Destroyer of Worlds Part 6

Gw'oth cities hugged the ocean-floor hydrothermal vents and ringed the occasional volcano. Sunlight played little role in the ecology here; chemosynthesis around the vents drove the food chain. Tidal flexing by the gas giant kept the ice moon seismically active and its vents pumping out energy-rich nutrients. To the Gw'oth, the vast expanses of ocean between vents must be like deserts.

But the few-and-scattered archives? That Sigmund could not explain. As the holo globe turned, the distribution of archives appeared less and less even. "Why don't more cities have archives?" he wondered.

"Unknown," Jeeves said.

Kirsten raised an eyebrow. "Sigmund, you're imagining a puzzle where none exists. With worldwide comm, they can access data centers from anywhere. Not every city needs its own."

They must. They could. Kirsten was guessing.

Hacking remotely into Gw'oth data centers and netcams had been brilliant. Likewise, deducing that the Gw'oth a.s.sembled into living computers. But Kirsten's genius was technological. Divining intent, sniffing out deceit, recognizing threats ... those tasks required different skills.

"Jeeves," Sigmund said. "Does prevalence of archives in a city correlate with anything?" That was too broad, so he clarified. "Population density, maybe. Local language. Ocean depth. Characteristics of the hydrothermal vent."

Pause. Then, "None of those, Sigmund."

Kirsten synthed a bulb of coffee for herself. "Where are you going with this, Sigmund?"

"I don't know." Sigmund trusted his intuition. A hidden truth was trying to warn him. He was sure of it.

"There is is a correlation," Jeeves finally decided. "It's between archive sites and seismic damage." a correlation," Jeeves finally decided. "It's between archive sites and seismic damage."

Kirsten grinned. "Mystery solved, Sigmund. Data centers are valuable, so the Gw'oth don't put them in areas p.r.o.ne to quakes."

"That's not the case," Jeeves said imperturbably. "The correlation is to seismic damage, not seismic activity. There's less damage near archives because those cities use more metal construction. Differences in seismic activity aren't statistically significant."

"Similar fractions of stone buildings fallen, Jeeves?" Sigmund guessed.

"Correct, Sigmund."

Kirsten said, "Richer cities use more metal construction. Richer cities have archives. I just don't see what's bothering you, Sigmund."

"Maybe nothing." And maybe biological computers, like the digital archives the ensembles filled with data, were a recent mutation or innovation. If the latter, the Gw'oth were a bigger potential threat than Baedeker already feared.

If so-and if the call for help the Gw'oth continued to transmit wasn't bait for a trap-how scary was whatever had them them frightened? frightened?

REAL-TIME DATA STREAMED into the main archive of Lm'Ba: highresolution observations from a fivefold of orbiting telescopes. Faint electromagnetic waves from sources across the sky. Counts of neutrinos and cosmic rays from instruments deployed worldwide.

Ol't'ro sucked in all the data. They synthesized and integrated, deduced and projected. They drank in the stars and planets. They delighted in the fire of the sun. They tasted the faint glints of distant asteroids and the even more remote rocks and ice in the far-off cometary belt.

They gulped it all down and thirsted for more. Thirsted for one particular particular taste. taste.

Someone had left a radio beacon and a message of hope on the back of a nearby moon. Someone had marked the position of the beacon with crossed lines lased deep, and long, across the rocky surface. Simple micrometeoroid frequency measurements and abrasion-rate calculations proved the incisions were recent.

Too recent to have been cut by whatever was headed this way.

Ol't'ro kept scanning the skies for whoever had left the beacon and the offer of help. They had to hope those Others who offered help would return in time.

12.

After two days coasting and observing-during which the Gw'oth archives, despite Kirsten's best efforts, kept their secrets-Sigmund had to concede they had learned what they could from afar. That, and he was tired of rehashing what little they knew about the Gw'oth. He a.s.sembled everyone in the relax room to discuss "next steps."

Kirsten was eager to meet her her Gw'oth. She got right to the point. "Thrusters or gravity drag?" Gw'oth. She got right to the point. "Thrusters or gravity drag?"

The answer was not obvious, at least to Sigmund. Which technology should they risk revealing to the Gw'oth? He tossed back the question. "Which do you recommend, and why?"

"Thrusters. Even if we get all the way down to the ice surface on gravity drag-which would be fancy piloting, even for me-we'll need thrusters to leave. If you hope to keep secrets, Sigmund, why show gravity drag at all?"

Sensible-given her unstated a.s.sumption. "Eric. What do you think?"

"Pilot's decision," Eric said.

"Baedeker?" Sigmund asked.

