Destiny's Forge

by Larry Niven

  “This is contingent on my partner’s agreement. Given that, we can be prepared to boost in twenty-seven hours. Will that suffice?”

  Tskombe nodded. “That’s fine.”

  “Do you have anything that needs to be preloaded?”

  “Just my personal effects.”

  “Understood. The ship is Black Saber, in bay seventeen at the downaxis hub. I will call you when I have consulted my partner. I do not expect a problem. You should plan to depart in twenty-seven hours.”

  Night Pilot offered his paw for Tskombe to shake, an oddly human gesture. Tskombe shook it somewhat awkwardly. He felt a strange tension come over him. Everything up to this point had been an obstacle to be overcome. Now he was going to march quite literally into the lion’s den. Ayla, I hope you’re there. Twenty-seven hours, and he would be on his way to Kzinhome. And what will I do when I arrive? That was something he hadn’t worked out yet, there had been too many more immediate problems to solve first.

  He tubed back to their quarters, relieved when the car arrived there and not at ARM headquarters again. The UN on Tiamat still hadn’t caught up with his status with the UN on earth. He had one more tube ride to take and he wouldn’t have to worry about Sergeant Veers anymore. When he arrived Trina was still in the pool with Curvy. It seemed to Tskombe that she only came out to eat and sleep. Another week or two and he expected she’d be catching trout in her teeth.

  “I have a ship!” he announced while Trina swam over and Curvy nosed herself into her handsuit.

  Trina beamed. “That’s wonderful, when do we leave?” She pulled herself out of the water, sleek and dripping.

  “Not we, just me. You have to stay here with Curvy.”

  “What? No!” Trina was visibly upset.

  Curvy trilled. “When last we discussed this I was to accompany you.”

  “The pilot won’t take you. He won’t accept responsibility for your safety on Kzinhome.”

  “What about me?” Trina interjected.

  “You can’t go because it’s too dangerous. We’ve already discussed this.” Tskombe raised his hands to forestall further argument. “Look, this is a good option. We all know it will be dangerous, and it’s ultimately my mission. Curvy, you can swing a deal with the Wunderland government and get immunity from the ARM, and that will get you the resources to look after Trina.”

  “I want to come with you,” said Trina.

  “Look how well you’re doing here with Curvy,” he reasoned. “On Wunderland you can—”

  Trina cut him off, her voice rising. “You’re going for Ayla. You don’t even know if she’s alive and you’re going for her.”

  “You know that’s what I’m here to do.”

  “Just take me with you, I can help you find her.” There was an edge of desperation in her voice. Tskombe was unprepared for her reaction. She knew this was the plan.

  “I can’t.” He saw her eyes brimming with tears. “I’ll come back for you, I told you that, I promise.” The words felt empty even as he said them. The probabilities were he wouldn’t be coming back at all.

  “You won’t be.” Trina burst into tears and ran out, nearly tripping on the still dilating pressure door in her haste.

  The door contracted again, and Tskombe sighed deeply as he watched it. There was nothing else he could say.

  Curvy whistled to break the silence. “This represents a change in plans, Colonel Tskombe. We must make strategy.”

  He turned to the dolphin, relieved to have a problem he could understand. “I think this is a better option. The situation on Kzinhome is dangerous, and as much as I’d appreciate your advice, you’ll be quite literally out of your element. And I’d rather not send Trina to the Bureau of Displaced Persons. They’ll look after her, but she needs more than that.”

  “Let me consider this.” Curvy’s manipulator tentacles tapped keys on her console. The matrix simulation ran for a few minutes, and then numbers spilled over the screen. Curvy whistled and clicked. “The risk balance is favorable. I concur you may travel alone. Trina’s well-being is not a factor in global consideration, although of course I am concerned for her on a personal level.”

  Tskombe spread his hands. “The pilot won’t take you.”

  “I understand. Nor do I recommend we delay or try to find another pilot. The ARM may rectify their mistake with you at any time, and our efforts will come to nothing. You must leave, and I must stay. The pertinent question concerns what you will do on Kzinhome.”

