Fluency (27 page)
She could hear Alan now, the murmuring of his mind as he worked. She could tune him out if she wanted, but she didn’t need to. It was comforting. She curled on her side and tucked her hands under her cheek, adrift on the sound of his mental voice.
* * *
“Fuck! Oh, shit! Jane! Fuck-fuck-fuck!”
Jane sat up, wiping moisture from the corner of her mouth, struggling to shake off grogginess.
“What is it, Alan?” she asked, scrubbing at her face.
“We’ve got a problem. A big fucking problem.”
Ei’Brai broke in without preamble, “Indeed. Counter-measures are already implemented.”
Alan continued, urgently, “These nanites are programmed to destroy the goddamn ship if they’re discovered, Jane. The only reason we aren’t dead yet is because there are so few of them left.”
Ei’Brai cut in irritably, “There is no need for explication. I am presenting Qua’dux Jane Holloway with the particulars now.”
She barely heard that, immersed as she already was in the memory stream of Alan’s thought process just moments prior. Ei’Brai had been monitoring Alan’s progress as he worked through the code, when Alan discovered that there was an additional layer artfully hidden in plain sight within the squillae’s most basic command code. Ei’Brai indicated that this was a section of code the average Sectilius scientist would ignore or only look at cursorily, since it would vary little within the spectrum of types of squillae.
But it was
all new to Alan. He wouldn’t ignore any part of it. She felt Alan’s flash of insight as several seemingly disparate pieces of information flitted through his mind and he connected the dots between them. Jane could see the pattern form just as clearly—as Ei’Brai interpreted what it meant in real time.
If even a single squillae were discovered, scrutinized with this level of intensity, it was programmed to send out a signal, organi
zing all the rest of them to abandon whatever they were doing and congregate in groups along the major hubs within the network of the ship’s neural-electric pathways, where they would work together to build structures intended to create a series of feedback loops simultaneously.
In other words, a self-destruct—a massive, redundant, instant
aneous overload. And it was probably already underway. It wouldn’t take many squillae to make an explosion happen. With fewer individuals to do the work, it would take longer to accomplish, but they could still blow a very large hole in the ship. There was no way to estimate just how many of them there were, how long it might take for an explosion to happen, or where the explosions would take place.
The ship was absolutely teeming with squillae and they were impossible to sort. Only at the microscopic level could
one squillae potentially detect the difference between itself and an individual that was different. If a squillae worked hard at keeping to itself, which these clearly did, it could avoid detection altogether.
Jane stood, fully awake now, blood pumping at an alarming rate, and left the room, heading for the nearest deck transport, ready to go wherever she was needed. As she strode down the hall, Ei’Brai showed her how he’d already begun to organize the squi
llae in every sector of the ship to police the neural-electric pathways in search and destroy mode.
Alan interjected, “That’s not enough, Jane. They’ve already missed a few of these before—and these things are capable of ra
pid replication, using whatever materials are at hand. They will miss them again. Eventually we’re going to go boom—unless we get rid of all of them at the same time. It’s the only way, Jane.”
She’d heard this argument before.
As well as Ei’Brai’s rebuttal, which he began anew, “Unnecessary and imprudent. Entire sectors of the Speroancora would experience explosive decompression from the
Coelusha limax
infestation, alone. Every system on board would be affected—repair and maintenance would be impossible. That course of action would have far-reaching consequences.”
“More far reaching than blowing all this shit up? Really? Come on! This would only be short term,” Alan insisted. “We can make more nanites.”
“You underestimate the amount of time it would take to repopulate the ship. You would leave us in a vulnerable state for, at minimum, a complete revolution around this star,” Ei’Brai protested.
Jane hesitated in the deck transport, not sure where she was g
oing.
Alan countered, “Jane—listen to me. I’ve only scratched the surface on this code and let me tell you, it was written by some devious bastards who did not want to be identified under any ci
rcumstances. We now know there were at least two different ways they intended to kill everyone onboard this ship. Who’s to say there aren’t three more ways to die programmed into these things? Every second we delay, we’re gambling. What if these damned things are already working on life support or the engines or something I can’t even think of yet? Jane—”
Jane held up a hand as she came to a firm decision. It was time to exercise her new role. “Ok. I’ve heard enough. We’ll do it. Begin the preparation for an ionic burst, Ei’Brai.”
