Prime- The Summons

by Maeve Sleibhin

  “What’s the Alameda Virus?”

  “The Alameda Virus is Fleet Authority’s chief method of labor control. Used in conjunction with the drug Mitocloroxyhydrocahedron, it creates and maintains an addiction which effectively eradicates volition. Reaction rates against Mitocloroxyhydrocahedron are 13.5 percent.”

  Xai leaned her head back and stared up through the hull of the ship at the clouds of ionized hydrogen skimming above her head.

  “When the Starbase attains a gravitational anomaly of 18.45 degrees,” the Tellorian continued, “massive hull fractures will appear. It will then break into approximately 239 separate pieces of a size greater than fifteen square meters, and 67,752 pieces smaller than fifteen square meters. At that time, 99.4 percent of the individuals who had escaped will die of explosive decompression. The Fleet ships—”

  “You don’t need to go into it.”

  Xai sat silently for a moment, examining the Q-Matrix rippling beneath her feet.

  “Please state the activation codes,” the Tellorian prompted.

  “What?”

  “To activate manual control you must state the activation codes.”

  “I thought you weren’t going to let me.”

  “Given that estimates suggest a greater than 94 percent probability that Starbase 42319 no longer exists,” the Tellorian replied, “standing orders with reference to Xai’andra zein Ke-i’dzei kal’e Tal’ei, identification number Omega Chi 4622 are no longer applicable. At the next connection with Prime a request will be made for new orders. Until that point, standard protocol is to give humans with the appropriate activation codes control of the ship. If you do not have the appropriate activation codes, the automatic pilot will be engaged, and the ship will sail to the nearest Prime node, currently Starbase 43356 in Melloxian Space. Estimated arrival time, conservative travel modes, 487 days, 13 hours, 22 minutes.”

  Xai thanked Kesta and anyone else out there that she had helped build this ship. “Activation Code A: Jolly Roger,” she said.

  “Confirmed.”

  “Activation Code B,” she continued, “X4.”

  “Confirmed.”

  “Activation Code C:” Xai finished, her voice choking on the words, “Marcus Delorian, Space King.”

  “Confirmed. Manual controls activated.” Keyboards appeared, backlit in what had earlier been a narrow black desk curving around the two chairs. “Control of the Annabel Tellorian, Registration 433EE5STT3, ceded to Xai’andra zein Ke-i’dzei kal’e Tal’ei, identification number Omega Chi 4622 at 1236 hours, 243.233, Prima Time. Rudder control on request.”

  “Thanks Marcus,” Xai whispered. She wiped the tears out of her eyes and watched as the small globes of salt water floated up before her. She looked away, finally, and took a deep breath. “Now if only I knew how to sail this damned thing,” she murmured sourly.

  Chapter Twelve

  “SIR,” the Tellorian said briskly, interrupting Xai’s rather morose reverie, “Prima regulation 455EKT3 mandates that all ship crews be suited at all times.”

  “Are there any suits my size?” Xai asked.

  “There are three regulation suits and two prolonged exposure suits, all sized male, tall.”

  Xai stared off into the distance and drummed her fingers on an empty part of the keyboard. “What would happen if I chose not to wear a suit?” she suggested.

  “If there is a hull breach, there is a probability of 98.94 percent that you would die of explosive decompression.”

  Xai sniffed pensively. “What’s the chance of that happening?”

  “In a ship of the Experimental Explorer class,” the Tellorian replied, “the probability of a hull breach over a two year period is twenty-one percent.”

  “Twenty-one percent?” Xai cried, horrified. “Why?”

  “The two chief characteristics of the Experimental Explorer class ship,” the Tellorian told her, “are recombinant Q-Matrices and multiple surf-sail capabilities. Of the recombinant Q-Matrices, 12.36 percent have suffered serious regenerative problems and 11.43 percent have been subject to microscopic fractures. Historically, multiple surf-sail capacities have been demonstrated to exacerbate existing Q-Matrix weaknesses by anything between 5 and 37 percent. In the case of Experimental Explorers such as this one, the Mallorian plastic skeleton joints are used to anchor the Matrix. The interior therefore depends upon the skin to maintain the atmosphere. Because of these characteristics, a probability of 21 percent over a two year period is considered a conservative estimate.”

