Destroyer of Worlds Part 18

With the rise of great cities, ensembles became practical. Traditionalists still abhorred them. Society recoiled from them. Governments exploited them. Government biologists found ways to expand, and strengthen, and deepen the couplings.

And awareness happened.

Technology exploded. City-states with the most gifted ensembles raised empires, spread over the ice, even leapt to new worlds. And Gw'otesht, become indispensable to the rulers, became partners rather than servants- Even as ensembles remained repugnant to all but the most progressive Gw'oth.

That was more than Ol't'ro cared to share. "Those like us are a recent development, Sigmund. Some of our own kind ... disapprove. We did not know how you would feel."

"Then why reveal yourself at all? And why now?" Sigmund asked.

"We have a unique perspective." Ol't'ro chose their next words carefully. "It relates to whether Thssthfok returns to the planet below."

Baedeker whistled skeptically. "How does secretiveness bestow unique knowledge?"

"Our apologies." But no explanations. "We claim no special wisdom, Baedeker, only relevant experience. It is from the efforts of ensembles like us that the Gw'oth have recently developed much new technology."

"Connecticut Yankee!" Kirsten blurted. "Oh, c.r.a.p."

For once, Ol't'ro was without a clue. They disliked the feeling.

CONNECTICUT YANKEE?.

Sigmund's brief interest in A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court began with insomnia and ended that same night with the discovery of the eclipse scene. He never went back to the story, never gave Kirsten the recommendation she had requested. Apparently she had proceeded on her own. began with insomnia and ended that same night with the discovery of the eclipse scene. He never went back to the story, never gave Kirsten the recommendation she had requested. Apparently she had proceeded on her own.

He scarcely remembered the 3-V adaptation he had watched so long ago, but one scene had stuck with him: medieval knights slaughtered with Gatling guns. The Yankee had introduced guns and gunpowder, dynamite, electricity. In short order, he had remade society.

"Finagle, yes!" To Baedeker, who looked even more troubled than usual, Sigmund explained, "Thssthfok will push ahead the flying squirrels' technology. How quickly, and how big a threat could he create? I don't know. I don't see how we can know."

"We know," Ol't'ro boomed in that gravelly, resonant voice. "We know because we accelerated the rate of progress of our home city. That is why, against all our instincts, we now reveal ourselves. Because you know," Ol't'ro boomed in that gravelly, resonant voice. "We know because we accelerated the rate of progress of our home city. That is why, against all our instincts, we now reveal ourselves. Because you must must believe us. believe us.

"With Don Quixote Don Quixote's instruments, we have inferred a great deal about the beings that Thssthfok calls the Drar. Technology falls off very quickly with distance from the city where we found him. We have a.s.sessed alternative development paths and done the simulations. The results are clear. Within fifty New Terra years, probably fewer, Thssthfok's servants can build him ramscoops."

Something in that warning rang false. Sigmund's gut told him Ol't'ro was holding back, making a point without telling the whole truth. They, it, whatever p.r.o.noun applied, could advance the Drar-and the Gw'oth themselves-even faster.

Gw'oth progress, like the existence of Ol't'ro, could await another day. They should live long enough to worry.

Ol't'ro's warning had set Baedeker to burrowing into his mane, and launched Eric and Kirsten into intense whispers. Sigmund stopped them all with a stern look. Almost, the puzzle pieces had fallen into place. He had to think this through.

Pakhome was sterilized, its history over. Thssthfok surely thought those safe topics, and Sigmund a fool to be distracted by them. But in describing lost lands, and clan rivalries, and vanished inst.i.tutions like the Library-anything but the weapons and tactics in which Sigmund professed interest, certain Thssthfok would divulge nothing useful about them-the prisoner had conveyed something more precious. Psychological and sociological insight.

Thssthfok had lost his family and any hope of recovering them. Still he ate. Everything Sigmund knew about protectors said that Thssthfok had rededicated his life to serving all Pak. Like Phssthpok in an earlier age, Thssthfok had found his Cause.

