“No strange U-signatures detected, and Penny Royal isn’t searching,” commented Leven. “I don’t think there’s one of those hidden power plants here.”
“You’re still with us, Leven,” said Greer. “You’ve been a bit quiet lately.”
Leven had no reply to this.
“So why are we here?” wondered Brond.
Blite felt a flash of irritation, since this was a question one or another of his crew had been asking ever since they entered the Graveyard. It put pressure on him to ask similar questions of Penny Royal, and he’d already learned he didn’t like the way the AI often answered.
“I’m not acquainted with metaphysics, so why don’t you go ask our passenger?” he snapped.
“Okay,” said Brond. He sat back, loosened up his shoulders as if he was preparing for a fight, and gazed up at the ceiling. “Penny Royal, why are we here?”
There was no verbal reply, but Brond suddenly didn’t look very well. His mouth dropped open and his hands balled into fists. Blite wondered where he’d been taken in his own mind—or if he’d been reliving one of his own memories.
“We don’t have no choice in the matter,” Brond whispered, then swallowed noisily.
“But why is Penny Royal here?” interjected Martina. She had sense enough to direct her question to the rest of them, rather than to the AI itself.
Dead silence met this. Brond had no answer and Blite knew he certainly didn’t.
“Clear as mud,” grumped Ikbal.
Blite returned his attention to the world below on his screens, then eyed the indicators that would show if the hold door had opened again. He abruptly came to a decision, though whether his orders would be allowed he had no idea.
“Perhaps you should ask?” Brond suggested to Blite.
“He does seem to have a better connection,” Martina agreed.
“We really shouldn’t just ride along with this,” said Greer. “We must do something.”
“Mebbe,” said Ikbal, watching Blite warily.
Blite felt another flash of anger. Before they left Masada there had been at least some degree of respect for his position as captain and owner of The Rose. Now his crew felt that any of them could come to the bridge, even when it wasn’t their shift, interrupt him, have discussions about what they should do, and generally act as if they were part of a committee rather than part of his crew.
“All right,” he said, “that’s enough. You, Ikbal, and you, Martina, aren’t on duty right now so you can fuck off back to your cabins or the rec room. And you, Brond, can shut the fuck up. When I want anyone’s input I’ll ask for it. Is that understood?”
By now, Ikbal and Martina were out of their seats.
“Oh, and if you’re feeling at a bit of a loose end then maybe it’s about time you checked the maintenance roster,” he added. “I’ve noticed how it’s getting just a bit ratty in the living quarters and I haven’t seen any clean-bots out of their niches for a while.” He paused, realized he was panting and at the point of going into a rant. He deliberately forced himself to calm down. “That would be your area, wouldn’t it Ikbal?”
“It would, sir,” replied Ikbal, understanding his captain’s mood at once and quickly leaving the bridge.
“And what’s that look for?” Blite asked Martina, who seemed affronted. “Do you think that because you offered to fuck me I’m going to give you some slack? I want you to check the manifest of our stores right now—we have to be getting short of something.”
Martina turned away and stormed out huffily, but Blite knew she would do as she was told. He now turned to Brond. “We’ve got contacts here, I’m sure. Check our files and see what you can find.”
“Yessir,” said Brond, and immediately began applying himself to his console and screen.
“And you, Greer, check coms down on the planet and see if anything odd is happening down there.”
Greer likewise applied herself.
“Now, where was I? Oh yeah, Leven … why’ve you been so quiet lately?”
“You all may be forming the opinion that Penny Royal is a changed character,” replied Leven. “I, on the other hand, being closer to that black AI on the mental plane, am not entirely of that opinion.”
“Which still doesn’t explain your reticence,” said Blite, not bothering to dispute that “changed character” claim.
“The tiger might not want to eat you today, but it’s still a tiger. Always best to keep one’s head down and try not to annoy said tiger.”
“Interesting metaphor,” said Blite, “but now you might be prodding it with a stick, because I want you to contact whoever runs that space port below and get us permission to land. Then I want you to land us.”
“Thank you so much,” said Leven. “You’ll be glad to know that no permissions are required. The space port was built by shell people for the sum purpose of luring business to this world. The only ships that might have a problem here are ECS vessels, what with the renegade prador under the sea nearby …”
Blite said, “Take us down, then.”
As thrusters fired and they began to draw closer to the Rock Pool, Blite speculated. Penny Royal had spent a lot of time in the Graveyard and it was known to have dealings with the prador. Could it be that the AI’s presence here involved these contacts in some way? If it did, then their feelings towards Penny Royal might be due for a rapid change, just when they were slightly more comfortable with its presence aboard. If the prador were involved with the AI, danger could materialize at any time.
SPEAR
The moment the Lance surfaced in the Masadan system, we found a Polity attack ship sitting in our path. The thing was a long narrow wedge of midnight and looked precisely what it was: deadly. A microsecond later, it splintered off missiles from its own substance. These disappeared in micro U-jumps, which would have been impossible during the war, since the technology didn’t exist then, and reappeared just a couple of miles either side of us.
“What’s it saying?” I asked.
