Superluminal

by Tony Daniel

  But many depth charges got through. Some of them missed. The blades of the Mill, ten kilometers across, were still a very small target on a very large planet.

  Some of the charges found that target. They erupted with nuclear fire.

  One, two, three, Austen counted. Then a moment later four, five, and six.

  The radiation bloomed outward, and she trimmed herself accordingly to keep from being pushed away by the wind.

  Below her, the Martian Dawn arched upward. Twain had predicted exactly where it would attempt an escape. He was waiting there and blasted it from the heavens like a duck that rose directly in front of a hunter’s blind. When Twain was done, there wasn’t enough left of the ship to cause even a good shower of contrails as the particles rained down into Neptune’s atmosphere.

  But the damage was done. Directing her sensors down upon the Mill, Austen could see that one blade was badly pitted and notched, and its tip was blown off. The entire propeller-shaped blade looked like a double leaf that had been chewed on by an army of caterpillars. It was clearly spinning at a fraction of its normal speed.

  What’s more, there was probably residual grist down there that was continuing to eat away at the Mill’s surface.

  “One of us needs to get those grist-mil counteragents spread out as soon as possible,” Austen said to Twain. “The damage looks to be spreading.”

  “You do it,” Twain replied. “My blood’s up, Austen. I want those other ships. I want to blast ’em good.”

  Austen laughed and transmitted her laugh to Twain. She had an enormous, gooey reservoir of military grist counteragent in her hold, supplied by the amazingly productive Forward Labs on Triton. This goo, dispersed as an aerosol, would face its first test against the really nasty stuff.

  But readying the goo suddenly reminded Austen of another problem she’d forgotten about. She chided herself for the omission. But she was so unused to dealing with ordinary system-bound humans. For so long, she’d been a solitary creature of the spaces beyond the planets.

  “My soldiers,” she called out to Twain.

  “Eh, what’s that?” replied the old cloudship, already intent on his hunting expedition for the Mediumrare.

  “My soldiers,” said Austen. “Be careful of where you make your kill. They might get caught in the blast. They’re such fragile things, after all.”

  “Thanks for reminding me,” said Twain.

  Austen couldn’t tell if he was being flippant or if, in the thrill of chase, he had also forgotten about all those people.

  Twenty-five

  NEPTUNE SYSTEM

  E-STANDARD 14:00, THURSDAY, APRIL 3, 3017

  FEDERAL ARMY THEATER COMMAND

  Theory felt relief the way a free convert does—at a lessening of logical paradoxes within, a mathematical unknotting.

  “Give me a report, Major Monitor.”

  “Twain has disabled the Mediumrare , and she’s surrendered, sir.”

  “Good.”

  “I don’t think Twain likes it,” Monitor replied. “I think he’d rather have blown her out of the sky.”

  “He is accepting her surrender, isn’t he?”

  “Of course, sir,” Monitor replied flatly. “He’s deployed Company A, and they’re preparing to board her.”

  “All right, then,” said Theory. “What about Company B?”

  “They were too late getting to the scattershots,” Monitor said. “The minesweeper put up a fight and delayed them. They did some really brave atmospheric dives with those Sciaticas, but they only managed to pull 394 out in time. I have a count of 2,923 missing and presumed dead from falling planetward.”

  Theory frowned. Dammit. Only a little more time, and more could have been saved.

  “The minesweeper Debeh-Li-Zini has also surrendered and been occupied.

  “Very well.”

  “I’ve got an updated running count of dead and missing in inner-system action. Just a moment.” Monitor’s blank expression, somehow more poignant now. “Correlating… 7,018, sir. A death rate of 19 per hour down from 1,800.”

  “Thank you, Major,” said Theory. There would be no point in commenting on the pathos and irony of those counts; it was obvious to even Major Monitor. Yet they were necessary data.

  The DIED “fast” force that had gone directly after the Mill was defeated. The Mill had sustained significant damage, but it had not been taken out or even rendered inoperable. Yet.

  There was still the small matter of the nine ships and 180,000 soldiers vectoring in on Nereid and Triton even now. The forward edge of that armada had cut its way through, and there was fierce fighting in the skies over Triton. Nothing serious had gotten through the moon’s defenses, but a rain of nail shrapnel had fallen on New Miranda.

  Those Met battle planners were bastards, but clearly they were smart bastards. Theory had anticipated an attack by dumb weapons, but he had planned for big rocks, not little nails. The lasers and small rockets that normally handled meteors and provided a shield for the city were overwhelmed. Great sheets of nails got through.

  But the inner-system battle was now a mop-up operation, and he could concentrate on the main opponent bearing down upon him.

  He had momentum. He didn’t really understand the feeling—not on a personal level. But he knew it had a huge effect on the troops. They could feel it, and it would give them an edge. So long as they weren’t overwhelmed by a hugely superior force.

  Which was what Theory feared.

  Fear. Now there was an emotion he was familiar with, even as a free convert. But what could one do but face it and get on with things?

  Twenty-six

  NEPTUNE SYSTEM

  E-STANDARD 15:21, THURSDAY, APRIL 3, 3017

  DIED FLAGSHIP AZTEC SACRIFICE

  General C. C. Haysay was astounded. All four ships in the inner planetary system…lost. Not a good thing. Not a good thing at all. Bad.

