Roche absorbed the news in silence for a moment; the Crescend had been behind everything, after all. “So that’s why she was after me, then.”
“She unwittingly put the entire project at risk. Your purpose was to learn about the enemy and about your own abilities in your own time. The Box was to guide you until you were informed enough to decide. That was its prime directive, beside studying Adoni Cane. Losing the Box has forced us to move sooner than many had anticipated—but perhaps we would have reached this point now, anyway. Either way, we are here.”
She nodded slowly, feeling oddly sorry for her old boss. De Bruyn had betrayed her, but had herself been the victim of forces beyond her control. She had been caught in the middle of the High Caste’s convoluted plot. Like Roche herself.
“You know all you need to know,” the Crescend said. “Does it truly matter who created the enemy? The fact that they are here is all that should concern you. Does it matter if they plan to kill all of you or just half? All death is tragic. Does it matter if you are the only who can find them or one of millions? This decision is yours alone. Decide, Morgan, and be done with it. I have waited forty years for this moment.”
Roche didn’t say anything. Why the war had started, half a million years ago, did indeed seem irrelevant. The same with who had made the enemy in the first place. It was too long ago. She had to concentrate on the situation before her. On the problem as she saw it.
That was what they wanted, she supposed.
“You’re going to have to wait a little longer, I’m afraid,” she said. “I need to think on it some more.”
The voice chuckled. “You mean that you need to talk to Adoni Cane.”
“He has a right to know what’s going on,” she said.
“And will you believe him, no matter what he says?”
“I think I owe it to him to listen.”
There was a sound much like a sigh. “Very well, Morgan. I will continue to wait. Just remember one thing, though: your will is paramount in this instance. You must not let yourself be coerced by anyone—not even me. Especially me. You must decide as objectively as you can. That is all we ask of you.”
She couldn’t help a bitter laugh.
“Understand what I am trying to say, Morgan. Adoni Cane is one of the enemy. I would not lose all now to false sympathy or wishful thinking.”
“You won’t,” she said. “Because that’s what this is all about, really.”
“Yes, it is.” The Crescend’s voice softened slightly. “Listen and think well, Morgan Roche.”
The Crescend said nothing more, and she knew she was alone.
19
IND Ana Vereine
955.2.15
1960
Roche settled back onto the bed and ran her hand across her face. “Uri?” she called. “Can you hear me?”
“Of course, Morgan.”
She was relieved to hear his voice. “That’s good,” she said. “I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to.”
“Why not?” he said. “I’ve been monitoring your room since your awakening.”
Roche frowned. “But he said no one would hear us talk.”
“Who said this?”
She hesitated for a moment, confused. “Didn’t you hear me transmit my message?”
“Yes, but there was no reply. I closed the line when it became apparent that you weren’t going to say anything else.”
No reply. Part of her wasn’t surprised. This was the Crescend she was dealing with, after all. Interfering with mundane technology—and mundane minds—probably came as easily as toying with an insect.
“Is everything all right, Morgan?”
“Everything’s fine, Uri,” she said. “Just a little tired, I guess. Listen, get hold of Cane for me, can you? I need to see him.”
“Yes, Morgan.”
“And make sure you monitor this conversation,” she added hastily. “I want you to be ready if anything goes wrong.”
“Understood.”
Roche went back to watching the display of Sol System while she waited. Nothing much had changed, except the patterns of white on the ring. Now that the ship was closer, she could see them in more detail. They shifted like oil on water, sweeping in swirls with ponderous grace across vast sections of dust and gas. Indicating them, Roche asked Kajic what they meant.
“Electrical activity,” he said. “Source unknown. This data comes direct from the Heresiarch’s general navigation service. He believes them to be a hazard to shipping.”
“A trap of some sort?”
“Conceivably.”
She wondered if it had anything to do with the convergence on the system. The clone warriors might have rigged some sort of trap involving the ring, although she couldn’t imagine what kind of trap it could possibly be. A solar-system-sized laser would be better based in the sun itself, and there was no sign of the exotic types of matter usually associated with hyperspace weapons. It might have been a natural phenomenon, but she couldn’t afford to make such assumptions at this stage. It was too risky, and could end up being costly....
“Cane is on his way,” Kajic announced.
“Okay, Uri.” She breathed deeply and slowly for a full minute, composing herself for what was to come. She had no idea what she would say, and even less of an idea how he would respond to what she had to say. I have the power to kill you and all of your people unless you give me a reason not to. If she was lucky, he would think she was crazy.
If she was unlucky...
“Hello, Morgan.” Cane stepped into the room.
“Thanks for coming, Cane.” Her voice was edgy; she hadn’t heard the door open. “I wanted to—”
She stopped.
He stood before her with his arms folded, to all appearances completely at ease, and waited for her to continue.
