Starfishers Volume 3: Stars End (8 page)

“Really?” He ticked fingers. He could name five, not counting humanity. Six if he counted the prehistoric race that had built Stars’ End. “I’ll give you human and Ulantonid. From the war. Who were the others?”

“I thought you’d wonder why they’d be here.”

He frowned at her. Was she trying to bait him by showing off her superior knowledge? Savoring one minuscule advantage? He knew more than she about almost everything and she seemed to take it as a personal affront.

“I imagine because it’s a good place to lay an ambush. That’s why
Carolingian
came here during the war.”

Her smile shrank. “Yeah. And because it’s close to the obvious space lanes. Moyshe, there’ve been battles here for ages. Probably for millions of years. Or even billions. Except for the wrecks from the Ulantonid war, which I didn’t even count, none of the ships here were built by any race we’ve ever met. They were all extinct before man ever left Old Earth. Or at least they were gone from this part of the galaxy. They all pre-date any of the races we have encountered.”

“Ask the starfish about them.”

“We did. We’re not stupid. But they don’t have much to tell. They don’t pay any more attention to hard matter races than we do to bacteria. Less, really, because we’re curious and they aren’t. We’re pretty sure one bunch of ships, though, belonged to a race that moved the ancestors of the Sangaree from Earth to wherever it is their homeworld is.”

“Ah? Don’t let Mouse know about that. He’ll drive you crazy trying to get to them.”

Only in this century had geneticists surrendered to the popular notion that Human and Sangaree sprang from the same root stock. The man in the street would not believe in a parallel evolution so similar that it could produce a being indistinguishable from himself. Scientists had demurred, citing no evidence on Old Earth for extraterrestrial intervention . . . 

Then the abandoned alien base beneath the moon’s dark side had been discovered. Some major rethinking had been necessary. Then had come confirmation of reports that the human female could, occasionally, be impregnated by the Sangaree male.

The most famous—or infamous—of Sangaree agents, Michael Dee, had been half human.

“Mouse will be protected from himself.”

BenRabi studied her. She wore an oddly ferocious expression.

“Amy, I’ve been here almost fourteen months and you’re still springing surprises on me. When are you going to run out?” He stared into the hollow asteroid and awaited her response.

“Moyshe, what happened to the people who built Stars’ End?”

“We’ll probably never know. Unless somebody cracks its defenses.”

“We’ll do that. We’re going back. That was a rhetorical question.”

“Wait a sec. Back? To Stars’ End? After what happened? You’re out of your minds. You’re all raving lunatics.”

She laughed. “Moyshe, they left their ships behind when they disappeared. Right here. God knows how many of them there are. Three Sky occupies a cubic light-year. We haven’t explored a tenth of it. They had their yards and secret places too. Most of the ships we find were theirs. They were the people who transported the Sangaree, we think. We have explorers who don’t do anything but hunt for their hideouts. Every one we find is one we don’t have to build for ourselves.”

He spoke to the engulfing maw in the viewscreen. “She’s serious.”

“Absolutely, darling. Absolutely. Oh, we’re not really
sure
that it was the same race that did all three things. But the computers go with the probability. See, these are mostly good ships, Moyshe. They aren’t derelicts. Some of them still have a little emergency power left. They try to scare us off with mind noises the way Stars’ End does. And they have parts missing. Somebody took off all their weapons. I wish we had a whole army of xeno-archaeologists and anthropologists. It’s really interesting. I always go see what they’re working on whenever we come in. The scientists don’t go very fast. They’re mostly ones we captured, so they aren’t real enthusiastic about helping us out. They train some of our people as aides, sometimes. Old folks and birth defect types who can’t do much else.”

“That don’t make sense. People don’t abandon good ships, Amy. Where did they go? Why? How? And if they did build Stars’ End,
why?
”

She shrugged. “They weren’t people, Moyshe. Not our kind. Don’t judge their motives by ours.”

“I wouldn’t . . . though some ideas would seem universal. Just thinking questions out loud.”

“The questions are why I wish we had more scientists.” She switched the viewscreen over to a stern camera.
Danion
was well into the asteroid’s interior. “They could be the same creatures that did the tunneling at Luna Command. But were they really? Is there a connection between the moon and Three Sky and Stars’ End? Were we meant to find Stars’ End and Three Sky? Is it all some kind of big puzzle that we’re supposed to figure out? Is it a test?”

