The Prodigal Sun (39 page)

Roche stared at him for a moment, wondering if she didn’t agree. Then she looked at De Bruyn. Like Haid’s, her face was lit by naked amazement at what the AI had done. She returned Roche’s gaze, and her expression suddenly narrowed. Roche knew that look. De Bruyn’s mind was already alive with possibilities—and she wanted control.

“Given the current situation, then,” the Box said, “have you any further instructions?”

“Yes.” Roche regarded the captives with unease; even now—especially now—De Bruyn wasn’t prepared to admit defeat. “I want these three taken somewhere safe until we get back to HQ. There must be a brig aboard. Arrange some drones for escort; Haid and Cane will take them there. We don’t want any other nasty surprises too soon.”

“I presume, then, that we are returning to the COE Intelligence HQ?”

“By normal space, this time. Do you have a problem with that?”

“Absolutely not,” said the Box. “In fact, it fits in perfectly with my plans.”

Roche shrugged aside the Box’s reference to its own purpose; there would be time later to deal with that. “We still have some negotiating to do before we leave. Isn’t that right, Absenger?”

The liaison officer, his face still pale, hesitated before nodding.

Five Dato suits marched into the bridge and took positions behind the captives while Cane began untying their bonds. De Bruyn stared white-lipped at Roche, hatred flaring in her eyes. As De Bruyn’s restraints fell to the floor, she stood slowly, purposefully, and rubbed at her wrists.

“This isn’t over yet,” the head of Strategy said, her eyes locked on Roche. “Not by any means, Commander.”

Haid ushered them from the bridge. “You’ve had your chance,” he said. “The sooner you accept that Morgan has won, the better. In case you hadn’t noticed…”

His words faded into the distance as he marched the three away.

Roche stared around the empty room—at the discarded makeshift ropes, the warped life support vent, the ruined navigation console—and the relieved grin faded from her face.

Won
what
? She wondered. Freedom, yes, and all the uncertainty that went with it. A ship she didn’t really know how to fly, not properly. Companions for a time, including an ex-mercenary, a rogue epsense adept who once worked for the Commerce Artel, and a genetically modified Human designed by a long-dead government possibly to commit genocide on the entire Pristine Caste…

murmured Maii into her mind.

Roche sank into the nearest seat with a sigh, smiling at the thought—and the fact that she found it to be strangely comforting.

Epilogue

DBMP
Ana Vereine

‘955.01.01 EN

0010

New Year’s Hour came and went across the Commonwealth—except perhaps in its farthest reaches, where timekeeping was notoriously imprecise. A thousand different religions and cultures with wildly varying means welcomed the date as they always did, little caring about events elsewhere in the galaxy. United by a calendar, but separated by the moment itself, the age-old celebration of the cycle of life was the first thing on everyone’s mind, if only for a few hours.

Roche, however, didn’t feel like celebrating. Roaming through the empty corridors of the
Ana Vereine
, she was content to let her mind wander—and wonder.

To begin with, she’d simply explored, familiarizing herself with her new home. A rough overview, a sense of the character of the ship, was all she wanted—and all she could hope for, given that a systematic exploration of the entire vessel would have taken weeks. So, from the spacious bridge, with its distinctive Dato decor consisting mainly of pastel browns and soft lighting, to the cramped warren in the Marauder’s innermost depths, she had strolled at random, letting chance play a major role in what she uncovered.

At first. The more she looked, however, the more curious she became.

She’d never before seen a ship quite like the
Ana Vereine.
Yes, the Marauder was most likely a prototype, with innovations she hadn’t encountered before. For a start, there were cameras everywhere—too many for even the most security-conscious ship’s master. In order to support the vast amount of data gathered by these and other sensors, extensive information networks snaked through and around every system, both inside and outside the ship. Exactly what happened to the data she hadn’t worked out yet, although she was fairly certain that it all converged on one particular system. Perhaps when she discovered what that system was, or even its physical location, she would be able to guess what it was for. Until then, no matter where she went, or how irrational the impulse was, she felt like she was being watched.

Then there were the floor-mounted holographic image generators. She had come across at least a dozen of them so far, in all sorts of strange places, including the bridge, the command module, the mess hall and the captain’s scutter—places where conventional viewtanks were already located. They obviously weren’t a late addition to the ship’s design, yet she couldn’t fathom their purpose. The Dato Bloc wasn’t renowned for excessive redundancy.

Likewise with the extra life support system revealed by a quick scan of the ship’s schematics. A system, judging by its specifications, designed to support life in a liquid environment that matched none of the many Castes known in the galaxy. The closest match was with Pristine requirements—but who would want to spend their time floating completely submerged in fluid?

