The Death of Wisdom

by Paul Brunette

  "Director," Coeur said, "I know that we're here for a debriefing, but I am curious; did you import all of these books here?"

  "Oh, goodness no. Before the Collapse, there was a belter who lived in this section, and spent almost every last credit he earned bringing books in from Galos."

  "You must really like books," Physic said, "if you chose to live here."

  "Oh, yes. At Aurora, I have a library larger than this."

  "You're from Aurora, originally?" Coeur asked.

  "No. I was born on Nemyer."

  "Oriflamme," Drop Kick observed.

  "I didn't read that in your bio," Coeur said.

  "it tends to spook people," Serene said. "Oriflammen, especially, don't like running into a Nemyerite who survived the Collapse. I was lucky to leave on one of the last functioning starships."

  "Good Gaia," Coeur said. "I had no idea."

  "Well, we all have our secrets. Your bio, for instance, doesn't say that a good friend of yours gave his life for you 80 years ago."

  Coeur's left eyebrow raised.

  "I wasn't thinking about that consciously. Did you get that psionically?"

  Serene laughed.

  "No, Captain, Ripsaw told me about that. I'd no sooner probe someone against their will than you would stop and search a vessel without provocation."

  "Funny you should say that. Ripsaw told us you gave him orders to inspect all vessels he met, whether they had transponder codes or not."

  Serene nodded.

  "Oh, there's a reason for that."

  "Yes?"

  "I was looking for Delpero's smugglers."

  "Can you clarify that, director? Do you mean you already knew what Delpero was up to?"

  "No, but I strongly suspected it. Kruytercorp has purchasing agents on Aubaine to take advantage of the Auction, and those agents report to me, Over the last year, they've seen evidence that someone—someone with old business contacts on Aubaine—has been diverting contraband that should be going to the military, but they couldn't pin it on Delpero. He's too good at covering his tracks, "But I know Delpero. A few years ago he screwed us in a stock sale that Kruytercorp still hasn't recovered from, and several of his ex-employees have so much as admitted that made his money smuggling goods from island to island on Vras. That was how I set up my trap.

  "I knew it was a long shot, but most any small freighter that wants to get coreward from Aubaine has to pass through Kruyter. That's why I set up strict inspection of every ship passing through the system."

  Coeur shook her head, disbelieving. Over time that must have meant hundreds of ships.

  "That must have been quite an expensive operation,"

  "Actually, the operation's only been on for a week. Until our new SDBs were delivered a month ago, it wasn't practical. For all I know, Delpero's been running guns all over the Coalition for months—but this time I got him,"

  * * *

  An hour later, Director Serene's debriefing of Hornet's crew was winding down, a debriefing that had revealed relatively little in Coeur's judgment, but satisfied Serene that Delpero was probably culpable in Ellen Arc's operation. Though Serene wouldn't psychically probe the prisoners herself—for fear of destroying the case against them—she was assured that enough evidence existed for Coalition Intelligence on Aubaine to begin a formal investigation, a situation that positively pleased Coeur and Drop Kick, and struck Scissor as appropriate justice. Only Physic, with a weary and worried look in her eyes, did not appear reassured by the conversation.

  Vet Physic's anxiety was not immediately apparent to her shipmates—Couer, Drop Kick, and Scissor—who took to discussing among themselves the possible destination and purpose of Ellen Arc's cargo. Only Serene noticed, and responded.

  Physic, a strange voice sounded in the doctor's skull, I sense your anxiety. What is troubling you?

  Director Serene? Is that you?

  Yes, Physic. Is it something you'd rather not discuss out loud?

  Having never experienced telepathy before, Physic was rattled at first, but then calmed herself when she sensed the gentle timbre of Serene's thoughts. Indeed, she was worried about something that she would rather not discuss openly.

  Yes. An incident that occurred in my Medlab office—with August.

  Co on; I won't betray your trust.

  Can't you just read my thoughts?

  I could, but I won't.

  It's nothing, really, It's just that I can't remember exactly what happened—whether he released some sort of device in my office or not. It might not even be related to this case.

