Juggler of Worlds (54 page)

“You overpay for worthless real estate, flaunting your wealth, so that no one gives any thought to what you
really
need: metals. In inner solar systems where exposed metals are to be found, the briefest interruption in your protective gear and you would be boiled away.

“And then there’s the fact we
think
we know, but don’t: that yours is an ancient galactic civilization. Almost every question anyone ever asked about your civilization goes unanswered. The answers are priced, quite symbolically, at a
trillion
stars, effectively beyond purchase.

“I stress:
almost
every question. The ‘facts’ of your species’ extent and venerable origins …
that
information is dispensed freely, and at no cost.”

Had he learned to read Puppeteer facial expressions? Nessus seemed perplexed.

Sigmund pressed on. “So, what of the elder race that roams the galaxy at sublight speeds? The civilization that in some mysterious way involves the slow migration of starseeds from rim to core, and back again? It’s common knowledge—yet it’s something Puppeteers and humans and Kzinti cannot possibly know. None of us have been sentient long enough, or traveled far enough, to confirm these things. What if it isn’t true?”

“Our business is none of your concern,” Fourteen said, his tentacles still atremble. “Dress for vacuum, and go.”

Sigmund ignored the order. “A galaxy-spanning race, ancient of days. Can it be true? Humans and Kzinti traveled the stars for hundreds of years before first encountering any Outsiders. And that was all sublight travel. We didn’t
have
hyperdrive until you sold it to us.

“Imagine this is the only Outsider ship in all of what humans so grandly call Known Space. How many ships must there be across the galaxy? A billion, maybe. And yet here we are on Ship Fourteen. What are the odds of such a low number? They seem, well, astronomical.”

Nessus found his voice. “Sigmund, I don’t understand.”

“You know more than you realize, Nessus. If we have been told the truth, why aren’t Outsider ships everywhere? You know they aren’t. You would never have allowed
Explorer
to fly with an all-human crew if encountering an Outsider ship were a risk.”

“You expect my help in return for your numerology?” Fourteen said. “This is pointless. Prepare to go.”

“Ah,” Sigmund said. “I should mention another thing we know. Outsiders do not haggle. Now we see why: Your take-it-or-leave attitude sustains an aura of power. It’s also why you wouldn’t overlook the Concordance transferring a planetary drive. Your forbearance might lead the Puppeteers to infer weakness. Any odious consequences of your
actions”—of your cowardice—“matter less than maintaining your image.

“The time for posturing has passed, Fourteen. Reconsider your decision. Help New Terra.”

Tendrils wriggled and twisted. “And if we refuse? Do you plan to spread these speculations around Known Space?”

Sigmund smiled. “Yes, if you force me to. But there is another alternative.”

TRIUMPH AND DESPAIR chased each other in circles. Nessus had almost lost track of his mood. Only exhaustion and fear were constant.

What could Sigmund possibly hope to gain by taunting the Outsiders?

The shame of it all was, the Concordance should have seen through the pretense long ago. Citizens were dealing with the Outsiders while the ancestors of humans still swung in the trees. The mystery of it all was, why did Sigmund freely share this insight with
him?

Sigmund spoke Interworld. He knew Beowulf Shaeffer. Of course Fourteen believed Sigmund could reveal the Outsiders’ secret across Known Space. But Sigmund had lost the way to Known Space—and Sigmund knew Nessus knew that.

First starseed lures. Now this.

Sigmund expected
something
of him. What could it be?

“FOURTEEN, WHAT IF we have something
you
need?” Sigmund asked abruptly.

“Hardly likely.”

“Fourteen, let’s talk of starseeds.”

Across the room, Nessus plucked at his already-tangled mane. He was all but catatonic. Would he have the wit to follow Sigmund’s lead?

“What of starseeds?” Fourteen asked.