  “I haven’t figured that out yet.”

  “I have almost no parameters to build a model with. I expect the situation will be very fluid, which is why I intended to accompany you, in order to construct a more complete strategic matrix as information became available on the ground.”

  “So in the absence of that, what do I do? I can’t search the entire world.”

  “I would recommend you make contact with the ruling faction controlled by the Tzaatz. You still have the sigil of the new Patriarch’s father, which should offer you at least initial immunity from attack. You can negotiate to prevent war, and the entire resources of the Patriarchy will be available to help you find Captain Cherenkova.”

  “I’m not sure I trust the Tzaatz.”

  “There is the risk that the ruling faction will be using the threat of war with humanity in order to facilitate their consolidation of power. However, in the absence of a complete model of the situation, I believe this is your best option.”

  Tskombe nodded. “Not a good option, but the best option.” I knew this was going to be risky when I started. “How are you going to get to Wunderland?”

  “I am not going to Wunderland. I will continue to work for the United Nations. I will be able to exert more effective influence on the course of events within their framework. Despite its independence, Wunderland remains a colony world and is orders of magnitude less powerful than Earth. Also, I would like to retain the freedom to return to the North Pacific. Switching allegiance to Wunderland will make that impossible.”

  Tskombe’s eyebrows went up. That’s the first time Curvy has expressed anything remotely sentimental. It shouldn’t have been surprising. Dolphins were highly social and he could only imagine the sacrifice involved in leaving the oceans to work with a species which was, to them, as alien as the kzinti were to humans. “Listen, we’re on borrowed time here. The UN here is treating you well based on your clearance. Once the left hand figures out what the right hand is doing, that will end.”

  “No, you have been on borrowed time. My position is different. If you will forgive any implied discourtesy, you are easily replaceable in the UN hierarchy. I am not.”

  “Granted, but you’re the one who got me off-world. Ravalla’s group is going to see you as the enemy now. It doesn’t matter how hard you are to replace if you aren’t working for them.”

  Curvy clicked something and the translator said “Untranslatable,” then “I will see to it that they see me as a friend, and more importantly, as an asset.”

  “You’ve already deserted from the UN, if not all the way to Wunderland. How are you going to explain that?”

  “I will blame Commander Khalsa. Humans are too willing to see dolphins as their tools. Their prejudices will be satisfied, and they will be disposed to believe an answer which seems to serve their purposes.”

  “And Khalsa’s reputation will be ruined.”

  “Irrelevant. His reputation is of no further use to him.”

  “His family won’t get his pension if they process him with a dishonorable release from the service.”

  “The Commander had no pensionable relatives. Those he has might suffer a worse fate if my freedom of action is constrained.”

  “What if that doesn’t work?”

  “It has already worked. A UNSN fleet is enroute here. I have been asked to serve as Fleet Strategist.”

  “That’s not good news.”

  “Secretary Ravalla is wasting no time. I have some information which i
ndicates UN and Wunderland forces are already operating together against the kzinti. You are running in front of the storm.”

  Tskombe nodded. “I can’t run until the ship is ready to boost. Then…” He spread his hands. They talked some more and played a last round of poker. Tskombe felt a twinge of regret. He had come to like the dolphin, and he realized now that their paths might not cross again. But I must do what I must do, for her purposes and my own.

  Much later he went up to Trina’s small room and knocked on the door. He could hear her sobbing inside. He called her name and got no answer. He stood there awhile, uncertain as to the right course of action. Finally he left. Let her get it out, and then she’ll feel better.

  He slept fitfully and spent the next day packing, using Curvy’s UN credit to get the few essentials he’d need for the journey. Trina slept through breakfast and was silent and distant at lunch, but at dinner she had cheered up, chattering happily about some friends she’d met out on the pedmall. She raced through her food and gave him a hug on the way out.

  “I’ll see you later, check?”

  “Check.” Her smile was radiant. It was the right thing to get her off Earth.