“It wants to know what we’re doing here above this particular piece of Polity property,” Flute replied. “Also why we happen to have restocked a railgun magazine which, according to historical record, should have been practically empty. Why we have a multi-megaton fusion device aboard, how I was obtained, what we’ve been doing in the Graveyard, who other than myself is aboard, what our business is here and, incidentally, why it shouldn’t vaporize us right away.”
“You’ve provided details?” I enquired.
“I have,” Flute continued. “Now it wants to put Golem aboard, it wants full access to me and is currently in a U-space conference with a forensic AI in preparation for a full investigation of us and this ship.”
“Touchy, isn’t it?” said Riss.
I glanced at the drone, coiled over by the wall with her head down. She had decided not to kill me just yet, since that wouldn’t resolve the puzzle of my connection with Penny Royal’s spine. Of course I was grateful for that, but I had my own problems with that connection.
“This place has a bit of history, that’s why it’s jumpy,” I said. “I want to talk to that ship.”
“Go ahead,” Flute replied.
“Polity attack ship, what’s your name?” I asked.
“Oh, human communications, is it?” the attack ship rejoined with affected boredom. “My name is Micheletto’s Garrotte.”
“Huh,” said Riss, “someone fancies itself as a Borgia assassin.”
“Well,” added the Garrotte AI. “At least I’m only named after an assassin, and am not an anachronism incapable of being anything else.”
“Screw you,” said Riss.
“Surely not—you only screw prador.”
“I think we’re getting away from the point here,” I tried.
“Hardly,” said the Garrotte. “An interesting trio you have there. A Room 101 hash-up of a drone, a prador kamikaze that didn’t quite make it to the front and a recently resurrected, deluded and vengefu
l bio-espionage agent. Now, are you really the types I want orbiting a protectorate world, occupied by a similarly recently resurrected member of the Atheter race? In a Polity destroyer which was once occupied by Penny Royal, and now contains a continent buster?”
“Bringing us back to the point,” I said. “This was a Polity destroyer but under rights of salvage it now belongs to me. This also means you’ve no right to put Golem aboard, or a forensic AI.”
“No right?” the attack ship asked disbelievingly. “You are seriously deluded if you think you have rights extending … hold on a minute.”
After a brief silence, Flute said, “It just recalled its missiles.”
“Ah, Amistad is talking and has just intervened,” said Riss, her head abruptly jerking up and her black eye opening.
“It’s moving away,” Flute added.
I could see that. The attack ship abruptly peeled away from us, with no steering thrusters or any other visible drive propelling it. Then it just disappeared back under the chameleonware that must have originally concealed it. I had no doubt that watch stations along the edge of the Graveyard had spotted us on the way out and that this thing had been forewarned. U-space tracking had obviously become more sophisticated since the war.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
“I have been denied access to our weapons,” said Flute.
“What?”
“Wartime programming,” Flute explained. “I have been disconnected from weapons control and the only way to reconnect is by physical intervention. Further programming has also been added. Should I attempt to reconnect to our weapons, while in the vicinity of Masada, the fusion bomb will detonate.”
“Best you don’t do that, then,” I said. Having been reminded that Flute originated from a prador kamikaze was giving me worrying thoughts. “Riss?”
“We are now good to approach Masada,” the drone explained. “Under protectorate law, only warships controlled by Polity AIs are allowed to approach this world. Those under private ownership must be boarded, assessed and thereafter controlled by Polity AIs. In this case Amistad, the warden of Masada, has allowed the rules to be relaxed. I have been designated the Polity AI boarding contingent.”
“What about that forensic AI and my ownership of this vessel?”
“Your salvage claim has been approved and no further investigation is required.”
“Take us in, Flute,” I instructed, then sat back to ponder the oddity of this situation. Were I a Polity AI, I would want to strip this ship down to its individual components and study each of them at the sub-molecular level. I would also be very wary of allowing Penny Royal’s former craft near a world where the AI had apparently been given amnesty. Especially while it was controlled by someone who wanted to hunt that AI down, which they must have surely worked out by now. Something did not add up here. A lot of things didn’t add up.
“I want to talk to Amistad,” I said, even as the fusion drive kicked in to take us on the last leg of our journey to Masada itself.
“Amistad will speak to you, face-to-face, down on the planet,” said Riss. “Further communications with him have been blocked.”
Now, to give us some scenery, Flute had called up a truncated view in-system onto the screen wall. I could see the sun, but with its glare toned down. The gas giant Calypse was off to one side—like an onyx marble amidst the complexity of the Braemar moon system. And Masada lay ahead, enlarged in a subframe, aubergine in hue with its moons highlighted in their courses around it. Notable too were the other items around that world. Here were a veritable swarm of satellites and various space stations, including a massive one still under construction.
Before coming here, Flute had updated astrogation data files so had known we couldn’t surface from U-space closer than two parsecs from Masada. I had no doubt that around that world lay the means of preventing anyone venturing too close: USERs, underspace interference emitters, dipping their singularities in and out of U-space to cause local disruption fields. And doubtless there were big weapons too, in case a hostile ship managed to penetrate too close. Perhaps this last explained Amistad’s lack of paranoia about us now approaching the world, but it certainly didn’t explain that “no further investigation required.”