“The Puppeteers accepted your false history, so your race
is
older than theirs. A trillion Puppeteers now live on Hearth, while you are few. Compared to the other intelligent species, you are frail.” With thoughts of Kirsten blushing, Sigmund chose his next words carefully. “Your children must be exceedingly precious to you.”

Silence.

“I can only speculate how starseeds figure in your life cycle.”

The Outsiders lived in the vacuum, soaking up faint (if artificial)
sunshine, lying prone in scarcely discernable gravity. They must have evolved, eons ago, on tiny, cold rocks far from an ancestral sun. Sigmund imagined spores or eggs expelled from those rocks into space,
slowly
growing on a thin diet of solar wind and cosmic dust. How long would it take to become a miles-wide starseed? To what purpose did the starseeds wander? Did it require some rare cosmic event to germinate the seeds?

Sigmund had no idea. It was enough that Nessus knew. “Truly,
how
hardly matters. Fourteen, I apologize if I am being unseemly. What matters is that you follow starseeds. They do not follow you.

“Because when the radiation wave arrives from the core explosion—even sooner, if it is true starseeds migrate to the galaxy’s core—your history, however venerable, must end.”

IF SIGMUND WAS CORRECT …

Hope once more pushed away despair. Starseed lures! With them, the Outsiders could stop their next generation from the slow-motion death of migration to the core. With them, the Outsiders could learn to modulate their own artificial suns. They could lead starseeds, rather than follow them.

And Sigmund was leaving the manner of disclosure to
him
.

The price of Sigmund’s discretion remained to be determined.

Nessus set his hooves far apart, feigning a self-assurance he did not feel. He had nowhere to flee. Assuming a confident stance did him no harm. He found his voices. “Our scientists have studied starseeds.”

“To what end?” Fourteen asked. Into his lack of inflection Nessus read suspicion.

“Scientists,” Nessus dissembled. “Why do they study anything? The fortunate thing is that they did. They discovered stellar spectra to which starseeds are attracted.” And now the lie. “They theorize it would be possible to remotely stimulate a stellar magnetosphere, thereby attracting starseeds.

“Would you consider a trade?”

“A TRADE,” Fourteen said. “Possibly. I will need to consult.”

Sigmund cleared his throat loudly. “Not so fast.”

“My dealings with the Concordance do not concern you,” Fourteen said. “Still, I would expect you to be pleased. If we forgive the transfer of a planetary drive to New Terra’s control, your problems are solved.”

That might have been true—once. Achilles’ attack changed everything.
New Terra was helpless. The Fleet would try to reclaim their lost colony while they could. Or was he being paranoid?

Tanj, he
should
be paranoid. Why else was he here? What else was he good for?

“The problem will be solved, Fourteen, if you do a bit more. Support our independence as part of the deal. Grant perpetual rights to use the drive now on New Terra as we choose. And so that any of it matters, guarantee us these rights.”

More writhing of tendrils, eerily evocative of Medusa. “You have high expectations of beings so feeble and few.”

Irony from an Outsider. I still have much to learn, Sigmund thought. “No one on Hearth yet knows what we have discussed. They remain terrified of you.”

Fourteen considered. “It is our policy not to intervene between other species.”

“Policies change,” Sigmund said. “Make independence and Puppeteer noninterference a condition of the trade. Then you won’t have to intervene.”

“And if we refuse?”

Puppeteers did not understand bluffing. If Sigmund wasn’t imagining things, though, the Outsiders were consummate bluffers. Well, so was he. “Then everything we have talked about becomes common knowledge across Known Space.”

Sigmund didn’t know the location of Known Space, which made it an empty threat—and Nessus knew it. Sigmund glanced at the Puppeteer. The Concordance had pulled the strings of the Outsiders, too. “About certain matters you and I discussed privately earlier …”

“Understood,” Nessus said.

More squirming of tentacles. “And conversely, your eternal silence on these matters if we reach agreement. I will need to consult with—”

“And
I
have requirements,” Nessus interrupted.

Sigmund froze. What was Nessus up to?

