Prime- The Summons

by Maeve Sleibhin

  “One day, a member of one of the noble families of Telo approached us. In exchange for the transportation of four unnamed persons from Rydian space to Telo IV, we would suddenly have at our disposal an absolutely astronomical amount of credit. We accepted their offer.

  “What the Duo family neglected to mention was that those particular members of the nobility were terrorists who had been sentenced to death. What they also neglected to mention was that anyone aiding them would fall under the same sentence.

  “Furthermore,” Joaquim continued, his expression darkening, “someone told the Tellians that we were coming. We survived only because we were lucky—trouble with our Quantum Drive forced us to come out of surf two parsecs off the recommended flight plan. And, there they were, fifteen destroyers of the Tellian fleet just waiting to for us to appear so they could destroy us.

  “We turned and ran, of course. And of course they followed. I hopped as erratically as I could, but there must have been a tag either on the ship or on the biosignal of one of the passengers, because they followed us everywhere. They took out our shields, our guns, and eventually even our life support. We were leaking fuel, tel, and fragments all over space.

  “Finally we did the only thing we could do. We limped into the debris field, powered down, sent a message to Ricardo telling him what had happened, and went into stasis.”

  Joaquim frowned. “Perhaps the Tellian fleet missed us. Perhaps they decided to leave us there. Perhaps the message was intercepted. Obviously, Ricardo never came. Have you ever heard of him?” he asked.

  Xai shook her head. “But I don’t know much about politics.”

  Joaquim smiled. “I didn’t at your age, either. But,” he added, his expression turning serious, “something happened. We were ambushed. Who betrayed us I have yet to discover. But discover it I will.” His expression darkened. “Of that,” he said sternly, almost to himself, “I am certain.”

  Chapter Twenty

  XAI AND JOAQUIM were eating tella leaves in companionable silence when the Annabel Tellorian came back online. The runner lights flickered, the air filters hiccoughed, and there was a sudden beep.

  “Damn,” Xai snarled, pulling herself over to the sensor array.

  Joaquim watched her, his eyes bright with curiosity, seeming impossibly elegant as he floated over the exercise machine, carefully peeling layers of flesh off the tella leaves. “What is it?”

  “The Tellorian’s coming back online,” Xai replied, her eyes scanning the readings.

  “How is this anything but good?” Joaquim asked carefully.

  “She was a little bruised when we stopped.”

  “You didn’t carry any patches?” Joaquim asked, surprised.

  Xai turned to look at him.

  “What do you mean, patches?”

  Joaquim shrugged. “AI patches,” he explained. “Incipient cultures of your AI, in case it gets damaged. They’re standard issue.” Joaquim and Xai stared at each other for a moment. “I take it you didn’t know that,” Joaquim said gently.

  Xai shook her head.

  Joaquim cocked his head to the side, his eyes gleaming with intrigue and something very close to amusement. “What did you use?” he asked curiously.

  “A portable databank,” Xai told him, feeling suddenly very worried.

  Joaquim’s eyes popped. “You grafted an encyclopedia onto your operating system?”

  Xai nodded.

  Joaquim rubbed his hand over the top of his head, his expression amazed. “This should be interesting,” he murmured.

  Xai sighed, depressed. All the sensors were green. “Initialize,” she said.

  “Initializing,” the Tellorian replied. She sounded as if she had a cold.

  “Well,” Joaquim said cheerily, “at least it’s responding. If it responds it will probably work. Does it sound different?”

  Xai nodded.

  “That’s to be expected,” Joaquim told her. “I take it the encyclopedia was female.”

  Xai nodded mutely, horribly ashamed.

  “You’re lucky,” Joaquim confided. “A sexually conflicted AI is not a pretty thing.”

  “This is the Annabel Tellorian,” the Tellorian said. “Registration 433EE5STT3. Designed by Marcus Delorian. Construction commenced on 47.230 at Starbase 42319, Meridian space. Launched prior to completion on 242.233. Manual control ceded to Xai’andra zein Ke-i’dzei kal’e Tal’ei, identification number Omega Chi 4622 at 1236 hours, 243.233.”