Too many things didn’t add up, including the attitude behind that phrase. Then there was the mysterious connection I had with Penny Royal’s discarded spine, plus my apparently erroneous memories. I was beginning to entertain the suspicion that I was a piece being moved around a chessboard, but with no idea who was playing me.
14
SVERL
In response to the new arrival the Polity drone had pointed out, Sverl immediately issued a recall to all his children, some of whom were out hunting reaverfish. Then he issued recalls to various pieces of equipment scattered about the world—including drones, survey robots and some of the closer perambulating mining robots and refineries under the sea. Others that were more distant might have to be abandoned. If he wanted to retrieve any satellites, he could pick them up when he was in orbit, if that was where he was going …
It was time for him to act, surely?
But how? Penny Royal was finally here, the supposed target of his vengeance. Could he simply wait for The Rose to draw closer, surface his dreadnought and deploy its weapons to destroy the ship? Penny Royal might be dangerous, but it was aboard a simple salvage ship and surely couldn’t survive the blast of a crust-breaking prador kamikaze.
However, such destruction would be too impersonal. And if Sverl was completely honest with himself, plain vengeance wasn’t all he wanted, if he wanted it at all. He wanted a confrontation, resolution, explanation and answers to questions he could feel but just didn’t know how to ask … maybe he was even hoping for absolution?
So again: what should he do? Sverl could think of no possible reason why Penny Royal might come here, beyond himself. Perhaps the Polity’s acceptance of the black AI was justified, perhaps it had changed and was now coming to right wrongs and give explanations. Or quite possibly it was coming to correct past mistakes and its methods hadn’t changed at all. Perhaps it had come to erase those mistakes …
Sverl champed his mandibles, utterly conflicted. What if Penny Royal was coming to cure him, to set his transformation in reverse? Did he, like Isobel Satomi, want a cure for his ills? Did she any longer want such a cure? She appeared quite comfortable in her new form, while Sverl himself was ambivalent about his own transformation. He froze for long minutes, his thought processes locked until the need for a response drove him to action. He turned back to his screens and inserted both his claws into pit controls. He could at least get some of his other local problems out of the way.
“Sfolk,” he said to the young adult prador peering from one screen. “I am now relinquishing control of your ship’s system. You must decide amongst yourselves what you do next.”
Sfolk made a sound that had its human equivalent in, “Uh?”
“I will not stop you returning to the Kingdom,” Sverl continued, “but must warn you not to expect justice or fair treatment there. In the Kingdom only might is right.” He paused before sending the signal that would remove his lock from their vessel’s engine and weapons. Was it such a good idea to give them control of their weapons now? Perhaps he should delay … No, he decided not. The Five would probably be squabbling for the next ten years about who controlled what, and most likely would return to their fratricidal pursuits.
“That is all,” Sverl added, and closed down the connection.
He now turned his attention to two more screens, from which two wholly adult prador gazed at him. “Cvorn and Skute, I give you fair warning that I am relinquishing my rule of our enclave.”
Only as he said the words did he realize they were true. Penny Royal was here and Sverl felt certain some resolution of his vague aims was in the offing, although whether that would be confrontation with or destruction of the AI he didn’t know. Thereafter … he knew he couldn’t stay here. r />
“Why?” asked Cvorn, while Skute just bubbled—Sverl felt sure the latter had been sliding into senility for some time.
“The time has come for me to take care of some matters that have remained unresolved for … some while,” Sverl replied.
“You wish to kill the rogue AI, Penny Royal,” Cvorn stated.
No, yes, maybe, thought Sverl. How could he possibly explain the complexities of the situation to one of his former kind? Cvorn was intelligent for a prador, but would still become first confused, then angry. This would translate into suspicion verging on paranoia towards Sverl’s activities. He sometimes wondered how he’d managed not to end up in an all-out battle with his neighbours during their time here. Then, abruptly, it hit him. He’d never revealed to any prador his encounter with Penny Royal, yet somehow Cvorn had learned of it. What else might the old prador have learned? What might he know about Sverl’s transformation?
“Yes, I am going to kill the rogue AI,” he said carefully.
“So you know its present location?” asked Cvorn.
“Yes,” Sverl replied, his own suspicions increasing, “I know its location.”
“And you’re leaving?”
“Yes, I’m leaving,” said Sverl, deciding it better to pretend he’d be searching for the AI, rather than revealing Penny Royal was aboard the descending ship. If he did, Cvorn might open fire on The Rose. He continued, “I have also relinquished control of the Five’s ship and have left them to decide their own command structure. They want to return to the Kingdom … for females.”
“Yes, apparently so,” said Cvorn.
Now suspicion transformed into paranoia and Sverl began to pay a lot more attention to his data feeds. Most of his children and drones had returned, the two from the space port were just entering the sea and would be back in just minutes. Only three of the distant reaverfish hunters would take some time to arrive. Two of the big mining robots were trundling inside, with a big refinery—one that weaned useful pure metals out of seawater—coming in close behind. But there was a lot of other movement out there too—as children, drones and robots similarly returned to the three destroyers. These belonged to Cvorn, Skute and the Five respectively.