Betrayer of Worlds (35 page)

There was much, sometimes too much, to discuss. The issues among the Gw’oth: which grievances were authentic and which were actually Achilles’ provocations. Human subtleties: New Terra’s neutrality, Alice’s services as arbiter, and Louis’s free-agent status. Threats, deterrents, and mutual assured destruction. The costs of war and the perils of appeasement. Whether two human ships arriving almost at the instant of Achilles’ attack denoted coincidence, hostile distraction, or good intentions. Possible confidence-building measures. And on, and on. . . .

Of everyone in the negotiation (if that’s what this cacophony was), Louis had spent the most time with Achilles. Again and again, Louis was asked to explain the rogue Puppeteer. When Louis’s answers failed to satisfy, he brought in Enzio and Sigmund. The Gw’oth even interrogated the Hindmost about Achilles. Baedeker assured everyone that Achilles was an outlaw, a herdless one, who would be brought to justice.

Ol’t’ro, especially, seemed curious about Achilles. Louis wished he understood why.

Had the New Terran intervention helped? All Louis knew for certain was which disasters had
not
happened. No more missiles had been flung at planet or ships. No ships had left to threaten anyone else.

Things could be a lot worse.

Able at last to talk again, it was hard for Louis and Alice to bear that they remained millions, sometimes billions, of miles apart, and that while Louis sped along at half light speed, Alice was all but stationary. But it would take days to match velocities. So far Sigmund had decreed that
Addison
and
Metternich
maintain their very different velocities. He offered no rationale beyond maintaining flexibility.

Flexibility.
Louis cursed the notion. Tanj, he had missed Alice!

“You’re beautiful,” he said a lot. Maybe it was a case of abstinence making the heart grow fonder, but he had never seen Alice so radiant.

“I miss you, too,” she often answered. “You have no idea how much.”

“Come aboard and you can show me.”

“Yah, right.” She smiled, more lovely still.

They stole every moment they could, in the delays waiting for Sigmund to respond or during Ol’t’ro’s or Bm’o’s unannounced absences from normal space. Every minute was precious. When the Gw’oth talked only among themselves, Louis and Alice spoke together a lot. They talked about finding him a job on New Terra. They talked about building a home together, a
life
together. They filled the hyperwaves with sweet nothings.

As the days passed, the Gw’oth spoke more and more among themselves. Louis and Alice tried to convince one another that the direct dialogue meant progress. The two sides no longer needed referees.

To which sentiment Sigmund would chide that optimism was merely a euphemism for wishful thinking.

Optimistic or not, none of them could avoid wondering just what the Gw’oth talked about in private.

Bm’o had forgotten how unsettling dialogue with Ol’t’ro could be.

It went beyond dealing with an abomination, a freak of nature. It was worse than being made to feel slow and stupid. Events Bm’o knew only from history, the Gw’otesht had lived through—and as often had caused to happen.

And Bm’o did not have a choice.

“Compromise is the only option, sire,” Rt’o had concluded in her last message from home. “You have seen Ol’t’ro defeat kinetic-kill weapons. Their defenses will destroy any unauthorized ship that attempts to approach the colony. Our world has no such defense, but we control what the rebels must have: new biological supplies.”

In the end, with no other choice, Bm’o
had
compromised. Every aspect of the final agreement was logical. Almost every aspect carried implications that teased and taunted him, possibilities and eventualities beyond the ability of the noblest Gw’o to comprehend.

To what had he agreed unknowingly? Only time would tell. But at least he and his great fleet would return home little the worse for their epic voyage.

If with nothing to show for it.

Bm’o took comfort in knowing he would soon set course for Jm’ho.

And that Achilles’ lackey on the home world, and everything Thalia had brought, and all his possessions, had been dropped into the sun—before they could release the ecosystem-demolishing retrovirus.

We are Ng’t’mo
.

Nothing else was certain. Nothing else made sense. The eight had been ordered apart, roughly dragged from their cage, herded one by one through crowded corridors to a water lock and aboard another ship. An empty ship.

Melded anew, Ng’t’mo struggled to grasp their circumstances. A larger cage? An exotic place to die?

Vibrations suggested ships separating.

Change was bad. The masters seldom rewarded, but they were quick to punish. The master of masters was the most quick-tempered of all. Ng’t’mo had suffered exceedingly for insisting—truthfully—that they saw no way to fool the rebel’s defensive system.

Then the master of masters had commanded them to find evasive patterns that would protect the fleet. Only the patterns Ng’t’mo had devised, however seemingly random, would be predictable to a sufficiently sophisticated mind.

Because they hoped the leaping of the ships would be recognized as the product of
another
sophisticated mind. They might be freed if Ol’t’ro noticed.

Now, fearfully exploring this new cage, Ng’t’mo wondered if the master of masters had noticed.

We are Ng’t’mo, they told themselves. They crept, as quickly as they were able with so many tubacles mated and entwined, until they found what might be controls. None of their units had piloted a spaceship, or been allowed to see a control center.

The controls were a puzzle. They would solve the puzzle.

Then: lights flashing on a console. New vibrations. A soft
thunk
. The sound of a water lock cycling. An unfamiliar Gw’o, flashing greens and far reds in patterns of welcome, swam into the control center!

“We come from Ol’t’ro,” the new arrival said. “You are safe. You are free.”

.   .   .

“We accept your offer to help,” Ol’t’ro had hyperwaved to
Metternich
and
Addison
.

“I thought we’ve been helping.” Louis tried to keep sarcasm out of his voice. Had he not already saved the Gw’oth fleet from massacre? Perhaps only Bm’o considered that to be help.

“You offered useful information,” Ol’t’ro granted. “We ask now that you
do
something.”

“Ol’t’ro, I’m putting you on hold for a moment,” Alice said.

