Destroyer of Worlds (40 page)

Baedeker straightened a bit of mane braid. He tired of hints about Er' o's contributions. Or about
their
contributions, since Baedeker never knew when a Gw'o merely disclosed an insight of the group mind. Maybe if
he
had been aboard
Don Quixote
, and had had the same opportunity to closely observe the Outsider ship operating its drive . . .

Baedeker tamped down his annoyance. For the sake of the Concordance, he needed help. Anyone's help. He bobbed heads, conceding Er' o's point.

Er'o needed no more encouragement. “Perhaps an extended experiment would give us more insight into the instability.”

Minerva bleated disapproval. “We extend the experiments as quickly as we learn.”

Er'o double-tapped the deck with a tubacle, the mannerism Baedeker had come to interpret as impatience. “We terminate the drive experiments prematurely. We could learn more.”

That was insanity, and Baedeker yearned to flee. He settled for pawing the deck. “It does not disturb you that space-time contorts around the drive?”

“We are
trying
to warp space-time.” Of necessity, everyone aboard communicated in English, but Er'o overlaid his with Citizen harmonics, rich with undertunes of smug superiority. “Without inducing a slope, we obtain no motion.”

“A slope.” Baedeker spread his hooves, made himself
un
ready to run, striving to exhibit as much confidence. “I wish we were producing a clean slope. Look at the data. As the drive loses stability, the ‘slope' begins to fluctuate chaotically, even over quantum distances.” Even chaos somehow failed to describe the rippling, writhing, bumpy space-time contour that reinvented itself by the femtosecond. “We stop because we must.”

“Fluctuations superimposed on an emergent slope,” Er'o insisted. “We see hints that the fluctuations are about to peak. There are patterns upon patterns of flux, and Kl'o expects we may soon observe interference patterns and thus cancellation.”

“If we keep observing,” one of the humans in the background muttered unnecessarily.

In theory, Baedeker was hindmost here. In practice, most of the team was New Terran. Even the Gw'oth present at the insistence of New Terra outnumbered the few Citizens. Baedeker had to keep their support. He had to show Nessus more progress.

And he had to do it, somehow, without getting anyone killed.

“How long would you run the experiment?” Baedeker asked.

“Until the drive stabilizes or self-destructs,” Er'o said.

On trembling legs Baedeker began a slow ambit of the bridge, studying instruments and computer displays. Crew scurried out of his way. He scrutinized the details of the hyperwave-buoy placement. He confirmed the ship's position at twenty million miles from the icy rock now home to the latest prototype drive. He examined the final visualization—necessarily grossly oversimplified—of space-time flux at the instant safeguards had terminated the most recent trial. He surveyed
Haven
's own diagnostic panel and assured himself that every sensor, every triplicated system, every failover mechanism exhibited unimpaired capacity.

Er' o's proposed experiment
could
be done.

Baedeker completed his circuit, stopping near Er'o. “And would you agree to
Haven
jumping to hyperspace if the chaotic effects reach within ten million miles?”

Tap-tap. “Agreed,” Er'o said.

Remotely deactivating the safety protocols on the prototype drive
took only five minutes. Baedeker needed another five minutes, ostensibly spent reexamining sensor calibrations, to bring himself to give the order. All around, the humans whispered. “Start the countdown,” he finally ordered.

Sixty-five seconds later, with half its bridge alarms screaming,
Haven
flicked into hyperspace. From a safer distance, Baedeker watched tier after tier of buoys drop from comm.

Nothing remained of the planetoid but a cloud of gas and dust, erupting at near light speed.

The disaster wasn't total. The drive had achieved thrust in the desired direction, although that nudge was nothing compared to the shattering effects—in
every
direction—of the explosion.

And Er'o, uncharacteristically, had no unsolicited advice to offer.

 

THE WORKSHOPS ABOARD
Haven
hummed with activity. Someone was always refining circuitry for the next prototype drive or configuring additional sensors for the next test. Every new circuit and sensor required still more custom equipment for predeployment checkout. Custom items might be fabricated in one shipboard facility, tested in a second, integrated with other parts in a third, deployed in yet a fourth. Human, Citizen, and Gw'o alike: It made no difference. Anyone might be handling unfamiliar gear at any time, anywhere in the ship.