Lastly, there was the lack of an obvious captain’s suite—which was lucky, she supposed, given that no firm hierarchy had been established among the ship’s new occupants. Permanent quarters had yet to be assigned, although four suites had already been cleared on the officers’ deck, ready for whoever wanted them. If they ended up choosing a captain, then he or she would have to do without the luxury usually granted the commanding officer of a warship.

Still, she thought, that was something they could deal with later. Until the Box finalized the deal with COE Intelligence HQ, there was very little point arguing about who should make the decision about where to go and what to do. The Box ran the show, more or less, but would continue to obey Roche until its creators on Trinity countermanded its original order; Roche in turn would defer to Haid or Cane on anything outside her experience; and Maii could have them all dangling at her whim if she wanted to. The matter of command was really one of convenience, not necessity.

Meanwhile, Roche was content to wander, and to attempt to fathom the vessel they had acquired. She could have offered her services to any of the others, of course, but, having been cast adrift by the Armada and left to fend for herself, she felt a need to find her own place, to carve her own niche. And she wanted to do it while she still had the chance—before it was forced upon her.

“Morgan?” The Box’s voice, issuing from the ubiquitous speakers lining every open area of the ship, interrupted her travels midway between the fourth and fifth upper decks.

“I’m here, Box,” she answered aloud. She could have subvocalized, but she preferred to reaffirm her new freedom: a simple transmitter had replaced the physical link that had previously kept her bound to the Box’s valise. Sometimes she still found herself adjusting her balance to compensate for a weight that was no longer there, or flexing her hand to reach for the grip. “News?”

“Negotiations are coming along well,” said the Box, sounding amused. A couple of days ago, Roche wouldn’t have believed the Box capable of such a thing. With the recent revelation of its self-awareness, she was no longer certain of its inability to appreciate humor. “Within the next half an hour, we expect it to be ratified. If you agree, then you will be signatory. We all feel that this is fair.”

Roche mulled this over for a long moment. In the proposed deal, the crew of the
Ana Vereine
would receive fuel, provisions and minor repairs, complete amnesty, and permission to investigate the Sol phenomena without obstruction. In exchange, they would depart from Intelligence HQ immediately, offering full disclosure of information gathered regarding the Wunderkind in their travels. They also had to agree not to interfere in any Armada or COE affairs.

The situation on Sciacca’s World would be reviewed as a matter of urgency, with Emmerik and Neva granted temporary status as official negotiators between the DAOC tenants and the planet’s indigenous population. Full autonomy of the native people would be returned within five years, and all transportees unwilling to accept a pardon in exchange for full citizenship on the desert world would be shipped to another penal colony.

As for the Dato, the ambush of the
Midnight
would be ignored in exchange for titular ownership—in Roche’s name, if she was to be signatory—of the
Ana Vereine.
The original crew had already been off-loaded, and would be returned to the nearest Dato base unharmed. Then, if Roche had learned anything about military procedure in her time with the Armada, the entire incident would be quickly forgotten.

This last part saddened Roche. Hundreds of people had been sacrificed to provide a means for her escape from the
Midnight
—none of whom would ever receive official recognition. According to Armada records, their deaths would have come about as the result of an unfortunate accident in Sciacca’s World’s Soul, just another slip-up of navigation in a region already notorious for mishaps. Regardless of her differences with Proctor Klose, she did not believe that this was a fitting epitaph for him or his crew.

“That seems pretty thorough,” she said eventually. “Although I’m surprised they agreed to it all—and I’m not sure I like the idea of working for them again, no matter how tangentially.”

“It seems logical,” replied the Box patiently. “You yourself suggested it. If we discover that Cane and his kind represent a genuine threat to Human life in the Commonwealth, then it affects more than just us. No matter how you might resent the Armada and its treatment of you, Morgan, you still have a duty to warn them.” The Box paused for a moment, then added, “Of course, although we haven’t stated as much in the contract, we will also warn the Dato Bloc and the Non-Aligned Realms. That would be the judicious thing to do.”

Roche reached an intersection and stopped in her tracks, unsure where to head next. “What’s all this business about judiciousness and being fair to Humanity? I thought you were looking out for yourself. Only putting up with us as long as you had to.” As long as
I’m
alive, she added silently to herself.

The Box didn’t answer for a minute or two, and she wondered whether it had even heard. Then: “To a certain extent, that is true.”

She pounced on this admission immediately. “So you
do
have a hidden agenda?”

“This may sound strange, Morgan, but the best answer I can give to that question is ‘Perhaps.’“ The Box’s voice sounded faintly puzzled—the first time she had ever heard it sound that way. “While I have access to the command core of COE Intelligence HQ, I can see the events around me with much greater clarity and across a much larger distance than before. Accordingly, my estimates of past and future trends are more accurate, but also more difficult to contain in mere words.”