Now, thanks to Ol't'ro, Sigmund knew that purpose.

Thssthfok would raise a great host. He would command a rearguard fleet to protect all Pak. He would smash any technological civilization missed by the Pak fleets, and smite anew any world recovering too quickly in their wake.

Decision time, Sigmund thought. He would not allow Thssthfok to raise a battle fleet.

That left two choices. They could kill Thssthfok-to strand him anywhere but where they found him meant only a slow and lingering death-or they could keep him aboard this ship.

Only there was no they they. This was Sigmund's mission. His ship. His responsibility.

He would kill to protect New Terra-if killing was necessary. It wasn't.

So: They would return to the planet of the flying squirrels and grab a supply of tree-of-life root. They would head, with Thssthfok, to the Fleet of Worlds.

Sigmund made a final mental note. While on the ground to collect tree-of-life root, one of the crew would paint-from the outside, where Thssthfok could not scratch-the porthole in the cargo-hold hatch. An uncovered view into hypers.p.a.ce might drive Thssthfok insane.

Sigmund permitted himself a moment of hope. Perhaps the sight of a live Pak protector would awaken-even in the Hindmost-the need for bravery.

THE LAST STRAW.

29.

Thssthfok's first escape attempt failed almost instantly. Hallway sensors spotted him and a sudden jump in gravity turned his limbs too heavy to move. Two armed and armored humans appeared at the end of the hall. Under the sights of their weapons, barely able to wriggle as gravity eased just slightly, Thssthfok surrendered his jury-rigged hatch-lock controller and crept back to his cell.

It had gone much as he had expected.

The brief glimpse of the corridor had been necessary reconnaissance. One quick look had shown Thssthfok the location of hallway sensors and suggested ways that they, like the pa.s.sive data feeds from his cell, might be accessed, bypa.s.sed, or compromised. And he had forced his jailors to reveal how they responded to a breach, and how quickly.

This escape would be real. escape would be real.

After the first escape, of course, the humans had searched his cell. They found what Thssthfok allowed them to find: a h.o.a.rd of material sc.r.a.ps and a sacrificial instrument from his repair kit.

Everything important remained hidden. His cache looked like any other surface in any of the empty storage units. The humans had poked and probed randomly, even in obviously empty s.p.a.ces. By blind luck, they might have found his hiding place. That was a risk he had had to take, and the odds had favored him.

They had not found his cache.

Thssthfok was p.r.o.ne on the deck between rows of empty storage units, where his captors were accustomed to seeing him retreat for sleep. He had not picked this spot randomly-it put him below the line of sight of the cell's sensors. He reached through the small softened area on a bottom shelf. His structural modulator lay hidden between that shelf and the floor.

Ironically, primitive materials had held him when properly designed material would not. Twing Twing was a flawless substance, but human materials were rife with cracks, voids, and impurities. He had had to rebuild the modulator to accommodate so many imperfections. was a flawless substance, but human materials were rife with cracks, voids, and impurities. He had had to rebuild the modulator to accommodate so many imperfections.

The ship's hull was a curious exception. To his improvised instruments, the curved wall scanned as defect-free as twing twing-but unlike twing twing, this material resisted softening. A spot of hull absorbed without effect all the power he had dared apply. The ship itself powered his modulator, with power drawn wirelessly from the humans' own magnetically coupled power transmitters. Any higher setting on the modulator risked drawing his captors' attention.

But for the ever-present sounds of air circulating and engines humming, the ship remained quiet. It was time.

Thssthfok modulated a small patch of the deck to transparency. He studied the room below: a table, chairs, an oddly shaped bench, and exercise equipment. No crew. He softened a large area, reached into the room below, grasped the top of an exercise apparatus, and pulled himself through. With a pop pop, surface tension re-formed the ceiling behind him. He climbed onto the table, reached back into his cell, and retrieved the modulator, leaving the cell floor (from his new perspective, the ceiling) permeable. He might have to make a quick retreat.

