Reave the Just and Other Tales

by Stephen R. Donaldson

  Abruptly, he wrenched his hands down from his face, pulled them into fists, pounded them on the arms of his seat. “Stop it,” he whispered. “Stop it. Machines are altruistic. Don’t care about themselves at all. Only thing they can’t do is feel bad when what they want is taken away. Any second now, they’re going to start firing again. We’re dead, and there’s nothing we can do about it, nothing. Stop breaking my heart.”

  His anger and rejection should have hurt her. But he was awake and alive, and his eyes were on fire in the way she loved. Suddenly, she wasn’t alone: he’d come back from his dull horror. “Gracias,” she said softly. “Gracias.” Possibilities were moving in the back of her brain, ideas full of terror and hope, ideas she was afraid to say out loud. “We can wake everybody up. See if anybody else can think of anything. Put it to a vote. Let the mission make its own decisions.

  “Or we can—”

  What she was thinking scared her out of her mind, but she told him what it was anyway. Then she let him yell at her until he couldn’t think of any more arguments against it.

  After all, they had to save Aster.

  _______

  Her part of the preparations was simple enough. She left him in the auxcompcom and took the nearest shaft down to inner-shell. First she visited a locker to get her tools and a magnetic sled. Then she went to the central command center.

  In the cencom, she keyed a radio channel. Hoping the alien was listening, she said, “I’m Temple. My partner is crazy—he wants to fight. I want to surrender. I’ll have to kill him. It won’t be easy. Give me some time. I’m going to disable the shields.”

  She took a deep breath, forced herself to sigh. Could a mechanical alien understand a sigh? “Unfortunately, when the shields go down it’s going to engage an automatic self-destruct. That I can’t disable. So don’t try to board the ship. You’ll get blown to pieces. I’ll come out to you.

  “I want to be goodlife, not badlife. To prove my good faith, I’m going to bring with me a portable generator for the c-vector field we use as shields. You can study it, learn how it works. Frankly, you need it.” The alien ship could probably hear the stress in her voice, so she made an extra effort to sound sarcastic. “You’d be dead by now if we weren’t on a peace mission. We know how to break down your shields—we just don’t have the firepower.”

  There. She clicked off the transmitter. Let them think about that for a while.

  From the cencom, she opened one of the access hatches and took her tools and mag-sled down into the core of Aster’s Hope, where most of the ship’s vital equipment operated—the comp banks, the artificial gravity inducer, the primary life-support systems, the c-vector generator.

  While she worked, she didn’t talk to Gracias. She wanted to know how he was doing; but she already knew the intraship communication lines weren’t secure from the alien’s scanner probe.

  In a relatively short time—she was Aster’s Hope’s nician and knew what she was doing—she had the ship’s self-destruct device detached from its comp links and loaded onto the mag-sled. That device (called “the black box” by the mission planners) was no more than half Temple’s size, but it was a fully functional c-vector generator, capable from its own energy cells of sending the entire ship off at right angles to the speed of light, even if the rest of Aster’s Hope were inoperative. With the comp links disconnected, Gracias couldn’t do anything to destroy the ship; but Temple made sure the self-destruct’s radio trigger was armed and ready before she steered the mag-sled up out of the core.

  This time when she left the cencom she took a shaft up to the mid-shell chamber where she and Gracias had their cryogenic capsules. He wasn’t there yet. While she waited for him, she went around the room and disconnected the chamber’s communications gear. She hoped her movements might make her look from a distance like one furtive life-form preparing an ambush for another.

  He was slow in coming. The delay made her fret. Was it possible that he had lapsed back into half-somnolent panic? Or had he changed his mind—decided she was crazy? He’d yelled at her as if she were asking him to help her commit suicide. What if he—?

  The door whooshed open, and he came into the chamber almost at a run. “Have to hurry,” he panted. “Only got fifteen minutes before the shield drops.”