His voice was acquiescent, “Acknowledged.”
Jane felt a small measure of relief followed up by trepidation. This really was up to her.
Ei’Brai continued, quietly, “All Speroancora binary processors are locally shielded to varying degrees. However, most of the vessel relies on the escutcheon—external hull shielding. With your permission I will work to augment local shielding while simultaneously disabling the escutcheon. Such a precaution will take some small amount of time, but will greatly augment future probability of survival as we go forward.”
Jane saw that he was troubled about deactivating the escutc
heon. It was a risk, but that couldn’t be helped. “Yes, of course. We should protect the computers and anything else that could be affected. You did say the ionic burst will be harmless for living things, though, right? We’re not going to be exposed to radiation or anything are we?”
“We shouldn’t,” Alan cut in testily. “Tell him to show me what he’s going to do.”
Jane smiled and bit her lip at the mental glower Ei’Brai emanated, as he illustrated how he would modify the ship’s engines to create a burst of positively charged ions and send it on a magnetic wave coursing through every corner of the ship. The minute circuitry of every single squillae aboard would be overwhelmed and rendered inert, useless, effectively dead.
“Ironically, it is the squillae that will perform this preventive work. Pay close attention to the details, Dr. Alan Bergen. You may be required to reverse these changes manually, without squillae to perform such functions,” Ei’Brai commented reproachfully.
Alan responded without antipathy, completely enthralled with the images and concepts Ei’Brai presented. “Understood,” he replied eagerly.
Jane watched with amusement as their interaction changed from antagonistic to one of esteemed teacher and earnest student.
She hated to interrupt them. Her stomach churned with nerves, but she put an authoritative note in her mental voice. “There’s just one more thing we have to do, before the ionic burst.”
26
Jane perched herself upon the front edge of the oversized command chair and scooted back with a distinct lack of grace. It reminded her of being a child in an adult’s chair and she was glad there were no other eyes on her. She’d have to work out a more dignified way to manage the seat eventually. It had some mechanism of adjustment, but she was too nervous to mess with it at the moment.
The bridge of the ship felt absurdly large with only Jane’s sol
itary presence. She plucked and tugged at the complex latch to strap herself into the seat and noted there were four rows of glittering consoles and their corresponding empty seats in front of her as well as a large screen broadcasting the image of some asteroids and a distant grey ball she assumed was Jupiter. Ei’Brai had told her she didn’t need to physically be on the bridge, but it seemed like that was where she needed to be.
Her muscles ached with tension, but she was ready. If this went poorly, she had her seat belt on at least, she thought, shaking her head. Ei’Brai was waiting for her to begin, a palpable sense of e
xcitement permeating his communiques.
She gave the command.
The bridge receded instantaneously. Her thoughts plummeted to the bowels of the ship with a sickening lurch. Time slowed to what felt like minutes between heartbeats.
She felt the engines flare to life—a
white-out that temporarily blinded her. The ship rumbled around her, through her. The heat made her vision hazy. Something was spinning, momentum was building…microseconds ticked by…the energy actively transmuted to force and then to motion.
They were underway.
She could sense the movement herself, through him.
A triumphant laugh bubbled up out of her. She trembled, gri
pping the command console with white knuckles.
I am doing it!
She felt a release of tension from Ei’Brai. He, too, reveled in the sensation of movement. Waves of approval flowed over her.
And from the third party within the Anipraxic circle, she heard wordless cheering. Warmth and pride gushed from Alan. She heard him utter, the whispered words caroming around inside her head but not really taking hold, “That’s my girl!”
Ei’Brai fed her the complex equations needed to move through three-dimensional space. Jane comprised the personification of the physical relay that was necessary between Ei’Brai and the ship’s computer to execute them.
She breathed deeply, striving to juggle this new level of control while staying in touch with herself and her surroundings. The distance closed quickly. The capsule came into view on the large screen in front of her. It was time to add another level of complexity to the mix.
“Please reestablish communications with Providence, Ei’Brai.” she commanded crisply.
“Hailing, Qua’dux Jane Holloway.”
Jane straightened in her seat, concentrating on the image of Providence. Ei’Brai sifted through data coming from arrays of se
nsors that converged on the capsule.
