The Artifact

  “You have to sleep sometime, Anderson. And considering the second thing to go after memory, you’ll be alone.“

  Happy chuckled, winking at a dumbfounded Sol. “Quite a personality, huh? Boaz and I hit it off right from the beginning. She dug up a term from someplace in her banks. ‘User friendly,’ now, what in hell you think that means?”

  Sol waited, half expecting Boaz to respond. “I don’t know. I guess, well . . . she’s full of surprises. I never suspected she could handle multiple personalities.”

  Happy asked, “You talked to her much?”

  Sol shook his head slowly. “Been pretty busy trying to keep ahead of the politics and . . . Hell, you know what IVe been doing.”

  “Seriously, Cap, you look shot. Level with me, you okay?”

  “Tired, I guess. More than a little worried. I don’t like mysteries, Happy. I don’t like the idea of playing political games when my ship and people are at stake. The bogeys are still out there. Just tagging along. No idea who killed Ngoro yet, and I can’t get a thing out of either Archon or Connie about the real reason we’re here. Kraal ordered me not to push, just to follow their orders.” His hands fell helplessly in his lap. “So? Is it any great wonder I look like I’m falling apart? I am. Haven’t slept the night through since Ngoro was killed.”

  “Um.” Happy glared at the back of his thumb. “And the new kids? Heard one of Gaitano’s people thumped that Arturian character for assassinating your fine name.”

  Sol stared at the white panels overhead. “I don’t know. I slapped them with a little reality the other day. They just tried to slap me back—but I know all the tricks. Bryana is coming around. I think she’s beginning to see the ramifications. Arturian? I don’t know. He’s got potential, but I didn’t get off to the right start. Too wrapped up in myself . . . and seeing ghosts when I first stepped aboard. Might not be reparable.”

  “You went through that with Mbazi, remember?”

  Sol pursed his lips. “Yeah, and if Arturian doesn’t straighten out, I’ll use the same treatment. Make it or break it.”

  “Open warfare with your First Officer? I don’t know. That sort of thing can split a crew right down the middle.”

  “And what other choice do I have? Insubordination works like a fungus on morale.”

  Happy shook his head. “No wonder you look so miserable.”

  “Happy, I feel out of my league. I don’t know the stakes. Hell, I don’t even know the game. And, to be frank, I’m scared.” He waved around at the walls. “What if I lose this one, too? One wrong move, a single mistake in judgment could . . . Well, you know.”

  “Command hasn’t changed. It’s always been that way.” Happy smiled easily. “I think deep down you know that. Guessing against the future used to fascinate you.”

  “Sure it did, before . . . Well, never mind.”

  “Space never comes cheap. Remember the Americans? They crapped out—let the Soviets have it.”

  Sol stared absently at the panels overhead, hearing the faint low frequency hum of the mighty reactor behind the shielding. Before him, the master board graphics displayed Boaz’s power in 3-D imaging.

  “No, but, Happy, I’ve got too many ghosts looking over my shoulder, eating at my dreams.”

  Happy shook his head, blue eyes tightening in a troubled squint. “I don’t like that hollow-eyed look you’re getting. You know, we’re only a day to jump. Why don’t you come down. I’ve got a bottle of—”

  “Oh, no, you don’t!” Sol jumped to his feet, hands out to wave Happy back. “I remember last time you did that to me. No, I’ve got to keep my wits clear all the time. You hear? This time, Anderson, it’s all on my shoulders.”

  “You just think so,” Happy called after him. “Damn it, Sol, you’re only human!”

  Sol listened to the hatch slip shut behind him, cutting off Happy’s last words. He smiled humorlessly at the armored white portal behind him. “Yeah, and I wish you weren’t right about that.”

  His stomach knotted as he strode briskly down the corridor.

  * * *

  The bridge fairly hummed with tension.

  Arturian felt like he didn’t have time to catch his breath, let alone think. Years of computing for jump made his reactions second nature. Even the annoyance of Carrasco’s presence on the bridge evaporated in the frenzy.

