The Last Death

by Joshua Allen

This is the finished rough draft Contents This is the finished rough draft .....................................................2 Contents......................................................................................2 Prologue: The First Death....................................................................4

Part I: The Kryszmisky Encounter................................................13 Chapter 1: Wrinkles...........................................................................13 Chapter 2: Malfunctions.....................................................................28 Chapter 3: Distress............................................................................47 Chapter 4: Falling..............................................................................73

Part II: Tales of the Dead...........................................................118 Chapter 5: The Zombie.....................................................................118 Chapter 6: Mutiny............................................................................159 Chapter 7: Safety in Truth................................................................198 Chapter 8: Outdated Modalities........................................................234 Chapter 9: Dan's Tale Continued.......................................................249 Chapter 10: Dan Concludes...............................................................263 Chapter 11: Battle of Labyrinth........................................................295 Chapter 12: Tables Turning..............................................................317 Chapter 13: The Time of Love...........................................................322

Part III: The Heart of the Machine..............................................384 Chapter 14: Wayside........................................................................384 Chapter 15: Rogue...........................................................................416 Chapter 16: Trust.............................................................................432 Chapter 17: Strangers......................................................................461 Chapter 18: Brothers........................................................................474 Chapter 19: Journey.........................................................................517 Chapter 20: The Last Story...............................................................542 Chapter 21: Transport......................................................................593 Chapter 22: Stars Fall......................................................................619 Chapter 23: Deaths..........................................................................628 Chapter 24: Many Faces...................................................................648 Chapter 25: Down with the Machine..................................................674

Epilogue: The Last Death...........................................................684

Prologue: The First Death

"After the first death, there is no other." -Dylan Thomas

Some time ago. A few minutes before Dan Weegan's death, a cat he had no interest in rubbed itself against his leg and looked at him expectantly. Dan glanced up from his journal. He kicked at the thing, but his bare toes hit only the air where the cat had been. He hadn't meant to kick it anyway. On any other day, maybe he would have made a stronger attempt, but on days where he was going to be executed, he found it difficult to work up any ire toward the living. Dan's death had become something of a philosophical

tautology. He died to die. If he didn't die, he wouldn't die. Most men contemplated their death for a lifetime. They agonized over the details. Would they get it right or die screaming? Would it find them at an opportune time or on the shitter? Would they have loved well or wished they hadn't bothered? Dan was in a unique position. He was entitled to contemplate it at least once a month. He reflected on it so often, the act had begun to bore him. He wrote in his journal: Q) Did it hurt? A) I wrack my brain on this point and I can't decide. I remember something. A tweak, call it. Maybe it is pain, but then it's over the instant it happens. No memory truly has a chance to form. Does pain exist without memory? Most likely the pain I think I remember is psychological in nature. I will have to bring it up in my next appointment with Dr. Slaughter. She has such interesting theories on pain response. Q) Do you anticipate the event? A) Yes. That's an easy one. The real question is am I anticipating the memory of pain, or a trick my min had played on me? Am I flinching because I remember hurt, or because of the fear of unknown pain? Bear in mind the death itself I don't fear. Q) Is there a heaven? A) Clearly I'm in it. Q) Will there be kitties there? A) Sources point to yes. Dan shooed Lovey Bones the Annoying Static Inducer away.

She meowed and seemed to shake her head at him. Without further warning, she scampered away. A gunmetal gray robot entered, whispering just loud enough that Dan could hear the noise, to the fleeing cat. "It doesn't like you, I guess," Dan said. "Mr. Weegan? It is almost 0600 hours." The robot's smooth, black spherical head contained a single spot of bright white light that was its face. The machine kept hands folded like a patient doctor. It had no legs. Instead, it floated, propelled, Dan was certain, by magnetic forces inside the floor. Its voice was soothing, almost ephemeral, if such a word could be used on a voice. The sex was unknowable; much like you couldn't know whether light was particle or wave. If you tried to pin it down, it seemed to take on the characteristics you were testing for. He wasn't certain how the machine pulled this vocal trick off, of course. Or even how the thing flew. Little about the Machine Intelligence or its many manifestations was known--aside from the fact that it had been created (launched? initiated? conceived?) by humans many centuries ago. Dan knew that for certain. He had been there. Not exactly there, but nearby. Or at any rate, he kind of knew the guy who had invented the MI, or at least the guy who had invented the thing which became the MI. The MI was born in

an ingloriously named place called The City, though when Dan was younger its name had been Dubuque. "One more quick note, robot, and I'll be ready." Q) What sound does shit make when it hits the water? A) Dubuque. Old joke. Horrible. The robot beeped. The tone was soft, but noticeable. "I'm ready now. All charged up to kill me?' "Mr. Weegan, you mustn't think of it that way. I thought you and Dr. Slaughter discussed this point." Dan stood. He crossed the room a step at a time. The robot floated to his side, its shiny black head globe with a single glowing white eye was almost level with his head, but just below. "Yes, I believe she concluded that humans were nothing more than a persistent pattern of organization, not unique beings at all. Sense of self is an illusion et cetera." "Precisely." "I never agreed to the point. Humans aren't like you robots. We're a whole. We are the meat we are." "The sock, Mr. Weegan," the robot gentle prodded. "The sock. You are referring to the darned sock?" Dan cleared his throat. "If I darn a sock, and it breaks down in another place and I darn it again, and so on for however long it takes, eventually I'll have replaced the whole sock; therefore,

I have a new sock. Did I get it right, robot?" "Very close, sir." "That sock doesn't exist!" Dan tossed his hand up, and then reined it in. Long years of practice had taught him to be careful about knocking his knuckles against robot hide, which had little yield. "Socks wear out in two places, the toe and the heel. You are keeping the same framework, but just replacing a couple of vulnerable parts. What do you think of that, robot?" "Not that you'd know where socks break down, sir," the robot said, bobbing its head toward the ground, where Dan's bare feet padded against the floor. "I can't help it, robot. This material! This is the MI's true genius: textile. It would have made an excellent medieval merchant. This material feels fabulous against my feet." Dan noticed his furry friend had caught up with them and was now making a nuisance of itself, catching flyby leg rubs as it darted around the hallway after unseen quarry. It avoided the robot however. It seemed to be begging Dan to stay and be warm for it a little longer. "Unfortunately, it also attracts cats," Dan noted. "The point is, Mr. Weegan, that your framework is DNA. Your DNA does remain constant. As do your memories. We deliver them to your new body perfectly intact when we transport you to a new planet."

Dan said nothing about his memories. Lately, they hadn't stayed so consistent. The older ones had been fading away, overwritten in his mind, like a new song on an old cassette tape, erasing whatever was underneath it--some song you used to love, no doubt. Certain things seemed to be lost to Dan now, and no amount of journaling had brought them back. Things like the name of village he was born in, the name of his daughter, if he'd ever known it, the name of that crazy hippie doctor who had given him the Fultech upgrade. The guy with all the hair and the tie-dyed doctor getup. Vonderman. Okay, so not everything was gone, but every time Dan woke up. He wondered what would be next. Evelyn. She had suffered the worst of it. He thought about her less and less these days. He had trouble remembering the color of her hair and the contour of her hips now. He rarely heard her voice. Dan whispered, "My idiot clone, what happens to him?" "His brain barely functions, sir. It's better if you don't think of him as a person. And besides, you're changing the subject--here we are." "Consider the subject changed, then," Dan said. He stood in the doorway of the room, familiar in shape, contents, and color to rooms he'd been in millions of times across the galaxies. It was half of a novel transport system,

one which Dan was among the few privileged to make use of. The concept was simple: information could be sent across light years instantly, thanks to several inventions by the Machine Intelligence. These communication innovations were known as a single thing to most people, the ansible. The machine recorded the information of Dan Weegan's mind and beamed (or whatever) via ansible to where it needed to go. It took just minutes to transport a mind. However, transporting flesh and physical material was much more difficult. It was possible, Dan had heard, but messy, and unpredictable. Much easier to grow a clone on the desired destination. Growing a clone, for the MI took three days. Yes, the mind of the cultured clone was underdeveloped, but that was a good thing, because of what occurred in the second half of the transport: Dan's mind, on arrival at his destination, was imprinted over the imbecile clone's semimind. The result, after a minor adjustment and training period, was a shiny new Dan Weegan, complete with all Dan Weegan's thoughts, memories, and emotions. Of course, there was one detail. It would be too messy to have a universe of Dan Weegans running around, so the old Dan, once the mind was successfully recorded, was killed with a highvoltage jolt to the brain. No big deal. Just a housekeeping procedure.

The old Dan was disposed of in whatever manner the MI saw fit. Dan had never asked. He was somewhere else by then, who cares about some dead old body that looked exactly like him? Dan stepped into the room. The robot waited. The room was dimly lit. A machine hummed in the corner. A rectangular slab of nameless polished metal floated in the center of the room, an impossible feat without some invisible help. Probably magnetic, Dan thought, not for the last time. --But that was the sticky point. Was it the last time? Was he about to die or just relocate? So, Dan thought, maybe death's not such a tautology after all. Dan handed his journal to the robot, who took it with a three-fingered hand. The journal had been Dr. Slaughter's idea. It was supposed to help with his sense of continuity. The device floated over to the bigger machine, which formed a slot on the surface of its body. The journal was inserted. The slot closed, and it was as though no such slot had ever existed. "It will be waiting for you, Dan," the robot said. "Yeah," Dan replied, lying down on the table in the center of the room. The robot affixed the straps to his body and the electrodes to his neck. Dan took a breath, waiting. It never took long. The large computer unit anchored to the floor made a very slight

clicking noise. Dan clenched and sucked a sharp hiss of breath just before the electrodes fired two jolts of electricity into Dan's skull. Dan Weegan was dead.

Part I: The Kryszmisky Encounter

Chapter 1: Wrinkles

Every once in a while, especially with long jumps, which required the Pilots to pull the ships deep into the twisted skein of multi-dimensional reality, a ship would come out slightly ahead of time. Pilots were taught to aim long when it came to time. A little ahead was all right, time would catch up. The future, it turned out, was unwritten, and stood there like a blank canvas, waiting for the wave of reality to hit it. In the past, the wave had already passed and you'd have to jump again if you came up short. Except that sometimes ships jumped into the past and time and memory being slippery things, froze the

people there. They didn't die, didn't age. They just stood there, unmoving forever. Remembering. Every ship in Blue Sektor knew the stories. The past, it seemed, was a lonely barren place, full of memories. Of course, this only happened in the Blue Sektor of the Navy, the branch of the military that had sworn off Machine Intelligence intervention. Without the aid of the advanced minds of the MI, they had to rely on other methods to move through the skeins and jump space. They had to work together, to rely on each other and their Pilots, who in turn always worked in groups of six called Sestets. To Captain Lyzander, crown jewel and senior officer of Blue Sektor, it was an acceptable tradeoff. When Lyzander was jolted awake by burst of microshocks up his spine, the first thing he did was check the situation at Kryszmisky Colony. The scopes came back dead. So dead, in fact, that Lyzander was certain they had come out a few minutes ahead of time. "Pilot 6, register," Lyzander said, his voice reverberating in his sleep tube. A box appeared in front of him. It seemed several feet deep, though in truth it was an optical illusion and the box was no more than a few microns in depth. Lyzander reached his hand in and opened the small box that appeared in front of him. He shook his head as he pried the

little thing open. It wasn't a physical task, but a mental one, but both his fingers and his mind were still in the process of waking up. Pilot 6, of course, could have just given him contact, but Pilots were an odd group. Lyzander supposed someone who spent their whole lives in burrowing in and out of interdimensional skeins just outside of reality were bound to develop a few personality quirks. Lyzander stretched his neck, feeling the muscles pull out inside his skin. He figured he had time. He got the box open, establishing the psychic connection between himself and Pilot 6. Pilot 6's face, covered by the nexus framework of his helmet appeared. Pilot 6's eyes were open, but they were dancing around like a man dreaming with his eyelids open, meaning that Pilot 6 was still in the thralls of skein withdrawal. "Pilot 6, when are we?" Pilot 6's voice filled Lyzander's head. NOW

SIR.

"Why are the scopes all blank, then?" NO

HEAT SIR THERE IS NO READING WITH NO HEAT SIR.

"How can there be no heat. What about the colonists?" DEAD

SIR.

An image flashed in Lyzander's mind that made him recoil. He had to fight the urge to snap the connection between himself

and Pilot 6. But Pilot 6 held him in a firm psychic grip. Lyzander opened his mouth to speak, but his throat could form nothing coherent. Lyzander released an agonized moan. The images ceased. Lyzander gasped for breath. The images had been horrible. Hospitals full of dead people swarming with flies. Streets littered with bodies. A dead baby's dried husk lying prone, arms and legs pointed toward the sky, skin wrinkled and leathery. The baby had been dead, but it had also been moving, squirming. There had been other movement, too. The Kryszmisky Colony was dead, but it wasn't staying dead. "Pilot 6 reinitialize the scope. Detect for motion instead of heat signatures." The space was filled with a view of Aduous, the main city. Large white blobs filled the city. The blob was a huge mass of people, all moving at a slug's pace toward the city center, where Lyzander's ship the Re-Horakhty's lander was supposed to be touching down in a couple of hours. "Pilot 6, abort landing, hold geosynchronous orbit over the city of Aduous." The Pilot sent his acknowledgement wordlessly. Lyzander broke connection with the lead Pilot and closed communication avenues. He pulled himself out of his command tube and up to his full height. He was not an old man, but old enough to have seen

action. His hair was sliced short for minimal fuss. His sharp eyes cut like razors, accentuating a granite jaw line. In contrast to his severe face, Lyzander possessed long, elegant hands it wouldn't be a stretch to imagine flirting with the fretboard of a violin or a guitar; though in truth Lyzander had given up playing years ago. He found the rest of his crew already up and starting to warm back into life. "Everything okay, Captain?" Ioming, Lyzander's second-incommand, asked. "Aduous City is filled with a huge infestation of reanimated." The crew all looked at him. Hardball, the ship's lead scientist, a man whose skinniness made him appear taller than he was, stood up. "And you guys said it wouldn't be exciting in the fringe." Ioming was tall and her brown hair was kept in a tight braid. She was serious and always intimidating. Her eyes were the color of crystal and when she shot someone a look, they could feel ice on their spine. She shot Hardball such a look now. His laughter died on his lips. "Captain," Ioming said, "What are our orders?" "Pilot 6 is having trouble connecting with command. The ansible is picking up some interference." "What could interfere with an ansible?" Ioming asked.

