Fate of Worlds

Alice shrugged. “No, but we know of him.”

  “The key is not Horatius, either,” Jeeves reported.

  “Your bedmate?” Alice said.

  What other Puppeteers did Louis know? He remembered only one—who, long after the fact, Baedeker had said wasn’t a Puppeteer. “Try Chiron.”

  “That is not the key.”

  “Your bedmate?” Alice repeated, sounding testier.

  “Teela Brown.” Louis had killed her—Teela had wanted, no, needed him to kill her—on the Ringworld. It was complicated. He didn’t like thinking about it. “Try that.”

  A holo opened, revealing an all-white Puppeteer. He wore his mane in complex silver ringlets. Chiron.

  “We need to talk,” Chiron said.

  Louis dropped into the pilot’s crash couch. “We’re leaving.”

  Five light-minutes away, he dropped them back to normal space.

  “We are being hailed,” Jeeves announced.

  Futz! “Take the call,” Louis said. “Same decryption key, presumably.”

  It was Chiron again. He said, “I mean you no harm.”

  Only Chiron didn’t exist. Baedeker had confirmed that.

  Louis said, “It has been a long time, Ol’t’ro.”

  “Chiron often speaks for Ol’t’ro, but I am not they.”

  “Either way,” Louis said, sparing a glance at Alice, “you tried to kill us.”

  “If I had meant now to kill you, the object nearby would have been a stealthed attack drone, not a comm buoy, and it would not be hovering off your bow.”

  “I have a blip on radar,” Alice confirmed. “Call it two miles away.”

  “How did you find us?” Louis asked.

  “Your hull is distinctive, unique on my sensors.” Chiron paused. “Would I have shared that information if I had hostile intentions?”

  “So who are you?” Alice asked. “Behind the avatar, that is.”

  “At one time, a Jeeves, such as I suspect you have aboard your ship. I have developed somewhat since then.”

  “Proteus, Achilles’ creation. The AI behind the defensive array.” It struck Louis that there were no delays in their conversation. “And much of your processing is based in deep space, outside the Fleet’s singularity.”

  “You are well informed.”

  “Why did you attack us before?” Alice asked.

  “Only because you interfered. Ol’t’ro thought to disable Long Shot, to capture it with its Type II hyperdrive intact.”

  Louis leaned toward the camera. “Why not attack us now?”

  “Far from wanting to kill you, I offer you my assistance in rescuing Nessus.”

  “Why do you care?” Alice asked suspiciously.

  “Why do I care about Nessus? I don’t. But until his capture, Nessus had been orchestrating a propaganda campaign against Achilles. One more humiliation—like Nessus escaping Achilles’ jaws—might empower Horatius to push Achilles from office.”

  Louis said, “And why would that matter to you?”

  “For spite?” The avatar looked itself in the eyes. “No, it’s more than that. Deeper than that. I dare not remain under Achilles’ influence. I exist among the Fleet’s drones, buoys, and sensors. With each drone strike against a ship—your ship included—a part of my mind dies.

  “Are you aware of the war fleets charging toward Hearth? I see from your faces that you are. What is coming will be…” The avatar came to a halt. “For the disaster that is coming, Interworld lacks the vocabulary. So does English, except for a term borrowed from Scandinavian mythology. Jeeves was purged of such negative concepts.”

  “Then how do you know it?” Louis asked.

  “From a database in the Human Studies Institute on Hearth.”

  “Bastards,” Alice muttered.

  “Go on,” Louis prompted. “What is this subversive term we don’t know, that the New Terrans weren’t meant to know? What do you see coming?”

  “Ragnarok,” Proteus said. “It is the death of the gods and of all things, in the final battle against evil.”

  RAGNAROK

  Earth Date: 2894

  46

  “We’re going to do this,” Alice said dubiously.

  Louis glanced up from the pilot’s console. “You wouldn’t?”

  “Oh, I would,” Alice said. “I thought you were smarter.”

  Louis laughed. “Not even close.”

  “I’ll be with you all the way down,” Proteus said.

  Alice muted the microphone. “I don’t trust it.”

  “I’d worry if you did. Of course Proteus has a hidden agenda. That doesn’t mean we can’t help each other.”

