355/5043
IMPERIAL ZONE, OLD EMPIRE
“These are where the attachment is made?” With distaste, Julur examined the bunch of web-contacts lying on the couch. “Barbaric. It should not have been allowed.”
“It was my own choice,” Rafe argued, probably unwisely. “Are you convinced yet that it’s safe?”
He held his fingers rigidly straight, to prevent his nails from digging into his palms. After the latest interrogation under Gadrine, there was nothing else he could do to convince Julur. Was it all a hoax? Had Julur never intended to allow him in the web? Had he held out the possibility for the pleasure of denying it?
“You may use it.” Julur dropped the web-contacts. “I will observe.” He crossed the room to the seat he had had carried in. “How long a period will you require for good health?”
“Initially, two or three hours,” Rafe said cautiously. “I’m accustomed to webbing for eight hours a day. To prevent the web-cramp recurring, I should maintain that level of activity.”
“It will be permitted.” Julur sat down. He had dispensed with his guards again, brought only Braniya with him. “You may begin.”
Rafe stretched out on the couch, removed his web-bands. His web-contacts would need cleaning—vividly he remembered Joshim doing just that—he would not ask Braniya or Julur to do it for him. He strapped the signal-contacts onto his wrists; they were warm, already active. There was no monitor for him to check their placing, only experience to tell him that they felt right. He strapped the control-contact to his neck, hardly aware of his audience in his eagerness.
At the instant of engagement, there was a disconcerting impression of size from the web, larger than it should be within the confines of the casing. He fought that down; it was the strange configuration disorienting him. He wanted to stretch out to the edge of the available space, to give his nerves the freedom they had lacked for so long. He fought that down too. In a web as strange as this, he had to be cautious. At least while there were still things to learn about the web.
The strangest thing was being alone, the knowledge that there was no one on the end of his signal circuits. It made the web cold, less inviting than the Guild’s webs. Or was that just his imagination? Whichever it was, he was not comfortable, did not feel safe, felt like a child tiptoeing through a deserted building.
Tentatively, he sent a signal, expecting it to vanish into nothing or to be reflected back to him. What came back was neither silence nor an echo. Intrigued, he repeated the experiment on a different set of circuits with the same result. The response was nothing he could understand, but it was not the signal he had sent.
Slowly, he extended along a single circuit, looking for the terminus. He found nothing, even stretched so far that he would have reached the edge of Bhattya’s web. He withdrew, sent the same probe down other circuits. All of them seemed endless, reinforcing his initial impression of size.
There were no external sensors, but were there status banks, information banks from which he could read a matrix? Nobody built a web as complex as this for amusement, whatever Julur claimed. It had to have another purpose. Station webs held information about arrival and departure schedules; he remembered hearing the suggestion that all the Guild’s records should be held in the same way. There were no circuits in this web whose function he had not understood, no excess storage that he had noticed. The only anomaly was the large bank of comms circuits, approaching the complexity of a ship’s comms circuits. Were they a link to storage elsewhere? Was he misinterpreting his signal circuits? Direct comms circuits would be open-ended, he thought excitedly. If he could just master the signal system…
Doggedly, he ran through every signalling system he knew, starting with the training signals that were the first that a junior learnt, working through the standard fives used upon the cargoships, the eights of a surveyship, the extended tens of a patrolship. When he ran out of options, he repeated himself, varying the patterns across the array of signal circuits in case the connections were made differently than they were in the webs he was used to. If nothing else, the exercise was driving the web-cramp away.
Just when he had given up hope, was repeating the sequence out of stubbornness, not conviction, he got an answer that he could interpret. Extended tens, but with the connections made in reverse order. He sent [Query status,] received [Acting.] An instant later he felt the unmistakable tingle in his input circuits that was a matrix forming. He opened to it.