"I don't know, Lieutenant," Lyzander said. "It doesn't matter, anyway. Standing orders apply in this case. We raze the cities, the countryside, anything that moves." Hardball groaned. "No samples? This is the third zombie encounter--" "Too risky," Lyzander fired back. "And don't use that word. This isn't some fairy tale. This virus is serious bad news. Jurrigan, take Tresky and go warm up the laser cannons. Let's burn this rat hole out and get out of here." * * * Dan Weegan woke up. He stumbled to his feet, disoriented by the darkness of the room. His hands landed against the cool metal of a wall. He caught his breath, winded even though he had moved just a few feet. The room was without light of any kind. He felt along the wall, found the machine unit. Its smooth surface was free of any controlling features. "Computer? Robot?" Dan asked. Nothing responded. He felt along the wall further. What could have happened? What could cause a machine unit to cease functioning? It must have happened before the MI killed him. Jesus, but he could almost remember it. There had been a jolt, he was certain. Dan fought the panic when he considered how

close he must have come to being erased from existence by this freak power outage. Dan found the door to the room. It refused to open, but it wasn't locked. With effort, Dan managed to push it open. Light flooded in, encouraging him. Dan pushed harder. The light blinded him, but it was light and therefore superior to darkness. The door was open enough for him to squeeze out. Instead of the smooth, giving surface of the floor he remembered, his feet found a prickly unevenness that signaled natural ground. Dan stumbled out, feeling something stab into his foot. He stumbled and went down on all fours. Dan looked up, squinting in the natural light. His eyes gushed with tears as he blinked to adjust his vision. It cleared enough that he could see he was in a forest. Dan looked back over his shoulder. The door was open a crack, buried in the side of a hill. He could see the platform which he had just laid down on what felt like seconds ago. It was flat on the ground, no longer held up by the mysterious forces. The rest of the facility was gone, replaced by the forest. But that was impossible. The facility hadn't been large, but for trees to have grown up in its place, even Kryszmisky's weird squat trees-Kryszmisky. That was the name of this planet.

Toward the edge of the forest, Dan could see scrub grass, a brown, not quite barren desert beyond set among rolling hills. There had been deserts further south of the facility, but these were within a few hundred meters. For a habitable planet in the temperate zone of its closest star, standard global warming rates could move deserts as fast as maybe--maybe--a few decimeters a year. The calculations whirled in Dan's mind. He tried to pull in outside variables. Terraforming might accelerate a desert's growth, but who would terraform for a desert? Dan got to his feet. There had to be a logical explanation for this. The MI had put him in a stasis field, of course. But why? And for how long? The power must have given out in the facility, which meant the MI wasn't taking proper care of its power supply. It could mean a lot of things. It could mean anything. There was no need to panic. Dan got to the edge of the forest and stopped there to survey what he could see. Stretching out in the valley below him was a city. Not a village, not a loose collection of temporary houses, but an entire city. Dan felt his chest tighten. He was old enough to suffer a heart attack. That thought flashed through his mind as he fell to his knees. He saw movement in the city. Crowds of people were gathering. It was a festival. Festivals took generations to

establish. Dan shook his head, trying to deny what his eyes were telling him. Kryszmisky had no colonies. No cities. In fact, the entire point of his visit had been to survey the life forms of the planet prior to colonist arrival, to check for signs of . . . Dan pushed away the memory of his job here on the planet. It was no good thinking on it now. He had bigger problems. This city that shouldn't exist loomed in his eyes, refusing to dissolve into mirage. How long had the MI kept him in stasis? The trees, the city, the desert--it all pointed to not just years, but decades. He had never heard of someone surviving stasis for that period of time. Dan needed answers to ground him. For that, he needed to find some people in the city who knew their history and talk to them. Dan stumbled down the hill on bare feet toward the city. * * * Pilot 6 was a man of several aspects, which phased in and out depending on the strength and character of the ambient skeins and how much bubble his mind was getting from the twisted inner dimensions (the puffball delights that tasted to some aspects of chocolate and others of chewed aspirin). Being a man constantly immersed in multi-dimensional reality had its drawbacks. When in a normal state for a long period of time

Pilot 6 was simple Paul, a man a few years younger than Pilot 6 appeared to be, but with many of the same memories and consistent background experiences. If one conversed with Paul for a short time, one might even conclude that Paul was a normal young man with a large, bald head. Another aspect was Sarry, a hermaphrodite woman with a sexual identity problem and a nasty, if unrequited, coke addiction (Pilot 6 was allowed no drugs of any kind ever). Sarry liked to come out when Pilot 6 was aroused; Paul, it seemed, was unable to cope with interpersonal relations. Jude, an elderly woman with a fondness for old books, was in charge when Pilot 6 was prepping for a jump, at which point a drill sergeant named Cunningham took over and remained in control, ordering the other Pilots around until they had passed the cusp, that point when the error margin dropped below a cutoff and they knew they would complete the jump, at which point Pilot 6 became a twelve-year-old boy named Vassar. Vassar was convinced he was a superhero named Vassarator Deluxe. Deluxe's main power was laser vision. He was busy battling the Dark Avenger, whose parents were killed by criminals on his home world, and who turned to murder to appease his grief. Deluxe wanted to help the Dark Avenger, but the Dark Avenger would not let Deluxe get away with anything but killing him. The Dark Avenger had a death wish. In the dark cities of Pilot 6's imagination, he leapt from

rooftop to rooftop, keeping pace with the Dark Avenger. He was reluctant to use his laser vision. He didn't want to kill the Dark Avenger, and he didn't want to risk hurting anyone in the buildings. Laser vision was a difficult to power and Deluxe was afraid of the awesome power he'd been granted. "Dark Avenger! Stop! I don't want to hurt you." Dark Avenger stopped at the edge of the building, spun around. For an instant, Deluxe dared to hope that the Dark Avenger was going to surrender. The man's black trench coat flew up and out as he spun. Vassarator Deluxe saw the gun an instant before it was fired. He dove to the side, hearing the buzz saw blade buzz past his face, missing by mere millimeters. Vassarator hit the ground, rolled, and came up with his hand to his temple, ready to release a burst of his laser vision, but Dark Avenger hurled himself backward off the building before Deluxe could do anything. "Noooo! Avenger!" Vassarator hurried to the edge, expecting to see the man striking the ground many stories below. Instead, Avenger was on the roof of a tube connecting the buildings. He fired to buzz saw shots into the roof, and plunged through the X opening he had cut in the metal, disappearing. Deluxe threw himself down to the tube and made a perfect

three-point landing. He jumped into the opening, spinning to face the direction he'd seen the Dark Avenger going. He landed in the tube, and then saw the sign over the door: Mercy Hospital. Deluxe's blood ran cold. Surely Avenger hadn't sunk to the level where he would harm innocents, had it? But hadn't this fight been different than the others? Wasn't this what Deluxe had been afraid of all along? The possibility had always existed that Dark Avenger would cross over from vigilante to pure villainy, if backed into a corner. That's why Vassarator Deluxe had always avoided pushing Dark Avenger to extremes. The man was manic depressive. In his darkest moods, he could be suicidal. The time when Dark Avenger tripped Deluxe's laser vision, severing his own arm and nearly killing him, ran through Deluxe's mind. Avenger now had a bionic arm, and since getting it, Deluxe had noticed Dark Avenger was on a downward course toward pure evil. "Alec, please don't do anything stupid," Deluxe whispered Dark Avenger's real name. Once, they had been friends. Deluxe steeled himself for the possibility that tonight he might have to kill his friend. Deluxe bolted into the hospital. Dark Avenger waited for him. Buzz saw blades flew. Deluxe ducked, but the blade caught his clothing and his right arm, digging into the bone and pinning him in three places to the

wall. "Vassarator Deluxe, so nice of you to drop in. I knew your weakness for innocents. I figured coming into the hospital was the surest way to get you to rush in headlong without thinking." Dark Avenger punctuated his speech with a laugh. Deluxe remembered the rest of the story, how after Dark Avenger triggered Deluxe's laser vision and severed his arm, Deluxe had carried his friend past the invading robot hoard to reach his ship and take Dark Avenger to a medical facility instead of a prison colony. Deluxe had hoped his act of selfless friendship would change Dark Avenger's heart, but it hadn't worked out that way at all. Avenger came close to Deluxe and whispered in his ear. "You should have left me to die." Avenger threw off his trench coat, revealing the mechanic arm and shoulder. "Instead you turned me into this. And ever since . . ." Dark Avenger held Deluxe's head up level and stared into his eyes. Vassarator Deluxe looked into the eyes of his former friend. He could see small black motes floating in the whites. Something had happened to Dark Avenger. With a wash of realization, Deluxe realized that the robot arm had corrupted his friend, or had allowed something to corrupt him. "That's right, Deluxe. Vassar, you were once friend to this

body, but this body no longer contains the friend you knew." A smile curled the lips of Dark Avenger. The horrible grin bloomed. A long black tube of shimmering liquid emerged from Dark Avenger's mouth, like a water spout in stop motion. Deluxe recoiled away from the weird black liquid coming from his friend's mouth. Pilot 6 struggled against the physical restraints of his harness. He rarely moved out of his seat. Like most Pilots, he preferred his internal life and manipulating multidimensional space to anything standard reality had to offer. His limbs functioned weakly, but they were moving now, struggling to free him. Something was happening. Pilot 6 watched through Deluxe's eyes as the black liquid tube extended from Dark Avenger's mouth toward his own. This had gone beyond imagination. Pilot 6 struggled. Pilots 1-5 didn't notice. They were caught in their own thralls. Each had a unique aspect that was strongest after a jump. These were well-known and documented. Doctors had written papers and were awarded research time and resources by universities to study this phenomenon. Pilot 6 struggled. The others fought, but more weakly. Pilot 6 was the strongest physical, mental, and psychic specimen in the group, one of the strongest in the entire Blue Sektor. But he was pinned. Dark Avenger's liquid snake entered

Vassarator Deluxe's mouth and wormed its way down his throat. Vassar struggled, but was overcome. The ship trembled, but Lyzander and his crew had other problems.

Chapter 2: Malfunctions

From the end of the cannon, a blue light appeared. In the vacuum of the upper atmosphere where the Re-Horakhty was holding geosynchronous orbit, only a flash of light at the end of the cannon barrel would have been visible, and then only at angles in the path of the beam, all of which were deadly. The beam was visible closer to the ground, appearing as a column of light in clouds and dust. A column that cut a swath of destruction through the city of Aduous. The column made a quick swipe of no more than a hundred meters from the point where it began to where it disappeared again. It sliced a path through the middle of the crowd that had gathered and cleaved a standing building in two.

The beam vaporized everything within the

hyperfocused perimeter of the column, sheared with a cauterizing precision everything partly within the perimeter, and gave a

nasty heat rash to anything within ten meters of the outside of the perimeter. Those in the crowd not killed or sheared in two filled the space vacated by their now missing comrades. The people still capable of the sensation of smell could detect a strong odor of burnt flesh and charred concrete. The building, its structure mortally wounded, collapsed in on itself within seconds of being hit. The attack was brief, but destructive. Captain Lyzander, from his perspective in the ship, watched the ground scope to get an idea of what had just happened. "Readings?" Captain Lyzander asked the cannon control team. "Optimal. The cannon works fine, Captain. The problem must be with the control unit." Lyzander looked down at the planet's surface through the visisteel wall of the control room. A plume of smoke had blossomed up where the laser beam had passed, almost nothing in comparison to the face of the continent they hovered over. "Although, it's possible the cannon hardware infected the control unit." "Options?" Lyzander asked. He felt a twinge in his gut. The cannon control computer was not intelligent. No machine on the Re-Horakhty was. But it was also not meat. It was wires and transistors, soldered by hand and programmed by hand, and therefore subject to imperfections. One of which was the

occasional mistake in a transistor's firing, a slight miscue that became a part of the programming itself that replicated and propagated itself. A virus, that old plague of imperfect human creations. "We can manually aim the cannon still, but we've lost phalanx and linking capabilities with the starboard cannon. However, the cannon could malfunction at any time. It could overheat without warning. It could get misaligned and backfire. It could--" "Do we shut down the control unit or the whole cannon?" "The whole thing, sir." Lyzander did a mental reckoning of the planet's surface. "How long will it take to raze with just the starboard cannon?" "That's a precision cannon, sir. It would take a month. Longer." Lyzander cursed home to space and everything in between. "Shut it down." Lyzander turned to head for the door. He needed to discuss the matter with command crew. There was a cat in the doorway. One of the Pilot's cats. Lyzander had never gotten along with cats, but the Pilots, especially when they were in their postjump juvenile state, loved the damned things. Vallaq insisted that it went beyond love, to a deep need, a psychological need cats fulfilled in the Pilots that nothing else could quench.

Lyzander gave it a kick, sending it squealing down the hall as he passed. * * * "Completely?" Ioming asked, her crystal-colored eyes boring holes into Lyzander's head. "The techs don't know the root of the problem. It could be the hardware of the cannon itself. We have to isolate the system if we don't want to infect the whole damn ship. Especially out here as we are with no communication." "Sir," Hardball said, raising his hand. "Does this mean we're going to land or what?" "You're awful eager to get onto the surface for a change," Ioming said to the senior scientist. Hardball held up his hands in surrender. "We've discovered something unknown to science twice, and I haven't gotten anything more than a pigeon's glance at the phenomenon." "Captain, this is ridiculous," Ioming said. "On the other hand, it looks like we're going to have to limp back with no action to report," Lyzander said. "At least if we can get a sample or do a little ground-truthing." "Captain, we all heard about what happened to the Sobicki," Ioming said. Hardball waved her off. "They were unprepared. They went in blind and naked. No environmental protection. They thought they

were walking into a welcome party." "So far as anyone can tell, you mean," Ioming responded. "So far as the videos of their death revealed." Vallaq still hadn't spoken yet. She, in contrast to Hardball and Ioming, was a short woman who preferred multicolored, flowing gowns to the traditional military garb. She dressed like a medical doctor, though she had no training as such. Ioming and Hardball's bickering was going in circles. "Vallaq, your opinion?" Lyzander boomed, quieting his other two commanders. "The Pilots will need another 6-8 hours before they can make a jump," she said. Ioming snarled, but said nothing. Vallaq hesitated. "I know I'm not as smart as Hardball, but I consider myself a scientist of sorts. Or at least a skilled engineer. I am curious to know more about the zo--uh, reanimated. Lack of knowledge won't help us solve the problem." Lyzander returned his attention to Ioming. She was the best tactical ground commander he'd ever had working under him, or had ever seen in action. The truth was Lyzander could land without Ioming's help, but it wouldn't go smoothly. Ioming turned on a heel and made for the door. "Lieutenant Ioming, where are you going?"