“You think they were planning to come back?”

“Who knows? The questions are all a hundred years old. The answers haven’t been born. And if we ever do answer any of them, then right away we’re going to ask three more.

“Anyway, those old ships are our main reason for being here. Some we fix up and use. They make good service ships. If they can be adapted. We scavenge some for materials to build harvestships. We only buy outside if we have to. Usually the Freehaulers make our purchases landside, for a commission, and make delivery to an asteroid at the edge of the nebula. They think it’s just a way station. They don’t ask questions. Too many questions is bad for business. They don’t try very hard to follow us around, either. They’re good people.”

“Is that a cut?”

“If you think so.”

“I suspected the Freehaulers. I know they had something to do with me and Mouse getting caught. How’s chances of me getting to look at one of those ships? I know a little about xeno-archaeology.”

A girl’s face crossed his mind. Alyce. She had been his Academy love. She had been a recorder at the alien digs in the moon. She had taught him a little, and the Bureau had taught him more.

Sooner or later, the Bureau touched every base.

“You’ll have to ask Jarl. I don’t think he’ll let you, though. We’re going to be awful busy repairing
Danion.
Plus you’ve got your citizenship classes and your beer nights with Mouse.”

“Now don’t start that again. He’s my friend, and that’s the way it’s going to stay. It don’t hurt for him and me to play a couple of games of chess once in a while. You can come keep an eye on us if you think we’re cooking up a plot against the Greater Seiner Empire, Lieutenant.”

She ignored his sarcasm. “I don’t feel like it. I always . . . ” She stopped before she began waving the red flag. Their positions were inflexible. Argument would be pointless. “Moyshe, we’ve got to get
Danion
whipped into shape fast. The fleets are coming in. As soon as they’re all here we’re leaving for auction and another crack at Stars’ End.”

“Stars’ End. Stars’ End. That’s all I hear anymore. And it’s completely insane. We can’t stick our necks in that noose again, Amy. Look what it cost last time. And remember, I was there too. I was outside with the starfish. I know what that planet can do.”

“We’ve got to have those weapons, Moyshe. You saw the casualty reports. You saw the extrapolations. What the sharks are doing now is going to look pacifistic in ten years. We’re talking survival, Love. And you’re still thinking power politics.”

“You’ll just get yourselves killed.”

“Either way, then. But we’ll handle Stars’ End. Honest. The fish really do know how to open the way. They found the key while we were there before.”

“Huh?” He had not caught a hint from Chub. “The Sangaree, or Confederation . . . ”

“They’d better come toting their guns if they want to steal it from us, Moyshe. Because they’ll have a hell of a fight on their hands. There’s a lot of us, honey. And we’re looking for a fight. People have been pushing us ever since I can remember. We’re tired of it. Once we get those weapons . . . ”

“And sharks, darling. Don’t forget the sharks. Oh, it’s bound to be a gay party. How do I get transferred to a ground job?”

“You don’t.” She laughed. “I just heard a couple hours ago. You’re going to be transferred to Security for the auction project.”

She did not tell him that the auction project would be a pilot for a more ambitious program. If he and Storm performed well and faithfully they would be given joint chieftainship of their own espionage outfit. She did not think her own boss, Jarl Kindervoort, knew yet. The Ship’s Commander seemed reluctant to discuss it with the man.

“Auction? That’s Mouse’s special haunt. How’d he get stuck with it, anyway?”

“It’s going to be yours, too. Our new mindtechs will start coming aboard in a couple of days. And you’ll move over to the project.”

“Why?”

“Because you know The Broken Wings.”

“Yeah. And I want to forget it.” His previous mission, as a Bureau agent, had taken him to The Broken Wings. It had been a nasty affair.

“That’s where the auction’s going to be held. They already sent the permission request. It’s just form from here on.”

“Form? What you want to bet the place is crawling with Confies and Sangaree? You people stirred up some bad feelings . . . ”

“She hit you pretty hard, eh?”

“What?”

“The woman. The Sangaree woman. That Marya Strehltsweiter.”