It was a visual analog. It took him several seconds to build the picture in his mind. The first try made no sense, but when he inverted it along both axes, it was a text bank, written in almost recognizable symbols, symbols that could be the precursors of the alphabet he knew, symbols that could be as old as the web he was in. The web lost the fragile veneer of familiarity that the signalling exercise had given it.
Struggling to hold the image clearly, he tried to understand it. There were several lines of text, each with a corresponding signal glyph. The top line might be "web." The rest … possibly "complex" and "surface" and others he could not interpret. He sent [Query web] and the matrix reformed.
A mixed text and diagram bank, less difficult to visualize because the adjustments he needed to make were becoming familiar. "Power" and a figure were easy to recognize, but harder to interpret without knowing the scale; he assumed it referred to the web’s internal power source. "Lock" and the symbol for "off" implied that something could be locked but was not. The diagram could be interpreted as meaning the web was fully functional, or it could mean something else entirely.
He sent [Magnify] with a pointer to the area of the diagram and watched it reform on a larger scale, spanning four of his input matrices. He thought he would go crazy, shifting them from their old relationship to the new upside-down back-to-front world, but he got them there in the end, concentrating so fiercely that he knew he would have a headache when he came out of the web.
Now he was seeing a schematic of the web’s circuits, dotted and continuous lines. Assume one set was signal, one set was control. Which was which? Concentrations of both kinds led to a cluster of arrows pointing out of the web. The comms circuits? Did he have control over something outside the body of the web? Outside the casing that he knew about, he corrected himself. How far did this web extend? And most importantly, what could he do from it?
There were control circuits terminating within the casing, if his interpretation was correct. "Lock," he remembered from the previous matrix. Lock the hood? It was sturdy enough to be worth locking, if he had remembered to slide it over him. Could he manage the mixture of body and web control that would take, if he had a good enough reason for doing it? And would locking the hood also lock access to the circuits? Surely yes, if it was intended as protection for the person in the web.
[Query,] he sent, wondering what further information the web would supply about itself. One of the circuits on the schematic doubled in intensity and a description appeared; as it did, he felt an itch in his own—corresponding?—circuit. Gods, he thought, this was how juniors learnt their way around a web. The teaching was done by a Webmaster, not the web itself, but if the web was designed only to hold one person … The description was incomprehensible. He sent [Acknowledge] and another circuit was identified for him, also leading off the edge of the diagram.
It could take days to learn his way around by this method. How long had he been in the web? He had lost track of elapsed time, but it must be close to two hours. When would Julur expect him to emerge? And would he be questioned about what he had done? If Julur learned that this web was not the limited thing he had believed, he would not allow Rafe to use it again. Was it worth taking the risk—if he could learn how to do it—to lock himself in and anger Julur in return for … Gods knew what possibilities. Yes, it was, when he already had nothing to look forward to except a short lifetime of dancing around the Old Emperor’s moods.
[Query web,] he sent, for a repeat of the previous bank. When he had i
t, he sent [Magnify] with a pointer to the "lock" section. He was rewarded with another circuit diagram, simpler, with labels already attached. "Hood," "web," and "room": three circuits, all controlling a different level of locking. "Hood" and "web" were definitely what he wanted. "Room"? The room that the web was in? The room that Braniya and Julur were also in? That was distinctly tempting.
He sent [Query] and the circuits identified themselves in turn. He checked several times, to be sure he had memorized them; Julur was unlikely to be forgiving of any mistake he made. Then he carefully lightened his web control, mixing it with body control until he could hear the noises in the room around him, the rustle of armour-cloth, two people breathing and with nothing to say to each other. He dared not open his eyes, but the hood slid over from right to left; if he raised his right arm he would touch it. From then it would take a second to close the hood, a fraction of a second to operate all three locks. Then—he hoped—he would be safe from Julur and Braniya and they would be trapped until he decided to free them. Unless there was an override that could be operated from outside the web…
Hell, Julur could do nothing worse than he had already threatened. He raised his arm, closed the hood, triggered the locks. He had enough body control to hear Julur exclaim, Braniya run across the floor to find out what he had done. Through the darkly transparent hood, he could see her struggling to open it. When she dropped out of sight, he assumed she was trying to open the circuit access she had seen him open before.