As he did. He had only bypa.s.sed half this deck's sensor feeds-from now on, they would always show empty corridors-when footsteps approached. A three-legged gait!

Thssthfok scrambled onto the table. He reached through the viscous ceiling, gripped a shelf, and, carefully staying beneath the sensors' line of sight, lifted himself into his cell. Resuming a p.r.o.ne position, he pressed an eye against the still-transparent spot on the deck.

Moments later, a two-headed, three-legged something something cantered into the room that Thssthfok had just vacated. cantered into the room that Thssthfok had just vacated.

30.

Nessus, looking dapper, stepped across the quarter mile of void that separated his ship from Don Quixote Don Quixote- And with that impression, Baedeker finally had to admit the depths of his despair.

Nessus famously considered mane coiffure a pointless ostentation. His mane was earnestly combed straight and worn with only a few jewels. His sash was utilitarian: a way to wear pockets, entirely without adornment.

Dapper? Only by contrast.

For so long, Baedeker had struggled to care whether he bathed or untangled his mane. Too many things-the Gw'oth, the Pak, hypers.p.a.ce, the absence of other Citizens-had taken their toll. He straightened out of the slouch become habitual and warbled a two-throated salutation. "Welcome aboard, Nessus." They brushed heads in greeting.

"Thank you." Nessus seemed surprised to find Baedeker on a New Terran vessel. Or perhaps the sociable greeting was what startled Nessus. "I see you have become a scout, Baedeker."

The herd defined sanity, and yet scouts separated themselves from the herd. It mattered not that scouts acted on behalf of all, for the safety of all. Scouts sought sought risks, and that proved them mad. Scouts were (in an English word Baedeker had learned from Sigmund) mavericks. And so the statement was an insult. risks, and that proved them mad. Scouts were (in an English word Baedeker had learned from Sigmund) mavericks. And so the statement was an insult.

Sung by the most experienced of Hearth's few surviving scouts, the notes were praise.

"It feels good truly to speak," Baedeker said. "English is not very satisfying."

"h.e.l.lo, Nessus," Jeeves sang over the intercom. (The contrapuntal melodies blended precisely, the tones pitch-perfect to the third harmonic, one cycle of vibrato indistinguishable from the next. It was without rubato, utterly mechanical, and Nessus flashed a sympathetic look.) "Nessus, Baedeker, the others wait in the relax room. Sigmund asks that you join them when you are ready."

Past differences with Nessus had somehow receded. It was more than the company of another Citizen after so much time among aliens. If anyone among the herd could appreciate the newfound dangers, it would be Nessus. And Nessus had the friendship of the Hindmost.

So where to begin? Baedeker had struggled with that question for days.

"Do you understand me?" Nessus switched to a little-used dialect.

"More or less," Baedeker answered in the same way. "If Jeeves does, I cannot say."

The stepping disc that had received Nessus was set in the corridor outside the bridge. Behind Nessus, beyond the open hatch, through the main view port, glittered the Fleet of Worlds. Four planets, blue and white and brown, ringed by necklaces of artificial suns: the nature preserves. And one planet, sunless, ablaze with the lights of its world-spanning city, more beautiful than all the rest. Hearth.

All at risk.

"Come with me," Baedeker said to Nessus. "Sigmund will explain everything to you. First, though, there are things you must see for yourself."

WITH A LUMP IN HIS THROAT, Sigmund prepared to leave Don Quixote Don Quixote.

Ol't'ro and Jeeves had already said their good-byes. Voices over the intercom: There was not a lot of emotional content to either. And Baedeker would be joining Sigmund. But as for Eric and Kirsten ...