  “... Five, four, three, two, one. Mark!” Carrasco called as Boaz hovered at the edge of light speed, space warping around her incomprehensible mass. Reactor control shifted from bridge to Engineering as Boaz poured her energy into the shields.

  “Engineering, it’s your hell-hole!”

  “ Acknowledged, bridge.”

  Symmetry inverted. Matter changed. Boaz vanished from the universe humans consider real.

  The screens, once a shotgunning of stars on black as the comm unraveled bent and distorted light, shifted to fluorescent green. Outside, beyond the quantum/time-space continuum, only mass could be detected and manipulated through the shield’s inverted symmetry.

  “Captain!” Boaz called immediately after the all clear sounded. “I must report that a message was transmitted directionally from the lounge transduction unit immediately prior to jump.”

  “What?” Sol started, straightening.

  Art shot him a quick glance from where he bent over the readout checklist. Carrasco’s expression strained.

  “I had no idea the relay would be triggered,” Boaz continued. “From the modulation and T vector input, the bogey in G-6 would have been the likely recipient. The order to transmit came as a complete surprise.”

  “Art!” Carrasco spun in his chair. “Get down there. Collar whoever’s at the comm.”

  Art jumped, hearing Boaz add, “No one, Captain.”

  Then he passed the hatch, sprinting down the corridor for the lounge. No one? Then how... He almost bowled over two crewwomen inspecting the area with radiation detectors—standard procedure after jump.

  As Art bolted into the lounge, he found it empty, the plush room uncharacteristically quiet. Where the comm stood in the corner, a haze of smoke rose in a bluish swirl from the insert slot. Even as he took in the sight, a remote damage control unit hustled forward, attracted by the discharge of ionized paniculate matter.

  Art charged forward as the unit sprayed retardant on the fire, manipulating panels with mechanical hands. Ripping his belt comm off, he called, “Captain? First Officer Arturian. The comm’s on fire. A remote damage control unit is putting it out now. Don’t know what I can save of the message.”

  A pause.

  “Very well, First Officer.” Carrasco sounded tired. “Contact Engineering. Maybe Happy’s people can salvage something.”

  Art bent down to peer under the unit’s arms as it jetted inert gas into the comm. “Affirmative, Captain. Engineering? Chief Engineer Anderson, I need a tech to check this out.”

  Carrasco interrupted. “Art? Have them check for anything. Run a probe over it for hair, skin flakes, body oils, perfume molecules . . . anything.”

  “Got it, Cap,” Happy replied. “I’ll send O’Malley up. He’s about the best I’ve got when it comes to comm.”

  Art left the tech in charge of the cooling console, only to have Carrasco pick him up in the corridor.

  “Come on, Art, I think we’d better have a talk with Malakova.”

  “The Gulagi?”

  Carrasco lifted a shoulder. “He was the last person to use the comm.”

  Art opened his mouth to ask, but Carrasco was already striding purposefully down the corridor.

  If O’Malley hadn’t had time to ... Holy Crap! Carrasco had voided the privacy doctrine. Art shook his head. Damn it, the privacy doctrine had been implicit in the oath of the Craft. It ... My God! I’ve got him now! I can bring the bastard up before the Jurisprudence Committee and have him broken!

  Nikita’s hatch passed them. He looked up from where he was reading some sort of official documentation. “Captain? First Officer ...” Then he
caught the look on Sol’s face. “What’s wrong?”

  “Would you know anything about a time delay message in comm?”

  He frowned. “I put message in and punched send button. I don’t think it was time delay.”

  “You don’t think it was time delay?” Carrasco stopped, feet braced, knotted fists behind his back. “If it was your message, how—”

  “Wasn’t.” He rose ponderously, stepping out to face Sol, head back, body tense. Frown lines like canyons engraved the Gulagi’s heavy forehead.

  “The message which just exploded my comm was time delayed. We’ve pinned the probable destination to one of the vessels paralleling our course. Now, if it wasn’t your message ...”

  Nikita frowned, gaze dropping to the floor. “Found packet in message box. Just note that said, ‘Nikita, I’m running late. Please slip this into comm before the jump.’ I assumed it was from Tayash. I don’t know, maybe he had meeting or something. I just dropped it in comm and pushed send button. I didn’t know it was preset or directional. You can’t tell just from simple cassette.”