Julur was asking sharp questions; there must be a sound pickup somewhere in the room that was relayed inside the web, Rafe decided. There would be even more questions asked when they realized that they were locked in. How long would it take to cut through the door, as sturdily built as the walls in this underground warren? Several hours at least. He had wondered about the thickness of that door when he first saw it; now he understood.
He let his body control fade. The web status bank now showed "Lock" was on, and there was a pulsing alarm signal. To tell him that somebody was trying to tamper with the web, he decided. Now to find out what the other status banks would tell him.
"Complex" gave him a map. Working on the assumption that it was a map of the deep levels, he sent [Locate] and was shown a section of the map with one room highlighted, a figure two inside the room and a figure ten outside. Julur and Braniya and a squad of guards. [Query] gave him another circuit diagram. He ran through the identification sequence, finding "Lighting," "Temperature" and—most interesting—"Atmosphere." The presence or absence of atmosphere, he concluded, remembering the vacuum seal.
So. He had Julur locked in a room from which he could withdraw the air. Incidentally killing himself, since there was no independent air supply to the web, but it should be possible to convince Julur that he would commit suicide rather than remain a prisoner; the Emperor had been concerned enough that he would deliberately damage himself in the web. None of it would help him if he could not find a way off the planet.
"Surface" gave him a picture, several pictures that he could flick between. Most of them were blank; the others might be views of the surface of Old Imperial. The blank pictures worried him. Damaged sensors, or damage to the web itself?
He went back to the first status bank, puzzling over the lines he could not interpret. What he needed was a way to communicate, not only with Julur to relay his demands—when he had decided what they were—but off-world as well. With Central. Whoever was in control—Rallya, or he did not know the woman—must have learned by now that he had not been Carher’s prisoner. If he told the Guild where he was, made it possible for them to get in to collect him and out again safely…
The first line he tried gave him a diagram of his own web. Fascinated, he spared a few seconds to study it, defeated by the text but guessing that the highlighted section was a diagnosis of web-cramp. Or else the residual damage from the overload. The web must be probing his nervous system without him being aware of such an analysis. His mind balked at the level of sophistication that needed. This web was old, but it was not antiquated.
Another choice gave him a view of the room around him, of Braniya and Julur talking animatedly. There was extra data that might be sound, but he had never dealt with a sound input, could not begin to understand it. He watched them talk for a while; for once, Braniya seemed to be contradicting Julur. Regretfully, he filed the sound input among the things he would never have time to explore. If he needed to hear them, he could regain some body control.
His third blind choice brought him the comms circuits. Within the room, within the palace, system space, deep space. Rapid exploration of the deep space circuits taught him that they at least were familiar enough for him to use untutored. First, he had to target the message on Central. He knew the station’s location to several decimal places; every Guild-member did. He specified it. Immediately the web questioned it, offering an alternative that was different in the last decimal place on one axis. His mistake? No. He knew his coordinates were right. He overrode the alteration and the web gave in.
Next, before he brought anybody else into danger, he should be sure that he could control Julur and Braniya. He went through the sequence that identified atmosphere control. Demonstration first, demands afterwards? He was entitled to revenge for what Julur had done to him. This might be his only chance. For a long moment, he wondered if there was a way to take permanent revenge. To make Julur undergo an identity-wipe or a personality disintegration. Except that his personality was already less than intact. And the repercussions of any act of aggression against an Emperor were unthinkable, unless it never became known beyond the walls of this room. He would have to be content with teaching Julur what it was to be terrified and to have no means of escape.
He returned to the view of the room. Julur and Braniya were using the intercomm, arguing alternately with each other and with the comm. Rafe signalled for the atmosphere to be reduced. His captives were slow to notice the effects, but it was pleasant to see Julur’s face when he finally realized what was happening. He watched until they had both passed out and he was beginning to feel the effects himself before he restored the air.
