Endgame (15 page)

Then the overcaptain's face softened. “Actually studied first mission in school; strange to meet legends in flesh.”

“You
read
about it?” I asked. “There's a book?”

“Two books. Many books, but two originals:
Knee-Deep in the Dead
and
Hell on Earth.
Woman named Lovelace Jill wrote them, said was on mission with you.”

Jill!
So that was her name. Jill
Lovelace?

“Jesus,” said Arlene. “Talk about tilting at windmills!”

“Huh?” It was another one of those patented Arlene non sequiturs void of any and all meaning.

He probed us about our adventures. I was still stunned at the thought of Jill publishing a pair of books! It all seemed so recent to me—to me and Arlene—I had to keep reminding myself that Jill would have had her whole life to research and write the books.

Then the sergeant leaned forward, interrupting the
overcaptain. I waited in vain for fireworks—not only had they lost their notions of chain of command, but they were so individualistic they didn't even seem to have the concept of manners, respect, and politeness. “Do moral thing because fear divine retribution?”

“No,” I said, “that's a complete misreading.” The nuns had discussed this exact point with us many times in catechism class. “Whatever your morality, if you're just doing the right thing because you're afraid of getting caught, that's not ethics—it's extortion.”

“Why do right thing when can secretly profit?”

“You do the right thing because humans have an inner sense of morality, right and wrong, conscience, whatever, that tells them what is right. If you ignore it, you feel like crap because you're not living up to—to your design specs, like Arlene says.”

Then the light of extreme intelligence faded from the sergeant's eyes, and he sat back, listening while Arlene gave a highly exaggerated account of our trip up to Mars. She even went into the first entry into the UAC facility and the attack by the monsters that later turned out to be genetic and cyborg constructs of the Freds. I listened closely; strange as it may seem, I had never heard that part of the story before . . . I was in the brig being guarded by two guys named Ron—an interesting precursor to Sears and Roebuck, now that I thought about it.

Then an unnamed person asked what this moral force felt like, then it was back to Tokughavita to ask how we knew whether someone else we met was moral, and so on—a whole damned theology lesson. The particular questioner changed, but the “voice” was so similar, I began to get suspicious. Not voice as in the sound of it as it came from their throats; I mean the way they strung the words together, diction, whatever that's called, and the intelligence behind the questions. Most of the time, these guys were conceited, social-atomist trogs,
except
when one would
lean forward, cut off whoever was speaking, and ask The Question.

I decided early in the evening on 99 percent honesty: I only lie when I see a clear-cut advantage to it, and I try to keep my lies as close to the truth as possible. That way I don't get confused. In this case, my only lie was to imply that
all
humans had some sort of faith, back in our time. Arlene took her cue from me, playing it safe until she figured out what I was pulling on them, then backing me up. It was a fascinating evening, and I didn't even care about the lousy food.

They hustled us back to the cell and dumped us. We feigned sleep until we were fairly sure the overt, obvious guards were gone. “If they've got the room wired,” Arlene said in my ear, pretending to be romantic, “we're already screwed.”

I grunted and got up. “Let's assume they don't—but don't plot any plots out loud, just in case.”

Arlene sat up, looked around, and gave a little gasp of astonishment. “Fly, look at the terminal! Or where it used to be, I mean.”

In place of the magic keyboard that projected 3-D images was a simple translucent-green sphere, like a crystal ball. Flickers of electrical impulses kissed the inside surface. We walked over and stared down at it. “Cripes,” said my lance corporal, “what the hell are we supposed to do with this?”

“I could understand them taking away our computer,” I said, “but they went to some trouble to put this here. Ah, an intelligence test?”

We poked at it, prodded it, even kicked it. An hour later, we were hot and sweaty but no closer to figuring out what we were supposed to do with a glowing green bowling ball glued to the floor. Then Arlene had one of her serendipitous strokes of unconscious genius: she leaned over and snarled at the thing. “Why the hell don't you
say
something?”

“Because haven't been asked question,” it answered, reasonably enough.