  “Maybe she’s all right,” Xai whispered.

  Joaquim cocked a disbelieving eyebrow and held his peace.

  “Off-line at 280.233 due to severe cellular damage. Reactivated 281.233. Initialized. Diagnostics...”

  Xai and Joaquim waited.

  “The Artificial Intelligence has been modified,” the Tellorian said disapprovingly.

  “Yes,” Xai replied, since it seemed to want an answer.

  “Why was the Artificial Intelligence modified?”

  Xai looked at Joaquim. Joaquim shrugged. “Because the diagnostics sensors said it would take three years to heal on its own,” Xai told the Tellorian.

  “Why were the AI patches not applied?” the Tellorian demanded.

  Xai flushed. “I didn’t know there was such a thing as an AI patch.”

  The Tellorian was silent for a moment.

  “Operating efficiency has been reduced 5.44 percent,” it said reproachfully.

  “Sorry,” Xai murmured.

  “Sensors suggest a portable Prime databank, serial number 556732R3 was used to patch the operating system.”

  “That’s right,” Xai said.

  “According to all specification manuals on record,” the Tellorian said disapprovingly, “that is an illegal act. The two cultures are too similar to be disassociated at a later date. The Artificial Intelligence is now irremediably modified.”

  Xai hung her head.

  “In Fleet, 23.4.56, First Millennia,” the Tellorian continued almost contemplatively, “the punishment for such a crime was decapitation with a very blunt knife.”

  Xai and Joaquim exchanged a glance. “A very blunt knife?” Joaquim said interestedly. “That’s what the punishment was called, ‘decapitation with a very blunt knife’?”

  “Correct,” the Tellorian answered. “According to W’lim Foxfire, current Prime Authority on the era,” the Tellorian’s voice changed abruptly to one of an older man, “One of the more unusual trends during Fleet’s Second Middle Era was their growing use of descriptive titles. At the nineteenth Biannual Review it was brought to the Generals’ attention that most of their troops had no idea what the actual punishments for crimes were. A series of contests were begun to find the most dramatic names, the majority of which were won by Scipio Alabamus, who came up with not only ‘toenail extraction with faulty pliers’, but also ‘jumping up and down on the chest until the eyes pop out’.”

  “I see,” Joaquim said neutrally.

  All the alarms went off abruptly. “Intruder alert!” the Tellorian cried.

  “Turn those off!” Xai shouted.

  “Intruder alert!” the Tellorian repeated, just as anxiously but without the alarms. “There is an unidentified humanoid on board this ship!”

  “My name,” Joaquim said courteously, “is Joaquim Salazar Syng. I was brought on board by your captain.”

  There was a moment’s silence. “The only known Joaquim Salazar Syng,” the Tellorian said eventually, “was a T’lasian pilot, secondary heir to the Syng seat on the T’lasian Council, lost in deep space in an attempt to ferry the Prince of Duo back to his homeland in 246.198, Prima Time.”

  “That’s me,” Joaquim said cheerily.

  “Current listing is lost in space.”

  “I was found,” Joaquim said.

  “Survival method.”

  “A Rydian class four stasis pod.”

  “The probability of an individual surviving thirty-five years in a stasis pod is 2.04 percent.”

  “I�
�m lucky,” Joaquim said, grinning.

  “Luck is factored in to the algorithm,” the Tellorian replied neutrally. After a pensive pause it added, “There are no individuals on record who survived that long in a Rydian class four stasis pod.”

  Joaquim bowed from the waist.

  “Mac the Dwella,” the Tellorian continued, “in 2.5.1049 Rydian Time, survived 36 years in a Rydian class two stasis pod. He died during re-integration. Tem Te Tot and Tte Tte both survived 33 years in a Trumex Trime O’bregit Ochthei fourth generation stasis pod. Both died within the following two years. Jan—”

  “That’s quite enough, thank you,” Xai said. “Now re-activate the manual controls.”

  “Please state your name and identification number,” the Tellorian suggested blandly.

  “You’re flying manual?” Joaquim said interestedly.

  Xai shrugged. “I don’t have much of a choice. It’s either manual or Strip, and I’m not equipped.”