By the time they regained consciousness, he had withdrawn from the web enough to hear and to talk.
“I can do that whenever I want,” he greeted Julur as the Emperor stood up unsteadily. He was obviously audible outside the hood; Julur jerked as if he had been struck. “I don’t have to stop before you’re dead.”
The colour fled from Julur’s face, leaving him an unpleasant white. “You would not kill me,” he said.
“Because you’re immortal?” Rafe scoffed. “It doesn’t mean you can’t die. It means you haven’t done it yet.”
“You would die too.”
“I have to do it sometime.” Braniya was dragging herself to her feet. “Welcome back to the world of the living, Braniya. Temporarily, perhaps.”
“You do not have to die,” Julur said intensely.
“Given the choice between staying your prisoner and dying, I’ll choose dying,” Rafe said cheerfully. “You’ll be pleased to know there’s a third choice. You can allow the Guild safe conduct down here to fetch me. And out again, of course.”
“No,” Julur objected. “You cannot…”
“Breathe vacuum.” Rafe dropped the air pressure in the room abruptly, restored it when he had made his point. “I shall be calling a Guild ship to fetch me. They’ll come out of jump inside your defensive sphere and they won’t be fired on. They’ll send an armed team down here to collect me and they won’t be stopped. They’ll leave here with me and with you as a guarantee of safety.”
“No,” Julur insisted. “I will not leave this world.”
“You want to die instead?”
“No.” Julur’s wits seemed to have deserted him, as if he could not cope with his loss of power. How long had it been since he had last been helpless? And how long would it be before he recovered?
Keep him off balance, Rafe warned himself
; don’t give him time to start thinking again.
“Order it done—and I can see everything that goes on in this palace,” he exaggerated, “or die now. That’s the choice you’ve got.”
“We could have the crew of Havedir come down to fetch him,” Braniya suggested calmly. Too calmly for Rafe to trust her…
“I want somebody I know,” he insisted. “And if you’re planning anything except obedience, don’t. Any attempt to open that door before the Guild arrive, any attempt to get into this web, any attempt to override what I’m doing and I’ll kill all of us. Now, do I send a message to Central, or do I stop the air?”
Julur flinched. “Send the message,” he said hoarsely. “You’re mad. You would kill both of us without understanding what you did.”
* * *
Attention Commander Rallya. Urgent. Request transport for self and Emperor from Old Imperial. Advise extreme caution. Rafe.
Rallya reread the message flimsy before she handed it to Joshim. “That came in fifteen minutes ago,” she said flatly. “The comms centre have got a reck of it, if you think you could recognize his comms-style…”
Joshim shook his head grimly. “No.” He handed the message on to Vidar. “If you want me to tell you whether it’s genuine or not, I can’t.” He twisted the ring around his finger anxiously. “Even if there was some kind of proof in there…”
He did not finish, did not need to. Rallya knew as well as he did that nothing in the message could prove that the request was genuine, that Rafe had not been forced to make it. Julur had had him for long enough to strip every secret from him, every freedom of choice … And which was more probable, Rallya asked herself: that Rafe had somehow gained the upper hand over Julur, or that Julur was using him as bait in a trap?
“Bhattya is spaceworthy,” Vidar remarked.
“I know that already,” Rallya snapped. She also knew she had no choice. Joshim would never agree to ignore the request when there was any possibility that it was genuine. And neither would she, she admitted. It would be impossible to live with herself if she let Rafe down needlessly. Or if she sacrificed Bhattya needlessly. Even if it was not a trap, it was still dangerous. Advise extreme caution, Rafe had said, implying that he did not have everything under control, that something could still go wrong. Something can always go wrong, she reminded herself savagely. Gods and Emperors, she had put her ship at risk enough times before not to funk the decision now. Just because she could not go with them…
A Matter of Oaths Page 26