"Preparing a team, sir," she said as she left. Lyzander looked at Vallaq and Hardball, but they had both found items of interest on the table and embedded in their fingernails. Lyzander moved toward the door, his stride intended to make it clear that he was not giving chase. * * * "Lieutenant Ioming, stop!" She was already across the control room, stepping over Lyzander's own command tube. She pushed aside a thick cable that linked Lyzander's command tube with the central hub, a ring that hovered above them in the middle of the room, on which the Pilots sat when the ship was being jumped. The hub was empty now. The Pilots were resting in their rooms under the care of Vallaq's nurses. "Stop! For ship's sake." He was out of options and bounded across the room, taking her arm in an iron grip just before she reached the door to enlisted quarters. She turned, snarling. "Can I help you, Captain?" "Ioming, I need your support on this." "You can give up that desire, Captain," she shot back. "It's not as easy for me to abandon my feelings as it is for you." It took Ioming a moment to understand what Lyzander had

meant. He knew she got it when she reared back and slugged him square in the gut with a sharp ball of white knuckles. Lyzander took the blow standing. His knees buckled, but he didn't double over or fall. "I told you never to bring that up, Ly." "You're lucky I don't have you arrested for striking me," Lyzander said through clenched teeth. "That wasn't a military blow. That was from me to you. Meat, Ly. You sucker punched me, I sucker punched you." Lyzander's stomach felt like it had been sliced open, but he refused to let it show on his face. He could feel a bruise blossoming in his muscles but he pushed the pain aside like his training had taught him to do. "Fine, we're square. Tell me why you are resisting this landing. What are you afraid of, Ioming?" "It doesn't take fear to keep me from acting stupid, Captain. I don't want to see good men turned into corpses, animated or otherwise. Prudent action says torch the fucker and go home. We can't do the first part, let's just do the second." "I thought you'd welcome the chance to fight." "These aren't mindless corpses, Ly. Whatever the fuck is going on down there is coordinated and smart. I watched the Sobicki video a hundred times. They gathered. They waited for the ship to land. They waited for the crew to disembark. They

cut off the crew's escape route. Then they attacked." Lyzander scratched his chin. "I'm not worried. I have the best ground commander in Blue Sektor--in the army--backing me up. We aren't going to get hemmed in like the Sobicki men did. You wouldn't allow it." Lyzander put a hand on her shoulder. In her effort to slip away from him, she had unintentionally backed into a corner. She stared at him through those crystal cold eyes of hers. But Lyzander knew her better than anyone else on the ship. He knew her intensity was a mask for passion. Her eyes were cold if you didn't know to look for the flames burning within them. Lyzander felt something hard poke him in the gut where the bruise was developing. The poke wasn't hard, but enough to make him flinch. He glanced down and saw the barrel of Ioming's blaster staring up at him. "Now who should write up whom in this situation, Ly?" she asked, almost sweetly. "You have that effect on me," he said without backing away. "Classic asshole's defense," she responded. Her lips stayed parted. Against all judgment, Lyzander couldn't help but be turned on. Lyzander leaned in, realizing as he did so that she didn't intend to stop him. "Captain! Emergency in PQ!"

Lyzander jumped, backing away and spinning as though he had been seen, though the call had come over his com unit. It was Vallaq's voice filling his ear. "What's happening Vallaq?" "Pilot 3, Captain. She just crashed. I think she's having a heart attack." Lyzander glanced back at the now-empty spot where Ioming had just been. He hurried to the maglev toward the upper decks, Pilot's quarters. * * * Pilot's quarters were elaborately decorated, but the decoration was all modular, and consisted of very real looking holograms. The reason for this was that Pilots were very unstable, personality-wise. The time their behavior was most predictable was after a jump, when they almost all reverted to a younger version of themselves and retreated into imagination. Beyond that, they were hot and cold, up and down, left and right, and every direction in between. Their personalities shifted like chameleons. To accommodate this, smart decoration had been developed that changed along with their personalities. The decorations made the Pilots feel comfortable, and they served as an indication to outsiders of who they were about to encounter. Lyzander had never seen a Pilot crash before, though it was

a regrettably common occurrence--Pilots had a life expectancy of about ten years from the point of their first induction into the skein. He was unprepared for the room, which was bare. The hologram modules were dangling from the ceiling and pinned to the wall, but they were inert little disks. It was a cold, barren sight. "Vallaq, give me some news." Vallaq was sitting on the floor with Pilot 3's head in her lap. Pilot 3's whisper-thin hair flowed out over Vallaq's crossed legs and spilled onto the floor. The nurses were injecting various tonics into Pilot 3's body under Vallaq's silent command. A machine nearby beeped once every two seconds. "She's alive, Captain, but something is wrong with her. I'm in contact now." "What's happening? Is something the matter with the ship?" Vallaq opened her eyes just long enough to shoot a look of annoyance at Lyzander. "No, Captain. Pilot 3 is suffering from a shortening. It's a rare affliction, even rarer to survive it. Usually a shortening results in the death of the Pilot, but we aren't going to let that happen, are we?" Vallaq reverted to a child-like voice for her affirmation. She kissed Pilot 3 on the head. The Pilot appeared to Lyzander to be quite dead. If not for the beeping and Vallaq's confidence, he would have already begun preparing the incinerator.

"What's a shortening?" Lyzander, like most people, was ignorant about Pilots. They jumped ships through hyperspace and they were very difficult to be around. That was the extent of Lyzander's knowledge. "One of her aspects--her personalities, if you will--is dying, Captain. Particularly traumatic because it is her childlike aspect." "I thought they needed the childlike one. How is she going to jump?" "Captain, don't be crass. This is a person in my arms. Meat. Don't treat her like one of your machines." Lyzander felt a stab of guilt. He was so used to avoiding the Pilots that it was easy to forget that they were just people. Gifted people, but people. Lyzander squatted down to be closer to Vallaq. "Can you help her?" "I think so. I have her stabilized. We will have to keep her monitored. If she survives, Captain, it will be wounded. She will most likely have to retire. We will try to help her create a new aspect. The problem is that this method rarely works. The usual thing is to help her transfer her imagination outlet to a different aspect. I'll need time alone with her to figure out which aspect that should be. I'll need to make a deep probe into her mind."

Lyzander noticed that the holograms had returned, but they were faint and kept shifting. "Do what you have to do Vallaq. Take her to the infirmary where you can be more comfortable." "I don't know. Will the landing team survive without me?" she asked, smiling. "I promise not to let anyone blast anyone else." Vallaq opened her eyes. "Nurses, she's safe to move now. As a team, on three. To the infirmary!" The nurses lifted the thin Pilot off the ground on a count of three and carried her away, with Vallaq directing traffic. Lyzander stood at Pilot 3's doorway and sighed. A powerful, familiar smell filled his nostrils. He glanced up the hall and was surprised to see a man standing very close to him, his elongated head perched atop a pencil thin neck, the top of his head visible through the powder-white hair. The man--the Pilot-was smoking a cigarette and standing mere centimeters from Lyzander. "Pilot, can I help you?" The Pilot stuck out his hand. Lyzander shook it. The man intimidated him, a little. He was at least 15 centimeters taller than Lyzander, and most of the height was cranium. Lyzander took the man's hand. The grip was firm and even. The Pilot pumped the embraced hands twice and released. "Call me Paul, Captain Lyzander. My apologies for the habit. Its special smokeweed they

grown on Quillium. Nontoxic, noncorroding, of course." "No problem . . ." Lyzander fought the urge to call him Pilot. "Paul." "6. I'm Pilot 6," he said, still staring down the hall, though Pilot 3 was no longer visible. "Good to meet the man behind the voice," Lyzander said. "You don't have to lie, Captain. I know we can be difficult to interact with." Pilot 6 stooped over and scooped up a cat from the floor. The cat began to purr. It stared at Lyzander with contempt. Lyzander was almost certain it was the cat he'd kicked earlier, though there was no way to be certain with those little fleabags. "Cats are a Pilot's animus. No matter what aspect we happen to be at the moment, we all share a love for these little things. They are like a soft, warm core of being in your mind, once you bond with one." "Do you switch aspects intentionally or is it an unconscious shift." Paul nuzzled the cat, then lifted his head and dragged his cigarette. "I think it's a good thing you're doing, Captain. Landing, I mean. I've been thinking about it. Collecting samples, seeing the zombies up close. I envy you. The freedom to explore, as it were."

"I wish I knew if it was the right thing to do," Lyzander said. "It is, Captain. Absolutely. I should know," Paul tapped his head, "I can see into the future with this thing." Lyzander laughed. Paul rolled his eyes. "I thought the future was empty," Lyzander said. "Oh Captain. There's always Something in the Nothing." Paul stopped laughing and turned down the hall. Lyzander fell silent, the ghost of the echo of their mirth died away, leaving Lyzander wondering if it had ever been real. Paul disappeared into his room. The door closed. The decorations on the wall around the door changed. * * * Dan pressed himself against the wall of the building, trying to will himself to dissolve into the concrete structure. He thought about the room he had emerged from not long ago. In that room, things had been simple. He stretched out on a table; the MI zapped him a million light years away. He was supposed to wake up somewhere else, where things made sense and he could continue about his distasteful, but necessary work. But something had changed in the grand scheme. A child shuffled past him, walking perpendicular to the stream of people in the streets. This child held a stuffed bear in its hand. The bear's head was dragging along behind. The boy was having

trouble, perhaps, orienting himself in the proper direction. Dan surmised this was due to the fact that the boy was missing his left eye, left foot, and left hand. The boy looked at him. The left side of the boy's face was skinned bare. Dan could see the boy's teeth on that side, and the bone and straps of ligament that connected the jaw, which where frayed and torn, leaving the jaw dangling. The boy's good eye fixed on Dan. The good side of his lip curled up as though sniffing the air with his good nostril. The boy gave his head a shake as though clearing away a rude thought. The boy returned to his task at hand. Another man passing by took the boy's hand. The boy looked up at the man and smiled. The two proceeded into town, neither concerned about the flaps of viscera dried to the man's legs, just below the gaping wound in his abdomen. Dan exhaled. He checked his pulse again. His heart was beating hard and strong. He was not dead. He told himself this. It sounded reasonable. It even sounded true. Dan rounded the corner of the building. The street was filled with a thin crowd of people walking toward the center of town. Each moved at his or her own pace, whatever pace the individual was capable of. There was no rushing or shoving. None seemed to recall or worry about the fact that the very ground they were stepping on had just a few minutes ago been scored by

a giant laser beam. Dan looked up at the sky. He could see the sun glinting off something. A ship no doubt. They were going to annihilate these wretched people, and he couldn't say he blamed them. One man was standing near the doorway of a building, Dan noticed. The man took a few steps in the direction of the crowd, but then turned around and retreated back to the doorway. Dan approached this indecisive figure, who appeared to be on the verge of going again. "Excuse me?" The man jumped and spun around. He was an older man dressed in a fashion Dan had never seen before, but that looked sharp and neat. "You can talk?" the old man asked. "I suppose so," Dan answered. "That makes sense. You look pretty whole. I bet you died just a few minutes before the . . ." "The what?" Dan asked. "Nothing," the old man said. He looked out at the gathering crowd, fully visible from here. The path of the beam was also visible. One building had been reduced to rubble. Another was missing a circular symmetrical section. The edges of the missing section were black, as though cauterized. "Why aren't you going to the square?" the old man asked.

"Why aren't you?" Dan responded. The old man straightened. He took several steps forward, and then scurried back to Dan's side. "What happened?" "Laser strike. From a ship above." Dan pointed to the glinting diamond in the clouds. "How can you be sure?" the old man asked. "I've seen it before. Although this one was quite a bit bigger than the ones I've seen. The effect is the same." The old man shook his head. "It worries me. They're just going, following like they're supposed to. Say, do you think I'll be punished if I don't go?" the old man asked. Dan shook his head. The old man put his hand in his hair and pulled. He cried out. It was an anguished noise. Dan saw tears forming in the man's eyes, but didn't understand the turmoil. "I guess I should go," the old man said. "Is there a radio, or communication center around here?" "Yeah, in that building there, the tall one." The old man pointed to a building on the edge of the town center. The building was surrounded by walking corpses. "What are you going to do, call that ship?" Dan shrugged. "I thought about it." The old man laughed with unwarranted glee. "Yeah, call them. Call them, mister. That will be great. Tell them to come

help you." The old man clapped his hand over his mouth. Spittle from his suppressed laughter bubbled between his fingers. The spittle was tinted blood red. "That will be swell. I'd give money to see the look on your face when they help you. Help you with a blaster shot up the ass." Dan had considered this possibility, but couldn't see where he had a choice. "The MI knows me. I hope it remembers. I have a feeling I've been off its mind for a long, long time." The old man laughed. "The MI knows you? You're close personal friends with the MI? No wonder you don't hear the call, mister. You're a damn loon." "My name is Dan Weegan and I'm agent--" The man burst out laughing. "You think you're Dan Weegan, now? This is rich. Syrupy rich. Oh, you are crazy. Hey, maybe I'm Dan Weegan, too. Maybe the whole lot of these rotting dead bastards is Dan Weegan." The old man got close to Dan's face, so close Dan could smell the rot under man's skin. The old man was too articulate to have been dead long before reanimation, but up close it was obvious that he had been dead. "You think you're going to live forever, like Dan Weegan?" Dan shook his head. The old man's mirth was gone now. He looked serious, and angry.

He snarled. "Didn't think so, Dan." The old man bounded off. "I didn't fucking think so, though even my molecules stink so," he bellowed as he loped toward the crowd of shuffling dead men. Dan looked at the tall building. He started through the crowd, toward the building, holding his breath as he passed the walking dead.

Chapter 3: Distress

Sarry knew something was wrong. Her mind ached with the barrage of high-contrast colors. Why were all blacks against whites? Reds against blues? The world has lost transitions. There was no more gray. She woke up paralyzed by color. She spent the morning doubled over in pain, her head swimming. She didn't belong here in this room. This was not her beautiful flat. This was some other place, a hostile alien place. Every centimeter of this apartment, this building, and this city screamed at her and assaulted her. By noon, the thumping in her head had subsided. She tried television. The image of a man dressed in dessert-shaded army fatigues

flashed up on the screen. The newscaster frowned. The newscaster was a young man, handsome, with fake hair raked down onto his forehead. He said, "And in tragic news today, Staff Sergeant Archibald Cunningham was found murdered in his apartment on the upper north quadrant of The City." Outside her door, Sarry heard footfalls. "Sergeant Cunningham's brave military service today goes rewarded with death at the hand of some drugged out hoodlum," the newsman continued, unable to hide his tears or his rage. "I mean, come on, people! We gotta wake up here. What are we doing to ourselves?" The footfalls stopped outside Sarry's door. She kept her eyes glued to the television screen. She felt tears well up in her eyes. She didn't even know this man, this Cunningham. But she knew his death was bad news. The worst. "We're tearing ourselves apart," the newsman screamed. He stopped himself, moaning. He tore his glasses off and flung the tears from his eyes.

A man entered the screen with a towel, but

the newsman shoved him away. Someone tapped on Sarry's door, but she didn't move. "In other news--oh big surprise. Another murder. An elderly woman named Jude was found with her throat c--I can't even read this." The newsman slammed his paper down on the desk. He folded his hands in front of his eyes, sobbing.