Roche absently scratched at the place where the bracelet had once hung around her wrist. She failed to see how this was relevant to its stubborn obedience, and its fascination for Cane. “Spell it out for me, Box. I’m only a Human, remember?”

“That’s nothing to apologize for, Morgan. Basically, comprehension is a function of intellect, and intellect depends upon structure. My basic components provide me with a blueprint for higher thought that I have not previously been able to exercise. Now, I possess more processing power than I ever did, and I see that there is still room for me to grow. I can’t explain this sufficiently well for you to understand, except to say that I feel... humbled. I know that when the time comes for us to leave HQ behind, I will be reduced to more finite dimensions, and will therefore lose sight of the distant horizons I currently enjoy. No longer a nascent god hunting for equals, I will become once again a mere mortal seeking meaning from apparent chaos.”

“I think I’m starting to follow you,” said Roche, not sure she really was. “When you give the command core back, you’ll be left with only the valise and whatever comes with the
Ana Vereine
.” She shook her head. “But why does that mean you can’t tell me whether you have a hidden agenda or not?”

“Because it is just that: ‘hidden.’ Even the part of me communicating with you now is such a small shadow of my present self—a tiny echo from the edges of infinity, if you like—that it cannot comprehend the ramifications of what the larger, complete ‘I’ sees. They would be even further beyond you. The only other mind that I am presently aware of with sufficient power is on the planet of my creation—that of the High Human who made me.”

“The Crescend?” she said.

“Exactly. I am a smaller part of that being—whose one and only weakness is an inability to participate.”

“Which is why you’re here,” Roche guessed. “You needed HQ all along—”

“Yes. To examine fresh data, and to decide where to go next. All indicators at present point toward following the Sol trail to the Palasian System. From there, however, directions are unclear.”

“But what if the rest of us choose not to go even as far as that?”

“Curiosity is a powerful force, Morgan. Never underestimate it. I certainly didn’t, when gambling on its effect to make you rescue Adoni Cane from the
Midnight
.”

That name again. Roche wondered once more at the cost of her survival, and who would be asked to pay—if not now, then in the future.

“I don’t know, Box,” she said. “You may have
me
under your thumb, but don’t be so confident about the others.”

“Why not? I’m sure you will convince them. The ship is yours, after all.”

“In name only. That doesn’t make me the commanding officer. Haid, for instance, would do a much better—”

“No. Not Haid. He is too easily distracted, too unreliable.”

“Cane, then.” Roche frowned, feeling hemmed in. “What makes you think I even
want
the job?”

Again, the Box was silent. When it spoke a few moments later, its voice was less insistent than before, almost distant.

“Section gold-one,” it said. “It’s on the map. Go there, and you will find what you are looking for.”

“I’m not looking for anything.”

“You lie even to yourself,” said the Box flatly. “This is something I have difficulty understanding in mundane Humans. You must understand your own limitations before you can ever hope to Transcend them.”

A chill went down Roche’s spine when she realized what she was talking to at that moment: not the tiny fragment of the Box that had been allocated to keep her informed and to deal with her questions, but the greater “I” itself: the part of the Crescend that the Box had become.

“Okay,” she said cautiously, wary of making deals with something so far beyond her comprehension. “But if I
don’t
find anything—”

“You will,” returned the Box. “And with it you will find the answer to your dilemma.”

“
What
dilemma?”

Roche waited for a moment, expecting the AI to elaborate. Did it mean the dilemma of Adoni Cane, or of the Crescend’s long-term intentions? Answers to either would have been a step forward, but she would rather hear them outright than play the Box’s games to get them.

When it was clear, however, that the Box had nothing further to add, she called up the ship’s map from the databanks and overlaid it across her vision.

Section gold-one lay midway between the officers’ decks and the warren, little more than four rooms tucked out of sight near the main life support vats. The map provided no information about what the rooms contained, and Roche had previously assumed that they were simply storerooms or maintenance closets.

Shrugging, she turned back the way she had come, heading through the maze of corridors for section gold-one. Whatever the rooms contained was irrelevant as far she could see, no matter what the Box said. Hidden weapons, secret cargo, arcane defenses—any or all, had they existed, would have been used before now by the original crew to wrest the ship from the COE invaders.

Still, it was nice to hear the Box sounding more or less like its old self again. Pondering its sudden, if temporary, evolution while she walked, she eventually decided that there wasn’t much she could do about it. If its plans and goals were truly incomprehensible, then the best she could do, was hope that they acted in tandem with her own, as they had so far. Maybe when they left Intelligence HQ behind, the Box would return to its normal behavior—pompous, but potentially manageable.