  Perhaps I could help you remember.

  A probe, you mean?

  Yes, but not a deep probe—that might be too unsettling. A targeted probe of this specific memory would be less traumatic.

  Can you do that ?

  I have before. However, for your peace of mind, I would rather have your friends present, and at least one of them monitoring your vital signs to see that you aren't being harmed.

  Physic nodded, with a half-hearted grin on her face. Then she noticed a perplexed Coeur staring right at her.

  "I'm sorry, Red Sun. Were you talking to me?"

  "Yes, I was asking about the condition of the prisoners."

  "I'm sorry. I was distracted by the director."

  "The director?"

  "I'm sorry," Serene said to Coeur. "I sensed the doctor's anxiety about another concern, and communicated with her telepathically."

  "What?" Drop Kick asked, as surprised as Coeur.

  "It's all right," Physic said. "The director thinks she could find out what I really remember about the night with August in my office,"

  "Allow me to interrupt," Scissor said, as nonplussed as Drop Kick. "What night are you referring to?"

  Physic's calm surprised Coeur, who had so recently seen her friend severely shaken by this same memory.

  "Before Hornet left Aubaine, I let my husband into my Mecllab office after the building was closed, and he might have exploited the opportunity to release something into the building. The director believes she might be able to help me focus my memories with a deep probe, but I agree that I would rather have one of you with us to monitor my vital signs."

  Drop Kick and Coeur's eyes shot from Physic to Serene.

  "Scissor might be ideal," Serene suggested. "Hivers are resistant to human telepathy."

  "Indeed," Scissor said, "if Physic were to give me instruction in the basic operation of her medical scanner, I could monitor the procedure without fear of telepathic interference."

  "Physic," Coeur said, "are you sure you want to do this?"

  "Sure enough, skipper."

  Coeur nodded.

  "All right, Physic. But all of us will keep an eye on that scanner, not just Scissor."

  In Serene's darkened office, Physic sat on a couch behind the director's desk with her eyes closed, flanked on her left by the kneeling director and on her right by Scissor, holding the doctor's pocket med scanner up to her head. Coeur and Drop Kick, meanwhile, knelt on the floor beside Scissor, alternating glances between the med scanner and the women sharing a singular memory on the couch.

  To Coeur's relief, Serene and Physic spoke throughout the probe, with Serene asking questions and Physic answering lucidly (despite the stiff drink of Fijan rice wine that had helped her into a psychic trance). This conversation reassured Coeur that the director was sticking to her promise of probing the Medlab incident alone—and not tramping around Physic's deep subconscious looking for dirt on her estranged husband.

  "I hear the door open,"

  "Do you see anything?"

  "Yes, a shadow."

  "Describe the shadow,"

  "Round, like a melon, on the door before it opens."

  "Then what happens?"

  "We are making love. My eyes are closed."

  "Go on."

  "I hear the door open. I look at the window opposite the door."

  "What do you see?"

  "A reflection,.
.a robot...returning to my husband's briefcase."

  "Describe the robot."

  "I only see it a second...maybe I'm—oh!"

  "Let go of your pleasure, Orit. See the robot."

  "It's round. A single eye—a data probe... oh my god..."

  "Orit, you are no longer in the office. You are with me, here on Kreuzung,"

  "I understand."

  "You will open your eyes and remember all you have seen."

  Abruptly, the trance was over. Physic opened her eyes and gasped.

  "Your brain waves are nominal," Scissor reported matter-of-factly. "There were no ill effects."

  I don't know about that, Coeur thought.

  "Thanks, Scissor," Physic said. "And thank you, director."

  "You seem calmer," Serene said.

  "Knowing the truth is good," Physic said. "I must have blocked out what I saw because it wasn't consistent with my positive perception of the situation."

  "That makes sense," Serene said. "Does anybody recognize that model of robot?"

  "It doesn't sound very common," Drop Kick ventured. "What, about the size of a cantaloupe?"

  "it may be the Futronix F7," Scissor suggested, "an unusually small relic surveillance robot of high sophistication, tailored for electronic espionage. If memory serves, the Coalition restricts sale of that model to government agencies only."