  His face looked dark and bruised and fierce, as if he’d spent the time she was away from him hitting himself with his fists. For a second, she caught a glimpse of just how terrible what she was asking him to do was.

  Ignoring the need for haste, she went to him, put her arms around him, hugged him hard. “Gracias,” she breathed, “it’s going to work. Don’t look at me like that.”

  He returned her embrace so roughly he made her gasp. But almost immediately he let her go. “Keep your suit radio open,” he rasped while he pushed past her and moved to his capsule. “If you go off, the comp will take over. Blow you out of space.” Harshly, he pulled himself over the edge into the bed of the capsule. “Two-stage code,” he continued. “First say my name.” His eyes burned blackly in their sockets, savage with pain and fear. “If that works, say ‘Aster.’ If it doesn’t work, say ‘Aster.’ Whatever happens. Ship doesn’t deserve to die in her sleep.”

  As if he were dismissing her, he reclined in the capsule and folded his arms over his chest.

  But when she went to him to say good-bye, he reached out urgently and caught her wrist. “Why?” he asked softly. “Why are we doing it this way?”

  Oh, Gracias. His desperation hurt her. “Because this is the only way we can persuade them not to blow up Aster’s Hope—or come storming aboard—when we let down the shields.”

  His voice hissing between his clenched teeth, he asked, “Why can’t I come with you?”

  Tears she couldn’t stop ran down her cheeks. “They’ll be more likely to trust me if they think I’ve killed you. And somebody has to stay here. To decide what to do if this all goes wrong. These are the jobs we’ve been trained for.”

  For a long moment, he faced her with his dark distress. Then he let go of her arm.“Comp’ll wake me up when you give the first code.”

  She was supposed to be hurrying. She could hardly bear to leave him; but she forced herself to kiss him quickly, then step back and engage the lid of his capsule. Slowly, the lid closed down over him until it sealed. The gas that prepared his body for freezing filled the capsule. But he went on staring out at her, darkly, hotly, until the inside of the lid frosted opaque.

  Ignoring the tears that streaked her face, she left him. The sled floating on its magnetic field ahead of her, she went to the shaft and rode up to outer-shell, as close as she could safely get to the point where the faster-than-light projectiles had breached Aster’s Hope’s hull. From there, she steered the mag-sled into the locker room beside the airlock that gave access to the nearest exterior port.

  In the locker room, she put on her suit. Because everything depended on it, she tested the suit’s radio unit circuits four times. Then she engaged the suit’s pressure seals and took the mag-sled into the airlock.

  Monitored automatically by the comp, she cycled the airlock to match the null atmosphere/gravity in the port. After that, she didn’t need the mag-sled anymore. With hardly a minute to spare, she nudged the black box out into the high metal cave of the port and keyed the controls to open the port doors.

  The doors slid back, leaving her face-to-face with the naked emptiness of space.

  At first, she couldn’t see the alien ship: everything outside the port was too dark. But Aster’s Hope was still less than half a light-year from home; and when Temple’s eyes adjusted to the void she could see that Aster’s sun sent out enough illumination to show the attacking vessel against the background of the stars.

  It appeared too big and fatal for her to hurt.

  But after the way Gracias had looked at her in farewell, she couldn’t bear to hesitate. This had to be done. As soon as the alarm went off in the port—and all over Aster’s Hope—warning the
ship that the shields were down, she cleared her throat, forced her taut voice into use.

  “All right,” she said into the radio. “I’ve done it. I’ve killed my partner. I’ve shut down the shields. I want you to keep your promise. Save my life. I’m coming out. If we’re within a thousand kilometers of the ship when the automatic self-destruct goes, we’ll go with it.

  “I’ve got the portable field generator with me. I can show you how to use it. I can teach you how to make it. You’ve got to keep your promise.”

  She didn’t wait for an answer: she didn’t expect one. The only answer she’d received earlier was a cessation of the shooting. That was enough. All she had to do was get close to the alien ship.