We jumped back. Then I approached cautiously. “Did the humans who own this ship put you here?”

“How should I know?” it asked. “Weren't here when I was activated. You are first people I've seen.”

“What's your name?” asked Arlene.

“Have no name.”

“What should we call you?”

“Address me directly, second person.”

I looked at Arlene and grinned. “My turn, as I recall,” I said.

“Your turn for what? Oh.” She rolled her eyes. “Go for it, Fly.” When we first ran into the Freds—their demon-shaped machines, actually, the ones they sent for the invasion—we took turns naming the critters as we ran across them. I wasn't sure whose turn it really was, but I had a good name in mind.

“I christen thee Ninepin,” I said. Arlene snorted, and Ninepin didn't respond. “Ninepin, are there any more like you?”

“Others like me, not like me,” it answered cryptically. “I am prototype, far advanced over other systems on ship or on other ships.”

“When were you created?” asked my comrade.

“Was first activated four hours, seventeen minutes ago. Construction time six hours, eleven minutes. Design first logged into ship system thirty-eight minutes before construction began.”

“You, ah, say you're far advanced over the other ship's systems?” I asked. “Aren't there any prototypes, intermediate steps, trial runs?”

“No.”

“Nothing?
They just jumped straight from that terminal we used to have here—to you?”

“Yes, unless secret experiments unlogged.”

“What are the odds of that?” Arlene asked.

“Infinitesimal. Less than 0.00001 percent probability.”

Arlene and I looked at each other. “Kiddo,” I said, “this goes too far. This is exactly the sort of thing we'd associate with Newbies. I've been thinking—you know your Edgar Allan Poe. What's the best place to hide something?”

“In plain view,” she said, drawing her red eyebrows together and frowning.

“What could be plainer than looking right at these humans?”

“Fly, we already decided that they really were humans, not Newbies in disguise.”

I smiled as she started to catch on. “Yes, those are humans, A.S., but what's inside them?”

Now her brows shot up toward her hairline. “You're saying the Newbies have implanted themselves inside the humans?”

“It's a possibility, right? They evolve smaller and smaller, and eventually they wriggle into their host to—what did the Newbie say? To
fix
them. Maybe they figured we were closer to proper functioning than any of the other races in the galaxy because our rate of technological and social evolution is so much closer to the Newbies'.”

“Ninepin,” I said, “have you been following our conversation? Do you know who the Newbies are?”

“Yes and no.” I scratched my head and looked at Arlene, who grinned.

“You asked two questions, Fly: yes to the first, no to the second.”

“Ninepin: are there any other species on this ship besides human?”

“Yes. Two.”

Arlene spoke up. “Is one of those two species a paired group of bilaterally symmetric, bipedal creatures with short legs and pointy heads?”

“Yes. Others call them Klave.”

“Sears and Roebuck,” Arlene muttered.

I licked my lips. “Can you describe the third species?”

“No.”

“Call that species the Newbies. Where are the Newbies right now?”

“On the ship.”

“Yes, but
where
on the ship?”

“Everywhere.”

I looked around. My stomach opened up like when you reach the top of the big hill on a roller coaster. “Everywhere . . . meaning what? In this room?”

“Yes.”

“In
you?”

“Yes.”

I hesitated. I didn't really want to know the obvious next question, but the mission came first before my squeamishness. “In me and Arlene?”

A slight hesitation. “Not likely, cannot examine to make certain.” I exhaled, not even realizing I was holding my breath until I let it out.

“How about in the other humans?” Arlene asked.

“Yes,” Ninepin said, nonchalantly.

“Microscopic?” I guessed.

“Yes, but cannot determine exact size without direct examination or dissection.”

I sat down next to the bowling ball. “Jesus,” I swore. “They do evolve pretty quickly.” It was an inane comment; I just thought I had to say something.

“They're even in Ninepin,” said my lance. “Should we trust him?”

“Well, the Newbies haven't shown any tendency toward secrecy or disinformation; all that
non-authorized pers
stuff was probably stuck in by the humans. I don't think we have a choice.”