  “Where are the suits?” Xai asked weakly.

  “In cabinet E-1,” the Tellorian replied.

  Xai reached down and undid the seat belts. Experimentally, she pushed off from the armrests. She glided up slowly and bounced gently off the ceiling. Xai started to laugh as her fingers scrabbled along the edge of the Mallorian squares, trying to find a decent finger-hold.

  “Annabel, how am I supposed to get anywhere?”

  “Databanks suggest that propulsion is the only current means available. Suits have arm and feet magnets which, when used in conjunction with the magnets lining the skin of the ship, will assist in mobility.”

  Xai grinned. She’d dreamed of doing this when she was a little girl—sailing through the galaxy with Captain Maria veer Koor, or Tom Dellora of spacer fame, hunting new species. Look at her now! she thought suddenly, rubbing a hand over her head. Unassisted by gravity, her hair stuck fifteen centimeters straight out from her head. The x’anche, the short cut worn by bastards, was a blessing out here. Xai had a momentary vision of her cousin Kekka floating blindly in space, lost in a great cloud of straight black hair, and laughed outright.

  The remains of the Gamma hung before her, dark and still as she had never seen it. “What’s the status of the Gamma?” she asked.

  “It was irremediably damaged when it collided with your cranium,” the Tellorian said.

  Xai laughed again and pushed off from the roof, gliding toward the exercise machine. Using it she maneuvered around to the cabinets in the back, pulled out the suit, and began to put it on.

  “If the suit is to recycle the water you emit,” the Tellorian said in what Xai could have sworn was a disapproving tone of voice, “you must not wear anything underneath it.” Xai struggled out of her clothes and back into the suit, feeling decidedly exposed, even though she knew quite well no one could see her. Her mother’s pendant rose off her chest to float before her. She tucked it carefully into the top of her suit, wondering for a moment what had happened to her Uncle Meezein. The thought faded quickly, pursued by the facts of the matter.

  The suit was huge, hanging down over her hands and feet. “Can I wear my boots?”

  “Yes,” the Tellorian replied.

  Xai laced the boots over her feet and tucked most of the extraneous material into their wide tops. “Is there any string?” she asked pensively.

  “There are forty meters of nylon cord in drawer E-3.”

  “Any elastic cord?” Xai asked, after thinking a minute more.

  “There are fifteen meters of elastic nylon cord in drawer E-3.”

  Xai got the elastic nylon cord out of the drawer, carefully cut off two short strips, and fashioned herself garters. She pushed them up her sleeves, bunching the cloth between her shoulders and elbows. This gave her unimpeded access to the data pads on both forearms.

  “Right,” she said, feeling enormously competent. “How long will I be protected if there’s a hull breach?”

  “Half an hour,” the Tellorian replied. “After that the force fields will weaken and the oxygen generated from the water emitted by your body will begin to run out.”

  Xai made a face. “Ok,” she said, “show me how to move in this thing.”

  “Activate the magnets on your arms,” the Tellorian told her.

  Xai punched the magnet sign on her right-arm data pad.

  “I am now damping the magnets at the rear of the ship,” the Tellorian said.

  Xai glided to the fron
t, a huge grin on her face, and strapped herself into the seat again. “Right. What now?”

  “Specify.”

  “What should we do now?” she asked.

  “Customary protocol after crew has boarded the ship is to plot a course,” the Tellorian said.

  Xai blinked. She hadn’t thought quite that far ahead. “Well,” she said, “where can I go?”

  “Specify.”

  Xai sighed. “What are the nearest Weakness Points?”

  “Specify the distance.”

  “Ten–no, forty days from here.”

  “There are four Weakness Points within a forty-day radius of our current position,” the Tellorian said. “Patrick Johnson I, Isabella Cotta III, Isabella Cotta IV, and John Vargas Smith XXVI. The nearest is Patrick Johnson I. ETA three days, current speed; on the outskirts of the nebula, near Starbase 42319.”