  Grimly she tightened her grip on one handle of the black box and fired her suit’s small thrusters to impel herself and her burden past the heavy doors out into the dark.

  Automatically, the comp closed the doors after her, shutting her out.

  For an instant, her own smallness almost overwhelmed her. No Asterin had been where she was now: outside her ship half a light-year from home. All of her training had been in comfortable orbit around Aster, the planet acting as a balance to the immensity of space. And there had been light! Here there were only the gleams and glitters emitted by Aster’s Hope’s cameras and scanners—and the barely discernible bulk of the alien, its squat lines only slightly less dark than the black heavens.

  But she knew that if she let herself think that way she would go mad. Gritting her teeth, she focused her attention—and her thrusters—toward the enemy.

  Now everything depended on whether the alien knew there were people alive aboard Aster’s Hope. Whether the alien had been able to analyze or deduce all the implications of the c-vector shield. And whether Temple could get away.

  The size of the other vessel made the distance appear less than it was, but after a while she was close enough to see a port opening in the side of the ship.

  Then—so suddenly that she flinched and broke into a sweat—a voice came over her suit radio.

  “You will enter the dock open before you. It is heavily shielded and invulnerable to explosion. You will remain in the dock with your device. If this is an attempt at treachery, you will be destroyed by your own weapon.

  “If you are goodlife, you will be spared. You will remain with your device while you dismantle it for inspection. When its principles are understood, you will be permitted to answer other questions.”

  “Thanks a whole bunch,” she muttered in response. But she didn’t let herself slow down or shy away. Instead, she went toward the open port until the dock yawned directly in front of her.

  Then she put the repro Gracias had done on the comp to the test.

  What she had to do was so risky, so unreasonably dangerous, that she did it almost without thinking about it, as if she’d been doing things like that all her life.

  Aiming her thrusters right against the side of the black box, she fired them so that the box was kicked hard and fast into the mouth of the dock and her own momentum in that direction was stopped. There she waited until she saw the force field which shielded the dock drag the box to a stop, grip it motionless. Then she shouted into her radio as if the comp were deaf, “Gracias!”

  On that code, Aster’s Hope put out a tractor beam and snatched her away from the alien.

  It was a small industrial tractor beam, the kind used first in the construction of Aster’s Hope, then in the loading of cargo. It was far too small and finely focused to have any function as a weapon. But it was perfect for moving an object the size of Temple in her suit across the distance between the two ships quickly.

  Timing was critical, but she made that decision also almost without thinking about it. As the beam rushed her toward Aster’s Hope, she shouted into the radio, “Aster!”

  And on that code, her ship simultaneously raised its c-vector shields and triggered the black box. She was inside the shield for the last brief instants while the alien was still able to fire at her.

  _______

  Later, she and Gracias saw that the end of their attacker had been singularly unspectacular. Still somewhat groggy from his imposed nap, he met her in the locker room to help her take off her suit; but when she demanded urgently, “What happened? Did it work?” he couldn’t answer because he hadn’t checked: he’d come straight to the locker from his capsule when the comp had awakened him. So they ran together to the nearest auxcompcom to find out if they were safe.

  They were. The alien ship was nowhere within scanner range. And wherever it had gone, it left no trace or trail.

  So he replayed the visual and scanner records, and they saw what happened to a vessel when a c-vector field was projected onto it.

  It simply winked out of existence.

  After that, she felt like celebrating. In fact, there was a particular kind of celebration she had in mind—and neither of them was wearing any clothes. But when she let him know what she was thinking, he pushed her gently away. “In a few minutes,” he said. “Got work to do.”

  “What work?” she protested. “We just saved the world—and they don’t even know it. We deserve a vacation for the rest of the trip.”

  He nodded, but didn’t move away from the comp console.

  “What work?” she repeated.

  “Course change,” he said. He looked like he was trying not to grin. “Going back to Aster.”