She sat next to me, stretching out her hard-muscled legs and leaning forward to loosen the tendons in her knees and ankles. “Next question, Sarge. How are we going to examine somebody here to find these Newbies?”

I looked at her, dead serious. “Why don't we just ask permission?”

“You're joking.”

“You have a better plan? Excuse me, Overcaptain, but I was really interested in the stitchwork on your uniform. You mind lying down here under this microscope so I can examine it more closely?”

Arlene thought for a long time but was unable to come up with a sneaky, devious way to get one of the crew to submit to an examination. Three hours later, we decided to give my own plan a try. “Ninepin, can you tap into the ship's communication system, whatever it is?” I asked.

“Is subcronal messaging network. Yes, can tap into.”

“Arlene, what sort of message will send the overcaptain running back here? I don't want to let him know about Ninepin just yet, in case they don't realize he's helping us.”
And that's an interesting question. . . . Why is he helping us?

She thought for a moment, leaning back, her breasts stretching the fabric of her uniform blouse. I started having very unmilitary thoughts; it had been a long time since I held a woman in my arms. I turned away to stifle the images—or at least convert them to someone else, someone safe, like Midge Garradon or Jayne Mansfield.

“Tell him to send the message that the prisoners are escaping. If these guys really evolve as fast as they seem, he probably won't even know what security systems are in place these days anyway.”

“Do it, Ninepin,” I commanded.

Three minutes, eleven seconds later—now
that
was some valuable intel!—the overcaptain and two guards came running up with weird weapons out. They looked pretty put-out when they saw me sitting on the floor playing solitaire with my emergency deck and Arlene “asleep” in the bunk.

“What is going here?!” Tokughavita shouted.

“What?”

“Are escaping!”

“Where?”

The overcaptain suddenly turned into logic-man again, like a lightswitch, and now we knew why: that was when the Newbies that infected his body took over. “Security system reported prisoners escaping.”

“When?”

“See system was in error. Will return to rest.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you have to return to your nap?” I asked. “Don't you want to stay and chat a while, now that you woke up Arlene?”

On cue, A.S. blinked and flopped her arms around—the sleeper awakes. She sat up, yawning. Even though it was fake, it made me yawn, too—seeing someone yawn always has the effect on me. This time, it made the illusion that much better.

Overcaptain Tokughavita pondered for a moment, his dark brown eyes flickering back and forth from me to Arlene. I noticed with relief that he never glanced down at Ninepin and probably didn't even notice him. “Will stay,” Tokughavita decided.

Arlene tossed in her two cents. “But send those gorillas away. They give me the creeps.”

Tokughavita squinted and cocked his head, evidently not understanding the word “creeps.” Arlene waited a beat; when it was obvious he wasn't sending them away, she tried again: “They're always looking at me in a, you know, sexual way. I have to get undressed to—wash my shirt, and I don't want them to see me naked.”

“She's got a thing about her privacy,” I explained.

“Ah, ah! Privacy.” The overcaptain nodded. Making a fetish of individualism, as they did, privacy was a concept he understood well. He gestured the two apes away.

They did not leave immediately, however; they moved close and whispered among each other, evidently discussing whether they were going to obey the
order. Yeesh, was I glad I didn't have them in
my
platoon. We wouldn't have lasted five minutes in Kefiristan if Marvin or Duck had to conference before they decided to do what the gunny ordered! At last, the goons reluctantly decided that this time they would go ahead and obey their superior officer; they shuffled off with many a backward glance, probably hoping to see Arlene undressing.

As soon as they were gone, she unabashedly stripped to the waist and set about washing her jacket and shirt in the sink—a move I heartily endorsed, even if we hadn't needed it to get rid of the backup. As she must have expected, even while Tokughavita talked to me, he wasted seventy-five percent of his attention on the beautiful redhead with her bare chest, which allowed me to maneuver around behind him without his noticing it. I had seen her nakeder than that many a time; I was able to concentrate on the upcoming fight.