Hence few noticed, and no one gave a second thought to, the Gw'oth installing sensors about
Haven
.

Sigmund would have noticed, Ol't'ro suspected, but Sigmund was not here. The paranoid human was far away, across a hyperwave link, reviewing project status. Neither Sigmund nor Baedeker knew the Gw'otesht could listen in.

“A second or two,” Sigmund repeated. “And still only scale models. No one is going anywhere with drives like that.”

“No one,” Baedeker agreed. “If we can maintain this rate of progress, though, then maybe. In time.”

“You don't sound optimistic,” Sigmund said.

The technical challenges were familiar. The grudging credit for Gw'oth contributions was not new. Taking in everything, Ol't'ro attended more to nuance and tones of voice than to content. Baedeker had something on his mind.

Baedeker finally came out with it. “Sigmund, I assume Thssthfok can never be set free.”

“He's seen too much of our technology. And he's so tanj smart, I'm afraid to think how much more he's deduced.” Sigmund paused. “I don't feel good about it. Possibly, if the Pak veer, after they have passed us by. But realistically, no.”

“Then you'll understand
my
concern,” Baedeker said. “Ol't'ro cannot go home, either.”

“It's not the same,” Sigmund snapped. “The Gw'oth are our friends. Our allies. You wouldn't have made half the progress you have without them.”

“How does that make them less dangerous?”

As Ol't'ro had feared, their contributions—essential for everyone's safety—were being turned against them. They listened dispiritedly as Baedeker and Sigmund debated, neither convincing the other.

Sigmund finally said, “I have other sources of information aboard
Haven
. If anything unfortunate happens to the Gw'oth,
anything
, the New Terrans come home. That's a promise, Baedeker.”

“All right,” Baedeker said.

Into Baedeker's grudging tone, Ol't'ro read a mind still plotting.

 

“
YOU DO WELL
,” Nessus said. His ship,
Aegis
, had emerged hours earlier from hyperspace on yet another unannounced inspection of Baedeker's project. The two of them had withdrawn to Baedeker's cabin.

Another interruption was the last thing Baedeker needed, but the unexpected praise tempered his irritation. That, and practicality. The
real
last thing he needed was the loss of Concordance support. Nessus' backing mattered. “Thank you,” Baedeker said.

Being hindmost had advantages. So did control of a large ship. Baedeker's cabin had lush meadowplant carpet, with room to wander when he chose to be alone and for large gatherings at other times, and a pantry filled with real grasses and grains. It also had an extensively programmed synthesizer, from which Nessus obtained a bulb of warm carrot juice.

“Net thrust and improved stability,” Nessus began. “Truly, you have done well since my last visit. And yet . . .”

Baedeker bobbed heads. “And yet we have
very
far to go.”

“What are your plans?”

“To better integrate efforts here and on NP5,” Baedeker said. “Too many observations of the NP5 drive made no sense. Having operated our own drives”—however briefly—“I am beginning to understand what the sealed Outsider controls must do. It no longer seems impossible to run their drives a bit harder.”

Nessus raised his heads optimistically. “Can you run drives in tandem?”

A digital herd meandered in a nearby arc of wall. Fields of tall grain rippled in the simulated breeze. Baedeker took a moment to adjust the image. “Nothing we have seen contradicts Twenty-three's warning to Sigmund.”

“That is unfortunate,” Nessus said.

They stood watching the idyllic scene, Baedeker wondering what he could add to that.

“You will succeed,” Nessus finally said. “And when you do, much will become possible for you.”

Baedeker blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The Hindmost will be in your debt. Have you given thought to the path you will take then?”

Stress and exhaustion filled Baedeker's waking hours, the weight of worlds heavy on his shoulders. “Truthfully, no.”

Nessus edged closer, brushing flanks intimately. “I am not without influence. You have it within your grasp to have a great future. If you were to express an interest in government and show some hints of sympathy with Experimentalist policy. . .”