  “What?” He surprised her so much that she shouted at him without meaning to. “You’re aborting the mission? Just like that? What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  For a moment, he did his best to scowl thunderously. Then the grin took over. “Now we know faster-than-light is possible,” he said. “Just need more research. So why spend a thousand years sleeping across the galaxy? Why not go home, do the research—start again when we can do what that ship did?”

  He looked at her. “Make sense?”

  She was grinning herself. “Makes sense.”

  When he was done with the comp, he got even with her for spilling ice cream on him.

  By Any Other Name

  I had wealth—an enviable villa graced by servants and soothing grounds, courtesans both imaginative and compliant, and a thriving merchantry, coupled with social standing just below that of the Thal himself. I had friends, well placed and gracious, who might have come to my aid—if they could have done so without inconvenience. I had a substantial, if somewhat overfed, cohort of guards sworn to my service and, presumably, to my protection.

  But necromancy and the fatal arts were Sher Abener’s province, and at last I fled from them.

  The nature of his quarrel with me was at once mystically arcane and stupidly practical. The caravans of my merchantry extended their travels to Sher Abener’s distant homeland, from whence his occult passions and powers derived. In hushed whispers, it was often said that there men trafficked openly with the dead, while here such practices are only feared and shunned.

  On the day when Sher Abener’s enmity toward me was set in motion, he approached me, asking that I command my caravans to obtain various necrotic objects and potencies for him from his homeland. Naturally, I acquiesced. I had never sought conflict with any man. Indeed, during the years since my kind and indulgent father had succumbed to the plague, and I had inherited his villa, his riches, and his merchantry, I had studiously avoided contention of any kind. I saw no purpose in it. I desired no alarms and apprehensions to trouble my satisfied life. The manly skills appropriate to my station—primarily the saber and lance, supported by some few techniques of unarmed combat, and a smattering of theurgy—I had learned without interest as a youth, and forgotten as swiftly as I could. My business dealings were marked more by pleasure and comradeship than by profit. My sport with my courtesans and friends accommodated no discomfort. No doubt Sher Abener had come to me because he could be certain of my acquiescence.

  Unfortunately, the man whose duty it was to carry out my assent refused. He was Tep Longeur, the
overseer of my merchantry—the man who both commanded and represented the drovers and carters and ware-hawks of my caravans. Two days after Sher Abener’s request, he approached me with his unwelcome reply.

  “Sher Urmeny,” he informed me stiffly, “it won’t be done. We won’t do it.”

  “My good man, why ever not?” I responded in protest. Truth to tell, I had at that moment no notion what he meant. My transaction with Sher Abener—ominous though it was—had already vanished from my mind.

  “The men won’t do it,” Tep Longeur explained. “And I won’t force them. I wouldn’t do it myself in their place. That trek is already dangerous enough. These things—” The neat scrim of his beard lifted in disgust. His eyes flashed a careless anger past the sun-belabored leather of his cheeks. “They’re evil, Sher Urmeny.”

  “‘Things,’ Tep Longeur?” I made no attempt to conceal my bewilderment. He had served my family longer than I had been alive, and knew me too well to be misled by feigned certainty. “‘Evil’? Have you dismissed your senses?”

  “No, I haven’t, Sher.” My overseer brandished before me a parchment marked by Sher Abener’s crabbed hand. A thrust of his finger indicated one illegible item. “This is a mechanism used to suck the blood from a man while he still lives. And this”—Tep Longeur pointed again—“keeps a man’s member rigid after death, so he can still be used for fornication. For those,” he sneered bitterly, “who enjoy that sort of amusement.”

  I found that I needed to seat myself. I had been cognizant of Sher Abener’s reputation, certainly. And a moment’s thought might have informed me that the objects and potencies he desired were of unpleasant application. Yet I had not considered that I might become an unwitting participant in some dire rite.

  “But I have accepted Sher Abener’s request,” I informed Tep Longeur. “It must be carried out. That is the nature of merchantries. The alternatives”—I could hardly suppress a shudder—“are disagreeable.”