Quofum (15 page)

Outside, the escalating whine of the shuttle’s engine rose to a howl, stimulating a symphony of shrieks from the depths of the surrounding Quofumian forest. Flocks of flying things exploded from the treetops while arboreal hallucinations and taxonomic nightmares hastened to flee in all directions. With stately aerodynamic grace the shuttle rose vertically on its landing pads, folded those mechanical limbs into its belly, and accelerated into the pink sky. From within the camp’s science module Tiare Haviti, Moselstrom N’kosi, and Val of the hive Na, clan Dir, family Eb, could do nothing more than watch via instruments as the shuttle vanished beyond the clouds.

It was gone. The Qwarm Salvador Araza was gone. Their colleague Esra Tellenberg was dead.

And they were assuredly, unarguably, indisputably stuck.

10

Araza felt no remorse. Not a tinge, not a touch, not an iota. If he regretted anything at all it was that as a curious man he felt it a shame that so much new scientific knowledge had to be left behind. It did not have to be so. He could have remained, taken his time, and one by one terminated each of the three remaining scientists, after which he could at his leisure have stuffed the shuttle with even more recorded information in addition to a choice assortment of carefully preserved specimens.

Personal penchant, however, was not the province of a Qwarm. He had not been taken into service to participate in scientific research. Engaging him as a member of the crew had not been easy. More experienced technicians with longer résumés had been available and had been nominated for the position. It had taken a good deal of work on the part of the clan’s administrative arm to secure the appointment for him.

He was a fully qualified tech, of course, or he would never have succeeded in concealing his true nature for the duration of the outbound voyage. No one on board had suspected that his true specialty lay in an area as utterly alien to them as the world for which they were headed.

No, that wasn’t entirely true, he told himself as he relaxed in the shuttle’s command chair and occasionally glanced at the instrumentation. There were times, instances, when Boylan had shown some suspicion. But the captain had put his tech’s occasional failings and slowness to finish assignments down to the kind of individual imperfection often found in his subordinates. Araza’s subterfuge had never been challenged.

In the end, it was a failing of Boylan’s and not of Araza’s that was responsible for the man’s death. The Qwarm did not know the names of those to whom the recently demised captain owed money. It was not necessary for him to know in order to carry out his assignment. All that he needed to know was contained in the formal clan briefing that he had committed to memory long before he joined the
Dampier
’s crew.

Now it was over. He had completed his task successfully and in such a way that it could not be traced back to him. As for the
Dampier,
it would be stripped and then placed in a stable orbit around a suitable planet. Eventually it would be found, investigated, and discovered to be a missing Commonwealth Science vessel. Finding the empty survey vessel in orbit around a Commonwealth world would lead investigators to believe that she had either been scavenged and abandoned by a renegade crew or diverted from her assignment by others. There would be nothing explicit to implicate the Qwarm.

The absence of the crew would be remarked upon and for a short while would provide fodder for jaded media. Perhaps a reward would be announced for information leading to their exposure. The attention of the greater Commonwealth public being always brief and forever submerged in a continuous, never-ending stream of reportage of disasters, scandals, gossip, and actual straightforward news, the matter would soon be forgotten. Commonwealth Science Central would take charge of its recovered vessel, continue to muse on the fate of its crew, debate the alternatives of group desertion or disaster, and move on. As would Salvador Araza. As would the Clan Qwarm.

All that remained was for him to report back in to his seniors. They would then convey the pertinent information to those who had hired the clan’s services. A final payment would be made. Though it was not a matter of great importance to him, Araza knew there would be a sizable bonus payable to him personally.

He felt quite calm and outright good about the outcome of his assignment. The obligation had been appropriately discharged, he had not been harmed, and he had been compelled to slay only one potential witness. While unable ever to return to civilization, the remaining three he had managed to avoid killing outright might still live out their modest remaining lifetimes on a world that was, if not particularly hospitable, at least supportive of humanx life. If they watched their collective step and rationed their resources, they might not only survive but be able to continue their work—albeit in the knowledge that the results were unlikely ever to be seen by another human or thranx until long after the last of them was dead. Continuing with their research would give them something to focus on besides simply surviving. Araza hoped so. He was a technician and a professional, not a sadist.