  “Fleet holds it, then.”

  “Probability at 97 percent.”

  “What about the other ones?”

  “Probability over 80 percent that Isabella Cotta III and IV are also under Fleet Control. Probability for John Vargas Smith XXVI: 3.32 percent.”

  “So I guess we have to go to John Vargas Smith,” Xai said.

  “Surfing necessitates accreditation,” the Tellorian pointed out.

  “I can’t sail in the nebula, can I?” Xai retorted. “Besides, the sail needs another week in culture before it’s glide-ready. I had the highest score on the Multi-Plane Surfer,” she finished lamely.

  “The Multi-Plane Surfer was decommissioned as a training tool in 324.168 when it was demonstrated to be ineffective.”

  Xai shrugged. “I reached Level Seven. It will have to do.”

  “Intended destination.”

  Xai stared out at the dim brightness of a star shining through the nebula. Where did she want to go? She’d never had the choice before. Messim, perhaps? Xai shuddered unhappily. Somewhere in Prime? But Prime had orders to keep her a prisoner. No one in their right mind would go to Fleet. That left the Rydian Empire—a world quite large enough to get lost in. She would have to go through non-aligned or neutral space, but once there neither Prime nor Messim would be able to touch her again. “What’s the fastest way to Rydian Space?” Xai asked.

  “The fastest manner of reaching Rydian space is the Buldat Pass.”

  “How long would that take?”

  “Given the current skill levels,” the Tellorian replied, “approximately one year and three months.”

  Xai grimaced unhappily.

  “Arriving at the John Vargas Smith XXVI Weakness Point from our current position,” the Tellorian continued, “will involve tacking through the nebula using solar currents.”

  “All right,” Xai said.

  “The shortest distance plots a course through an area designated as a Generally Accepted Dumping Ground between 467 and 634, Rydian Era.”

  Xai winced. The GADG Simulator had been the hardest of them all. “How long would it take to go around?”

  “ETA with passage through the GADG is thirty-five days,” the Tellorian replied. “ETA around is 149 days.”

  Xai winced again. “Plot a course going through the GADG.”

  “Plot laid in,” the Tellorian told her.

  “Got any GADG Sims?”

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE MEMORIES were the worst part of it. She had set a goal, put everything into motion, and now she had to wait. She floated. She became quite skillful at turning, bouncing, and rebounding off the interior walls. She read Walter de Valera’s treatise, Low-Gravity Hand to Hand Combat. She discovered she could modify the magnetism of her suit, and used it to simulate high gravity for training. She rode the exercise bicycle for hours on end, trying to keep fit. She read every manual the Tellorian had on surfing, from the Fleet training tome, Basic Interplane Maneuvers, to the cult classic Winds of the High Planes. She played GADG Sims until her dreams were filled with ships slicing through debris fields, the only thing preventing them from crashing into the wreckage the thin web of magnets wrapped around their hulls.

  None of it helped. She kept seeing the bodies of the people killed in the collapse of the escape pod. She dreamt of it incessantly. In one dream it was Marcus’s face that she saw in the magnification. At the oddest times she found herself filled with fear—short of breath, eyes darting around the ship and the space outside it, seeking enemies that weren’t there.

  She tried to think of other things. She even remembered a quote by Teksa Wu on the subject—“thoughts of defeat breed defeat, thoughts of victory, victory.” But the images pursued her, the images and the constant worry, the wonder. What had happened to Marcus, to her relatives? The idea that they were all gone was more than she could fathom. But it seemed inescapable. Everyone she knew was dead.

  What bothered her most was the number of the ships involved in the attack. Why such a large fleet? She could think of no reason. The question nagged her, the grating edge of a problem that could not be resolved, that warned of a thousand other unanswered questions, all of which boded ill.

