Fate of Worlds

  “Hindmost! You have been gone for so long! I had not expected to meet you here. Or you, Nessus.”

  “It is a long story,” Baedeker sang. “I was marooned. Fortunately, I escaped the Ringworld before it disappeared.”

  “I would not have guessed.” For a moment, Minerva looked wistful. “I had come to think you had joined Nike.”

  Joined Nike. The chords bowed with despairing undertunes, sagged beneath a counterpoint of burdens too long borne. It was a melody yearning for the final release.

  But Nike’s disappearance reflected nothing as ordinary as death. As Gw’oth war fleets had swooped down upon Hearth, Nike and his aides fled into the Concordance’s deepest, most secret hiding place—locking the door behind them. Nike was the sane one during the crisis.

  No one had heard since from him. Few knew of the Hindmost’s Refuge as anything other than ancient fable. For all Minerva knew, Nike was dead.

  “I will never forsake the herd,” Baedeker sang. “I left seeking a way to free everyone.”

  Minerva glanced nervously at the closed bridge hatch. “I have company on this ship.”

  Company rang with undertunes of unease. For others to hold dominance over the ship’s hindmost.…

  “That is why I reached out,” Baedeker sang. “To understand the state of affairs on Hearth. That your ship has a Gw’o aboard tells me much.”

  “We have three. They are in their habitat at present.”

  Not a Gw’otesht. “Only a little smarter, then, than us.” Baedeker permitted himself a quick, one-eyed smile. “I came to the Ringworld for advanced technology, something to entice Ol’t’ro. Do you think a trade is possible?”

  Minerva trembled. “I know very little. On occasion I have participated in ministerial meetings, representing Clandestine Directorate. When ‘Chiron’ sings, the Hindmost heeds. Always Chiron wants more resources for his research.”

  “That sounds encouraging,” Nessus sang.

  Baedeker thought any optimism was premature. “Who is Hindmost?” Unless I get back safely, I cannot negotiate with Ol’t’ro.

  “The current Hindmost is Horatius,” Minerva sang.

  “Who?” Nessus asked.

  “The most recent Conservative to preside.” Minerva sang a formal name. “Conservatives do not last long after finding out who truly rules.”

  “Yet this one deemed himself Horatius defending the bridge,” Nessus sang. “I think I would like this Conservative.”

  Holding the bridge against whom? An army of the Etruscans, maybe. Or Babylonians. Maybe Mayans. Nessus was the one who had studied human myth and history. But Baedeker had come to understand—painfully mastered, over the years—the art of politics. “Who are Horatius’ leading ministers?”

  Baedeker did not know most of them, either. Except one: Achilles. “How much influence does he retain?”

  “A great deal.” Minerva hesitated. “You will not understand until I review some events since you left the Fleet.”

  More bad news? “Proceed,” Baedeker sang.

  Minerva took time to gather his thoughts. “After the Ringworld expedition, Nessus’ crew returned to their homes knowing the location of the Fleet.”

  “And nothing came of that,” Baedeker sang. He shot a quick, sorrowful glance at his mate. Exchanging long-held secrets, Nessus had confessed to wanting ARM and Patriarchy navies to descend upon Hearth. But had that scheme for chasing off the Gw’oth been any less mad or desperate than Baedeker’s own? Hardly.

  Minerva lowered his heads subserviently. “For many years, that was the case. The distances were great. The secrets of the Ringworld beckoned. But after the two of you left…”

  Fled, their friend meant. “Sing plainly,” Baedeker directed.

  “Aliens began to arrive.” Minerva looked away. “Not in large numbers. Their strength had all been sent to the Ringworld. But still, aliens were among the Fleet. Watching. Demanding commercial relations. Every group of aliens scheming to embroil us in its rivalries against the others. Having been permitted to open embassies on Nature Preserve Three, they push to establish presences on Hearth itself.”

  “Have they learned about New Terra?” Baedeker asked.

  “No, Hindmost.”

  “They may know soon,” Nessus sang sadly. “A New Terran ship brought me here.”

  Minerva sang, “It will find ARM ships and reveal the shameful past.”

  “So I fear,” Nessus sang.

  “About conditions in the Fleet,” Baedeker prompted.