Of course, in the absence of any hope of rescue they might also go mad. It was immaterial to him. Despite his superficial and calculated efforts at conviviality while in their company, now that he was on his way home it was of no import to him whether the trio of scientists he had abandoned lived or died. Genuine sociability was a luxury he could not afford. A Qwarm made friends with someone they had been assigned to kill only if it would facilitate their work.

Once outside Quofum’s atmosphere he could no longer locate by sight the river delta where the camp had been established. He could not even tell for certain on which of several continents it was located. The camp, like his former shipmates, had already receded into memory. All that remained now was for him to return home, make his report, and embark on a well-earned and richly deserved holiday. The life of a clan member was not all blood and death-dealing. It was perfectly possible for those whose business was murder to relax and enjoy life—provided they were psychologically well adjusted. Araza was secure in the knowledge that he fell into the latter category. Though a more complex mission to plan and organize than most, the Quofumian assignment had been comparatively undemanding to carry out.

He busied himself in mentally preparing for the journey homeward as the shuttle docked with the
Dampier.
Once back on board, he took the time to enjoy a meal and a shower before paying a visit to the bridge. No alarming telltales greeted his arrival. Any last promises, pleading, cursing, screaming, or other attempted communications from the surface would have had to be relayed through the shuttle’s system. Since the shuttle was now here instead of there, such contact was no longer possible. Anyway, he had shut off the shuttle’s ground receiver as soon as he had boarded the transfer craft. His last words to his former shipmates had truly been his last words.

As a safety measure in the event that its designated captain became incapacitated (Araza allowed himself a slight inward smile at the thought—despite their profession the Qwarm were not entirely devoid of humor), the ship had been programmed to respond to any of its passengers. Araza now took it upon himself to issue commands.

“You wish to return to point of origin?” The AI was designed to query any instructions it found equivocal.

“I do. Promptly and without detour, maintaining communications silence throughout.” Sitting back in the command chair, Araza spoke easily and without hesitation. He had rehearsed this encounter and its possible variations long before the ship had even left for Quofum. Anticipating the current exchange had been as much a part of his preparations for the mission as planning how and where he might confront Boylan.

The AI entered into a pause that might charitably have been described as contemplative. “I do not detect the presence of Captain Boylan or any member of the official scientific team.”

“They are presently engaged in active research on the surface below. Much of importance has been discovered. I have been instructed to file a report in person and return with needed additional personnel and supplies.”

“I could do that without you,” the ship responded.

“AIs can file reports, but they suffer when it comes to conveying emotion and other unquantifiable components necessary to persuade.” Well rehearsed in the potential objections an AI might raise to a request for departure, Araza didn’t miss a beat in his replies.

“That is true,” the ship conceded. “Why are you doing this and not Captain Boylan?”

“Captain Boylan’s organizational expertise is required below. As the camp is now up and running smoothly, the presence of a repair and construction technician is temporarily expendable. Captain Boylan’s presence is not.”

A long pause followed. “I, of course, cannot confirm this assessment because I cannot at present raise any member of the scientific team.”

Araza found himself nodding in agreement. The ship would easily be able to establish such individual contacts and verify the veracity of the technician’s claims—so long as the shuttle and its advanced communications system was present at the camp and in a position to relay such requests onward. The
Hyla
’s present location within the mother ship’s cargo bay presented the main AI with a dilemma. It could send the shuttle back down on automatics and subsequently utilize its integrated systems to contact one or more members of the crew in an attempt to confirm Araza’s statements. But that would mean countermanding a directive from an authorized member of that same team—Araza.

Finding no reason to do this, encountering no objections from below, and determining from the last time it had the opportunity to do so that all components of the recently established surface camp were functioning normally, it finally replied, “Departure as per request in five minutes.”

Araza leaned back and smiled contentedly. It was all over now but the trip homeward, the filing of his official report, and the collecting of kudos for a job well done. As the ship readied itself around him he retired to his cabin. Along the way he passed the entrances to those living quarters that had been occupied by the members of the science team. Their silence did not in any way impinge upon or trouble his conscience.