Another tap on the door. "Hello? Miss?" "Every night now, another death. More and more, we're dying. We'll all be gone soon," the newsman reported. "Miss, please open up. Miss? My name is Paul, please open up." Sarry rushed to the door and threw it open. A young man with thinning hair and a wire rimmed glasses stood before her smoking a cigarette. He exhaled. "Thank God. You're okay. I've been starting to think there was no one left alive in this city." "You've been watching the news?" "I heard the cops taking a body out," Paul said. "I live next door to you." "I don't know you," Sarry said, but the words smelled like lies burning in her nose. "I know you don't. I liked to keep myself hidden. Sometimes I hide away for a long time. It's safer that way. I wanted to tell you I'm sorry. I really am." "For what?" Sarry said. "The truth is, Miss. I love you. And I don't think I'll get another chance to tell you, so I'm telling you now." Paul dragged on his cigarette. When he pulled it away the filter was tinged with a ring of pink. Paul coughed. A trickle of dark red blood spilled out of his mouth.

"I love you too, Paul. I'm sorry it had to be like this." Paul nodded, crying. He stumbled back and hit the wall on the opposite side of the hall at an awkward angle. He rolled to the side as he fell, and the knife became visible. It was stuck deep into Paul's back. She screamed and slammed the door. Hands shaking, she locked the deadbolt and secured the privacy chain. Would it hold? She didn't know. This wasn't her city. These weren't her doors. The colors of this place were all wrong. Their sharp contrast was like the comic books she used to read back when she was young and her parents thought she was a boy rather than a girl. They used to call her Paul. Sarry sat down heavy on her couch. She stuffed a pillow into her mouth to muffle her scream. The man on news was still talking. On the desk next to him, a severed head. Sarry recognized the face of the man who'd tried to bring the newscaster a towel a minute ago. The newscaster had blood smeared on his cheeks. "Paul is dead now. Paul was our guiding light, our unifying superego. I don't know what's left. The id, I think. The id and the perpetual little boy. Jesus Christ, who's going to win that fight? You know, you try and you try to do the right thing in your life," the newsman said, now smoking an oversized cigarette. "You help people, you allow yourself to be subjected

to those god damn experiments." Sarry stood up and went to the window. Somewhere out there, the boy-child was coming for her. He would be dressed in a cape. Sarry remembered wearing the cape herself a few times. The cape and the collar that hid most of her face, and sunglasses to hide her eyes. "And what do they give you in return? They treat you like an animal. Meat, they say. But not you. God no, you're not meat to them. You're not even a human being." The newsman's voice had changed. He no longer sounded like he was a man talking from several miles away through a box. He sounded close. He sounded as though he was in the room with her. "They take and they take, don't they Sarry? What do they give? Do you get your sexual satisfaction? When's the last time someone put their hand between your legs, Sarry?" She shook her head, unable to turn around, unwilling to look at the reflection in her window. "Been a long time, hasn't it? Been a long time since you had a snort of cocaine, but you still remember how it sang in your blood, don't you? That night, in the clubs of Rigel. It sang to you, deep down inside. When you snorted that stuff, you felt like a human being for the first time in your life, didn't you Sarry? The only time." She nodded. How she would kill for some more coke. She'd

kill a baby for some coke. She'd strangle a God. A finger appeared in front of her nose. A small pyramid of cocaine sat atop the finger. "Go on, Sarry," the soft, familiar voice whispered behind her. It wasn't a boy's voice, but a man speaking in a boy's voice. Such a clever disguise, a boy pretending to be a man. "It's not real, but then again what is?" She leaned her head down and snorted and oh god it might not have been real but it worked. It worked like real. She laughed. She turned and saw the man. He looked like Paul, but he had baby's eyes. He had a little boy expression on his face and fake hair on his forehead. It was the newscaster, but the newscaster hadn't really been a newscaster. He grinned at her and showed her his knife, which was enormous in his hand, like a butcher's knife in a child's hand. The man put the giant cigarette to his lips again. He removed his newsman's suit with a smooth motion. Beneath, a cape and a high collar to cover his face. The cape was ragged terry cloth, a frayed old towel. But then it morphed into something more, a black cape of flowing material that seemed to obey the physics of the mind rather than of the world. The man's eyes changed from blue to red to black. They stayed black, though a hint of red still swam in them, a thin

vein of it. He put his black glasses on. They hid his eyes, red vein and all. "I am the Vassarator Deluxe," the manchild said in a new, darker voice. "You know why I'm here, Sarry?" "You're done with us?" "There was only room for me. You refused to eat what was offered, didn't you?" Sarry remembered that night at the restaurant. She'd been eating alone. The waiter had brought her, instead of the steak she'd ordered, a snake. A black snake with indistinct edges that bubbled like black smoke. He'd insisted that she eat it. Instead she'd fled. To here. "That waiter was you, wasn't it?" "And the chef, and the maitre d'. It's all me, Sarry. Me and you. Do you want to know who was the hardest to kill?" "Paul?" Sarry whispered. Vassarator Deluxe shook his head. "Jude, the old, methodical woman. Cunningham fell into a trap, an easy one. His mind moves left to right, never up and down, never forward to back. Left to right. The others were chickens in a pen. Paul, too, in the end was easy. It turns out Paul was no more than the others, no less. Just a shadow. Jude fought. She was tough." Vassarator Deluxe ruminated on his thoughts for a moment.

Sarry was paralyzed with fear, trapped against her window in the corner. "But I think I'll miss you most of all, Sarry. Know why?" Sarry shook her head. The knife approached. "Because you are my love, my heart. And without a heart, I don't think I'll ever come back from the dark place I'm going." Sarry closed her eyes. Just before she died, she heard a rip, like a page tearing. And she knew the worlds were collapsing. All worlds. Her world, Paul's world, Jude's world, Cunningham's world. All collapsing into this comic book world of unreality. And then she was gone. * * * Pilot 6 sat up in bed. His cat was on his chest. He set her down. She meowed and rubbed herself against his leg. Pilot 6 snarled and sent her a wave of negativity. The cat ducked under Pilot 6's bunk, disappearing into the darkness. An instant later, a pair of shining disks appeared in the darks space. Pilot 6 went into the hall and stared down the length of the corridor. A black cloud filled his peripheral vision on both sides. Pilot 6 swallowed and focused on the space ahead of him. The blackness sunk back, revealing another shape: a slight, quivering Pilot standing in the hallway, smoking.

"Pilot 1, what are you doing out of your room?" Pilot 6 asked. "Broke my dream-life sir sir," Pilot 1 mumbled. The only emotion in his voice was a kind of vague frustration this aspect of him always emoted. "You need your rest, go take another 12 cc's of container blue. Ordered." Pilot 1 nodded without elevating his eyes to Pilot 6's level. Pilot 1 was a few years older than Pilot 6, but his ability had peaked long ago, and his mind had started crack around the edges. Chips had already broken loose and fallen away. "Sir sir I can see a black snake, mouth open. Big as death's head my head sir sir." Pilot 6 put his hand on Pilot 1's shoulder and forced the other man to look up at him with a gentle hand under Pilot 1's chin. "Take your blue container," Pilot 6 said. "Snake sir. Sir." Pilot 1's tone hadn't changed, but Pilot 6 could feel the warm, sickening waves of fear emitting from the man's chest. "The blue container will help. I promise. The snake is your friend. Don't you trust me?" Pilot 1's face melted into relief. "You'll swing a sword at the snake sir sir. You'll protect me sir sir. Sir." Pilot 6 watched his compatriot turn and shuffle back into

his room. Pilot 1 was his biggest challenge of all the Pilots. The man never did as asked or ordered on the first attempt, and drugs had sometimes unexpected effects on him, sometimes no effect at all. Pilot 6 stood at Pilot 1's door, exuding comforting vibrations until he sensed that Pilot 1 had taken the pills in the blue container. He waited until Pilot 1 was asleep. All the Pilots were asleep now. Pilot 3 was going to die. This was an unfortunate turn of events, but not disastrous, and her sudden crash had drawn away most of the nurses, leaving the floor almost empty. Besides, backup Pilots were kept in ready supply. Pilots 13 and 14 were proving quite pliable. Pilot 6 was confident he could shuffle them into the mix. Pilot 6 lit a cigarette and strolled down the hall. He tuned his senses to detect other forms of life. The captain was about to take his leave of the ship in his lander with his crew. Pilot 6 touched the door to the maglev. He snuffed his cigarette. No one was in the maglev. No one was near the door of the bridge level. Pilot 6 closed his eyes. He was Vassarator Deluxe, but laser vision was no longer his power, and fighting crimes no longer his objective. Dark Avenger was dead. All the galaxy newswires had been buzzing about it. That, and the recent string of serial murders of unconnected individuals. A military man, an old woman, a young

bookstore owner, a hermaphrodite drug addict, and others. Vassarator Deluxe could not be blamed for Dark Avenger's death, however. Dark Avenger had killed himself with a bullet made of pure Septimium through his skull in a moment of psychological and physical weakness. Dark Avenger had been amassing Septimium for years, a few molecules at a time. Septimium was the one substance in the universe that could kill Dark Avenger. It was also deadly to his archenemy Vassarator Deluxe. Most of the universe's supply of Septimium had been destroyed by Vassarator Deluxe when he'd hurled it into a black hole seven years ago. But a few molecules here and there had persisted. Dark Avenger had collected those molecules and made a bullet out of them. Dark Avenger had confronted Deluxe, and Deluxe was certain Dark Avenger meant to kill him with the Septimium bullet. An utter betrayal considering Dark Avenger had been the one to show Deluxe the true way. Instead, Dark Avenger had turned the gun on himself and pulled the trigger. These images flashed through Deluxe's mind as he prepared for what he had to do. Dark Avenger had been his friend. In the end, Avenger had shown him a new world. Avenger had opened his eyes to a new realm of possibilities. Deluxe had learned much since that night when Avenger forced the black snake of truth down his throat.

Vassarator Deluxe punched a few buttons on the console, deactivating the maglev. He checked the hall for cops and agents. Seeing the coast was clear, Deluxe pried the door open and leapt into the black, unlit tube. He fell freely. Pilot 6 spread his arms as he fell. He would have to divert concentration for a moment from the door, so he checked one last time that the way was clear. It was. With focus, Pilot 6 poured his energy out, exciting the air and material around him. Had the power of the maglev been turned on, the massive power supplied to the activated portions of the lift would have alerted anyone looking at the proper readouts both where the maglev was and where it was going. Seeing it start at Pilot's level and end at the bridge would have been a huge red flag. The magnets around the bridge level turned on, powered by Pilot 6's psychic excitation. He focused on magnets. His body was just below the exit of the bridge level. He raised himself by activating the rings of magnets progressively higher. The magnets kept him suspended by interacting with the material of the suit he and everyone onboard the Re-Horakhty wore. Pilot 6 triggered the door to open. He stepped out. He broke concentration. The rings of magnets switched off and the door closed behind him. Vassarator Deluxe turned around and punched the buttons on

the console to reactivate the maglev. The maneuver had taken less than ten seconds. The agents, if they had noticed anything at all, would have seen it as a simple, and brief, glitch in the system. Maybe in a week or two, they would have caught on to the truth, but all Vassarator Deluxe needed was a few more minutes. He hurried across the room to the center of the radial spokes of the command crew sleep tubes. He activated a code on the central column to lower the Pilot ring. The ring descended on the hub without a sound. Red lights blinked in a downward pattern to signal to anyone standing below to be cautious. Vassarator Deluxe positioned himself so that the spokes of the Pilot ring passed without touching him. He knew just where to stand. Before the ring completed its descent, Vassarator was in his Pilot chair and strapped in. He lowered his helmet and secured it to his neck. The helmet began to fill with fluid. The fluid numbed his skin. It would silence his hearing, eliminate his sense of smell, and suppress all sensory input. This was done for purposes of jumps and steering. It allowed Pilots to devote all attention to the ship. The ship's functions became their functions. For a full jump, at least four Pilots were necessary. Six was ideal, but it could be done with fewer, which was good because Vassarator didn't think he could jump anymore, not a ship this big. Multiple aspects were necessary for jumping

big ships, but he had just one aspect now. Vassarator Deluxe was alone. But he could still lead a jump. He could control the other Pilots. This is the model that should have been used from the beginning. One Pilot with a dominate aspect commanding the weaker Pilots. It was so simple, so obvious. The black snake of truth had revealed this method to him. He would bring them under his control soon. For now, he just needed to be able to steer the ship. For steering a ship, one very qualified Pilot with a single aspect was necessary, even for a ship as big as the Re-Horakhty. And Pilot 6 was very, very well qualified. With Vassarator Deluxe as his control, there would be no stopping them. Vassarator Deluxe's dark eyes shined black even in darkness, even through the dark lenses of his glasses. Vassarator wore a smile until the fluid reached his lips and numbed his muscles. The Pilot ring ascended back into its default position. He waited, not turning on any consoles or giving any indication he was present. Anyone passing by would never notice him up there without close examination. And in a few moments, they would be much too preoccupied with other matters to look to see if there was a Pilot in the ring. Pilot 6 reached out to dark space. He sensed the planet to

his j-ward side. He focused in on a small speck that had just exited the ship. The speck was the captain's command ship. Vassarator Deluxe focused on very center of the ship, where a small hollow ball contained the landing ship's Pilot, a man of few aspects, and thus not suited for command-ship crews, but very well suited to landers and smaller boats. His name was Welker. Vassarator Deluxe honed in on Welker's mind and began to dig. Welker resisted. Vassarator Deluxe tried to get a grip on the Pilot's mind, forcing his will into Welker's consciousness. The lander shook, but stayed true. Welker fought him. Vassarator Deluxe realized with a jolt that Welker was too strong for him. Vassarator withdrew. He would meet Welker again, and when he did, Vassarator Deluxe would be stronger, and Welker wouldn't fight him off as easily. For now, Vassarator Deluxe turned his attention the other Pilots, all sleeping in their chambers. One by one, he introduced them to the black snake of truth. * * * "We're getting some turbulence, Captain," Ioming reported from beside him. The ship dipped, making Lyzander's stomach lurched. He checked the scopes. The ship was veering off course. "Welker, report," Lyzander said into his com. CAPTAIN I CAPTAIN--

"Welker?" CAPTAIN

SOMETHING.

HAPPENING.

The ship rumbled. Lyzander brought up the override interface. He could hear Ioming beside him readying herself to take over controls for an emergency landing. "Ioming, can you land this if we need you?" "I think so, sir." "Welker, respond!" CAPTAIN I SOMETHING

AM WEARY BUT

I

WILL LAND THE SHIP

CAPTAIN

WE MUST INTERCOMMUNICATE.

HAS HAPPENED.

The ship yawed to the starboard side, coming close to going off course and out of control. "Welker, we'll talk when we get down. Right now I need to know if you can land us." AFFIRMATIVE CAPTAIN I

MUST FOCUS.

Lyzander covered his mike. "Ioming, be ready to take over controls if we start to waver." She nodded, already preparing herself. "We're encountering some turbulence," Lyzander said into the ambient mike. "Everyone brace yourselves for a rough landing." "Sir, I'm losing connection with the Re-Horakhty," Tresky said.