  “I apologize, Hindmost,” Minerva sang. In broken melodies and with disheartening grace notes, he told the sordid tale: Chiron judging the old, automated defense arrays inadequate. An artificial intelligence given control of the array. Proteus getting more and more enhancements—and since Ringworld’s disappearance, yet more capacity and new capabilities.

  What would my old friend think of Voice? Baedeker wondered. But the circumstances were not the same. Voice was a companion, little more. To surround Hearth and herd with weapons under the control of an AI?

  “Let me guess,” Nessus sang. “Achilles built Proteus. In the process, he has made himself indispensable.”

  “As you sing, Nessus.” Minerva’s heads sagged lower. “Who else is that crazy?”

  “Or ambitious?” Nessus added.

  “As you sing,” Minerva repeated.

  Baedeker was still struggling with the implications when Minerva intoned meekly, “There is more, Hindmost.”

  What more could there be? How much worse could the situation get? “Go on.”

  “Ol’t’ro is old,” Minerva sang. “Their youngest members are of the eleventh and twelfth generations. No Gw’otesht has ever clung together this long. They are … not quite right.”

  “How can you know that?” Baedeker demanded.

  “One of my crew, Hindmost. For a time, Tf’o was unwillingly a part of the meld. He was replaced.” Minerva trembled. “This far from home, even a Gw’o sometimes needs companionship.”

  As for a long while, I had only Voice, Baedeker thought. For much of their “adventure,” Louis had set his own course, ranging far across the Ringworld. To reunite with Nessus after so many years—

  Text pulsed on a console. A warning from Voice. All Kzinti ships have jumped to hyperspace.

  Where were they going?

  24

  Come at once, the Norquist-Ng summons read.

  “Not much for small talk,” Sigmund muttered. He didn’t expect specifics, but please would have been a nice touch. On my way, he texted back.

  But first …

  This jumbled den was his favorite room of the house. He had been standing at the clear wall, admiring the view, when the message came. Yucca plants and the mesquite hedge bowed beneath the wind. The desert, starkly beautiful, stretched to the distant rugged mountains.

  He turned away from the vista to sit at his desk. Rummaging in a side drawer, he retrieved a comb, a pocket pack of tissues, and breath mints. In the process he sprang the false back to palm the earbud long hidden in the desk.

  He didn’t trust Norquist-Ng. That the weasel would have him under surveillance was the least of it. With a fingertip pressed deep into his ear, pretending to dig at wax, Sigmund set the bug into place. It would hear and record everything he heard.

  Assuming that it worked. The bug had lain hidden in the drawer for a long time. He tapped a test rhythm on the desk.

  To the ear with the bug, Jeeves sent the double-click that meant, Loud and clear.

  “Jeeves, I will be at the Ministry.” Where, the second I enter the situation room wearing a bug, I become a felon. “Keep an eye on things here.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  Sigmund reprogrammed pants and shirt from his customary black—by local standards, misanthropic—to more sociable, if still reserved, shades of gray. The muted colors would help him fit in at a time he really didn’t want to call attention to himself.

  Then he strode out his back door,
flicking from the patio to the security lobby of the New Terran Defense Forces headquarters.

  * * *

  “I HAVE GOOD NEWS,” Julia reported. “No, make that excellent news.”

  Sigmund spared a quick glance around the situation room. He saw hope and relief—and some shifty eyes. Excellent meant different things to different people.

  Had Julia and Alice made contact with an ARM ship? Julia was larger than life in the situation room’s main display, but still Sigmund leaned closer to the table and her image.

  “Continue, Captain,” Minister Norquist-Ng said. “I take it you are prepared to return home?”

  “Soon, sir,” she said, “but our news is far more consequential. We were contacted by an ARM vessel, the Koala. We need not return alone.”

  Cheers rang out, only to choke off as Norquist-Ng smacked the table with a fist. “Captain, you are not to—”

  “It gets better.” The minister’s objections had yet to reach Endurance, where the bridge camera pivoted toward Alice’s voice. Sigmund couldn’t remember seeing such a big grin on her. “We know the way to Earth. From this location, it’s about two hundred light-years, mostly to galactic south. From New Terra, a bit over two ten. Jeeves? Show them.”