Then opportunities would come Baedeker's way. Was he interested? Maybe—if not for the reasons Nessus might suspect. Baedeker temporized. “What sort of interest in government?”

“Something in the Ministry of Science, perhaps.” Nessus swiveled his heads to gauge Baedeker's reaction. “Something very well positioned.”

Such as Minister of Science? To direct science policy for the Concordance would be no small thing. Baedeker felt tempted and terrified in equal measure. But there was an element of temptation Nessus could not have anticipated.

With government authority might come action against the Gw'oth threat.

 

The kids were bathed and changed for bed, and Penny's uncle Sven had come over to watch them. Neither ecological nor existential threats showed any signs of worsening overnight. Prison sensors showed Thssthfok was soundly asleep. Circumstances would never get better.

Sigmund offered Penelope his arm. They went outside to stroll to a nearby restaurant. Master chef, all-natural ingredients, live band, the works. And, in unison, they yawned.

He had to laugh. “Going to be quite the night on the town.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, covering another yawn. “Just a lot going on.”

The cloudless night sky was bleeding away the day's heat, putting a nip in the air. Stars sparkled overhead. Sigmund tried and failed to imagine a big moon hanging overhead. He thought he remembered that the full moon was romantic.

A lot
was
going on. All the more reason to enjoy what they had, while they still had it, and they were long overdue for a romantic evening. He leaned over and kissed Penny's hair. “I won't notice you yawn if you return the favor.”

“Deal.”

They made another deal over hors d'ouevres not to talk about the kids. Without erecting an electronic privacy barrier, neither of them could talk about work. And so, insanely, the conversation lagged. What had they talked about—before?

They managed to discuss entrée options. Penny patted his hand. “This is ridiculous, Sigmund. We don't need to chatter. It's all right simply to enjoy each other's company.”

“I know.” He didn't see this being a long evening.

They lapsed into uncomfortable silence, pretending this was a normal night out and that the end of the world wasn't rushing their way. Occasionally
one of them would compliment the food, which deserved it, or the musicians, who didn't. The evening became more and more . . .

Sigmund couldn't quite put his finger on it. The evening was—what? Familiar? Hardly. Well deserved. Strained. Overshadowed by the overwhelming problems they had vowed to leave at home but he couldn't banish from his mind.

Tideless oceans. Moonless nights. Sigmund didn't see New Terra obtaining a moon anytime soon. Implacable enemies. Progress measured in nanoseconds.

He must have been muttering to himself, because Penny asked, “What's Rome?”

“It's a city on Earth.”

Rome. The Eternal City. An ancient, ruined coliseum. The mental image of a boot. Something about roads. Earth's landscape had roads, mostly in disuse, made obsolete by antigrav floaters and transfer booths. What
about
roads? New Terra didn't have them, its infrastructure designed from the start for stepping discs and gravity floaters. What about roads?

Penny was frowning at him. He said, “I don't know, only that all roads lead . . .”

All roads lead to Rome. Just as everything on Sigmund's mind led to Baedeker.

 

SIGMUND MET ERIC AND KIRSTEN
at an Office of Strategic Analyses safe house. They were yawning, too.

“What's the emergency?” Eric asked.

Sigmund jammed his hands in his pockets to keep from fidgeting. “Maybe nothing. Maybe an answer to everything. Until I know, I'm not going to sleep.” And if he was right, he wouldn't sleep tonight, either. Hope was exhilarating. “Only it's half an idea at best.”

Kirsten brushed bangs off her forehead. “All right, Sigmund, begin at the beginning.”

He saw no need to start that far back. “First, Baedeker's drive. It won't move planets. It just blows them up.”

“If he's not careful,” Eric agreed.

“Second, we're unable to do to the Pak what the Pak do to everyone they pass.”

Kirsten nodded. “Because everyone else is planet-based. One kinetic-kill weapon can smash a world. They, having abandoned their world, are too dispersed to attack that way.”

“Turn the problem on its head.” Sigmund waited for them to see it, but they didn't. “Pak will use a kinetic-kill vehicle against a planet. With Baedeker's drive, we can shatter a planet into overwhelming amounts of kinetic-kill debris.”