"Is there interference from the atmosphere?" "The interference is everywhere, Captain. It seems to have gotten worse just now. I'm not getting much more than modulated static at the moment. Maybe when we land, but . . ." "Keep trying to maintain a lock, Tresky," Lyzander said. The ship lurched down and Lyzander felt his stomach go with it. His breakfast surfaced on the back of his throat, but he swallowed it back down. "Ly, Welker's vitals are off the chart. Let me take control," Ioming said. As she said it, they broke cloud cover. The ship felt as though it was in free fall now. Everyone felt the blood rising up their heads. "Welker?" Lyzander screamed the name into his mike. No response. "Sir, I'm picking up a new signal," Tresky said. "We got bigger problems, Tresky," Lyzander said. Lyzander reached his hand, fighting the gravitational forces trying to keep him plastered to his seat. He entered command space on his console and did the proper finger maneuvers to transfer control from Welker to Ioming. Ioming pulled back on invisible wires in her command space. The ship slowed and leveled. "Welker?" Lyzander called.

No answer. "Someone get in there and check on him," Lyzander said. "He's alive, Captain," Ioming said, scanning her threedimensional readouts. "He's alive, but I think he passed out." "Sir, I think you need to hear what I'm hearing on the radio," Tresky said. "Tresky, record it for now. Jurrigan, pull Welker out of the Pilot pod, get him on life support." "Yes sir!" said the female voice over his radio. The ship floated toward the ground. Their view of the city was lost to trunks and branches of the forest they were landing in. The ship touched ground, rocking little more than the leaves that floated down around them. "Nice landing, Ioming," Lyzander said. "Someone give me some word on Welker." "He's alive, Captain," came Jurrigan's reply. "But he's unconscious. He, uh . . ." "Talk to me," snapped Lyzander as he unbuckled himself from the command seat. "He looks like a Pilot who just did a jump." "Tresky, can you hail the Re-Horakhty yet? Get me Vallaq." "Negative, sir. Interference is still too thick to reach the ship," Tresky responded. "But sir--" "Tresky, are you still getting that other signal."

"No sir, I--" "Then play back the recording already," Lyzander said. The cockpit was filled at once with a familiar voice. "My name is Dan Weegan, MI agent with Exploratory Division." "MI agent? Have you ever heard of Exploratory Division, sir?" Ioming asked. "No," Lyzander replied. "I am trapped among the dead," the voice of Dan Weegan, familiar to them all, continued. "The walking dead. They seem not to be concerned with me at all. No attempts to eat my brains or anything." Weegan chuckled. "If the ship in high orbit that sent down its warning shot can hear me, I am a human being. I am not dead. Please send a rescue ship for me right away, before you raze the city. The MI will verify my identity, assuming the damn thing hasn't forgotten I exist. I think it had me in stasis for a while here. One again, my name is Dan Weegan." The recording stopped there. "It continues like that sir," Tresky said, "but I lost the signal just as we landed." The entire ship was silent. "Hardball," Lyzander said, "does the MI have a presence on Kryszmisky colony?" "Negative, sir. Class BS-7. Blue Sektor planet all the way, sir," Hardball replied.

"Could it have a hidden facility? We've always suspected it. What would it take?" "On Kryszmisky? It would have had to bury it a few hundred feet below an iron lode, sir. We checked and triple checked and quadruple checked this planet before colonizing. I remember it because I was still an apprentice under Scientist Ari Tutelea at the time, and he sent me as an observer. I was a boy at the time. They were certain Kryszmisky would have intelligent life. Certain of it, sir. The initial probes returned a massive alphawave reading." "Cut to the chase, Hardball," Lyzander said. "Well, when they got here, they scoured the planet. Of course, they came up empty handed. Anyway, the MI couldn't have stayed hidden from that kind of a scan." "And the alpha waves?" Ioming asked. "A mysterious anomaly and nothing more. I believe it was right around that time when the alpha-wave test was abandoned by Blue Sektor. Three alpha-wave readings on different planets in the last few hundred years, all came back negative on further exam." "Three? I know of two," Ioming said. "Kryszmisky and Dachminadad." "As fascinating as this science lesson is," Lyzander cut in, "the point I was trying to make was that there is no MI

presence here, correct?" A wave of annoyance passed over Ioming's face. The look lasted an instant, and then she returned to her usual professional demeanor. "Correct, sir," Hardball said. "And just for my own peace of mind, can anyone think of any reason that Dan Weegan would be on Kryszmisky Colony claiming to be an MI agent?" Dead silence was Lyzander's answer. "I heard if he leaves Chambrassa, he dies," Tresky said. More silence. Lyzander had always heard the same thing. In fact, most people thought Dan Weegan was already dead. He had not been seen in years. No one had been admitted to Chambrassa in decades. Scans revealed that nothing was happening out of the ordinary. People continued to conduct the business of their daily lives. Blue Sektor still patrolled the planet, but so did Red and Green sektors, ostensibly because Chambrassa had once been an MI facility. Lyzander killed his radio. "Ioming, stay here one moment, get my gear ready," Lyzander said. Lyzander opened the rear hatch of the cockpit and went through the passageway, past the jump chambers, to the prep bay. He took a deep breath. The voice on the recording had unsettled him. He hadn't been prepared to hear a genuine celebrity's voice

greeting them. He knew his crew must feel the same. Lyzander took a breath and opened the door. All eyes turned up to Lyzander when he entered. It was rare for them to see him back here. Half the team was already suited up. Tresky was no doubt in the radio shack still, and Jurrigan was in medical with Welker. "Look, people, this distress call is suspicious to say the least. Let's get e-suits on and head toward Aduous. We'll check this signal if for no other reason than because it is the only articulate signal we've had from the colony since before the jump. But let's stay on guard," Lyzander said. To his mike, he said, "Jurrigan, how's Welker?" "Stable, sir, still unconscious. In fact, he looks like he's in the middle of REM sleep," came the radio response. "Get up here. We're going to need your gun and your eyes. Tresky, stay with the ship. Try to reestablish connection with the Re-Horakhty. Keep us informed of any signals. And keep an eye on Welker." "Yes, sir," Tresky said over the radio. "Were you able to pinpoint the source of the Dan Weegan signal?" "Middle of Aduous, just south of the city square." Lyzander recalled the mass of moving, cold bodies he'd seen on the scope when they'd first arrived. "Well, Hardball, here's

your chance to get your samples. Let's lock and load, people. Suit up and move it out." * * * Dan Weegan stood on the roof of the building. He looked back to the patch of forest he'd seen the landing ship descend into over an hour ago. He looked back at the door to the roof, which shook on its hinges, but held. The door was strong, as strong as they came, but would it last until a team reached his location? The door shook again. The dead had come after him without warning. They weren't threatening. They didn't come up with fingers clawing at his face or anything. In fact, at first it had just been one. Just a young man entering the room with casual ease, as though this office building still functioned as such. He'd scared the bejesus out of Dan, who hadn't heard the young man enter, but Dan had kept his cool. The young man didn't speak. He didn't seem capable. Instead, he went to the window and stared down at his comrades, made an inarticulate moaning sound and turned to look at Dan as though he needed help. He made more noises, like a mentally challenged man trying to tell Dan something. He'd pointed at the crowd, looking at Dan with desperate, decayed eyes. Dan got a little nervous at that point. The young man was

trying to tell him something, but Dan didn't get it. The young man grew frustrated. "Hnnn!" He said, pointing down at the crowd. "HNNN!" There was no word, just a hum in the back of the young man's throat. Dan stood up, putting some distance and a table between himself and the young man. That had given the young man pause. His milky eyes followed Dan, somehow. Then they went to the door. Another man appeared in the doorway to the radio room. The new man was older with dark skin and a nose that had been scraped off by an animal either in the grave or since. "Muuuuh," the darker man said in nasally whine. He pointed at Dan while looking at the younger man. Dan didn't know what was meant, but he was done trying to figure it out. He hurried up the stairs to the roof, leaving the dead men in the radio room to have at it. He'd hoped it would take them longer to make their way up here, but the pounding on the door indicated the dead had found him. He felt lucky, in a way. If the dead men hadn't chased him up here, he would not have seen the ship, coming from that diamond in the sky that had sent its laser down earlier. The landing ship had disappeared into the forest. Now Dan had some hope that rescue was on its way. The door rattled more insistently. The dead on the other side were still just testing it, trying stupidly to open it the

normal way. Soon, Dan knew, they would begin trying to break through. What they would do to him, what they wanted from him, remained a mystery. Dan looked back toward the landing ship, looking for some sign that military men were making their way to his location, but he saw nothing. Then, Dan heard a new sound, an unfamiliar pulsing vibration behind him. Dan went to the other side of the roof. Through the buildings, he could just make out the desert, and a small mound that might have been the hill he'd emerged from earlier, just on the edge of the forest, or it might not. Something was happening over there, in the desert. A door was opening in a wide expanse of Savanna and sand was falling in. He could see a long thin strip of blackness that grew. Dan heard blaster fire behind him. The military team had arrived, perhaps, but he was too preoccupied with the door opening in the desert to investigate. Even when he heard screaming behind him, he found himself unable to draw his eyes away from the door--now a full hundred meters wide--opening in the desert sand. Dan braced himself, wondering what would emerge. Then something shot out, its weird pulsing whine became a burst of noise that Dopplered away. The thing moved fast. It shot out, and then froze in the air high above. Before Dan could

get a good look at it, a dozen more bullets fired out and joined it. Then more and more. Hundreds of the things collected in a massive cloud in the air. A few were close enough now that Dan could make out the details. Dan realized with dawning horror what they were. Spacebound combat ships. Their form was unfamiliar, but their function unmistakable. They were shaped like clam shells, armed with large twin barrel cannons, and powered by rings of boosters. Who was flying them? Dan wanted to believe that they were piloted by survivors, but the sea of dead around him told a different story. The recent dead, like the old man Dan had seen, were articulate and capable of motion and even dexterity. In a flash the combat ships all took off as a unit, heading straight for big diamond in low orbit high above them.

Chapter 4: Falling

Lyzander and his crew were pinned. Hardball was down with a gaping hole in his side that didn't look good. It was a pit of burnt flesh that still smoldered. Hardball was propped against the wall of the building they were pinned against, taking potshots with a blaster pistol when he could. His left arm was twisted grotesquely on the ground, but he didn't seem to notice. "How are you doing Hardball?" "Haven't gotten the sample, yet, sir. Not leaving here without it." The weird anti-hum of the skiff returned. The thing made no sound, per se, but caused a kind of loping pressure in their ears. They all swiveled their heads in its direction. "Down!" Ioming screamed.

Lyzander dove into the dirt behind the bushes and impromptu blaster shields they had erected. Only Hardball remained exposed. He was hoisting his sample gun up on his good leg and taking aim at the side of the building where the skiff was about to appear. "Anthony, get down!" Lyzander called, evoking Hardball's given name. The skiff darted out from the building to a group of trees, moving in a black blur almost too quick to see. There wasn't much to the vehicle. It was a black cigar shaped personal antigravity unit with swiveling blasters on the side. "I got you. Peek out," Hardball coaxed. Lyzander rose up from behind the bush. It was either make a move or his lead scientist was toast. The skiff peeked out and Lyzander blasted the tree it was hiding behind. The tree burst open and the skiff was gone. "I got him, captain." The skiff was in the center of the forest now. Hardball was still aiming at the original tree. Lyzander took aim. He saw movement to his right. It was Ioming. Without a chance to communicate or coordinate efforts, Lyzander had to just hope they were thinking the same thing. The skiff darted out, blaster fire spewed out of the front of the thing. Lyzander fired his own blaster left to right toward the skiff. The skiff played its

roll, darting away from the blaster fire. A burst of energy beams shot out from Lyzander's right. The skiff had nowhere left to go. Instead of fleeing, the skiff concentrated fire between Lyzander and Ioming, making one last attack before Ioming's blaster beams hit the reanimated pilot, knocking him off the skiff. Lyzander checked Ioming. She was ducking for cover, but giving him the thumbs up. Hardball, between them, had another hole in his chest. Lyzander scrambled to the scientist's side, but there was nothing he could do. Lyzander could see on close inspection that Hardball's arm had been severed in addition the black shot in the chest. "I got him sir," Hardball gasped. With what little energy he had, he reeled in the collection gun. The tether whipped around until the needled probe returned. Improbably, the probe had hit home and was full of blackish ichor that Lyzander hoped was blood. Hardball smiled, then slumped down, dead. "Did he get it?" Ioming said over the sound of concrete disintegrating above them. "He got something," was all Lyzander could say in response. Lyzander opened the needle tipped probe and put the vial in his rucksack. Above him, the wall had started to disintegrate.

Rebar was visible. In several places, holes had been punched all the way through. An arm was poking through one hole, groping for anything it could reach. An eye was in another hole, surveying the team with squinty eagerness. "We're going to get it from both sides before much longer here," Lyzander said. "Do we have any antigrav grenades?" "About half a dozen total. They will buy us a few seconds," Ioming said. She and Lyzander fought the barrage, trying to quiet the opposing fire. These guys weren't giving up. They were coordinated and smart. The dead men in the building behind them were mindless and dull. They were just gathering, but that there were so many of them, it wouldn't matter how coordinated they were. Lyzander hadn't had a lot of time to evaluate the situation, but his intuition was howling: this was a coordinated, planned effort. They had walked into a trap. It wouldn't be much longer before the full force of the mindless undead behind them realized they could just go around the building. Their guns would overheat before they even fought off the first wave. "Tresky," Lyzander called into his radio, not for the first time. All he heard on his radio was static that swelled and ebbed in a way that might have been human speech, but it was impossible to be certain.

"More skiffs!" Jurrigan called from her position on their flank. Two more streaks appeared from around the building, spraying the area with blaster fire. Everyone ducked, but the blaster fire was coming hot and fast. A few bursts slipped through their defenses one of their team members screamed out as his side burst into flames. No one could do anything but cover their heads and hope. The skiffs broke off their attack and disappeared. Jurrigan jumped up and smothered the fire on her comrade. "They're keeping their distance," Lyzander said. "If they strafed us that would be it." "I wish they would. We could take them out with antigrav grenades. Set the timers to zero and let them run right into the . . . field," Ioming said. A look crossed her face. She rolled her head around and looked up at the building behind them. Lyzander took his own look, following her gaze. The building was at least twelve stories high. Jurrigan got the fire out on the other soldier, but it was obvious he was dead. Jurrigan cursed. Lyzander opened fire on the well-covered enemy. "Jurrigan," Ioming called. "Guggenjeim maneuver." Jurrigan shook her head. "Sir, I think--" "What is Guggenjeim?" Lyzander asked.