“The conditions, Fourteen, are these: First, you never convey location or navigational data to Sigmund, or his ship, or anyone you have reason to believe comes from New Terra. Second, you withhold what you know about New Terra from the species in Known Space.”

The room shrank to only Nessus’ eyes. Peace and independence for New Terra. Surrender all hope of ever going home. Sigmund understood the bargain.

He kept his silence, gladly, as Fourteen finalized arrangements.

Paraphernalia and supplies removed from cargo holds and never returned. Out-of-tolerance equipment awaiting recalibration. Tens of empty food trays and hundreds of abandoned drinking bulbs. Wrappers, crates, straps, padding, and packaging of all sorts. During the operation above New Terra, the corridors, cabins, and rooms of
Remembrance
had grown progressively more chaotic.

Just the thought of such dangerous clutter made Baedeker’s shins hurt.

Chanting as he worked, Baedeker recycled trash, identified and sorted apparatus, repadded and repacked, and began moving things back into cargo holds. He would normally resist such work as beneath him, but this was different.

This was a step toward going home.

Somehow—the specifics remained elusive—Nessus had resolved the crisis. The last thing Baedeker had heard, Nessus was a prisoner. The humans apparently took Nessus and his ship to the Outsiders. There Nessus escaped his human captors and negotiated a three-way deal. The shape of the deal was the most nebulous of all, in all but one respect—New Terra would go its own way.

Hence: Hostilities had ended.
Remembrance
was recalled.

Baedeker was deep in song, happily stowing repackaged equipment, when odd sounds intruded. Muffled conversation? It could only be Achilles and the human woman Sabrina. She would be home soon, too. Her home. Only it didn’t
sound
like conversation.

Baedeker was pleasantly surprised how quickly everything was going back into the holds. The rooms had seemed crammed on the way here. Early in the operation, whatever he needed always turned out to be behind or under everything he did not want. Like the two cargo floaters he had just found half a ship away. Like the big crates that held …

The two big crates were gone.

“TALK ALL YOU WANT,” Achilles said. “Personally, I would save my breath.”

Sabrina gabbled inarticulately. Invisible restraints encased her from head to toe, the same force field that pinned her to the second crash couch on
the bridge. It was a Citizen couch, of course. On a human it did not look comfortable. “Mmpph. Gack.”

He had set the field strength to maximum. Even breathing must be hard. She would quiet down soon enough. “This is a fascinating experiment. Very advanced science. You should be honored that your world can take part.”

Her eyes never left him. With a struggle, she managed to get out, “Tssch. Jwerrf.”

“Initiation sequences complete.” Let no one say he was not keeping her informed. “Probes are active.”

Telemetry streamed in an auxiliary display. He continued his narration. “Thrusters: nominal. Guidance: nominal. Sensors: nominal.” The sensors had locked onto the nearest of the orbiting suns. He flashed the ship’s comm laser against a random spot on Atlantis, and the probe sensors immediately changed their lock. They resumed tracking suns when the laser turned off. “Tracking: nominal.”

The main holo showed a real-time image of New Terra. They were in synchronous orbit above the continent of Atlantis. Too small to discern at this magnification, they were also almost above the planetary-drive facility.

Veins stood out in Sabrina’s forehead and neck. Her face was turning purple. Her struggle to communicate went beyond what little breath the restraint field allowed her to take. She would faint soon, and then who would see his accomplishment?

“Very well,” Achilles said. He adjusted the restraint enough to free her head. “I can restore it just as easily.”

“… Don’t … ha-have t-to
… do …
thisss,” she wheezed. “Pl-plea … sssee … d-don’t.”

“Probes inbound,” he answered.

He had parked both probes at ten planetary diameters, with Baedeker none the wiser. The probes were quite simple, really. Thrusters. A bit of electronics. And a
lot
of depleted uranium, far denser than lead.

“I
do
have to do this.” Achilles monitored the probes’ progress as he spoke. “Somehow, you have become too powerful.”