  Sol cocked his head, eyes keen. “Isn’t sabotage a Gulagi favorite.”

  Nikita smiled. “But of course! Is great weapon against oppressors of downtrodden. At same time, I am best of Gulagi. No, if I want to destroy comm, I walk out and do it! Make better statement that way.” He paused. “Only, have problem here. Was no note? No claim of why comm was destroyed?” He waved a thick finger. “Is not Gulagi way. Gratuitous sabotage becomes terror. Earth learned lesson well in pre-Soviet days. No, Captain, on honor of Malakova Station, I did not destroy comm.“

  Art watched as Carrasco met the big man’s eyes, staring frankly at the Gulagi. And somehow, I believe him. Art pursed his lips.

  Carrasco smiled thinly. “Well, maybe my people can lift something from the note. There might be some trace . . . What’s wrong?”

  Nikita shook his head, distress deepening, rubbing his hands as if cold. “How could I know? Enough stuff piles up as is. Look at this place. Clutter. I dropped it into converter. How could ... I mean was just note. What good is note after message is read?”

  “The note wasn’t handwritten?”

  He sighed. “Printed on personal comm. I can’t even tell you what kind of lettering. Are so many different fonts. If I make guess, was Arcturian system from flimsy.”

  “Well, maybe the tape will have some—”

  “I doubt it,” Art whispered to himself, barely aware Carrasco had turned to study him. “It’s too good a job. A complete dupe all the way around. You won’t find anything, Captain.” He realized he’d become the center of attention. “I mean, look, I don’t know what’s going on here. But at first glance, what happened smacks of a professional. They wouldn’t have botched that last bit of covering their tracks.”

  Carrasco’s complexion had grayed, desperation apparent in his expression. “No, I suppose not.”

  Art was unnerved by the haunted look in Carrasco’s eyes. Damn it, the Captain looked like he was on the verge of collapse. A faint shiver seemed to course through the man’s body.

  If he breaks, somebody better be there to pick up the pieces, or, damn it, we ‘re all going to be dead.

  * * *

  “Message, Admiral.”

  Sellers swiveled in his command chair. Hunter and the rest of his fleet hovered at the edge of the light envelope, shields flaring as interstellar hydrogen and dust burned against their fields.

  “I’ll take it on my personal unit.” He peered down at the monitor on the arm of his chair. Several lines of text passed before his eyes and vanished.

  He stroked his chin thoughtfully, pale eyes on the Weapons Officer. The man looked up, caught his stare, and quickly looked away. And Carrasco still didn’t suspect the identity of the viper in his midst? Curious to think of one’s own offspring as a viper—but how appropriate. Talent ran in the family.

  “Destroy the record, Comm Officer.”

  “/Done, sir.”

  “Engineering?” Sellers called.

  “Here, Captain.”

  “Prepare to jump on my signal.”

  “Prepared and waiting, sir.”

  “Navcomm, coordinate with the rest of the fleet. They have our rendezvous? More so than ever, we must coordinate perfectly. Too much is at stake.”

  “Coordinated, sir. Fleet reports ready.” The Nav-cemm Officer waited, an expectant look on his face.

  “Very well. My compliments all the way around. Boaz has jumped. Gentlemen, our time has come.” Sellers smiled his satisfaction. “Engineering, on my count. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five ...”

  CHAPTER XX

  She remembered . . .

  Despite the madness winding around her, the variability of organic life had surprised her. Tiss had arisen in a gas giant of a planet. Ancient in origin, they had first evolved sentience during the time of the Aan. It took so many star lifetimes for them to slowly put together science, to learn to harness the elements of the planet and move to the stars. Then they spread slowly, seeking out gas giants to seed with their kind.

  Unlike most organic life, the evolution of the Tiss hinged on cooperation, their very nature hospitable, their survival dependent on shared resources. Light, delicate, of virtually no mass, the Tiss found her, and were unable to work the spring.

  Savaged by insane rage, she watched them go floating away on the interstellar winds in gossamer ships.