  Alice disappeared, a graphic taking her place: a star field, bearings on pulsars, and one star set to blinking.

  Sigmund had sought this information for half his life—ever since Nessus had forever changed his life. Instead of a flash of recognition, Sigmund felt … nothing. Those memories weren’t just buried. They were gone.

  In an instant, so was the map.

  “Graphic off,” Norquist-Ng barked. The last view of Alice replaced the map. “Jeeves, you will show that image to no one except by my authorization. I’ll brief the governor. No one is to speak a word about this development outside this room.”

  “Understood, sir,” the local Jeeves said.

  The life-altering news was recorded in Sigmund’s earbud, together with the ordering of the cover-up. But Earth’s coordinates? Vanished!

  If only he had worn spy lenses, too—but he had not dared. Light glinting off the lenses could have given him away. And each extra bug would have drawn a trickle more power from the power transmitters recessed into the walls, a drain that might have been detected.

  While Sigmund second-guessed himself, Norquist-Ng’s orders reached Endurance. “I don’t understand,” Alice said. “Don’t we want to find our roots?”

  “That will be quite enough, Ms. Jordan.” The minister stood to scowl into the camera. “Captain, you are to return home at once. You will not reveal New Terra’s location, nor invite foreign vessels to accompany you. If your new acquaintances have told the truth, we can visit Earth at a time of our choosing. If not, we wouldn’t want them to know where we live.”

  Sigmund took a deep breath. Suppose it took a little while to get out the word Earth had been found. Maybe that would be all right. The minister was within his rights choosing to bring such unexpected developments to the governor.

  Logic be damned, Norquist-Ng was stalling. Of that, Sigmund had no doubt. One way or another, he promised himself, the word would get out.

  But where was Nessus? Sigmund pictured him locked inside his cabin, furled into a ball—catatonic with dread of ARM retribution for ancient Puppeteer crimes and the founding of New Terra. “How is our friend coping with events?”

  “Nessus doesn’t know,” Alice said. “The Concordance has observer ships here, too. He had left us to visit an old friend before Koala hailed us.”

  Her posture had become tense, Sigmund noticed. She’s not telling us something.

  Norquist-Ng said, “Captain, you have your orders. If Nessus isn’t prepared to leave, he can stay with his friend.”

  “We’re not quite done refueling,” Julia said. “Hopping around between snowballs for safety slowed down the process, and we also had a minor equipment malfunction. About two days and I believe we’ll be ready.”

  Alice seemed to relax.

  Something would happen in two days. Sigmund wondered what, knowing Alice well enough not to fish for hints. Nor could he ask in private: his coerced source had been shipped off-world for routine patrol duty. Until he uncovered someone else in the comm center with a hand in the cookie jar …

  Focus, Sigmund!

  Maintaining contact with the ARM was the first priority. How hard did he dare push? Norquist-Ng had nearly banished Sigmund once before. “Minister, there is another factor. The Patriarchy fleet remains in the neighborhood. Kzinti are very warlike, very dangerous. We can’t risk them spotting New Terra before Earth forces arrive.”

  “Fourteen light-years is hardly ‘in the neighborhood,’” Norquist-Ng said. “As for avoiding your aliens, that’s easy. We’ll remove our ship from what is their neighborhood.”

  A minute later Julia answered, “That’s another thing. The Kzinti have gone.”

  Futz! Sigmund said, “Minister, I recommend putting the defense forces on full alert. And more than anything, we need allies.”

  “Calm down, Ausfaller,” Norquist-Ng said. “We’re always alert. That’s how Endurance came to be where it is, as you very well know. Clearly your aliens realized the Ringworld is no longer there to fight over.”

  “We are here to fight over,” Sigmund said. And to eat. “To oppose a Patriarchy expeditionary force of the size Endurance observed, we’ll need ARM reinforcements.”

  Norquist-Ng frowned. “Is there any circumstance for which you don’t think contacting Earth is the right—”

  “If I may,” Jeeves interrupted.

  It wasn’t the local AI that Sigmund heard, because Julia answered it without delay. “Go ahead, Jeeves.”