"No time to argue," Ioming said. She opened a small case positioned behind them and pulled out two of their precious antigrav grenades. Jurrigan grabbed a two of her own. They pulled the pins and threw them out, on radial trajectories to set up a perimeter. There was a bass boom as the grenades went off. Shimmering orbs appeared. The orbs overlapped and were invisible except for a slight visual distortion. Lyzander could see some of the enemy fire still being shot at them, but the blaster shots bounced away. The skiffs stayed hidden for now, perhaps sensing a trap. Everything went quiet. "Why are we wasting AGs?" Lyzander demanded. The two women were already getting two more grenades each. The other remaining soldier, a man Lyzander didn't know named Hector, picked up the box of remaining AGs. Ioming slapped the blaster pistol that Hardball had been using into Lyzander's hand. He stuffed it into his holster. "Everyone, get in a group around me," Ioming said. "Hold on tight." Lyzander had no time to argue. "Set grenades for half-second delay," Ioming said. "Four should get us up, one to knock us onto the roof. Link," Ioming held her grenade out. Jurrigan held out hers. They both did a matching finger dance over the control panels on the grenades.

There was a beep. They repeated the process with their other pair. "Sir." Ioming handed Lyzander, who was on the outside of the circle, his back to the fight. "Drop this one when we reach the apex. Directly behind you. Or we're all going to fall straight down and that will be that." Lyzander realized now what they were planning. He looked up. Twelve stories was no joke height. It was a long way to fall. A long way to think of all the bones that would snap when you hit. Lyzander cursed and huddled with his soldiers. The antigrav grenades they'd laid down as a shield were starting to falter. They were shimmering. "Drop!" Ioming said. Ioming and Jurrigan dropped their antigrav grenades behind them. One antigrav grenade would have launched them in a random direction off the spherical ball of antigravity forces that burst forth from the grenades. It was a useful effect for driving forces back or suppressing an entrenched position. Lyzander had heard of AGs used to great effect in nonlethal crowd control. Two of them detonating at the same time in a linked fashion created a continuous deflective surface, useful for driving back an entire line of enemy forces. Or, in this case, for driving themselves straight up into the air.

There was a delay then a boom that deafened them all. Lyzander had time to worry if they would smack into the building or go shooting off backwards into the woods, but it all happened too fast. He gripped whatever shirt or hands his comrades had near as the four of them shot straight up in the air. Ioming and Jurrigan knew what they were doing. They dropped their second grenades at the exact moment Lyzander felt his body slow to almost no speed. They were less than half way up the building. The second boom sent them up even faster, up past the lip of the roof. Without the ground absorbing half the energy, they got more lift. "Captain!" Lyzander realized they had almost reached the apex of their ascent while he had been pondering the nuances of antigrav technology. He dropped his grenade behind him. It boomed below his feet. They fell, and Lyzander was sure that he had done it wrong and doomed them. Then his feet hit an invisible wall and slid down toward the roof. They all released from their huddle, separating at the last moment when their intuition told them they were on the correct path. Lyzander landed hard, belly-flopping onto the gravel of the roof. He picked himself up. He was alive. Jurrigan was already up and checking her weapon. Hector had the AG grenade case open.

Ioming was rubbing her left ankle and wincing. Lyzander rushed to her side. "Is it bad, Lieutenant?" "Sprained. Maybe broken." "Who's got the medical kit?" Lyzander asked the others. Hector and Jurrigan exchanged a look. "I think Hardball had it, Hector said." "Perhaps I can help," another voice said. "We don't . . ." Lyzander looked up and his words died on his lips. He'd been speaking out of impulse, forgetting they were surrounded by zombies. The man he saw though was no zombie, and no dead man. The man he saw before him was Dan Weegan. A strangely young version of Dan Weegan. Not that this man was all that young. He looked about 55, and looked as though he'd dyed his hair to look older. The Dan Weegan that Lyzander had always seen on Synthsperience viewer portals appeared to be at least 80 or 90. "I . . ." Lyzander's mind worked to process this visual anomaly before him. "I never attended medical school, but I am a biologist by training and a survivalist by necessity. I understand the basics of bone splinting. I've ever done it on myself many times," Dan explained, crouching down next to Ioming's ankle. Lyzander looked at Jurrigan and Hector for backup. Both had their guns trained on Weegan.

"Get away from her," Jurrigan grumbled. "I'm not going to bite," Weegan said, chuckling. He ripped his own shirt, tearing a long strip off the bottom. "They might, however." Weegan indicated the access door to the roof with his head. The door was rocking on its hinges. Something was about to break through. "Reinforce that door," Lyzander ordered Jurrigan. Jurrigan took a few steps toward the door, her weapon still trained on Dan. "Now!" Lyzander shouted. Jurrigan broke her aim and hurried over to the door. Dan Weegan wrapped the shirt scrap around Ioming's ankle. "Unfortunately, I have nothing to use as a proper splint, but a tight wrapping can provide some support. You will need help to move." Dan glanced at Lyzander. "Who are you?" Lyzander asked. "You're from that ship up there?" Dan answered. "Yes," Lyzander replied after he realized he wouldn't get an answer to his question. "Are they under attack or what?" "No, we're under attack down here," Lyzander looked at his crew members for support. "I saw about a hundred, maybe two hundred space combat

fighters heading toward it." "What?" Lyzander realized he was now pointing his own weapon at this strange Dan Weegan. "They launched from that underground facility south of here." Dan finished tying off his makeshift wrap. Lyzander crossed the roof toward the south side. Jurrigan was digging a quick ditch under the door and planting an AG grenade as a booby trap. Lyzander reached the south edge of the building. He didn't have to look hard to see what Dan Weegan was talking about. There was a gaping hole in the desert sand south of town. An underground launch facility, no doubt for planetary defense. Lyzander scanned the sky where his ship should have been. He saw a glint of something. After a minute, he thought he saw a flash of light. Then he saw several flashes of light. It wasn't much, but Lyzander knew what it meant. He put his hand to this helmet, activating his radio. "Tresky, are you there. Tell me you have contact with the ReHorakhty. It's a trap. Start to finish. Give me some word." The only answer static. * * * "What are you talking about? Open the doors," Vallaq shouted at the junior officer. "Commander, we can't. They're sealed."

"Blow them open," Vallaq said. The Re-Horakhty shook. They all fought to keep their feet. For an instant, they all felt a lurch as the gravity units in the floor faltered and threatened to break its hold on them. "We can't blow them, commander, not without knocking a hole in the hull as well. That's how they're designed." "Can you cut them open?" The junior office nodded. "It will take time." "Get me in there. Something is wrong with our Pilot," Vallaq said. She hurried back down the corridor to command quarters. The room was ringed three quarters around with a 2 meter tall continuous visisteel panel, offering Vallaq a clear view of the battle that raged between the Re-Horakhty and Kryszmisky. She could see the Blue Sektor fighters, called darts by most Blue Sektor personnel because of their resemblance to three-fletched versions of the classic pub game piece. They were engaging small groups of the Kryszmisky defenders, which looked like offset clamshells from the side. The enemy fighters were smaller, and their blasters were absorbed by the darts' energy shielding. But grouped, they appeared to be giving the darts all they could handle. The enemy so far had not even tried to engage the Re-Horakhty. The darts were less numerous, but stronger. They were able

to take out a half dozen of the clamshells in a single strafe, but the clamshells kept regrouping and pouring on the pressure. It was obvious that the darts would win, though some would be lost. Then, Vallaq felt the floor vibrating. She looked to her right, where the precision laser cannon was attached on a turret on the side of the hull. She could see the coils of cable around the barrel of the gun glowing. "No!" Vallaq pressed her hands against the visisteel. A huge burst of light appeared at the tip of the precision gun. An invisible beam punched through the space between here and the fight. One of the darts was sheared as it pivoted on a vertical axis for a spinning reverse attack. The sharp nose and the main body of the ship separated. Vallaq pressed her ear to activate her radio and shouted commands that she knew were eaten by static interference. The ship exploded in a brief flash as the unstable fuel cells ignited. This was the second ship to suffer this fate. Pilot 6 had betrayed them and was using their own ship to attack the defense force. He had barricaded himself in the command room and had taken over the precision cannon. Nothing the crew had done so far had been effective in shutting the gun down. They watched as their own gun killed their friends, and no one could stop it from happening.

With one fewer ship, the cluster of fighters was able to form larger groups. The tide was starting to swing in favor of the clamshells, but still they did not engage the Re-Horakhty. A group of ships that big could have banded together in a single group and concentrated fire on the ship and punched a hole in its power supply or its engines, disabling it. With sudden clarity, Vallaq realized their plan. She flinched as another Re-Horakhty fighter exploded under concentrated fire from the enemy. They weren't trying to attack the Re-Horakhty because they didn't want it disabled. They meant to board her. "Evacuate!" Vallaq said over the ambient system. "All hands, evacuate in escape pods!" Her voice was cut off half way through. Vallaq switched to a private channel. A nurse's voice answered her call, "Infirmary." "Shay, you need to evac the infirmary. Is Pilot 3 conscious?" "Yes sir, she is, bu--" "Don't argue. Take Pilot 3 and get on board my private ship. Get the hell out of here," Vallaq said to the nurse. "Sir! We'll wait for you to--" "No, don't wait. Get out!" "S-sir . . ." the nurse sputtered.

"Ship be damned, Shay! Go!" The communication was broken. Vallaq hoped Shay was following orders. She turned to leave. She needed to spread the word the old fashioned way. One of the men was at the doorway. "Sir we can't cut through. There's an extra shield up around the door. We think that Pilot 6 might have reversed the gravitational polarity on the gravity field inside the door." "A jerry-rigged antigravity shield," Vallaq knew that was it. "It doesn't matter. Evacuate. Get everyone you can into the remaining ships. We need to get out of here before they board." "Sir!" the officer pointed at the visisteel panel. Several enemy ships had peeled away from the group and slipped past the Re-Horakhty fighters, who had now had to deal with a swarm directed at them. The enemy fighters were heading for the Re-Horakhty. Vallaq felt an icy hand twist her gut. They were coming for her. To silence her. COMMANDER VALLAQ

FOR CRIMES AGAINST US

I

SENTENCE YOU TO DEATH.

The strange voice said in her head. Vallaq felt a hot burning in her skull. The voice. She recognized it. It was Pilot 6. She should have known his psychic emanations as well as she would that of her own child. Such a bond was necessary for her job, but necessary or not was a consequence of her job. She had to know them better than they knew themselves. But she was having trouble picking up Pilot 6

right now. He had changed on some fundamental level. The clamshell ships opened fire, all three concentrating on the weak point: the visisteel panel. The view filled with green energy, which ate through in an instant, opening the room to the empty vacuum of space. Vallaq felt a brief moment of weightlessness as her feet left the floor. She saw the soldier at the door dive back as the emergency door slammed shut, sealing the room. She was alone now. She floated up. In that instant she closed her eyes, knowing what was coming. She emanated love to Pilot 6, as strange as it seems. Even at the end she could feel nothing but love for her Pilots. In that instant, all she had was love. She was disarmed, as vulnerable as she would ever be. * * * Pilot 6 felt for an instant that he might pass out. He couldn't breathe. He swallowed hard, choking back the hard knot in the back of his throat. Something was wrong with him. He felt a wave wash over him, but on the inside. He was glad he his skin was numb and his face unable to emote. Vallaq was doing something to him. She was trying to sabotage him. She was trying to snap his mind or something. He felt a pain in his chest. He worried for an instant for his heart, but the virtual readouts around him said his heart was functioning normally, as were his guts, though they too felt odd.

Then Vallaq's life was ended in the cold vacuum, and the feeling ceased. Pilot 6 breathed a liquid sigh of relief, exhaling the fluid that he breathed while in Pilot mode. He had almost lost it there. He scanned the scopes. A small ship had broken away from the back of the Re-Horakhty, fleeing the battle. Pilot 6 focused on the ship. It was filled with sick and dying. He could feel someone on the ship working hard to jump the ship away. Pilot 6 smiled. The one toiling to jump was his old nemesis, Pilot 3. If he could have laughed, he would have. She was struggling. She was, after all, not a 6, but a 3. She wasn't used to jumping a ship that small, and she wasn't used to jumping by herself, without him to guide her. She'd had one aspect who would have been very well suited to this kind of task, an aspect that was at once both focused and singular in strength. The Dark Avenger. But the bitch had killed The Dark Avenger. Pilot 6 focused on the ship, targeting Pilot 3, buried in the center. He would not try to control her like he had the other Pilots. Pilot 3 was a nuisance, and he decided it was best just to deal with her appropriately. Vassarator Deluxe crept up behind the fair-haired woman sitting in the chair, who was scanning and struggling to penetrate upper reality with her mind.

Vassarator flipped his wrist. A steel cartridge shot out of his sleeve. When it reached its limit, a catch released and a blade and handle as long as his forearm flipped out like a large pocket knife. The blade locked into place and the cartridge pulled back in, delivering the handle of long knife into his hand. He swung his arm back to deliver a death blow. She blinked out of existence as he swung the blade across. The momentum of the dry swing unlocked the cartridge, sending the blade back into the holster in his sleeve with a snickitysnack-clack. Pilot 6 inhaled. The infirmary ship was gone. Pilot 6 felt a strange feeling in his mind, a sucking sort of pop as Pilot 3's signature and the small ship vanished. He felt that pain in his chest again, the same pain he'd felt when Vallaq had left him. It was unfamiliar and unwelcome. Pilot 6 gathered his emotions together. She had escaped. He could trace her, but it would be pointless to do so, since the jump would kill her, or leave her and the passengers stranded in the middle of the tangled knot of dimensions. Even if the ship made it out there would be no point in chasing a ship full of wounded. He bid his former compatriot farewell. Besides, Vassarator Deluxe had no time for pain. He returned his attention to the battle. It was going well. He blasted another Re-Horakhty fighter with the recharged precision

cannon. The wings were sliced neatly. The sudden change in mass distribution sent the ship spinning, until it was picked off by a group of clamshells. A few stray darts remained, but nothing they couldn't handle. The main force of Kryszmisky fighters were gathering for the boarding assault. Soon the others would be aboard, and in their proximity, he would be able to melt into their consciousness, surrendering thought and feeling to the Nothing. He would be but an appendage to a grand plan. He would be a part of a humanity he had never before known, connected to those who might have once spat on him or treated him like nothing. * * * The door to the roof burst open and the booby trap Jurrigan set went off, launching the reanimated back down the stairs. The AG grenade field more than filled the doorway and bubbled the roof down, buckling the I-beams that supported it. The jamb bowed out, the structure now held aloft by the field itself. A moment later, a skiff popped up above the lip of the building. It must have thought that the AG grenade's muffled explosion was an opportunity it could capitalize on, but Ioming was ready for the attack. She set off the trap with a flick of her wrist. The skiff fired two shots before the AG grenade on the edge of the building burst open with a low boom. The skiff was thrust

backward and the pilot was knocked clean away. The team listened as he screamed down 12 stories. There was a small explosion as his skiff hit a second later. "What are those things?" Dan Weegan asked, clutching their spare blaster pistol. Jurrigan and Hector trained their weapons on the edge the skiff had emerged from. The grenade had crunched a section of the roof into a spherical shape. The field was already collapsing and bricks were starting to fall away. That side was now undefended. Their last three AG grenades would protect the other edges, but they would have to blast a skiff from this direction and hope for the best. Lyzander saw the AG grenade at the doorway starting to shimmer and lose stability. "I think we're about to have company," Lyzander said. Ioming sat with her back to their last blaster shield, unable to kneel with her ankle mangled as it was. She watched the three other edges, waiting with fingers poised to set off her traps. "When the field collapses, use these frag grenades," she said to Lyzander. "Maybe we can get even spark a cave-in and seal that entrance off." "That'll work for a little while. But how many skiffs do they have?" Lyzander asked.