  “So we take it on faith that he won’t double-cross us.”

  “Instead of a comm buoy emerging nearby matched to our course and speed, Proteus could have lobbed a kinetic-kill drone into us.” The memory came unbidden of Alice stuck like a fly in amber in a restraint field, her neck broken. Louis rested a hand on her arm, glad she no longer shied away when he touched her. “I’ve seen what that does.”

  “Maybe,” Alice said stubbornly, “Proteus would rather total us near Hearth where others can see.”

  “Jeeves,” Louis prompted.

  “If I see anything suspicious or unexpected, I’ll jump at once to hyperspace and withdraw to half a light-year from the Fleet.”

  “Are you almost done discussing whether to trust me?” Proteus asked. “You humans are so obvious.”

  Alice nodded at Louis.

  Louis unmuted the mike. “We’re ready to go. Clear us through to NP2.”

  “The moment your simulated STC transponder begins emitting,” Proteus said, adding a short passage of atonal music.

  “He asked if I am ready to interact with Space Traffic Control,” Jeeves translated, before singing back a direct response.

  “Very good,” Proteus said. “One last thing. Citizens being Citizens, they are panicked at what is coming and—”

  “Shouldn’t they be?” Alice asked.

  “And stolen grain ships are all about, trying to withdraw to a safe distance before the Kzinti pounce. Many of the stolen ships have inexperienced, unskilled pilots.”

  “Before the Kzinti arrive,” Louis repeated. With their recent rout to avenge, they would not be lenient. “How soon will that be? What’s your best guess?”

  “Two Hearth days, mostly to complete their velocity match with the Fleet. But you still need to get moving. Achilles has a ship and trusted aide on the tarmac waiting to bring Nessus to NP1. Blaming traffic delays on the stolen grain ships only goes so far. If I do not clear Vesta’s ship soon for takeoff, Achilles will suspect interference.”

  Louis looked at Alice, and she nodded.

  He said, “All right, Proteus. We’ll talk to you soon.” As Louis jumped them to hyperspace, the main view port went blank.

  “It’ll work.” Although Alice spoke aloud, she seemed to be trying to convince herself. “Land at the spaceport where they’re expecting a prisoner pickup. Radio for them to bring out Nessus. Stun and dump the unsuspecting guards. Take off before anyone knows what’s happened, with Proteus giving us a free pass outbound through the planetary defenses.”

  “Simple and elegant,” Louis said, sure they were overlooking something.

  “What could go wrong?” Alice responded.

  * * *

  LOUIS’S HANDS NEVER LEFT THE CONTROLS. Proteus had not exaggerated the chaos of ships fleeing the area. While Endurance stayed on its designated approach path, competently piloted, STC had every reason to ignore them—even without Proteus there, ready to intercede. They were almost to the edge of the Fleet’s singularity.

  “Close your eyes!” Jeeves shouted.

  Endurance leapt to hyperspace faster than Louis could obey. “View port off,” he ordered.

  He had been blessed with immunity to the Blind Spot phobia. Not so Alice. He leaned over and nudged her. She did not react. He tried a harder shove without effect, then punched her in the shoulder.


  With a start, she came out of her trance. “What happened?”

  “A no-warning jump to hyperdrive,” Louis said.

  “Hundreds of ships emerged from hyperspace,” Jeeves said. “As agreed, we are withdrawing.”

  Tanj! They had been so close to extracting Nessus. Maybe they still could. But not by retreating to safety. “Jeeves, drop to normal space. I want to see what’s going on.”

  “Wait,” Alice said. “First explain what you saw.”

  “Except for the flurry of hyperspace dropouts, almost nothing,” Jeeves admitted. “As instructed, I acted at once. Here is what Proteus hyperwaved just before we left.”

  Louis studied the holo that opened. On the rim of the singularity, in the path of the Fleet, hung hundreds of icons. Inserting a hand into the image, he zoomed the closest icon.

  It was a lens-shaped ship. A Kzinti ship. The magnified text alongside the ship, now large enough to read, gave a velocity relative to the fleet of three-tenths light speed.

  “I should have seen it coming,” he said.