Baedeker tugged at a lock of his earnestly coiffed mane. "These Gw'oth learn so quickly. I opt for the less advanced technology, of course. But Citizens have used both technologies for so long I can't tell you which was trickiest to develop."

And Don Quixote Don Quixote didn't have a Puppeteer historical database. No New Terran ship or inst.i.tution did. didn't have a Puppeteer historical database. No New Terran ship or inst.i.tution did.

The Earth Sigmund remembered, however imperfectly, knew thrusters and gravity drag. Both were fairly recent technologies. Thrusters were very new; he had flown on ships that used fusion drives instead. Fusion drives being potential weapons of ma.s.s destruction, ships reliant on them used air compressed nearly into degenerate matter for takeoffs and landings.

Sigmund did not understand thrusters well enough to make even an educated guess whether Earth's and Hearth's relied on the same physical principles. The history of technology was hardly his field. There might have been an earlier generation of thrusters he knew nothing about. "Jeeves. Have you been listening?"

"Yes, Sigmund."

"When Long Pa.s.s Long Pa.s.s left Earth"-at least four and a half centuries earlier-"was either technology known?" left Earth"-at least four and a half centuries earlier-"was either technology known?"

"Only gravity drag."

"Gravity drag only drags drags," Kirsten said impatiently. "It won't get us launched, so we'll reveal our thrusters anyway when we leave. We might as well slow down with thrusters."

There was that unstated a.s.sumption again. She presumed Don Quixote Don Quixote must land. must land.

Neither Eric nor Kirsten would want to hear it, but setting down on the Gw'oth world was far from certain. The call for help that had brought them here could be part of a trap. If anything smelled wrong, Sigmund meant to go far, far away-fast.

Humans in the Fleet had had no tech to call their own, only such crumbs as the Puppeteers had let drop from their table. Then came Explorer Explorer's mission, discovery of the Gw'oth, and the loss of innocence. Learning to respect Gw'oth accomplishments had taught Kirsten and Eric respect for their own lost ancestors. It was the first step on the road to New Terran independence.

Grat.i.tude to the Gw'oth was understandable. It was also his friends' blind spot.

A partial truth would serve. Sigmund said, "Braking quickly, however we do it, shows we have artificial-gravity control to offset our deceleration. Braking by gravity drag gives little else away. So: gravity drag to slow us most of the way. When"-if!-"we land, we do so with our thrusters dialed way down, disclosing little about their capability. We launch the same way." And thrusters remain our secret if we don't land at all. "We'll accelerate once we're out of sensor range."

"Gravity drag, full braking," Kirsten summarized. "Thirty gees."

Sigmund nodded.

She grinned. "That should be fun."

The nervous tap of Baedeker's forehoof suggested fun fun wasn't the word he would have chosen. wasn't the word he would have chosen.

13.

Banded and wreathed in storms-much larger and, for that reason, more luminous even than the distant sun-mighty Tl'ho commanded Er' o's attention.

It was scarcely an exaggeration to imagine that he felt the gas giant's presence. Pure, beautiful mathematics had characterized the cyclic flexing of the ocean bottom, and from that, the force of gravity, and from that that, the enormous ma.s.s that must somehow exist, unseen, theretofore unsuspected, beyond the ice that since time immemorial had been the roof of the world.

And it was here, as real as the beauty of mathematics.

That gigantic new world, unlike anything the Gw'oth had ever known, was but one wonder. Ice was not the roof of the the world, but only of world, but only of a a world, at that a mere moon. The universe was far vaster than anyone had imagined. And while Tl'ho had been revealed by its gravitational attraction, none had antic.i.p.ated the magnificence of its appearance, or the even larger, far more distant object in whose reflected light Tl'ho glowed. world, at that a mere moon. The universe was far vaster than anyone had imagined. And while Tl'ho had been revealed by its gravitational attraction, none had antic.i.p.ated the magnificence of its appearance, or the even larger, far more distant object in whose reflected light Tl'ho glowed.

It had turned out that the sun and, by extension, the far-off stars were much hotter than Tl'ho. For a short while after first venturing up onto the ice, scientists puzzled why the fiery pinpoints in the sky had fixed locations. But as parallax measurements soon revealed, at least some of the fixed stars weren't. They were only very, very very remote. remote.

So Er'o had believed until the latest observations. Something Something was shooting across nearby skies. Something as hot, almost, as the surface of the sun. And that something, whatever it was, was slowing rapidly, exerting tremendous forces. was shooting across nearby skies. Something as hot, almost, as the surface of the sun. And that something, whatever it was, was slowing rapidly, exerting tremendous forces.