“This is good,” Sigmund offered when the relayed conversation caught up to him. “If they let New Terra help, it means we’re on no one’s enemies list. As long as whatever thing they want done is not too dangerous.”

Says the man light-years away. Louis kept
that
to himself, too.

Something in Ol’t’ro’s presentation made Louis nervous. He could not put his finger on it. “Sigmund, what’s your best guess about Hearth? Are the Puppeteers on anyone’s enemies list?”

“Let’s hope not,” Sigmund finally said.

Louis presumed hope was also a euphemism for wishful thinking.

Alice reconnected with Ol’t’ro. “Help, how?” she asked.

“Our colony needs supplies from Jm’ho. When we tried to obtain them ourselves, what we got was tainted.”

Alice said, “So you want New Terran ships to retrieve fresh specimens for you?”

“Would we know a good specimen from a bad one?” Louis asked. Sigmund had the same concern shortly after.

“Unlikely,” Ol’t’ro said. “We must send our own experts for that. We ask that one of
your
ships go along as a witness. And as a confidence-building measure, as you humans call it. Bm’o, too, wishes your participation, as you should confirm.”

Trust me, I will, Louis thought.

“I can send a ship,” Sigmund offered. “It will rendezvous with your mission on its way.”

“Not acceptable,” Ol’t’ro said. “Our experts and a cargo ship leave immediately from Kl’mo. Our vessel cannot travel even partway without an escort. Besides, our need is urgent. Any ship leaving New Terra for Jm’ho must waste days decelerating.”

“Crap.” The word just slipped out of Louis. “You mean
Metternich
.” You mean Alice.

“Of course,” Ol’t’ro said.

Sigmund said, “The new ship can take
Metternich
’s place en route.”

“We have come to know and trust Alice and her crew. Or is that a problem?” Ol’t’ro’s question came out:
Or can we not trust you humans after all?

“I’ll do it,” Alice said softly. On a side channel to Louis she added, “This is my job. It needs to be done.”

“I know,” he answered. And I hate this.

It took another day for the local Gw’oth to assemble their expedition. That was too little time for Louis and Alice to rendezvous, but painfully long for a good-bye.

“I love you,” Alice said. She seemed on the verge of tears. “You have no idea how much. Wait for me?”

Had she ever been more beautiful? Louis put on a brave face. “Where else would I go? Thanks to Nessus, I have no sense of direction.”

“Wise guy.”

“And? It looked like you had something else to say.”

The same . . . strange . . . look. “Nothing that won’t wait.”

Huh? He looked at her differently. Critically. There was
something
.

She was sad. (So was he, but somehow her sadness was different. Moodier.) She glowed with health. Her face seemed a bit rounder than when he first met her. That meant nothing: so she had put on a pound or two. Maybe her face only looked round because her camera was in an oddly tight close-up.

The pieces came together.

“You’re
pregnant
!” he burst out.

“Yes.” She smiled ruefully. “I pictured telling you some other way.”

“You can’t go,” Louis said. “Let me back up. It’s wonderful. I couldn’t be happier. But a warship is no place for a pregnant woman.”

“It’s a peace mission.”

Which was different than peaceful, but that wasn’t what bothered him. Arithmetic did: About sixty days since their last night together, and nothing said conception hadn’t happened earlier. About thirty light-years to Jm’ho meant ninety days just in hyperspace travel. Each way. Add sanity breaks in normal space along the way. Add delays while the Gw’oth
selected and loaded, and at the other end unloaded, their precious cargo. Then roughly ten light-years, and more sanity breaks, from Kl’mo to New Terra.

“You’ll have the baby on the way,” Louis said.

Alice shook her head. “I’ll spend most of the trip in medical stasis. I won’t have this baby without you.”

He saw something else in her expression. Reticence? Wariness? Wistfulness? “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Probes rushing in every direction, with speeds so high that time and space took on another meaning and the calculations became fascinating.

Probes leaping from normal space to hyperspace and back, dodging the singularity.

Probes always ready to smite any intruder, from any direction, at any time.

It was the greatest puzzle of all.

Ng’t’mo almost burst with joy, pride, and gratitude. They were free. They were happy. They were trusted.

They would protect their new home—and show themselves worthy of Ol’t’ro’s trust—no matter what.

“What do you mean, gone?” Sigmund demanded, frowning.

Which part of
gone
was unclear? Louis managed not to snap. He had
Addison
’s bridge to himself. Since Alice’s departure his ship felt lonelier than ever. That wasn’t Sigmund’s fault. Not entirely.

“
Addison
had coasted north of this solar system again. I hopped us south. When we dropped back to normal space, the Gw’oth fleet wasn’t here. They might have been making a station-keeping jump of their own, so I didn’t think anything of it at first. But it’s been too long. They’re headed . . . somewhere.”

“And Ol’t’ro’s ship?”

“Gone, too.”

“Leaving Kl’mo unprotected,” Sigmund said skeptically.

“No. We still see the defensive array.” The spacecraft showed up on Louis’s sensors as a swarm of tiny neutrino sources. “There is still a Gw’oth
ship outside the singularity, presumably to manage the array. But if Ol’t’ro is aboard, no one admits it.”

“Hmm. I need to think about this.”

Louis tired of waiting. “It seems like time for us to come home.”

Sigmund shook his head. “Think about it. The war fleet pulled back. The colony is getting new supplies, with a neutral party observing to make sure it happens.”

“Right. So?”

“What did the other side get?”

“Their fleet was not smashed by Ol’t’ro’s defensive system.”

“Possibly.” Sigmund rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Except Bm’o could have made that deal on Day One. I think he got something else.”

“Something that involves Ol’t’ro leaving at the same time,” Louis added.