  "There you go," Drop Kick said, "Slap the cuffs on Delpero and throw him in jail."

  "I wonder if psychic evidence is admissible on Aubaine?" Coeur asked.

  "Whether it is or not ' Serene said to the Hornet crew, "I will do my best to see that justice is done. Will you return to your home base soon?"

  "Soon as in weeks?" Coeur asked. "No. We'll be jumping into open space next week, then on to Nike Nimbus and Ra. We probably won't be back this way for two months."

  "Maybe that's good. It'll give Coalition Intelligence more time to build a case before they call you as witnesses."

  "Great," Physic said, wearily. "I was really worried my schedule wouldn't be filled up enough arranging a divorce."

  ChaHe

  "Hiver Manipulation"

  (Excerpt from Principles of Xenomorphic Psychology, by Dr. Cynthia Kirby, Aubaine Institute of Sophont Studies, Ne 1)

  In the psychology of the Hiver race, no feature Is quite as distinctive as the Manipulation. Indeed, this Hiver phenomenon, combined with a lack of emotion as humans understand it, has probably contributed more than any other to a lack of understanding between our respective races.

  Yet, within the seemingly anarchistic world of the Hivers, the Manipulation is actually a well-defined and deliberate act, generally considered to have four parts. These are 1)the deed, clearly defined and recorded, as the ultimate objective; 2) a manipulator, whose actions may be direct or indirect, as suits the manipulation, 3) results, as correctly foreseen by the manipulator, end 4) the claim of credit by the manipulator.

  When seen in the broader context of Hiver evolution, and a cultural impetus toward consensus and long-range planning, the Manipulation is a logical evolutionary adaptation. Hivers spend their first year completely alone in the wilderness, only afterward accepted into the nearest hive as adolescents deserving care and education. The parental instinct of the Hivers is thus focused on child-rearing rather than reproduction, and some theorize that manipulation (steering others toward a course that is best for them) arose from a convergence between the sort of independence that permits Hivers to survive their yeorin the wilderness, and the teaching instinct that predominates in their society.

  Nonetheless, more than one human has experienced a certain degree of discomfort with the subject of manipulation, and debate will doubtless continue for some time regarding the degree to which the Reformation Coalition itself is a manipulation on a grand scale. Those inclined toward this point of view tend to bring forward such extreme examples as the manipulation of the Ithklur. Once a wildly violent species, the Ithklur now occupy a key place in the Hiver Federation as soldiers and bodyguards, retaining their violent nature but channeling it in a way acceptable to the pacifistic Hivers; inevitably, this brings to mind the possibility of an equally profound alteration in the fundamental nature of humankind.

  * * *

  Early in the voyage of Hornet, Snapshot became aware of the Marines' antipathy toward Oriflamme. Though the Marines didn't seem to dislike her personally, their biting comments about her mother world (mostly that it was backward and power-hungry) raised her bile and left her with one of two choices: either defend her home aggressively and annoy the captain, or avoid the Marines as much as possible. For the sake of her future in space, she chose the latter.

  But then, eight days into the two-week jump from Kruyter to Nike Nimbus, a strange thing happened.

  Going to perform maintenance on her turret fire control after most of the ship was asleep, Snapshot found Drop Kick fiddling with her station's locked iris valve.

  "Drop Kick?"

  Startled, the Marine came around, and Snapshot saw that he wore a gun on his right hip and a cargo net draped over his shoulder.

  "Oh, Snapshot. Good. Maybe you can help me open this thing,"

  "What do you want in the turret for, sergeant?"

  "Well...you may not believe this, but there's a robot in there."

  "A robot?"

  "Well, all right, let me backup. A few minutes ago I was back in the cargo hold—doing some late work on the sled—when I saw this little round robot, about this big," Drop Kick held his hands 10 centimeters apart, "sneak in, snoop around the sled, and run out again."

  "Then it ran into this turret."

  "Right, I chased it, but I couldn't catch it before the hatch closed."

  "You mean it hopped off the ground to touch the security keypad?"