  He napped after dinner, set his alarm and woke before it went off. Trina was still out, a disappointment, but maybe it was better that way. One final tube ride, once more not diverted to the ARM. And now I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Bay seventeen was small and well used, but it looked functional. That was more than could be said for Black Saber. He looked with some concern at the ship he’d hired. She had perhaps four times the volume of Valiant, and was easily four times older. She was night-black, with her registration in bright yellow on her nose, in both Arabic numerals and the dots and commas of Kzinscript. Umbilicals snaked from her belly: power, data, and more that he couldn’t identify. Two heavy hoses were crusted with frost and steaming gently; liquid hydrogen for the attitude jets and liquid oxygen for the life support, he guessed. A smaller hose, heavily shielded and also frosted, was probably for tritium deuteride. The freighter’s hull was covered in discolored patches, marking places where laser gouges in the ablative armor had been repaired. The landing skids were worn and still caked with the mud of some distant world. The lasers in her turrets were too big for a ship of her class, her sensor suite seemed patched together from spare parts, and her hyperdrive had been cannibalized from some other vessel, if the change in the hull plating at that section was any indicator. The ship’s polarizer nacelles, also cannibalized, bulged out of proportion to her size. She would be fast at least, if she could hold together.

  He went up to the bay’s observation deck for Trina, but she wasn’t there. He’d hoped she’d appear before he had to boost, but it looked like she wasn’t going to be. Not entirely unexpected. The girl didn’t want to be abandoned again, so she was abandoning him first. I hope at least she has the sense to go back to Curvy. Night Pilot came down the ramp, two meters of mottled tabby now wearing a tight fitting stretchfab pressurization suit with a fighter pilot’s helmet carried easily under one arm. Tskombe didn’t have a pressurization suit, and looking from Night Pilot to his battered ship, he wondered if he should have bought one.

  “Welcome aboard, Quacy-Tskombe.” Night Pilot beckoned him up the passenger ramp. Behind him the ground crew began removing umbilicals. Despite her larger size, Black Saber’s passenger space wasn’t much bigger than Valiant’s. Most of her internal space was given over to cargo. Night Pilot showed Tskombe his cabin, small but adequate for his purposes, and surprisingly clean in view of the generally run-down appearance of the rest of the ship. The kzin ran through a detailed list of procedures to be followed in emergencies ranging from gravity failure to cabin depressurization. Such briefings were standard on any commercial transport, and Black Saber’s were not materially different from any of dozens Tskombe had heard before, but Night Pilot delivered the information with such intensity that Tskombe found himself paying close attention. Under the circumstances it was simple prudence. There might be a test later, graded pass/fail, and the penalty for failure would be death. He’d broken the rules on Valiant and it had nearly killed him.

  After the briefing Night Pilot took him up to the cockpit. There was a creature there, like a five-armed octopus with joints, if you didn’t look too close. Each arm had an eye where the limb met the featureless central body, and it sat on a crash couch shaped like a mushroom with five indentations. Two of the limbs were acting as legs to hold it on the couch, the other three as arms to run the controls as it set up the ship.

  “This is Contradictory, my partner and copilot.” Night Pilot sat in his crash couch and started strapping himself in. The Jotok wasn’t wearing a pressurization suit, and Tskombe felt a little relieved at that. It, at least, didn’t expect the rattletrap freighter to lose atmosphere as soon as they hit vacuum.

  The Jotok bobbed on its supporting limbs and swiveled three eyes at Tskombe. “We are being Contradictory and we are being pleased to meet you.” Its voice had an odd whistle to it, like a parrot who’d been trained to speak. The arms facing the instrument panel, and presumably the two eyes attached to them, kept running through the preflight procedure. Tskombe bowed to the alien in return. It calls itself a we. Jotok were composite entities, he knew. Each limb began as a free-swimming larva, and it sought out and joined with four others before they all grew to adulthood as a group.

  Night Pilot pulled his helmet on and snarled something that Tskombe didn’t quite catch, then listened for a reply. He raised the helmet visor and snarled at Contradictory, “We are cleared for our launch window.”

  Contradictory tapped controls and snarled back, “Prelaunch checklist is being complete in two minutes.”