She was beginning to see the advantage of the Anipraxic link. It was pure genius, really. It reduced the amount of information that had to be articulated out loud—it was all right there—information streaming in real time. If Ei’Brai noted anything of importance, she knew it immediately. When every second counted, that could save lives.
“I can’t tell, Ei’Brai. Are they still moving?”
“Only under momentum. There is very little electrical output onboard. Channel is now open. You may speak.”
If the thrusters were no longer burning, that was a good sign, she hoped. Jane cleared her throat because she hadn’t spoken aloud for at least a day. “This is Jane Holloway. Providence? Are you there?”
Worry sat like lead in her stomach. Would they ignore her this time? Had Walsh been so angry after their last communication that he’d decided not to respond when she called back?
He’d been curt last time, dismissive, and barely able to make coherent arguments. It seemed clear that he was infected. This could be a rough encounter. He was opposed to coming back aboard. She was hoping that in the intervening hours Ajaya had softened him up.
Jane tapped her fingers on the console impatiently. Was it too late? Had there been some kind of catastrophic failure onboard? “I repeat: Providence, come in. This is Jane Holloway. I’m ready and able to provide assistance.”
Nothing.
She leaned forward, the straps adjusting, moving with her. “Over?”
Silence.
They’d already conceived of several ways to deal with an unr
esponsive Providence. None of them were good choices. If the capsule was still traveling at a high velocity, that made everything very complicated for her and very dangerous for the people inside that vessel.
Why weren’t they answering? Could Walsh have gone nuts? Had they all gone catatonic shut up in such a small space together? Had someone made a fatal mistake?
Oh, God—I should have done something sooner.
“Do you sense them, Ei’Brai?” she asked him silently.
He responded coolly. “I perceive three individuals. There appears to be a fracas in progress.”
Jane knit her brow. “So they heard my transmission?”
“I believe so, Qua’dux Jane Holloway.”
“And the channel is still open?”
“Affirmative.”
Jane sat up straighter, never taking her eyes from the capsule on the screen. Some kind of drama was playing out over there and she was powerless to help. “Providence. Jane Holloway. I want you to know that Dr. Bergen has devised a permanent solution to
the nanite problem. Here, on the Speroancora, we will eliminate all of them at once with a tightly controlled EMP. If you can’t or won’t dock with us in a timely fashion, I’ll be forced to use another method to bring you aboard. I won’t allow you to transmit the nanites to Earth. Please respond.”
Again, minutes rolled by.
Alan’s mental voice exclaimed, “Jane, we don’t have time for this shit. The clock is ticking on teeny-tiny nanite bombs with big booms.”
Ei’Brai silently grumbled, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with any clear articulation.
Jane frowned. “I know, I know.”
Alan sounded impatient, “Just scoop them up, like we talked about.”
She sighed. “Alan, I don’t have the finesse you seem to think I have.”
“Jane, let me out of this damned thing!” His frustration was immense. Then he softened. “I want to help you.”
“There’s nothing you can do out here. I have to make these decisions. I have to do this.”
She shut her eyes, concentrating on the distance between the capsule and the ship, turning many miles into feet, until it loomed large on the view screen in front of her. She wished she could see inside.
Then she remembered. She slipped her consciousness closer to Ei’Brai. It was like a mouse sidling up to an elephant. She knew it. But it didn’t matter, because this mouse was master over that beast. “I want you to show me what’s going on in there,” she told him.
“Inadvisable,” he responded instantly.
“Why?” Jane narrowed her eyes, but he was an open book. He may recommend she not go there, but he wouldn’t stop her, if that was her decision.
“You are emotionally attached to your colleagues. At best, the experience could have a negative impact on you psychologically. At worst, it could be injurious to your nascent experience of Anipraxia. There is no need for such risk. There is significant ev
idence that they are not as they were. In my estimation, they are incapable of performing as you’d hoped.”
She nodded, centering herself more fully inside herself. It was disappointing, but she was mentally prepared for this scenario. “All right. We’ll match their speed, like we discussed.”
Alan’s voice tickled in the back of her head, a whisper, “I know you can do this, Jane.”
Her mouth pursed in concentration, she put all her mental ene
rgy into channeling the commands correctly. The Speroancora eased forward to match the speed of the Providence.
She told the ship’s computer, “Open the external service hatch on Deck 37, chamber 2-4-6, and terminate synthetic gravity to that chamber.”