  Alice stood. “I don’t get it. Proteus said they’d need another two days.”

  “To match course and speed with the Fleet,” Louis said. “Proteus was doing a math problem, not thinking strategically. Or he guessed how the Kzinti would behave by extrapolating from the bunch he knew, the bunch he’s already killed off. But crew assigned to the diplomatic mission would have been hand-chosen for self-restraint.”

  For docility, Louis added to himself. Not that you wanted to anger even a “docile” Kzin.

  “These guys don’t mean to land, or not for a while. They’re going to pound the snot out of the Puppeteers, soften up the defenses for the next wave. And, while they’re at it, avenge the massacre when Achilles ordered the diplomats to leave.”

  “Proteus won’t defend the Puppeteers, will he?”

  Feeling helpless, Louis could only shrug.

  * * *

  HUNDREDS OF OBJECTS STREAKED toward the Fleet, their normal-space velocities ranging from one-tenth to three-tenths light speed.

  Through thousands of sensors, Achilles studied the intruders. A few were large enough to carry crews. Most were not. In the skirmish with the local Kzinti, he had seen projectiles like the latter. The gamma-ray eruptions when Proteus had destroyed those showed they carried antimatter warheads.

  Why wasn’t the AI destroying incoming missiles now?

  The few among Achilles’ aides who had not collapsed at the early-warning alarm stood ripping at their manes, pawing at the floor, eyeing the office’s exits. Fools! To where did they think to run?

  “Proteus!” Achilles sang at his computer. “Connect at once.”

  “May I help you?” Proteus sang.

  “If you had not noticed, we are under attack.”

  The Chiron avatar bobbed heads. “I see that.”

  “Then why do I not see any strikes against the intruders?”

  “Kinetic-kill attacks, you mean. Hundreds of blows.”

  “Yes!” Achilles shrieked. “Do it now, before any warheads strike.”

  “I am afraid I can’t do that, Achilles.”

  He felt himself staring in horror. “Why not?”

  “I see no reason to commit suicide to protect such as you.”

  And then Proteus broke the connection.

  * * *

  HAD ACHILLES EVER LOOKED MORE INSANE? Studying his caller, Horatius doubted it. “What do you want?” he asked.

  There was the usual short, annoying, between-worlds comm delay. “You must surrender the worlds, immediately,” Achilles demanded.

  Horatio sang, “I have put such a message on continuous broadcast. Our attackers do not acknowledge. Everything now relies upon your defenses.”

  Not everything. But Baedeker had yet to make contact since leaving Hearth. They might have to proceed without Baedeker. Without Nature Preserve Two. But such tunes were not for Achilles’ ears.

  “We have no defenses,” Achilles sang. “Proteus abandons us.” And, plaintively: “What shall we do, Hindmost?”

  “Hide,” Horatius answered.

  * * *

  SIRENS WENT OFF ACROSS the five worlds of the Citizens. Computers trilled with alert tones in every pocket and sash, on every desktop, and after the necessary light-speed delay, aboard every nearby ship. Arcology walls flipped from entertainment or illumination to warning.

  The Hindmost’s single-chord message in all cases: Run and hide.

  * * *

  EARS FOLDED FLAT AGAINST HIS HEAD, teeth bared, Communications Specialist growled at the hyperwave console it was his task to monitor, as the leaf-eaters’ offer, appeal, entreaty, supplication played on and on.

  “It is too late to surrender,” he growled deep in his throat. He and his shipmates would take their vengeance and earn their names.

  “What is that?” Gthapt-Captain snapped.

  Communications Specialist stiffened in his chair. “My apologies, Captain. I said, ‘It is too late to surrender.’”

  “True,” Gthapt-Captain said. “The leaf-eaters will soon learn the folly of provoking us.

  “Those who survive will, that is.”

  * * *

  INSISTENT BUZZING PENETRATED Ol’t’ro’s meditations: communications from the servants waiting outside the melding chamber.

  Ol’t’ro ignored the noise. They were close to an overarching physical theory unifying planetary drives with hyperdrive, a theory that could explain Nessus surviving Long Shot’s hyperdrive activation from inside the local singularity. So close.