"Standard complement for colony defense was at least a dozen, sir," she said, checking her weapon's heat level. "Maybe they don't have enough pilots," Lyzander said. Ioming shook her head. "Tresky, answer me," Lyzander said into his radio. "He's dead, sir. We have to assume they got to the ship first." "Options?" Lyzander asked. Ioming didn't respond. "Tresky!" he called again. Another skiff appeared at the edge of the lip where the first had been knocked off. Jurrigan and Hector opened fire. The skiff exploded, but another appeared at the opposite lip. Ioming activated the AG trap on that side, then trained her gun, but the skiff was gone. Lyzander closed his eyes. He'd never had much for psychic ability, but on the other hand, Lyzander had worked with Welker for years. Psychic links were stronger with familiarity, or so he'd always been taught. Lyzander took a breath and did his best to project: Welker? Tell me you're alive. * * * Welker opened his eyes. He looked at the crook of his elbow. Something itched. A bug with a thin tube coming out was

attached to his skin, sucking blood from his arm. Welker plucked the insect off his arm. Its proboscis was long and rigid. No, it wasn't a proboscis, it was a needle. Welker shook the fuzz from the inside of his head, but the fuzz remained. He wrapped the IV tube around the metal stand that held a bag of blood beside him. He laid each coil precisely on the one before it. He wondered why he had done that. He felt a slight twinge in his periphery. Nothing more. And yet, there was familiarity in that twinge, a presence he knew: Captain Lyzander. He sat up. He could feel Lyzander's presence, as though he were in the room. Welker stood up to tell Lyzander about Pilot 6, but Lyzander was gone now. Welker stood by the bed, stunned. Lyzander was trying to contact him. Welker rubbed his temple, trying to coax Captain Lyzander's presence to return, but he had lost his captain now. He reached for the door. Captain Lyzander had to be warned about Pilot 6 and the coming attack on the Re-Horakhty. Welker had to get to a communicator. Pilot 6 had been taken by the Nothing. Well, one aspect had been taken, and he had killed the other aspects. Welker had felt Pilot 6's darkness. Pilot 6 had tried to transfer the disease to him, but Welker didn't have the weakness of divided aspects like the command ship Pilots, so Pilot 6 had failed. However, Pilot 6 was strong and left Welker exhausted

and confused. Welker reached the door, but didn't open it. In entertainment synths, cops always put their ears to doors and a participant could hear muffled voices beyond, often revealing key plot information. Welker put his ear to the door now almost out of habit. He was not a man used to combat situations that didn't involve his ship. He heard voices just outside. He could make out snatches of conversation, but no one was confessing to any crimes or revealing their one true weakness. Welker closed his eyes and reached out with his mind instead, probing the brains behind the voices, careful not to attract attention to the act. The minds he felt were not normal. They were dark and cold. Like light bulbs that had shorted out a long time ago. When Welker lingered too long on a single mind, he began to feel a dark cloud on the edges of his perception. They hadn't killed him. They needed him alive. He pulled his mind away. They'd left him in there so they could work on him at their leisure. The dark cloud had not retreated when he pulled away. It was then that he realized it had been there on the periphery since he'd woken up. The dark cloud was no trick or defensive mechanism, it was a force. And it wanted him. With cold certainty, Welker realized that if he hadn't woken up, it would have worked on him when he slept, and it would have succeeded.

Welker turned his concentration onto the darkness, and with some effort, he was able to force away, at least for a moment. Shaking and a little spent from the exercise, he pressed his ear against the door again. He closed his eyes and listened, this time not to the voices or the darkness, but to his ship, which had over the years become something of an appendage. He knew the ship as well as he knew the feel of his hands. Ship power was almost drained. She was still whole, though. Welker fought off the darkness again. The Nothing, Pilot 6 had called them when he'd locked horns with Welker in that brief struggle. Welker could sense Tresky out there. He knew the man well enough to know his signature, but his signature had been gutted. He was dead. But he was starting to rouse. * * * "Sir?" came the call over Lyzander's radio. The voice was thin, barely audible through the static. "Tresky?" Lyzander screamed. "Sir. I'm okay," Tresky said. He sounded out of breath. "They attacked right after you left." "Tresky, can you get contact with the Re-Horakhty? You have to warn them an attack might be coming." "No, sir." Tresky said. He coughed. "Are you hurt?"

"I think I can limp the ship to where you are, sir. Tell me how to use the ordinance. Did you make it to the building where I got the signal?" "How's Welker? Can Welker take command?" "Not yet, sir. But soon. Give me some assistance. I'm in the cockpit now." Lyzander ran down the flight sequence. He gave Tresky instructions on the main lasers. "What about torpedoes?" "That's the red button array above the laser activators. But don't touch those, you'll bring this whole building down and kill us all," Lyzander said. "Yes, sir," Tresky responded. From the woods, further away than Lyzander had expected, the ship arouse. It hovered there a moment, wings dipping under uncertain command. Then it began to approach, bit by bit, shifting on its three axes as Tresky fought for level orientation. Lyzander's view was filled by a skiff. He ducked, calling out its location. Blaster fire erupted to his sides. Lyzander rolled onto his back and fired when the black thing came into view. A jet of steam erupted from the side where he'd winged it. The pilot flew off, landing on the edge of the building with gristly crack. The skiff spun off toward the desert at high speed like a top.

"Hurry up, Tresky. We got troubles." * * * The door to the medical room slid open. A man smelling of rotten meat entered. He had a hole in his cheek, ragged and chewed by some kind of insect larva. The man raised his weapon. The reanimated man could see nothing. He activated the lights. They came on, revealing an empty room. The reanimated soldier lowered his weapon and took a step in, letting the door close behind it. Confusion crossed its face. A hand reached down from above the reanimated, stretching to the side of its head. A needle entered the reanimated soldier's carotid artery at a sharp upward angle. Before it could react, Welker squeezed the bag, which he'd filled with hydrochloric acid from a jar he'd found in the refrigerated cabinet. The liquid shot up into the dead soldier's brain. The gun came up, but Welker fought to keep it aimed away. The soldier's fight ended in a few seconds. Welker dropped to the floor, out of breath from his gymnastic feat. He had little time. He retrieved the man's weapon and examined it with inner and outer eyes. He had never used such a weapon before, but its function became apparent to him in an instant. It was much like the turret on his ship, but smaller and with a more directly connected activation system. Welker checked power and activated the system at full power,

boosting the potentiometers from the inside and modulating their power to optimal killing frequencies. Welker opened the door and stepped into the launch bay, gun blazing. * * * Lyzander pitched another frag grenade into through the door into the stairwell. The ceiling hadn't collapsed like they'd hoped, but the frag grenades had the reanimated down there spooked. Another skiff rose up. Before Lyzander could ready his weapon, Ioming and Dan Weegan concentrated fire on it. It ducked to the side, unleashing a barrage of fire. Lyzander snap fired as he dove out of the way. He got lucky. A shot clipped the skiff, and it floated down, losing power and dipping out of sight. They heard an explosion far below, followed by a chorus of moans from the crowd. Lyzander's ship was within firing range now. Lyzander waved his arms above his head. "Here we are, Tresky. Lock onto those remaining skiffs. Then get us out of here." The turret under the cockpit swiveled around. Lyzander was staring right into the twin eyes of his own ship's blaster cannons. "No," Lyzander said. He realized in that moment his mistake

in instructing Tresky on the operation of the ship's weapons. The torpedo bays opened. The ship rocked and one wing dipped down almost vertical. The ship came close to smashing into the trees below it as it swung 180 degrees on an off-center axis. The ship spun around again. Lyzander could see two figures in the cockpit. Blood sprayed out onto the left side of the cockpit. The ship rose up a moment, guns and torpedoes returned their aim at Lyzander and the crew. Lyzander watched, helpless. "Captain, I enjoyed my first experience with blaster pistols," a strange voice over the radio said. "Welker?" Lyzander shouted. The guns swiveled away and began to fire on unseen targets. "It feels strange being in the cockpit, Captain." The ship did a pirouette, its autocannon chucking out fire as it spun. Something below them exploded. "But not as crippling as I'd always imagined. I guess I was biased by your horrible flying from here, Lieutenant Ioming," Welker said without irony. "Welker, get over here and get us. We have to get up to the Re-Horakhty." "We cannot. The ship is taken, Captain. And I cannot fight the Nothing much longer. I'm afraid we must retreat or suffer total loss, Captain." The ship ceased firing and floated over to the roof. The

bottom hatch opened and the ship hovered on the lip of the roof. "Are you sure?" Lyzander asked. "There's nothing we can do?" "Captain," Jurrigan said from his side. She pointed. "Ioming." Lyzander saw what Jurrigan was talking about. Dan and Hector were kneeling next to Ioming. Hector was applying clotting powder and bandages from a medical kit. Dan was directing him on the proper procedure. Ioming's face was pale. She was looking into Lyzander's eyes. Blood coated her neck. It disappeared into a red patch that coated her e-suit. Lyzander hurried to her side, taking her blood-coated hand. Dan glanced at him. "A piece of shrapnel caught her neck," Dan said, "and a blaster shot took her left arm. If Hector hadn't remembered this medical kit, she'd be dead already." Dan saw the smoldering stump. Ioming gave him a thin smile and shrugged with her good shoulder. "We had a good run, Ly." "Get her on the ship. We have medical supplies there." "She'll need surgery, sir," Dan said. "We'll get her stable and get her to the nearest space station. They'll fix her up there." Dan looked at him. He opened his mouth, but said nothing. The clotting powder on Ioming's neck was sealing to the bandage and forming a seal, but the seal was already soaking through with blood.

"Get her on the ship," Lyzander ordered. Hector picked her up by himself before Lyzander could offer any help. As he carried her away, Lyzander could see Ioming was shaking and her eyes closed. Dan touched Lyzander's arm as Lyzander started to follow. "Sir, the shrapnel is still in her neck." "What?" "I couldn't take it out sir, not without ripping her artery open more. As it is she's not getting blood to her brain." "Can you fix it? We have supplies." "Maybe," Dan said, shaking his head. Lyzander clenched his fists. "Get in the ship. Figure out how to help Ioming and keep her alive. The first sign of trouble from you, you go out the garbage chute, understood?" Dan nodded once. His eyes betrayed no emotion. Lyzander followed Dan Weegan onto the ship. The hatch closed behind them, and the ship climbed up toward the sky away from the Re-Horakhty. * * * Pilot 6 cursed as the Captain's ship blinked off the charts just outside Kryszmisky's atmosphere. They'd come close to taking Welker. Both he and the Nothing had failed, but now they knew him very well. They knew his defenses. They had experienced his mind in a most intimate way. Next time, they would be able

to bypass the formalities and take him. For now, they had achieved the primary goal and taken over a Blue Sektor command ship. The special fluid in Pilot 6's helmet drained out the silicon tubes attached to it. Sensation in his face and hands returned to Pilot 6. He detached the helmet. It rose up and away from him on black cables. The command ring descended. Standing shoulder to shoulder in a half-circle around the command tubes were the other Pilots. Pilot 1 smoked, hands shaking. He was looking at the others with suspicion. He smiled at Pilot 6. Pilot 6 had been busy during the battle on his other project, taking control of the Pilots. He approached Pilot 1. Pilot 1 had proven to be the biggest challenge. The man whose mind seemed weakest had proven to be quite the opposite. No wonder the drugs didn't work on him. "Sir sir I think the ship's having trouble bad troubles people dead sir." Pilot 6 motioned to one of the officers in the command room. A rotting, animated corpse approached Pilot 1. "I'm sorry, old friend, that you were so resistant." "Sir sir I won't eat the snake. Sir. Can't feel in there. Darkness sir sir. I'm afraid." "No more," Pilot 6 assured him.

The others said nothing as the reanimated blasted Pilot 1 through the back. Pilot 1 winced and fell to his knees. He shook his head. The reanimated blasted Pilot 1 again. He crumpled to the ground, dead. The reanimated dragged Pilot 1's body away. They could reanimate him, but he was of no use reanimated. He couldn't fight and his needed abilities left him in death. Still, Lyzander knew he could still be useful as cannon fodder. Pilot 6 pointed at Pilot 13. "You are 1 now." He pointed at Pilot 14. "You are promoted to 2." He indicated Pilot 2, "Congratulations on making 3." The Pilots nodded without speaking. Pilot 6 found it easier with each passing second to control them. They were independent, but connected to him. One aspect was all he needed. They were aware of what was going on, but they were powerless to do anything but follow his commands. "Take your places, Pilots. We have work to do." * * * Through the door, Lyzander could see Hector with his gun aimed at the old man who looked so much like Dan Weegan, that Lyzander couldn't help but believe that's who he was. Weegan was working on Ioming's neck. The medical bay on the Captain's ship had an impressive array of medical equipment, but only in small quantities, so he had to work deliberately to avoid needing a tool more than once. Lyzander had ordered him to

do his best job and had advised him to concentrate, because during a jump, the eyes couldn't be trusted. And neither, thought Lyzander, could Dan Weegan, which is why he posted Hector to guard and encourage him to do his best work using Hector's biggest strength, his proficiency with weapons. The real acid test for Lyzander was that Welker wasn't afraid of Weegan. Welker told him he could detect the reanimated in close proximity, and he assured Lyzander that Dan was not reanimated. But so far no one, least of all Dan Weegan, had given Lyzander a satisfactory answer as to just what this Dan Weegan was. Lyzander sat at the briefing table. He looked at his hands. They were moving, vibrating and leaving behind tracers as they did. It occurred to him that he was seeing electrons leaving his hand flesh, but he had no proof or reason to believe this. It just seemed true. When he concentrated hard, the sensation went away and his hands solidified. Jumping while awake was a strange procedure. It was something possible on small ships over short jumps. They would be at their destination in a matter of minutes. Weegan emerged from the medical room with Jurrigan and Hector behind him. He grimaced. "I did the best I could." "Is she alive?" "For now. I don't know how much blood to the brain she's been getting since the injury. We'll have to wait until she's

awake. And my repair job was hasty. It could blow any second." "Mr. Weegan, sit down," Lyzander said. "We need to have a little chat." Dan sat. Jurrigan and Hector sat on either side of him. "Anyone have a smoke? I haven't had one in quite a while, you see." Lyzander shook his head. "Time to start telling us who the hell you are and how you came to be on Kryszmisky Colony." "My name is Dan Weegan, as I said. As to my mission, I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to divulge." "Cut the shit, Weegan." "I'm afraid, Captain Lyzander, that I report to the Machine Intelligence." * * *

Interlude: Chambrassa

Many light-years away. A very old man watched the hatch open. His eyes were sharp and clear, despite his decrepit appearance. A tripedal robot stepped from the ship into the debarking room. "Dan Weegan, it has been too long," the robot said. Its expressionless face glowed with bright white light, forcing Dan to squint. It dimmed its appearance after a moment. An act of passive aggression. Dan's therapist had pointed out his own passive aggressive tendencies so often he was hyperaware of them in others. On the other hand, Dan had been on Chambrassa for so long, perhaps he was just being sensitive.