She sensed it opening, slowly, a giant garage door in space. Ei’Brai confirmed the gravity was cut.
As each second passed, Ei’Brai labored over extensive calcul
ations. They flowed past her. She waited patiently for him to calculate the best formula as they adjusted course.
“Trajectory and velocity are currently optimal, Qua’dux. You may proceed with lateral thrust.”
This was it. If Ei’Brai’s calculations were wrong, or if Jane didn’t execute them correctly, all would be lost. Even at these low speeds, the capsule wasn’t that robust. It was not made to endure impacts at that kind of magnitude. It would crumple like aluminum foil. Pressurization would fail. The three of them would be dead almost instantly in the vacuum of space.
“Yes,” Ei’Brai conceded. “Yet no other option exists. They’ve met dusk already if we do not act. You give them hope.”
Jane lifted her chin. “Right. Engage lateral thrust.”
The nose of the ship maintained course and speed alongside the Providence, acting as the fulcrum, while the tail of the ship swung around laterally toward the capsule.
Jane held her breath.
Ei’Brai switched the source of her view screen feed to a camera inside chamber 246. Providence grew in size at an alarming rate. Her heart pounded a tattoo.
“Prepare to terminate lateral thrust,” Ei’Brai reminded her gently.
“Yes, yes—terminate lateral thrust on my mark,” she told the computer.
Speroancora pivoted inexorably.
Jane bucked against the straps. “It’s not going to fit!”
“Steady. My calculations are impeccable. Standby, Qua’dux.”
There couldn’t be more than inches of clearance.
Her hand went to her mouth, physically keeping herself from screaming, “Abort!”
Her eyes widened as the Providence scuttled across the floor of chamber 246.
“Qua—”
“Mark! Mark!”
The Providence bumped against the far wall of chamber 246 and bounced around, but Jane and Ei’Brai, joint in thought, didn’t think it was enough to cause much damage. It settled into place near the open door. It hovered there, slightly cocked at an angle, just a few inches from the floor as the forward momentum of both vessels equalized.
Jane exhaled in a whoosh. “Close the external service hatch on chamber 246, repressurize the chamber, and reinstitute synthetic gravity. Execute ionic pulse.”
Jane unlatched herself and headed for the door.
Ei’Brai’s voice rumbled in her head, “Ionic pulse has been su
ccessfully effectuated, Qua’dux. Squillae transmission has gone full-silent. The pulse was successful.”
“We’ve got them. We should be out of the woods, so let’s find a safe place to park,” Alan said.
Ei’Brai’s mental voice sounded flat, resigned. “This location will serve, Qua’dux, if that is your wish.”
Jane shrugged as she tapped a key in the nearest deck transport. They hadn’t even discussed what they needed to do next. The pr
iority had been the ionic pulse and the rescue, that wasn’t even complete yet.
It suddenly occurred to her that back on Earth, the maneuver she’d just performed would have been recorded. They also may have received some unsettling transmissions from Providence over the last few days. The folks in Houston and Washington were probably beside themselves with worry and apprehension. She’d
need to send them a reassuring message ASAP. But that would have to wait a few more minutes.
“Ok. Let’s just stay here for a while, then,” she said abstracte
dly.
“Full stop, Qua’dux?”
Jane sighed. “Yes, full stop.”
“It would be advisable to don protective gear before approac
hing the vessel.”
“Ei’Brai—”
“Your colleagues are not themselves; their actions, unpredictable. I urge prudence, Qua’dux.” His voice vibrated with insistence.
Jane turned a corner and stopped short. A single suit of armor squatted in the middle of the hallway. Ei’Brai had sent it there to wait for her.
Jane shook her head, remembering Alan’s response to the armor. “I don’t want to frighten them.”
“That hardly matters,” Ei’Brai countered disdainfully. “A si
ngle ballistic missile could bring dusk upon you. Prevention is preferable to remorse.”
His reasoning was selfish, but he was right, she conceded. She’d harbored a childish hope that the ionic burst alone would instantly cure them. That wasn’t realistic. If she really was to save them, she had to protect herself from them. She stripped down, wadded up her clothing, and shoved it into an armored compar
tment, then stepped into the suit.
The suit conformed to and integrated with the brace she wore on her right leg. It enveloped her, squeezing her lightly, like a
warm hug. The HUD came up. She silenced its prompts with a thought.