Side by side, they stood looking at Sigmund. The three of them had been through a lot in the past eleven months. Sharing the cramped confines of Don Quixote Don Quixote was the least of it. It wasn't obvious who moved first, but suddenly Sigmund and Kirsten were hugging. He gave her a final squeeze, let go, and gave Eric a hug, too. That was the male, backslapping kind of clinch, but equally heartfelt. was the least of it. It wasn't obvious who moved first, but suddenly Sigmund and Kirsten were hugging. He gave her a final squeeze, let go, and gave Eric a hug, too. That was the male, backslapping kind of clinch, but equally heartfelt.

"Take care, you guys," Sigmund told them.

Baedeker and Nessus waited nearby, ill at ease. Nessus' arrival had bucked up Baedeker, at least enough that Baedeker had washed up a bit. There was a history of bad blood between the two Puppeteers, and Sigmund was mildly surprised they weren't quarreling.

"Ready when you are," Nessus hinted gently.

The years had been kind to Nessus. The Puppeteer had gained weight, and his mane was better groomed than Sigmund remembered. By his past standards Nessus had dressed formally. He wore a sash rather than a pocketed belt, and though his ornamentation remained minimalist, the few jewels bespoke high status. Still in Nike's favor, then-and Nike was now Hindmost.

But some things had not changed. Nessus' mismatched eyes, one red and one yellow, were as jarring as ever. And in favor or not, he was as edgy as always. Maybe the edginess came from being near Sigmund....

"You're sure about this?" Eric said to Sigmund.

"Yes," Sigmund answered firmly. "You have your orders."

Kirsten and Eric exchanged looks, and Kirsten sighed. "Yes," she said. "Return the Gw'oth to the ice moon and then go home."

"And give Sabrina a full report," Sigmund added, lest home home seem at all ambiguous. seem at all ambiguous.

Eric nodded. "We know what to do, Sigmund."

"See you soon, guys." Sigmund turned to the Puppeteers. "Nessus? After you."

Nessus vanished, and then Baedeker. Sigmund smiled one last time at his friends, before stepping across to Nessus' waiting vessel, Aegis Aegis.

Eric and Kirsten knew what to do, all right. Their orders did not involve a return home.

31.

From the copilot's seat, tanjedly uncomfortable, Sigmund monitored the final approach. The Y-shaped, padded bench he sat astraddle was never meant for a human, but his many aches soon receded into the background. This would be his first time on Hearth, and the scale of-well, everything-was beyond his wildest imagining.

Aegis descended into the perpetual night of the Puppeteer home world. No artificial suns...o...b..ted this world, where the industry and the body heat of a trillion Puppeteers generated all the energy the ecosystem could absorb. More than a thousand miles away, a vast, glowing grid became visible to the naked eye. Down they went, until the grid resolved into artificially lit streets and expanses of buildings that spanned entire continents. descended into the perpetual night of the Puppeteer home world. No artificial suns...o...b..ted this world, where the industry and the body heat of a trillion Puppeteers generated all the energy the ecosystem could absorb. More than a thousand miles away, a vast, glowing grid became visible to the naked eye. Down they went, until the grid resolved into artificially lit streets and expanses of buildings that spanned entire continents.

Down they flew until city stretched from horizon to horizon. A landing field came into sight, and on it rows of ships like so many grapes. Finally Sigmund had a frame of reference.

Each little ball was a s.p.a.ceship in a General Products #4 hull. A GP #4 hull was a sphere roughly a thousand feet in diameter-and here one looked tiny tiny. With the enormous ships for comparison, Sigmund truly grasped the sheer scale of the buildings. The smallest were cubes more than a mile across, each a city in its own right.

A few of those vessels must be grain ships from New Terra. A wave of homesickness washed over Sigmund. He tamped it down. This wasn't the time.

Nessus set down Aegis Aegis without as much as a b.u.mp. "Welcome to Hearth," he announced. without as much as a b.u.mp. "Welcome to Hearth," he announced.