  In something like desperation she turned to studying her mother’s pendant. It was an odd choice for a gift, a prototype chip that had never really worked. The current Prima connection was a subtle thing. For the most part Prime was merely a catalyst, a connection between the individual Primers and the data or communication they wanted. But the connection was actually far more complete than Xai had imagined. As Primers were chipped from the moment of their birth, Prime was wired into their brain from the very beginning, before language, before movement, almost before volition. Prime’s access to a Primer’s mind weakened as the mind evolved—it had, for example, no ability to determine what an individual was thinking. But it had almost total understanding of a Primer’s basic needs and, startlingly, some control over those primitive systems as well. Prime could compel individual Primers to act only in very specific situations—ones which might save the life of the individual or cases in which the greater good obviously necessitated an individual sacrifice. But those occasions did exist, and what Xai found most eerie was that in such a case Prime could chemically activate the brain so that the individual sacrificed felt not merely at ease with the action, but something approaching joy in the doing of it.

  The pendant was far less subtle, a more artificial imposition, made before Primers had thought to chip implants, before they had grown the central Prime node. It was an attempt at direct communication between individual minds, unbuffered, an imposed psychic connection. It was crude, ugly, and, in the final analysis, completely ineffective, rejected by most of the participants within a matter of days.

  “Why did he like it then?” Xai said, frustrated.

  “Redefine query,” the Tellorian replied.

  Xai frowned and stared out at the nebula swirling around her ship. “What distinguishes this chip from the other chips like it?”

  “Redefine query,” the Tellorian repeated.

  “Why is this chip special?” Xai said, mostly to herself.

  “Accessing.” the Tellorian replied. “Maria von Hauser, Prima scholar,” Annabel said suddenly. When she began speaking again it was in a high, light soprano. “The second generation chips are special,” she said, enunciating each word with careful, loving precision, “because they are less of a connection than a control chip. They were rejected by the founders for precisely that reason. The second generation chips would have subjugated us to the will of the strongest mind among us. What makes the second generation chip special, what makes them important,” the woman said, her voice sparking with excitement, animated by the classic Primer’s love for esoteric subjects, “is that it exemplifies the choice made by the founders, a choice that has become the very basis of who we are. The founders chose to make the Prime central node—a hub, an access point—to facilitate our interactions. They chose, that is, to base our strength not on the strength of a few, but on our plurality. The founders chose equality, and they did so by soundly rejecting th
e second generation chip.”

  Xai sat back in her chair and watched the nebula go past, wondering what it was about this particular, rejected chip her father had found symbolic.

  Chapter Fourteen

  IT WAS on the twenty-sixth day that she remembered the Me’xeit had quoted Ke-i’dzei Xan’ta’lei. The memory came to her with frightening speed. T’zein had run back, saying that Tek had found him, and the Me’xeit had quoted Ke-i’dzei Xan’ta’lei—one of the famous quotations, the one from the day she let her brother Gangcat lose face before all the Cousins. “Four times the effort goes into making than unmaking,” she had said, “four times the effort in doing than undoing. The wise leader will merely assist his opponent in undoing himself.” And then she had sat back and watched Gangcat make enemies of both Xeit and Xeing. It had cost him his place on the first continent, Telo. He hadn’t even been able to keep the city he designed, Tien.

  Xai shuddered. The Me’xeit had quoted Ke-i’dzei on victory over an enemy and the next morning the Starbase had been attacked by Fleet. Had he contacted them? It seemed ridiculous, and yet… Xai had a vivid memory of the sight of his face, looking at a hologram of the Xan’ta’lei Summer Palace in the High Hills just out of Ti’all. Open for a moment, she had seen in his expression pure rage—rage, anger and a profound, unnerving sense of loss. Would he really have sacrificed all those Primers—people who had kept his family alive for almost twenty years—purely to see that Palace again? Could it be possible? Xai sat still for a moment, for the first time in her life actually doubting her grandfather’s sanity.

  Another thought came to her. What could he have offered Fleet that would have made them willing to attack the Starbase, given that Prime was so much more technologically advanced than they? Rydia would not sit by as Fleet tried to take this quadrant of the galaxy. They would step in if Fleet continued. Would Fleet continue? Or was it some strange ruse? If so, to what end? Xai couldn’t stop thinking that the only thing the Me’xeit could offer Fleet was Messim. But what good was Messim to Fleet?