“I wanted to thank you for rescuing me,” she said, realizing only as she said it that it was the truth. “You took a great risk, and it paid off. Thank you.”
“I did what I had to do,” he said. His eyes revealed nothing about his thoughts.
“How did you know what to do, by the way?” she asked.
“I didn’t. I just took a chance,” he said. “The ship that took you passed through the blockade of the Phlegethon without resistance, so it seemed likely that it had an allegiance with the clone warriors. Using fragments of the command language we detected in Palasian System, I was able to convince the leaders of the blockade to let us through too. Once they believed that I was in fact one of the enemy, the rest was simple.”
He seemed to be telling the truth, but she still couldn’t read him. “What about the camouflage you ordered around the Ana Vereine?”
He shrugged. “You were taken by Hums, so I assumed that they would respect the authority of a superior Hum vessel. It wasn’t difficult to retrieve the design of such a ship from the datapool.”
“And the name of the ship? You called it the Apostle.”
“I overheard the name when I arrived.”
“What else did you overhear? Anything useful—like who they were, for instance?”
“They call themselves the Disciples of the Evergence,” he said. He didn’t wait for her to ask: “I don’t know what it means.”
“But they are in league with the enemy.”
“It seems so. They accepted me readily enough.”
She nodded. His explanations made sense, even if they were a little glib. She suspected that no matter what she threw at him he would be able to explain it away.
“I’d wondered,” she said, “whether this might be proof that an epsense link of some sort does exist between you and your siblings. That way it would have been easy to know just what to say and who to imitate in order for my captors to be convinced.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Morgan,” he said. “But that wasn’t the case.”
She studied him closely for a few seconds “Are you lying to me?” she asked, as she had when they had first reached Sol Sys
tem.
“Why would I lie?”
“Why does anyone lie?” she said. “To conceal the truth, obviously.”
“And if I were trying to conceal the truth, what would it gain me to admit that now?”
“Are you lying to me?” she pressed him.
“What do you want to hear, Morgan? That I’m in communication with my siblings? That I’m in league with them?”
“I just want you to answer the question! Why is this so difficult for everyone?”
“If I am lying now, then I must have been lying all along!”
The passion in his voice surprised her, but it didn’t sway her from her own anger.
“Just answer the damned question, Cane!” she snapped. “Are you lying to me?”
There was a long pause in which he breathed deeply a few times, almost as if trying to calm himself. Seeing him so agitated was not a common experience; it was only the second time she had really seen him angry. It was a side of himself he kept carefully hidden.
“I’m not lying, Morgan,” he said eventually, his even voice cutting across her thoughts. “Everything I have told you is the truth.”
She sighed wearily. She wanted his assurances to take away her doubts, but they were still there, lingering, continuing to eat away at her.
“I want to believe you,” she said. “But it’s hard—”
“Why, Morgan?” he broke in. “Why is it so hard? How many times have I saved your life now? How many times more must I do it before you will believe me? How many more of my own must I kill?”
Roche was speechless for a second. For an instant, she remembered how he looked when he had rescued her—cold and dangerous—but that wasn’t what she saw on his face now. He looked... hurt.
I can’t afford to trust you, she wanted to say, because I don’t have the courage to risk so much. Because if I’m wrong there’s no limit to what I might lose.
But she didn’t say that. She couldn’t. It exposed her vulnerability, it cut too deeply to the core of her uncertainty. That’s what it all boiled down to, after all: balancing the uncertainty of his trustworthiness against the damage he could do. If he was lying, if he was leading her into some sort of trap, if he was really one of the enemy and had been faking it all along—and if she alone could destroy the enemy...
Instead she said: “You told me once that we shouldn’t trust you completely because you yourself don’t know what you might do. Without knowing who made you, and why, we can’t guess how you will respond to every situation. There’s a chance you might be compelled, some day, to act in a way that goes against or subverts your conscious intentions. Do you still feel that way?”
His tension eased slightly. “That is a fair point,” he said. “I guess I would still consider it were I in your shoes.”
She decided to take a chance and ask him the question she really wanted an answer to: ‘Tell me, Cane. If you were in my shoes and you had the means to destroy the enemy at no cost to any other Human Caste, would you do it?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “It would be an attractive option.”
“Even at the cost of millions of lives—of the lives of the enemy?”
“Yes, of course,” he said. “Because so many more would stand to be saved.”
“Is that how you justify genocide?”
“I’m not justifying anything, Morgan. I am merely answering your question.”
Was he? she wondered. “But what if one of the enemy overcame its makers’ wishes and demonstrated that it could achieve redemption? Would you kill that one, too, to make absolutely certain that there would be no recurrence of war?”
Again he hesitated. “For total victory?” he asked.
“For total victory.”
This time he didn’t hesitate: “I would let that one fall with the others, yes.”