  “I have cracked the Kzinti encryption, and their fleet is not bound for New Terra. Nothing I have decoded so far would suggest they are aware of New Terra.”

  “Satisfied, Ausfaller?” Norquist-Ng snapped.

  “… And so they are on their way,” the distant Jeeves continued imperturbably, “to invade the Fleet of Worlds.”

  25

  Beneath a frost-speckled coffin lid, afire with nervous energy, Louis opened his eyes. He had the briefest sensation of déjà vu—had he not just awakened in an autodoc?—before the memory storm struck.

  Parents and sister, long forgotten. Nessus. Desperate times, derelict ships, and daring rescues. Raiding the Pak evacuation fleet to steal the Library. Starfaring starfish waging civil war. Lunatic Puppeteers, led by a sociopath, wielding planet-busters. A lost colony world, unsuspected, home to millions of humans. Adventure and amnesia, each in its turn eagerly embraced. A willowy, strong-featured woman—

  Alice! In his memories, she was younger, raven-haired, brown eyes warm and inviting. And she was pregnant!

  He slapped the panic button. Too slowly, the lid began to retract. The familiar clutter of Long Shot appeared.

  “Good. You have returned to us,” he heard Hindmost say.

  With old/new memories bursting like thunderclaps, Louis retrieved a name: Baedeker. The receding dome finally let Louis sit up. He found Baedeker and Nessus observing him, Nessus sidling out the doorway. To make room for Louis? Or preparing to flee from him?

  Louis said, “I knew you both long before Ringworld.”

  “True,” Baedeker said. With a straightened neck, he offered Louis a clean jumpsuit.

  Leaning to take the garment, Louis almost tumbled from the ’doc. Without order or logic, memories kept crashing over him. He steadied himself against the side of the intensive care cavity.

  “You are disoriented,” Nessus said. “I feared this might happen.”

  Like drinking from a fire hose, the images overwhelmed Louis:

  —A woman’s face, contorted in a death rictus, glimpsed through a blood-splattered visor.

  —A stupendous fjord, the tide surging in, and Alice standing nearby. He had just met her.

  —Hyperwave consultations with the starfish. Gw’oth! That’s what they called them
selves.

  —Painkillers, addiction, and withdrawal.

  —Making love to Alice.

  —Broken ribs and men with funny asymmetric beards and—

  “Louis!” Nessus shouted. “Listen to me. The ’doc restored many engrams. You’re reliving most of a year all at once.”

  Louis shook his head, desperate to clear his mind. “I experienced these things in a particular order, tanj it. Why is everything so chaotic?”

  “It’s been a long time,” Hindmost—no, Baedeker—said. “Since those recordings, countless experiences have imprinted themselves as new and altered neural pathways.”

  But Louis scarcely heard the explanation, still drowning in the past:

  —Cooking breakfast for Alice, who could hardly synth her own toast.

  —Barhopping his way through spaceport dives.

  —Playing secret agent and double-crossing Achilles.

  —Tiny suns like strings of pearls.

  —Getting thrown out of a big, ugly government building by New Terran soldiers.

  “It’s as though I have two minds,” Louis struggled to get out. “It’s like being in two places at once. You’re suggesting the old engrams don’t fit where they’re supposed to. Too much in my head has changed for the old … for the old recordings to reintegrate as they should.”

  “I believe that to be the case,” Baedeker said. “Of course except for Carlos Wu and perhaps Tunesmith, no one ever understood the full capabilities of this autodoc.”

  “Carlos. My father.”

  “Yes,” Nessus said. “This amazing autodoc is your legacy.”

  As from a whirlpool, Louis struggled out of the ’doc. Clumsily, he slipped into the jumpsuit. “I need to talk with Alice.”

  “Endurance and Long Shot have gone their separate ways,” Nessus said. “Beyond ‘not now,’ Alice and Julia have had nothing to say to our hails.”

  “Alice will speak with me,” Louis said, “once she knows that I remember.”

  “Perhaps,” Nessus said.

  It hit Louis: he was starving. “I’m still disoriented. Would one of you mind bringing me something to eat?”

  “Of course not.” Nessus backed farther into the corridor. “Or stand between us. We will guide you to the synthesizer.”