  Like a wispy veil, time wound around her as she ranted to herself, flickers of insanity twisting into a raging vortex of loathing hatred, only to subside again.

  But the Tiss—like all organic life—bred their doom. On the Hynan planet, they found life. Fascinated, the Tiss watched from above as intelligence germinated. Beyond the scope of their understanding the advanced creatures of the planet below preyed upon each other, constantly striving for dominance in the rich organic environment. Yet for eons, the Tiss proved powerless to descend into the gravity well. Otherwise, how could they study these beings close at hand in an attempt to comprehend such insane behavior? United, they engaged upon a project to copy Hynan physiology in a cooperative biological engineering process. In their orbiting labs, they reproduced the species they observed on the planet below.

  Their first attempts proved to be miserable failures; their introduced creatures immediately died under the claws of the hostile Hynan.

  The decision that the Hynan could overcome such unthinkable violence through greater intelligence evolved after long discussions. At the same time, such creatures could be an incredible asset to the Tiss. Beings such as they planned could be partners in the exploration of the cosmos. By nature of their strength and durability, they could explore environments—like gravity wells—the Tiss could only speculate upon. Consequently they returned to the bio labs, improved their design, and built a creature of superb intelligence and endurance. The spawn, superbly viable, were dropped to the planet below.

  Success followed immediately. Their creation dominated life on the planet, interbreeding with the lesser forms. Tiss dropped communications equipment. And the warring Hynan were instructed in science and engineering.

  On a plume of burning hydrogen the first Hynan rose to meet their masters. Only the Tiss had miscalculated on the effects of their hybridization. They hadn’t counted on the competitive drive being absorbed from the brutal environment below. To their misfortune intelligence did not of itself breed pacification.

  At first the Hynan remained in awe of their mentors, observing the rules, greedily devouring Tiss knowledge—until their intelligence began to surpass that of their creators. What use did a superior competitor have for the delicate Tiss?

  * * *

  Bryana actually gave Sol a smile as he cleared the hatch and took her report.

  “You might take a look at the improvement on the combat drill,” she told him, a certain pride animating her as she stood and stretched lithely. For a second, she hesitated.

  Sol looked up from his inspec
tion of the stat board. “Yes, First Officer?”

  “Nothing, Captain. Just let me know if you can see an area to improve. That’s all.”

  “I’d be glad to.” Sol settled into the command chair, habitually extending his coffee cup into the dispenser. So who had bombed the comm? Preoccupied, he barely realized Bryana remained standing.

  He looked up. “Yes?”

  She smiled nervously, head tilted slightly, hands clasped before her. “I ... uh, Elvina Young has been asking for you. I repeatedly asked if I could help, but she insisted on talking to you.”

  Sol made a face. “Lucky me. Thank you, First Officer. You’re excused.”

  Bryana started to say something, blushed slightly, and left. Sol didn’t catch the look she gave him as she passed the hatch.

  “Boat, open a line to Elvina Young.”

  “Captain Carrasco!” Elvina literally glowed. “I was hoping you’d call. I must admit, I didn’t realize it would be so soon after you’d—”

  “I understand there’s a problem, Mrs. Young?”

  “Why, yes.” She smiled, dimpling her cheeks, slightly breathless. “There are men working on the comm in the lounge. I was under the impression that comm was for passenger communications to our home worlds. Now the techs can’t even tell me when it will be fixed. In the meantime, is there another comm I can use? The Desseret Festival is coming up in days and I have no idea what everyone is wearing. It’s the one time of year it’s permissible to put on finery and I’ve simply got to talk to my dressmaker. You see, to be wearing the latest fashion clear out here in space would—”

  “Mrs. Young, please.” Sol tried to smile politely. “We’re in the jump, you can’t—”

  “And that’s another thing. What’s all this business of jumping lights?”

  “Well, it’s a little complicated. Anyway, the gist of it all is that while we’re ‘outside’ you can’t talk to our regular universe. You see, we’ve inverted symmetry and . . . Listen, by the time we drop back in, the comm will be fixed and you can talk to your friends at Temple . . . sort of ... not counting the relativity.”