The answer chilled her. Not because of its ruthlessness—for she had guessed that this would be his answer—but because of what it said about him and how he regarded himself.
He knew what she was hinting at. He wasn’t stupid. He was one of the most frightening individuals she had ever met, simply because he was so much better at everything than she. He could outrun, outfight, and probably outthink her to degrees she didn’t dare imagine—and he had been watching her and the Box the whole time they had known each other. If he hadn’t already guessed at the Box’s connection to the Crescend, then she had surely given him enough clues to work it out.
He knew that she was talking about him, and he was telling her that if she had the power to do so, that she should use it and eliminate them all, including himself.
Or was he outthinking her even now? Was he gambling that this display of selflessness would in fact convince her not to wipe out the enemy?
His eyes stared calmly into hers, as if they were discussing ordinary politics rather than genocide. But what would he do were she to choose to destroy him with the others?
She couldn’t allow that question to influence her. The decision had to be made on its own merits. What happened afterward was an entirely different matter.
If he could turn against his programming, maybe others could too. She couldn’t justify the extermination of an entire Caste if that possibility existed. No matter how superior they seemed to her, they wouldn’t stand a chance against the High Humans. And if they were superior to her, maybe they deserved a chance to prove it.
The galaxy had never been a peaceful place, and it probably never would be. If she sanctioned the destruction of the enemy, would that guarantee any sort of peace? Maybe for a while, as long as alliances lasted. But the enemy’s influence would still be felt. Old grudges wouldn’t go away, even if they had been inflamed to further a third party’s ends. There would still be conflict and injustice.
And letting the enemy survive didn’t necessarily mean that everyone else would die. She clutched at that thought, even as she made her decision. It wasn’t a case of millions versus trillions. It was a case of an end to the present hostilities versus its continuation. Who would be victor was not clear. The enemy was too greatly outnumbered to take its success for granted.
Or so she hoped. She didn’t like to think what it would mean if she was wrong.
“Morgan?” Cane was still standing in front of her, waiting patiently for her to say something.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was distracted.”
He nodded stiffly. “Is there anything else you want to ask me?”
“No, that’s all,” she said. “Thanks.”
He looked as though he was about to say something, then turned and left the room.
When he had gone, she said: “Uri? Open that communications channel again.”
“Opening now, Morgan.”
“Dawn comes,” she said.
“Does this mean you’ve decided?” asked the Crescend, his voice emanating instantly from somewhere near the door.
“Yes.” But she was reluctant to say the words.
“And what is your decision, Morgan?”
She paused, not for effect, but to give herself one last chance to change her mind. She didn’t.
“I can’t allow you to destroy them,” she said slowly, carefully. “So I guess I decide to let them live. We’ll fight them ourselves, and either win or lose on our own merits.”
“You know what this means?”
“Yes.” She hoped so. “War—at best.”
He seemed to pause a long while before speaking again. “May I ask why you have chosen this?”
“Because Cane doesn’t deserve to die,” she said. “He’s helped me too much. He’s proven—to me, at least—that the clone warriors can rise above their programming.”
“And what if I said that Cane could be spared?”
“That’s not the point. Who’s to say there isn’t another like him out there who doesn’t deserve to be killed? You?”
“I could not make such assurances.”
“Exactly. It wouldn’t be right to take tha
t chance.”
“So you make this decision by weighing the certain harm to an individual against potential harm to the masses?”
“I guess so.” She took a deep breath. “Would you spare Cane if I asked you to?”
“No, of course not,” he said. “Nor do I believe Cane would wish it.”
She thought about this and nodded to herself. “What happens now, then? Is there anything else I need to do?”
“Your role is played out,” he said. “For the time being, anyway. I will leave you to communicate your decision to the rest of my Caste. All the information at our disposal will be disseminated simultaneously to concerned parties throughout the galaxy, including the IEPC. We will no longer try to hide this knowledge from the enemy. It will be crucial in the times to come.”
“And what happens if I need to talk to you again?”
“Why? Do you feel you might change your mind?”
“No, I don’t think so,” she said, even though, now that she had made her decision, she was filled with a terrible sense of doubt.
“If you did, there is no guarantee that the High Caste would accept your change of heart,” he said, his voice almost scolding.
“I understand.” She wasn’t sure if that option would have made her feel better, anyway. If things went badly with the enemy, she didn’t want that decision hanging over her, to be made again and again.
She had given the enemy the freedom to fight; she had given her own kind the freedom to lose. When gods interfered in the affairs of mundane Humans, she doubted any decisions were easy. But that didn’t make her feel any better.
The Crescend waited for a moment, as though to see if she would speak, then said: “Perhaps we will talk again some day.”
The thought didn’t fill her with pleasure. “Perhaps.”
“Goodbye, Morgan Roche.”
* * *
The Dark Imbalance Page 35