” Novella menttransed through the Attitude of Communication to a certain person at his station in the Pit.
“I'll be in my quarters,” Stander Kvaan murmured to his second, his lean face as always impassive and calm. Then he disappeared, autoporting downship.
Eye of the Gazelle Page 27