Er'o emitted a sharp tone burst. The sounds would propagate along the science-station tunnels into the farthest lab, workshop, and private chamber. "Time to a.s.semble."

Er'o was at a loss how best to proceed.

As Ol't'ro, he would know.

OL'T'RO CONSIDERED: A rapidly decelerating object-a ship-detectable only by the vast amount of heat it radiated. Ol't'ro contrasted the lost energy of motion with the measured radiated energy.

An approximation-the efficiency of the deceleration mechanism being unknown-of the ship's ma.s.s. Bigger by far than the largest Gw'oth ship.

The arc of the ship's course. A manipulation of s.p.a.ce-time, Ol't'ro concluded. Interesting. Almost instantly, they began to refine their concept of gravity.

Reluctantly, they deferred the puzzle for a later time. Another inference had more urgent value to the polity. They disconnected a tubacle, to couple its mouth with a comm terminal.

The Others had arrived. Their ship would reach the ice soon.

BAEDEKER CIRCLED HIS TINY CABIN, too tense to sleep or even to sit. He had tried comforting digital-wallpaper motifs to no avail. Neither crowd scenes, not even with a double release of aerosol herd pheromones, nor tranquil meadows helped. A dollop of synthed grain mush sat in its bowl, scarcely touched.

And they had hours to go before Don Quixote Don Quixote approached the gas giant. approached the gas giant.

Over the intercom: an unfamiliar chime. Baedeker wondered if the tone was a new affectation from Jeeves.

He was wrong.

"All hands," Jeeves announced a moment later. "The Gw'oth are hailing."

Baedeker gaped at the latched door of his cabin, as though aliens were about to swim through it. His reaction was foolish, of course. This ship was stealthed. The Gw'oth hail had to be a broadcast of some sort, in the hope that someone had responded to their earlier message.

He was wrong again.

"Comm laser," Sigmund announced, surprise plain in his voice. Laser communication was directional. "The Gw'oth know we're here. Everyone to duty stations."

Duty stations meant Kirsten and Sigmund on the bridge and Eric in the engine room. And himself? Anywhere not underhoof. Sigmund had phrased it more tactfully as "on call."

The others reported in from their posts. "I'll remain in my cabin for now," Baedeker declared for completeness. "Jeeves, what is the nature of the hail?"

"I'm streaming the incoming signal, receive only," Kirsten answered for the AI.

To all appearances, rolling hills of lush purple meadowplant surrounded Baedeker for as far as the eye could see. He banished the idyllic pastoral setting from one cabin wall. The incoming message filled the cleared s.p.a.ce.

A Gw'o undulated before an unseen camera. In parallel rows, cryptic squiggles and English translation straddled the image. "Thank you for responding. Once you are closer, we will talk."

14.

Don Quixote plunged deep into the Gw'oth system, with every sensor straining for data. plunged deep into the Gw'oth system, with every sensor straining for data.

From bases across the Gw'oth solar system, radio chatter spiked. (Perhaps laser comm spiked, too. With no way to intercept directional traffic, how could one know?) Surface vehicles ma.s.sed in large formations, fanning out from the few mountain peaks that poked above the ice. s.p.a.ceships maneuvered, their fusion flames hot and unmistakable. Electromagnetic launchers stretching far across the ice flung yet more vessels into s.p.a.ce.

So many ships! So many EM launchers! It seemed less and less likely the Puppeteers had intervened here since Kirsten's last visit.

Sigmund focused on more pressing matters: the present flurry of Gw'oth activity. Defensive measures? Factional rivalries? Preparation to attack Don Quixote Don Quixote? Knowing as little as he did about the aliens, Sigmund could rationalize any of those scenarios. Being who he was, he suspected the last.

He was sharing the bridge with Kirsten. Leaving the piloting to her, he studied the tactical summary in the main holo display. It showed far too much activity for his liking. Kirsten's certain disappointment notwithstanding, they would not not meet soon with the Gw'oth on their home ice. That would simply be imprudent. Perhaps later, when they knew more. meet soon with the Gw'oth on their home ice. That would simply be imprudent. Perhaps later, when they knew more.

"Jeeves," Sigmund said, "I a.s.sume you can also translate from English."

"Correct, Sigmund. Barring vocabulary shortfalls, of course."

"Good. Send this: We wish to meet first with those who invited us."

Kirsten squirmed in her crash couch.

"Something on your mind, Kirsten?" Sigmund finally asked.

"No. Well, yes. We know who on the ice moon contacted us. I backtracked the laser."

So why not land near there, she meant. And if that's a trap? "Who initially asked for our help and who contacted us when we arrived might not be the same."

"Besides whoever used our beacon, who knew to look for us?" she countered.