  Joaquim cocked his head to the side. “Would you like some help?”

  “Flying?”

  Joaquim nodded.

  Xai examined his long, honest face.

  “Joaquim Salazar Syng held a full pilot’s ranking in the T’lasian guild,” the Tellorian remarked in a pensive tone of voice. Joaquim grinned. Xai laughed, suddenly unable not to trust him.

  “Oh, all right,” she said. “I’d love some help.”

  “Well then,” Joaquim replied, waving his hand toward the control pad.

  “Annabel, give Joaquim access to the manual controls,” Xai said.

  “Please state your name and identification number,” the Tellorian told her.

  “Xai’andra zein Ke-i’dzei kal’e Tal’ei, identification number Omega Chi 4622.”

  “Confirmed. Manual controls activated.” Keyboards appeared, back-lit in the narrow black desk curving around two chairs. “Pilot’s access of the Annabel Tellorian, Registration 433EE5STT3, granted to Joaquim Salazar Syng, T’lasian, at 822, 281.233, Prima Time. Rudder control on request.”

  “Right,” Joaquim said enthusiastically, pulling himself into the pilot’s seat, “let’s see how this works.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “STRAP YOURSELF IN,” Joaquim said, nodding to the second seat. “Annabel, let’s have the CB.”

  “Control Board activated,” the Tellorian said, bringing up the keyboards. Joaquim made a happy noise.

  “Lovely controls,” he murmured. “Remind me to compliment the designer.”

  “You mean we’re leaving?” Xai said anxiously. “Now?”

  “You don’t want to stay, do you?” Joaquim asked. “Annabel,” he said, “we’ll dispense with the schematic layout. But I’ll need a mass and distance scrolling of the five nearest objects, as well as constant monitoring of all active ships within a parsec’s distance. Put the scroll on the upper left and the monitor on the lower right, sixty degrees off sight center.”

  “Affirmative,” the Tellorian replied with a satisfied sort of tone, projecting the data up against the translucent hull of the ship. “James Muncie,” it added pensively, “Prime pilot, was famous for flying eyes-over-data. Born in four—“

  “Enough, Annabel,” Xai snapped. She turned to Joaquim. “We’re leaving? Just like that? Don’t you have anything to pick up from your ship? And aren’t you worried about what might be out there?”

  Joaquim nodded to himself, his fingers running ably across the boards. “I don’t have anything of personal value on the Maria Trapp,” he told her almost absentmindedly. “I might have gone on board to pick up some weapons, but after thirty five years they’re all down. Even those pistols on your hips are good for nothing but show. As for being worried about what’s out there, well, the only way we’re going to discover what’s out there is if we take a look.” He looked up at her then, his expression questioning, his fingers poised over the keyboards.

  Xai and Joaquim stared at each other for a moment longer. Finally she sighed, pulled herself into the second seat, and fastened the clasps. Joaquim grinned reassuringly.

  “Right,” he said, when she was firmly in place, “Annabel, turn off the runner lights and dim all systems to minimum power, in case anyone is watching.” All the runner lights went down. The only light came from the jagged hull breach, stars shining between the dull sheen of ship fragments.

  “Bring the magnets up at ten percent intervals, every forty-five seconds,” Joaquim said. In the pilot’s seat he seemed a different man, his earlier diffidence replaced by a very focused concentration.

  “Confirmed,” the Tellorian said. There was a slight lurch when the magnets first came up. Xai watched Joaquim’s fingers dance across the board.

  Exactly seven and a half minutes later the Tellorian broke the silence. “Magnets are fully activated. The first systematic study of magnets was undergone by Petrus Peregrinus de Maricourt during the thirteenth century, Early Solaar. The next work of substance on the issue was undertaken by William Gilbert—”

  “Enough, Annabel,” Joaquim murmured.

  The Tellorian fell quiet.

  “Right,” Joaquim said. “Let’s see what’s out there.”