  "Actually, no. Now that you mention it, it just ran up to the hatch and the iris valve opened for it. By the time I got here the hatch was closed and it wouldn't accept my access code."

  Snapshot smirked.

  "You know what this sounds like? It sounds like one of Scissor's toys got out of its workshop."

  "That's what I thought, too."

  "Well, anyway," Snapshot said, "I'd just as soon not have it damage anything in there. Here, I'll try my code." "Wait a minute," Drop Kick said, unfolding the cargo net and spreading it across the hatch. "Okay, now try it."

  Expecting no result, Snapshot punched her unique access code into the security pad beside the door. When the Iris valve actually opened, she leapt back in surprise.

  "Gotcha!" Drop Kick said, wrapping the net 3round a little round form that skittered through the hatch. "Now we'll get a look at you."

  Recovering immediately from her shock. Snapshot reached out to help Drop Kick with the bundle in his hands. Like a netted animal, it struggled frantically for a few seconds and then stilled, affording Snapshot the chance to find an ordinary power switch on its carapace and deactivate it.

  "All right, I think that shut it off."

  "Probably not a spy robot," Drop Kick said, with a grin, "with a big off switch like that. Did it damage the turret?"

  "No," Snapshot said, stepping into the turret and peering around. "Everything looks all right. I suppose we should report this, though, to whoever's on the bridge."

  "Whoa, hold on," Drop Kick said. "If we report it, Red Sun will make us give it right back to Scissor,"

  "Well, it's probably his."

  "Yes, but it was probing around our work areas. The way I see it, we deserve to know what makes it tick."

  Snapshot nodded, with a growing smile. "Yeah. You're right."

  "Join me in the cargo hold?"

  "Hold on, I'll get my tool kit from the turret."

  Less than two hours later, Snapshot and Drop Kick had completely disassembled their eight-legged miscreant, iaying its components out on a table that folded down from a panel in the cargo hold wall.

  "Most of these components are Hiver' Snapshot said, examining a fine screw under a port
able magnifier. "Even this screw has Hiver ideograms etched in it."

  "Six eyes, 36 fingers—I guess they would be nimble."

  "Yeah. The way you hear Crowbar talk about it, he feels handicapped sometimes because he's only got two arms."

  "Would be nice..." Drop Kick mused. "If I had an extra pair of arms in the sled, I could steer, man the radio, and fire the guns all at the same time."

  "Only an AFV's the last place you'd ever go if you were a Hiver."

  "Not necessarily. They say the only Hivers you usually see on a battlefield are cavalry, because their vehicles insulate them from the killing outside."

  "Yeah, I suppose. Now let's see if we can get this motherboard squeezed back in place."

  The motherboard Snapshot referred to was a remarkably dainty piece of electronics about the size of a thumbnail, controlling all the robot's functions. Though they couldn't decipher its program code, most of its circuits were connected to sonar transceivers that it used both as eyes and as a means of communication with the ship's computer.

  "Pretty clever, using high-frequency sound to talk with the computer," Drop Kick said, as Snapshot wedged the board into its frame, "but what's ft all for?"

  Snapshot however, did not answer. The board, which had slipped out of Its frame so easily before, would not fit back in place.

  'Trouble?"

  "Yeah, the board won't fit."

  "Maybe its upside down."

  "It. only goes one way. Here, you try."

  To his surprise, Drop Kick found that Snapshot was right.

  "This is bad, Drop Kick. If those two pieces don't fit together, it won't run."

  "Weil, I see the problem. The board is too big to fit in its slot."

  "What do you mean, it's too big? It has to fit."

  But, indeed, when shown the board and its slot side by side, Snapshot had to agree with Drop Kick.

  And then a call came from the bridge.

  "Cargo section, this is Bridge. Come in please."

  Snapshot palmed a comm panel at arm's length.

  'This is Snapshot, Red Sun. Go ahead."

  "I attempted to hail you in the missile turret," Coeur said, "but I see you must have had duties elsewhere. Scissor wants you to know that he accidentally released an experimental robot into the vessel and would like to know if anyone has run into it."