  Tskombe raised an eyebrow. The Hero’s Tongue was the language of Black Saber’s bridge, but its pilots used human measurements. Alpha Centauri system was a crossroads.

  Night Pilot’s tail lashed slowly as he set up his own displays. Once satisfied he looked back over his shoulder. “Quacy-Tskombe, we will be departing in approximately ten minutes. You should strap in to your crash couch now.”

  So there would be no opportunity to watch the undocking. It was reasonable, given the situation; he was just a passenger here, but since his experience in the Swiftwing he’d grown fond of being on the bridge. No more breaking the rules. He went back into his stateroom and strapped in. No sign of Trina, and now it was too late. He hoped she’d be okay.

  For half an hour he lay in his crash couch, staring at the ceiling and not thinking of anything in particular. There were occasional gentle surges as Black Saber maneuvered out of the docking bay and into exo-system transfer orbit. Eventually Contradictory came on the in-com and told him he could unstrap.

  There was still nothing to do but lie there. Eventually he unbelted himself and went up to the ship’s navigation blister to watch the stars. The Milky Way was spread like cream across the center of his field of view and he spent awhile contemplating the millions of civilizations it had seen live and die since its formation. Who could contemplate such an immensity of time and space? No human mind was large enough. Perhaps the Outsiders could. At least they lived on a timescale long enough to follow the starseeds on their eons-long migrations from the galactic core to the rim and back again. And how long do Outsiders live? And how did they and the starseeds evolve in deep space? What else is waiting for us out there? He switched off the gravity and let himself float. For thousands of years mankind had dreamed of the stars, and even with the colonization of space and the commercialization of interstellar travel he remained one of a tiny privileged fraction of humanity who would ever see the stars from outside of an atmosphere.

  After a while he switched the gravity back on, got out his beltcomp, and called up the newsfeeds while they were still close enough for Black Saber’s outcom to talk to Tiamat without speed of light lag becoming a problem. The news wasn’t good. Muro Ravalla had publicly signed a defense-of-human-space pact with Wunderland, an obvious first st
ep toward an attack on the Patriarchy. The shipping news announced the departure of no less than one hundred and eighty Earth ships for Wunderland, four entire battle groups. Occasionally he looked up at the stars and smiled despite his concerns. Curvy knew that was coming, and the fleet left well before the announcement. It would be hard enough to find Ayla on Kzinhome without a war going on around him. And I don’t know how I’m going to get back to human space when I do. Night Pilot would take them back for free, if he could find her before Contradictory managed to find a cargo, and if that cargo was going to human space. Unfortunately, the most likely outcome was that Black Saber would be long gone before Tskombe had properly started his search. Then he’d be left alone on Kzinhome without strakh and without allies, seen as either a slave or an enemy, and in either case liable for the hunt park at the whim of any kzin who crossed his path.

  Outcomes. If Curvy were here she could help me plan. She intends me to prevent a war. How was that supposed to happen? Contacting the Tzaatz was the plan. He still felt uncomfortable with it. Curvy’s strategic matrix didn’t require Tskombe’s survival, merely the achievement of the intended outcome. So what was he going to do? He needed a contact on the planet, at least.

  Inspiration dawned. Provider! He could find the old warrior’s stall in the market, perhaps. If he’s still there, it’s a start, a base of operations. From there I’ll have to play it by ear. Perhaps Provider had Ayla with him, and that would solve all of his problems at once. He closed his eyes, trying to visualize the route Pouncer had led them on in their escape from the Citadel. He hadn’t been paying close attention, but years of service in the infantry had trained his mind to pay attention to its surroundings even when he was concentrating on something else. They had come through a low tunnel, on the side of Hero’s Square closest to the Citadel. He could get that far easily. The twists and turns of the market were another question, but a few landmarks would be all he needed, and he remembered quite clearly what provider’s stall looked like, stout posts of a distinctive yellow wood, the ranked cages of food animals, the sauce jars. Next to that was…what? Another stall, selling some kind of electronics. And next to that? He couldn’t quite remember.