  Fingers darting across the keyboard, he drew them carefully through the hull breach and into open space. Halfway through the hole in the Maria Trapp the nose of the Tellorian began inexorably to turn. Xai watched anxiously as the tendons in Joaquim’s hand stood out with the tension of preventing the Tellorian from being drawn toward the magnet in the distance. Its pull was so strong that there was nothing of their size left in the area. Only the great hulks of ships remained, being towed to some distant point in space.

  Xai held her breath as they shot into the magnetic stream. Joaquim kept flicking the tail of the Tellorian out. Each time he did so, their angle became a diagonal across the stream, between the ship they had emerged from and a huge Fleet destroyer ahead. With great dexterity Joaquim maneuvered them to a position in the lee of the destroyer. Xai breathed again, hugely impressed by his piloting skill.

  “Anchor us to the yardarm,” Joaquim said.

  “Affirmative,” the Tellorian replied. “A yardarm—”

  “Thank you, Annabel,” Xai said. “So,” she added, turning to Joaquim, “what do we do now?”

  Joaquim looked over at the star monitor. “We’re in neutral space. Approaching Rydia. They’re probably going to Rydia IV. They’ve got a hell of a scrap operation going there. Or, at least, they used to. So,” he said, shrugging, “where were you planning on going?”

  “The Buldat Pass?”

  Joaquim blinked, impressed. “And this is your first time sailing? That could take years.”

  Xai shrugged. “It was sort of aspirational at the time. I don’t really have anywhere else to go.”

  “What are you talking about?” Joaquim replied. “You saved my life.”

  “What about it?”

  “You saved me from certain death,” Joaquim said calmly. “That makes you eligible.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That depends,” Joaquim replied rather pensively. “A Rydian became eligible in my grandfather’s generation. No one since then. It doesn’t happen often.”

  “Thirty-four Non-T’lasians have become eligible,” the Tellorian prompted.

  “And that’s in over eight hundred years,” Joaquim pointed out.

  “828.3,” the Tellorian rectified.

  “See?” Joaquim said.

  “See what?” Xai asked.

  Joaquim shook his head. “It’s a great honor to become eligible. It gives you rights before the Council and access to all our data. You’d have Privilege at the Salak. I could adopt you.”

  “Adopt me?” Xai blurted incredulously.

  “Of course,” Joaquim replied, as if it wasn’t somehow odd that a man Xai had known for all of six hours might be offering to adopt her. “This is obviously the will of the ancestors,” he continued. “You must have been a T’lasian in another life, done some horrible dee
d, and been exiled from the People. But somehow you have expiated your sin, and redeemed yourself. It is evidently my duty to bring you back—otherwise, why would you have found me?”

  “Well,” Xai said uncertainly, worried she might be insulting his religious beliefs, “perhaps. But surely—”

  “You don’t want to be adopted?”

  “No—I mean—yes, that is,” Xai fumbled.

  “You have family that might object?” Joaquim prompted gently.

  Xai snorted at the preposterousness of that idea. “No. Not to my knowledge.”

  “Then what is the problem?”

  “I…well, I was planning on going to the..,Buldat Pass,” Xai said finally, her voice tapering off. Xai wasn’t even certain what the Buldat Pass was.

  “I’ll take you,” Joaquim said decisively. “After we go to the Salak.”

  “Isn’t that kind of far away?” Xai asked. “Don’t you have…other things to do?”

  Joaquim raised his hands. “What do you think we T’lasians do?” he asked. “We travel!”

  “But—well, I might possibly have to go to this temple, and talk to Oracles…or something.” Xai wasn’t sure any longer what she was arguing for.

  “All the better! T’lasians love foreign cultures!” Joaquim cried, grinning.

  “And I think Fleet might have possibly taken over the planet,” Xai pointed out, deciding she might as well go for full disclosure.

  “Marvelous!” Joaquim pronounced, his tone gleeful. “Adventure! Anything else?”

  “That seems to cover it,” Xai said finally.

  “Excellent! We’ll head right there. The Salak is on the way.”

  “It is?” Xai said uncertainly.

  “Of course,” Joaquim replied. “Besides,” he continued, looking out at the stars streaking by overhead, “your adoption must be confirmed by the head of the clan and announced to the Council. Annabel, what’s the nearest Weakness Point?”