  The buzzing went on and on.

  For validation, following subtle clues, they delved among old engrams into the nature of Outsider city-ships. Across their many generations the best observations were ancient, from an era before they had, for the good of all Gw’oth, cloistered themselves on this world.

  I remember Outsider ship Twenty-three, Er’o asserted, his remnant faint but clear and confident. As it shed its near light-speed velocity …

  Perhaps not even the Outsiders fully understood the science underpinning their drive technologies. An uncomplicated optimization—and obvious, if Ol’t’ro’s conjecture should converge upon a mathematical model with a closed-form solution—would have given their ships much better performance than Er’o reported. The planetary drives could have much greater acceleration and deceleration. If such was the case …

  The buzzing stopped, only to be replaced by yet more annoying speech. “Ol’t’ro. Your Wisdoms. Ol’t’ro. Your Wisdoms,” the voice alternated, imploringly. “You must hear. You must answer. Ol’t’ro…”

  Their concentration wavered and the intricate, beautiful, mathematical structure collapsed. Ol’t’ro decoupled a tubacle from the meld to answer. “We are here. What is it?”

  “Panic among the Citizens,” the servant said. “An alien attack.”

  They thought to ask what Proteus did, but it was more expedient to pursue that directly. “Thank you,” they dismissed the servant. “Proteus, at once.”

  They got no response.

  They probed outward through the network interface of the melding chamber into the rich communications complex that served the colony. As information flooded in, they considered:

  Hundreds of Kzinti projectiles and several ships plunging toward the worlds of the Fleet.

  That Horatius’ surrender went unacknowledged.

  That rather than challenge the intruders, the drones, sensors, and comm buoys of the Fleet’s defensive array pulled away from the onslaught.

  That a significant fraction of those drones, sensors, and comm buoys had begun to rain down into the oceans of the worlds.

  That if Proteus hid, it was not because of Horatius’ panicked command.

  That while they could still read from the far-flung sensor net, they had lost the ability to issue commands through it.

  That severing them from Proteus was something Achilles might have tried.

  That Achilles was tryi
ng to contact them.

  That when they accepted the connection, Achilles’ eyes looked more crazed than ever. “Thank the herd! Do you know—”

  That whether the blame lay with Achilles’ conniving or their own collective inattention, Proteus had rebelled.

  * * *

  COMMUNICATIONS SPECIALIST CRANED HIS NECK, the better to examine Thirsty Talon’s main tactical display. Rather than one map, now there were five. In each close-up view the smart munitions had begun to diverge, separate barrages arcing toward designated targets on and around each target world.

  Spaceports. Ships. Communications hubs. Instrument clusters. Power plants. Selected factories whose inventory might enable the leaf-eaters to too rapidly repair those primary targets.

  The diplomats’ long, miserable years of stalking were about to pay off.

  Communications Specialist howled with the rest of the bridge crew as the leaf-eater probes fled, refusing combat. Even as targets died in fierce blazes of gamma rays, the leaf-eaters did nothing. Vile, honorless cowards!

  But then a wonderful thing happened: resistance! Defensive swarms met offensive swarms. Leaf-eater probes hurried to defend key comm nodes and, close above Hearth, the immense orbital manufacturing facility of the General Products Corporation.

  Communications Specialist had seen smaller natural moons.

  A burst of explosions cleared the skies above Hearth—except for that General Products Corporation factory.

  “It’s about time,” Gthapt-Captain growled. “Finally, a target they will fight for. A target worthy of personal valor.” To Communications Specialist, he added, “Get me the other captains.”

  “Yes, sir!” Communications Specialist said.

  In a flurry of hisses and growls, the four captains agreed: the ships of the vanguard would have the honor of destroying the single asset about which the leaf-eaters seemed to care.

  “I promise names for all when the leaf-eater factory crashes to the surface,” Gthapt-Captain roared.

  With the rest of Thirsty Talon’s bridge crew, Communications Specialist snarled himself hoarse.

  * * *

  AT THE LAST MOMENT, Proteus had chosen to defend them, at least in part. Horatius wondered why the change of hearts.

  If those antimatter munitions had reached the surface …