It took the ship the better part of a day to boost outsystem in normal space. It could have made the changeover to space-plus much sooner, but Araza was in no hurry and was curious to examine the system’s other worlds. Once beyond the last gas giant he issued the necessary final commands.

“Preparing for changeover,” the ship promptly responded.

Comfortably ensconced in his own cabin, Araza tensed slightly. No matter how many times an individual underwent the shift from space normal to space-plus, one could never be sure how one’s innards would react. He waited. It would all be over within a minute or two and then he would be on his way homeward at a velocity outside and beyond that available to travelers in normal space. After a few minutes of waiting, he relaxed. It had been the smoothest changeover he had ever experienced. He waited for the expected corroboration from the ship.

It was soon forthcoming, but it was not at all what he expected to hear.

“There is a problem.”

A frown drew Araza’s brows downward. “A problem? What kind of problem?”

Though not programmed to overtly express confusion, the AI managed to convey it anyway. “I am currently experiencing a navigational quandary.” While that confession was unsettling, it was nothing compared to the feeling that shot through Araza’s gut at the ship’s next words. “Ancillary advice is in order and would be appreciated.”

What the hell?
Using a hand to sweep aside the tridee play he had been viewing, the near-naked Araza left his room and made his way quickly back to the bridge.

There everything seemed normal enough. He untensed slightly. “What’s the problem? You said something about ‘a navigational quandary’? Be specific.” Looking around, he could see nothing visibly amiss. All instruments appeared to be functioning normally. Telltales, projections, and readouts were clear and sharp.

“It is a quandary that is at once both simple and complex,” the AI informed him. “I cannot retrace the outward-bound route nor plot a new one because I do not know where I am. My reference points for performing the necessary calculations are gone.”

Gone? What the devil was the AI blabbering about? Araza found himself wondering. How could navigational reference points be “gone”?

“What do you mean when you say your ‘reference points’ for navigation are ‘gone’? Are you suffering an unreported mechanical infarction?” He spoke harshly, in the menacing tone of an angry Qwarm addressing another organic sentient rather than a machine. It did not matter. Insensitive vocal inflections had no effect on the ship-mind.

“No. All of my internal systems are functioning normally.”

Araza’s impatience grew. “Then I don’t understand. What’s wrong?”

“I can explain fully, though it will take some time and require reference to certain highly advanced mathematical and astrophysical terminology. In the interests of conciseness, I believe it would be useful to begin with simple visuals.”

It was as if the interior of the control chamber abruptly turned transparent. That was not the case, of course. What had happened was that Araza now found himself standing in the center of a full spherical projection. This in itself did not in any way upset him. It was a common tool utilized for both professional and entertainment purposes. The shock he experienced was a consequence of what he was seeing, not how it was being shown.

The projection displayed what was outside the ship. Nearby should have been a small gas giant—the lifeless, outermost world of the system he was in the process of leaving. A bright spot of light would have marked the location of the now-distant local sun. Around this and in all other directions would have been the regional stars and nebulae. Approximately to his right and in the general direction of the galactic edge a brighter, denser swath of stars indicating the position of the Commonwealth within the Orion Arm would have been visible.

There was no small gas giant. There was no local sun, around which orbited Quofum, half a dozen other worlds, and at least two asteroid belts. There was no sign of the local equivalent of a Kuiper Belt. All of these astronomical absences and omissions were unsettling. But what really accelerated his normally precisely controlled heart rate and caused his eyes to widen slightly was what he saw off to his right. Or rather, what he did not see.

The Commonwealth had gone missing.

Or it was at the very least lost. Lost in a sea of stars the likes of which he had seen only in images and recordings. It was as if the ship he was on had in the blink of an eye been shifted nearer to the galactic center, where stars clustered far more closely together than they did out in any of the spiral arms. Swallowing hard, he put the possibility to the ship’s AI. The response was cool and controlled, the tone as even as that of a butler announcing that dinner was ready and would he care to attend.