  Amés was going to flay him alive.

  Got to think.

  Think about your pellicle getting peeled back and Amés reaching in to yank out the mollusk meat within.

  No. Tactics. Strategy. His ships were splayed all over the outer system like rising welts on a beaten back. Red, bleeding welts that would scar. No amount of grist repair work would hide them. Amés would never let them heal.

  Haysay found himself softly whimpering.

  “Did you say something, General?” Major Zane’s overly solicitous voice was almost unbearable at the moment.

  “I did not!” Haysay snapped back.

  “Do you have any orders, sir?”

  Haysay nodded. “Just a moment,” he said. “Shut up and let me think.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Damn Zane and his even-toned responses! Couldn’t he appreciate when it was time to panic?

  I have to check in with the Director, Haysay thought. There’s no other choice in the matter. I have to face my fear and call the man. Communicate the gravity of the situation, but make him see that it is not my fault!

  Amés won’t see that. Will he? No. Maybe. Hell, no! But no choice. No choice. Get control of the situation. All important.

  “Full stop, Zane.”

  “Pardon, sir?”

  “Bring the fleet to a full stop.”

  “But we’re already engaged in-system, General.”

  “Of course, of course,” said Haysay. “Already engaged. Already engaged.” A cracking whip. Unseen. But felt. Oh, yes, felt deeply and completely. “Pull back the Mencius and Longreach.”

  “Sir, those ships are attacking the fremden !”

  “You have my orders, Major.”

  The slightest hesitation from Zane. “Yes, sir.” He issued the commands.

  I will replace you after this, you weasel, thought Haysay. But, at the moment, I need your simpering ass.

  “We are moving into siege mode for the moment.”

  “But the invasion has been planned for years…”

  “As has a siege, should the initial inv
asion be rebuffed.”

  “But those are contingency plans, General. We haven’t even gamed them completely, much less audience-tested them on the merci.”

  Haysay pulled his aspect to its full height—which was considerably over six feet tall. “I will not be argued with any longer, Major.”

  “Of course, sir. But don’t you think you should contact the Director,” Zane said in a low, conspiracy-laced voice.

  Haysay tried to smile condescendingly, but he could only manage a grimace. “That’s exactly why I’m pulling back for the moment,” he said. “To allow for consultation.”

  “Ah, yes, sir,” said Zane. “I see, sir. Clever.”

  Haysay sighed. The man would clearly kiss the butt of Gristrot Mary the Plague-bringer if he thought it would advance his career. “Just move everyone into containment position, Major.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Haysay!

  Haysay spun around. The voice was…not behind him. Not above him. It was inside him.

  Haysay!

  There was no doubt whose voice it was.

  “Director Amés,” Haysay replied. “I was just going to contact you.”

  Step into your ready room.

  Zane gave Haysay a glance. Could the adjunct hear the Director’s voice? It didn’t matter. He knew what was happening, damn him. Or would soon enough.

  Haysay dared not linger, however, and wipe the smile off the major’s face. He opened a door in the air about him and stepped fully into the virtuality.

  Amés sat at one end of the room in a chair that hovered a good four feet off the ground. Haysay found that when he approached his eyes were barely above lap level on the Director. He craned his neck upward, attempted to meet the Director’s gaze, then settled on staring at his midsection.

  “What are you doing, Haysay?” Amés asked.

  “The interior attack was effective. We damaged the Mill on Neptune. But the ships were captured or destroyed.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “I thought it would be wise to regroup. To make sure of our success, as it were…”

  “You thought , did you?”

  How could he answer this correctly? It was the sort of question one used to berate cadets. He’d certainly done his share of it, so he should know. “Yes, Director.”

  “That’s something we’re going to put a stop to.”

  “What is, Director? I don’t understand.”

  “Your thinking for yourself, General. That’s what.”

  He risked a glance upward. Amés was smiling down at him. It was disconcerting. He suddenly felt his back muscles twitch.

  So it was going to be another beating. He wasn’t prepared. He’d never be prepared. But he’d survived before, and he supposed he’d make it through again.

  “The thing is, I enjoyed keeping you autonomous. You might not believe me, but I really did like to have you around. You remind me so much of the friends of my youth.”

  “Your… youth , Director?”

  “I was young once! Don’t look so incredulous, General. And when I was young, my friends often…disappointed me. It was infuriating.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Director.”

  “Oh, it’s all right. I took care of the matter. Just as I’m going to take care of it now.”

  Haysay found his hand reaching to his uniform’s top button of its own accord. He knew what was expected of him. He turned his back to Amés, stripped bare his torso, and gritted his teeth.

  Amés laughed, long and deeply. Haysay did not turn around. He didn’t want to catch the whip in his face, as he had before in trying to get away. There was no getting away from the beating. He knew that now.

  Amés’s laughter died down to a chuckle. “My dear General,” said the Director, “I’m not going to beat you. I’m going to eat you.”

  “Wha-what?”

  “Do you remember my assistant? The one you call C?”