“What? How did you? . . . Mouse. Shooting off his mouth.”

“He didn’t exactly volunteer it. And he told Jarl, not me. I found out when I was looking through the files for something else.”

“All right.” His heart hammered for no reason he could justify to himself. So he had gotten involved with the woman. He had not known she was Sangaree then. “It’s over.”

“I know. I knew that a long time ago. Mouse wrote that report after you shot her. I guess he thought it was important for Jarl to understand what you were going through.”

That did not sound like Mouse. “She would’ve killed all of us. Sooner or later. I had to do it. I never shot anybody before.”

“Especially somebody you still halfway cared about, eh?”

“Yeah. Can we drop it?”

“Did Mouse really do that? Inject her children with stardust?”

“Yes. Mouse plays for keeps. He doesn’t have trouble with his conscience. Not the way I do.”

“You really think the Sangaree will be at the auction?”

“They’ll be there. They hold a grudge the way Mouse does. Amy, I don’t want to get involved in that. I’m happy where I’m at. I like linking. Chub is a good friend. I was just scared there at first. I’ve been getting to know the other members of the herd . . . Hell, sometimes I go in just to bullshit with Chub.”

BenRabi could relax with the starfish as he could with no human. He did not feel naked when he let the starfish see what he really felt and thought. Chub made no value judgments. His values were not human. He had, in fact, helped Moyshe make some small peace within himself.

Parts of his mind remained inaccessible to the starfish. Whole sections were hidden behind rigid walls. Moyshe could not guess what might lie there. He could sense nothing missing from his past.

Seiner life was changing Mouse, too, he reflected. Storm was becoming even more sure of himself, more bigger-than-life than he had always been. BenRabi could not pin it down. One or two nights a week playing chess together was not the same as sharing a minute to minute life under fire.

Mouse was an operative born. He had changed allegiance, but not professions. He had become part of Jarl Kindervoort’s staff.

Flying easy. That was what benRabi had been doing since his release from the hospital. The only pressure he faced was Amy’s near-militance in hinting about their getting married. Under Chub’s ministrations his neuroses were scaling away. He had come to the Seiners with a great many.

“Not much more to see,” Amy told him. The rearmost cameras were inside the asteroid. The tugs were guiding the cork back toward the entrance.

“What? Oh. I’d better go say good-bye to Chub.”

He reached Contact almost as quickly as he had the day of the last battle. “Clara. Where’s Hans?”

“He’s off. We don’t have anything going.”

“I want to go in. They’re telling me I’m going to be transferred.”

“You can’t. We’re closed down, Moyshe. They’ll be cutting power in a minute. Heck, the herd should be out of range by now.”

“Clara, I probably won’t ever get another chance.”

“Ah, Moyshe. It’s silly. But all right. Get on the couch.” She prepared his scalp and the hairnet device in seconds. The helmet devoured his head almost before he could catch his breath.

He shifted to TSD, then onward.

The colors of the nebula were incredible. It was a dreary place to the eye, completely dark unless illuminated artificially. In this internal universe Moyshe could reach out and touch all the specks of it, the clouds of luminescent dust, the glowing asteroids majestically circling the nebula’s center in their million-year orbits. He could even sense the protostar down in the nebula’s heart, lying patiently in its time-womb, gathering the sustenance it would need to blaze for eons.

“Chub!” his mind shouted into the color storm. “Are you there? Can you hear me?”

For a time he thought there would be no answer. The herd lay far off the bounds of the nebula, beyond the pain threshold of its diminutive gravitation.

Then, “Moyshe man-friend? What is happening?”

The link was tenuous. He could barely discern the starfish’s thoughts. He could not locate the creature with his inner sight.

“I came to say good-bye, Chub. They say I’m not going to be a mindtech anymore. You were right. They want me to go back to being what I was.”

“Ah. I am saddened, Moyshe man-friend. I am saddened because you are sad. We have been good friends. I am pleased that you thought it important to let me know. So many linkers just disappear. Perhaps this last time we can break through those barriers, Moyshe man-friend.”

But those corners of benRabi’s mind would not yield.

“Moyshe.” Clara’s voice seemed to come from kilometers away. “They’re going to shut the power off. You’ve got to come out.”