  Haysay didn’t at first comprehend what was being asked of him, so intent was he on the coming pain.

  “Turn around, Haysay, and answer me!”

  Trembling, Haysay faced the Director once again.

  “Yes. The spy. Or whatever he is.”

  “A very useful lieutenant—that is what he is,” said Amés. “And loyal. I own him in a way I’ll never own another person. Even you.” Amés shifted in his floating chair and put a hand on his chin, considering.

  “C has been overseeing a program for me. A special development team. And they’ve been successful, very successful, building on what we’ve learned from manifold LAP integration—especially of the mistakes made with the time towers, and the experiment with the poet, Thaddeus Kaye.”

  “Director Amés, I’m sorry, but I don’t—”

  “—see what that has to do with you?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Amés didn’t answer for a moment. He slowly lowered his floating chair until he was eye to eye with Haysay.

  “It has everything to do with you, General Haysay,” he finally said. “Everything you have and everything you are.”

  “But I am a manifold, Director. I’m multiply recursed. I’m spread out in the grist.” Haysay brought his heels together and lifted his chin proudly. “I come from a third-generation family of LAPs.”

  “I’m afraid that your illustrious forbears have bred something of a mule,” said Amés dryly. “They seem to have left out the balls.”

  Haysay stiffened. He had balls! Lots of them, in many locations.

  “Don’t worry, Haysay. I’m going to take care of that problem.” Amés leaned forward. With his right index finger, he stroked Haysay’s cheek. It wasn’t a harsh touch or a gentle one. Somehow Haysay felt as if he had not been touched so much as tasted.

  “A manifold of manifolds,” Amés said in a low voice. As if he were talking to himself, Haysay thought. But I’m right here!

  “Everywhere at once. Every when at once.” Amés smiled. To himself. He’s smiling to himself.

  “The time towers got it backwards. The poet fucked himself over. But I’m doing it right. In an enlightened fashion.”

  “Director,” said Haysay, “I know I can do a better job with the invasion fleet. If you’ll give me another chance. I don’t deserve it, but I…I beg you…”

  “Beg me?” said Amés. It seemed as if he only then remembered that Haysay was still present. “I have nothing to give you.”

  “A chance to do better, sir. To defeat the fremden. To take the Neptune system for you.”

  “Oh. That,” said Amés. “No.”

  “But, Director…I’m sure…I could…I…” Haysay withered to silence under Amés’s gaze.

  “No.”

  “Yes, sir. Your judgment is final, of course.”

  “And binding,” said Amés. “Binding tight.” He leaned back. “I’ve taken in plenty of LAPs. But never a fellow manifold before. This should be interesting.”

  Haysay didn’t understand at all what Amés was talking about, but he couldn’t imagine that he was going to like what was coming.

  Amés leaned forward and touched his cheek again.

  There was a moment of intense, impossible pain. It was not merely his pain in his physical body. Every grain of grist he inhabited vibrated wrong. To the pulse of another’s being.

  He no longer owned his own soul.

  “Now you feel my world.” The Director’s voice was inside his mind. Would always be inside his mind.

  “Hurts,” gasped Haysay. “So bad.”

  So this was death. He waited to die. The pain didn’t end.

  Then he understood.

  Amés wasn’t going to let him die. Or live. He would be here forever, trapped in this moment of extreme suffering.

  “I’m the wick.” Amés’s voice boomed within him. “And you’re the wax. Get it?”

  No, it wouldn’t be forever. Just until Amés used his being up completely. Just a long, long time.

  “Your purpose is to melt, to bu
rn, and to make me shine.”

  Every surface he touched, every thought he possessed would be wrong —would flare and burn because it wasn’t him, and it should be him. His pain would make Amés stronger. What intelligence he possessed would become the property of the Director. Haysay would remain. Only his soul—everything that made him who he was—would be lost.

  “Good-bye, Haysay,” said Director Amés.

  Moments later, the general strode from his ready room and back into actuality with a hard click to his step. He looked around brusquely.

  “Major Zane,” he said. “Resume the offensive.”

  Twenty-seven

  NEPTUNE SYSTEM

  E-STANDARD 17:09, THURSDAY, APRIL 3, 3017

  FEDERAL ARMY THEATER COMMAND

  “They pulled back briefly, but now they are continuing the attack,” Monitor reported to Colonel Theory.

  Theory considered. Was there something to be learned from this strange DIED maneuver? He could not fathom what it might mean. He had the nagging feeling that he was missing something important. Not for the last time, he wished that Sherman was in-system and in command of the defenses instead of himself.

  “We have the Mencius and the Longreach at .58 kiloklicks. They are on a tangential vector to Triton’s orbital plane, one north–south, the other east–west,” Monitor reported. “Cloudships Homer and McCarthy moving to intercept.”

  “What about Nereid?”

  “Cloudship Carlyle has established an interior orbit. He’s almost as big as the moon, so he is providing optimal cover.”

  “They’ll save him for later,” Theory said, “if they have any sense. Have him remain in position.”

  “He won’t like it.”

  “Carlyle likes chess. If he complains, tell him to think of himself as a rook that’s waiting to castle.”