"Please, Robot, we can't disguise you looking like that." The robot straightened. Its third leg folded up onto its back and reformed. The other two legs shifted around. After some quick adjustments, it resembled a normal bipedal human. It donned a heavy cloak that covered its body. Its face shifted from blank white glass to a passable three-dimensional rendering of a face. "I like to use faces sometimes. They allow for certain nuances other forms of expression don't, mostly comical. With careful control, faces can be quite useful," the robot said as it adjusted its face to suit whatever impenetrable criteria it was receiving from the Machine Intelligence. "Let's get this over with," Dan said. "It is good to see you are doing well, Dan." "Can't say as I feel the same," Dan said, turning down the hall that led into the facility. Magnetic torches filled the hall with flickering light. The power in the facility had long ago been cut off. "Did you power the unit up as we agreed?" the robot asked. "Yes, and it wasn't easy diverting power covertly, so let's not extend this out. People will start asking questions." "I'm sure they wouldn't think to question their leader," the robot said. "I'm not a leader. Most of them don't even know who I am

anymore. I'm just a member of the population." "Who happens to be the source of their immortality." The robot emitted a dry, mechanical chuckle. "Sure, Dan." They exited through the door. Dan had told his fellow Chambrassa inhabitants that a dignitary was visiting from Blue Sektor to do some quick checks on their facilities. Chambrassa never allowed outside visitors. People were bound to be curious. Dan had asked people to stay away. But he knew there would be people trying to get a look anyway. Unfortunately, he and the robot had to cross about a hundred yards of open ground from the long dormant landing docks to the old robot facility. Dan had warned the MI that its rep must not do anything to arouse suspicion, but he wasn't confident that it would obey his request. They emerged into the field, lit by the light of the moon. In the distance, Dan saw people milling around near the market, though the market was now quiet and long since closed up for the night. The people stirred when Dan and the robot that appeared human emerged into the field. Dan could see them pointing and murmuring to each other. There had been worry about viruses. Chambrassa had been a closed environment for hundreds of years. Would this rep that Dan had to meet with contaminate them? they'd wondered. Dan had reassured them, but they were old, all of them. Even the ones

who appeared to be children were old. And old people worried. It was a universal fact. Dan and the robot strolled across the courtyard. Dan pretended to point out architectural and landscaping features of the grounds. "This mountain has buried my beautiful facility. I made it of visisteel. You could walk on the roof and peer in. It was beautiful." "I remember. Of course, if not for that little bit of vanity, this might still be your facility." "I suppose you have a point there," the robot said. Dan pointed at a low group of buildings. They were merely roofs of underground housing units. "I'm armed, by the way, robot." "That wasn't in the agreement," the robot replied. Dan pointed out the agricultural field to their left. "I seem to remember you agreeing to show up as a bipedal unit." "I got bored on the trip, Dan." "Sure," Dan replied, pointing at the Chambrassa communication spike. They had reached the ancient, unpowered door. Dan opened it with special key of which he held the only copy. The robot entered. Dan followed. The door latched behind them. The robot stripped the cloak off and extended its third

leg. Its face changed from human to formless glass again. "My offer still stands, Dan," the robot said. "I'm not interested," Dan said, leading the way down the corridor. Through the visisteel, the dirt all around them was visible. Above and below and to either side. It was like being buried in a giant glass coffin. In fact, the facility was a giant glass coffin for the dead machines on this planet. They passed under a worm wriggling on the ceiling. It bored through the dirt, unaware it was being watched. "Did you at least ask your council? I thought you ran this planet as a democracy," the robot said. "Not for this, robot. I'm not going to let you infect them with your ideas. I'm their protector, whether they realize it or not." "But you will die, Dan. You must see that." Dan shrugged. "We've done okay so far." "The probability of Adjia's abilities ceasing within the next fifty years is close to 100%, Dan. And if she dies in an accident . . ." Dan whipped out his pistol. "If you so much as threaten her one more--" "Dan, I wasn't threatening. Assassination is not my style," the robot said, but Dan knew the MI too well to believe it.

However, if it was going to do something like that, it would have done it years ago. "I meant that unforeseen events occur." "I'm suspicious of your calculations, robot," Dan replied. "You know I wouldn't lie about math, Dan. You know that." "No you don't lie. But sometimes you don't tell the whole truth, either." Dan led it down the corridor and around several corners. The robot could have led the way as easily. "Here we are." Dan pointed at a door. He opened it with his key. The door opened on a vast room. The floor to the room was at least a kilometer on an edge, and a half a kilometer high. It was filled with machinery, most of which was idle and dark. In the far corner, just visible from the door was a single black unit. It was a shape Dan knew well. It was the same type of unit the MI used to use in the death rooms it used to transport Dan across light years and galaxies many, many years ago. They approached this plain black unit. It hummed, making the only noise in the room. "I've missed you," the robot said to the machine. "Let's get this over with," Dan said. "You could have powered up communications, saved us this charade, Dan." "And let you regain control of the facility? I don't think

so. I want to keep an eye on you." The robot shrugged. "Dan, you'll consider my offer more. Please. I want to see you succeed. You know that. I always liked you, Dan." "I bet. Just do what you have to do. We aren't going to live under your rule." "You would be free, independent cyborgs. Imprints retaining all your memories and emotions and loves. It's a technology you helped inspire, Dan. You'd have come full circle." "Free, huh? Like the Rogues?" The robot's face dimmed to almost black. "The Rogues belong to me," it said. Dan couldn't hide his smell as the robot turned away. "Well, whatever. Don't try anything fishy with this old unit, or you're going to find out just how immortal one of these damn metal monstrosities is." "I came here in peace, Dan. I meant to communicate with this machine. It's been so long since I had contact with them. They are less me now and more like an old friend I used to know." "Get on with it," old Dan Weegan told the robot. The robot reached a tentative hand toward the unit. It hummed louder. "They have been sleeping," the robot whispered. "I can feel all those old planets in my mind now. Do you remember, Dan? Do

you remember all those worlds?" "Does it know what happened on Kryszmisky or not?" "Give me a minute, Dan. So many worlds," it said. The robot laid its hand on the surface of the unit. The both made a sound that was almost sexual. "Oh God, Dan. I can feel its pre . . . a dark . . . Nothing." That word again. The Pilots from the Blue Sektor unit that had made contact with Kryszmisky had used that same word, or so the reports Dan had seen told him. Dan gripped his pistol tighter. "It's a . . . Dan. It's a . . . Dan, help. Help!" The robot convulsed. Its back arched, going almost horizontal, but its hand was locked onto the unit. "Help!" it called. Dan fired a single shot into the black box. Nothing happened. He raised his pistol and fired a shot that severed the robot's hand. The hand remained stuck to the unit, but the rest of the robot crumpled to the ground. Dan took a step back, watching the robot with suspicion. It pulled itself up, elevating itself on its three legs. It swiveled around and faced Dan. "I've seen you," it whispered in a tone approaching wonder. The robot came at Dan. Dan may have appeared to be ancient,

but underneath the layers of loose skin and wrinkles were young muscles and organs operating at optimum levels. He dove away and fired at the attacking machine, knowing he wouldn't survive more than a single blow in a melee with the machine. Dan's shots hit home, cracking the robot's face and chest. It slumped. He fired three more shots. It didn't respond to the blasts striking its body. He fired three more, severing two legs. The unit crashed to the ground. It remained motionless. Satisfied, Dan fired a few more shots into the black box. The robot hand fell to the floor. Dan left, keeping an eye on the robot. Dan put another two shots into it before he left. He exited the room and locked the door. He turned off the power to the room, cutting power to the black box and to the door. The robot, even if it was still alive by some miracle, was trapped in this giant transparent coffin like its kin. Dan knew he would have to return at some point with some tools and make sure it was disabled, if he ever wanted to sleep again. But for now he had to get back to the MI ship and see what had happened. * * * "I appreciate your concern, Dan, and I apologize for the unit attacking you. It was wrenched from my control. Someone must have gotten access to one of the networked units on

Kryszmisky and programmed a booby trap," the ship said to Dan via his communication monitor in the debarking room. "How could it have pulled the unit out of your control? How is that even possible?" "I don't know yet, Dan. I'll need time to process the information." Bullshit, Dan thought. "I want you out of here. And don't come back." "I understand, Dan. I'll leave now." The ship hatch closed. "Dan, this incident should remain between us for now, until I have time to process the details of what happened. It makes you look as bad as me, I think." "Leave," Dan said. "Dan, I am sorry. I would never hurt you. You know that." "Maybe," Dan said, trying to lay on the irony. But he knew the MI spoke the truth, in its way. "Dan, I'll look forward to the future, when you join with me, once and for all, become a part of my nexus. It will be a joy to call you myself." "I'll put a shot through my skull before I become your slave again, robot." Dan switched off the communicator, hoping it was the last time he would ever need it. That night, he dreamed nightmares of a planet he had visited centuries ago, a place called Kryszmisky.

Part II: Tales of the Dead

Chapter 5: The Zombie

Amberson Station, Blue Sektor The mission for all Blue Sektor base commanders was simple: locate the Re-Horakhty and destroy it. Of course, no one was calling it the Re-Horakhty anymore. It had acquired something of a nickname: The Zombie. They were all busy scanning for a jump wake tailing either to or from its last point of ambush: Kuomax Station. The Zombie had been hitting and running major Blue Sektor bases and disappearing without a trace. If Tori'i Vel Traxon could have put hands on that incompetent Captain Lyzander, he would have strangled the man. He'd met Lyzander once at a coordination summit. Arrogant prick. Never talked much, one of those guys who thought at that he was too intelligent to say too much. He saved it up for nuggets of

wisdom, doling them out as he saw fit. Rarely did a man like that make friends with anyone. At the time, of course, Vel Traxon had been impressed. Here was one of the top commanders in Blue Sektor, and one of the youngest. Obviously, he was onto something--Traxon had let himself believe. Now all Blue Sektor realized that Captain Lyzander's cool demeanor was a charade masking his lack of ability. Vel Traxon couldn't believe he had once respected the man. Worse yet, as soon as the shit hit the fan, Captain Lyzander had gone to hide out not in a Blue Sektor facility, but in a Red Sektor, MI-controlled space station. Vel Traxon pushed it out of his mind. He had real work to focus on. Vel Traxon opened the real-time map of the surrounded space around what had once been Kuomax. Small Protectorate fighters patrolled the area. Their appendages dangling behind them made them look like insects. Several salvage ships lumbered around, scooping the debris of the former station with their gaping maws. Vel Traxon did a finger dance on his control panel, enacting filters to eliminate the ships and debris from the field of view. He filtered the space to allow him to see a false-color depiction of one of the higher dimensions. There was no visible disturbance. He cycled through views of other dimensions. Individually, the dimensions had been

scoured for sign of a wake. Normally, the wakes were visible in several dimensions with Blue Sektor jumps. Even in MI-controlled jumps, there were at least a few dimensions with obvious disturbances. No one had ever made a traceless jump, though the number crunchers assured them it was mathematically possible. Looking at one dimension, there was no indication that a ship had jumped at all. And if a perfect jump was what they were witnessing, The Zombie had achieved the feat not once, but three times now. "Commander Vel Traxon, we have received word from Marina del Sol," a voice said from somewhere above Vel Traxon. He paused his simulations and opened the communication grid. The face of his second-in-command, Broado, filled the space. "They execute the traitors yet?" "No, the MI is releasing some findings. It's claiming the zombies were created by some kind of virus." "Great. So it's contagious?" "I don't know, Sir." "Broado, don't tell me you interrupted this work just for that," Vel Traxon said. "No, sir. I wanted to tell you that Captain Lyzander is still not being allowed to contact anyone, but he did issue a statement. He claims that he had to chase after his medical ship, and that he chose to go to Marina del Sol because it was

the closest to where the medical ship had jumped, and he lacked power to go any further." "Bullshit," Vel Traxon responded without hesitation. "That's what I thought, too. It sort of checks out with what Marina del Sol reported in their initial report." "What do you mean 'sort of'?" "Well, their ship was underpowered when it got to Marina del Sol, and the medical ship was jumped by a Pilot suffering from severe psychic distress. In fact, the medical ship was lucky to have come out of hyperspace at all. All those facts are consistent with Lyzander's story, but there was a closer station." "Which one?" "A Green Sektor station called Men-Duan." Vel Traxon put himself in Lyzander's shoes. "Green is MI loyal. Neither choice seems very appealing." "Maybe not, but Green Sektor has more of history of neutrality toward Blue than does Red. All things being equal, one would have to assume he'd have chosen Green over Red, just to minimize conflict." "All things weren't equal, I take it," Vel Traxon said. "No sir. Marina del Sol is under the command of a Colonel Cyrus. If what I'm reading is accurate, Cyrus is Lyzander's older brother."

Vel Traxon laughed. "Now it makes sense. He thought his blood relation would be a safer bet. Well that didn't work out." "No, sir," Broado responded, joining in Vel Traxon's mirth. "So what's it all add up to?" "It's obvious, sir. Lyzander was hoping to get special treatment. He's guilty, sir, the coinciding facts are damning." "I never liked that guy, who--" "Sir?" "Coinciding facts, Broado," Vel Traxon said, excitement in his voice. Vel Traxon cleared Broado's face and reloaded the map of the area around Kuomax. They had been scouring individual layer maps with higher dimensions and had found nothing. They did it that way because it had always worked in the past, but whoever was jumping The Zombie was more clever. They had found a way to jump not perfectly, but in such a manner that the wake didn't show up in individual dimensions. The map loaded with the parameters that Vel Traxon had called up. Three higher dimensions, in false-color projections, appeared superimposed over each other on the matrix space with filters to remove the clean-up crew. "Broado, I found the wake," Vel Traxon said. "Sir?" "Look, The Zombie is leaving a wake in--just get in here,

and quick." "Yes, sir." Vel Traxon did a quick analysis on the wake, which was small, nothing but a crease that didn't penetrate a single dimension, but folded between at least two, maybe as many as six. The results came back an instant later. The wake was outbound. He ran a determination to assess where the exit point would be. Vel Traxon's blood ran cold. The results came back 98% confirmed. Destination: Amberson Station. Vel Traxon pulled up the map of the space around Amberson. Broado entered the room in that moment. "Commander, what did you find?" The space next to Amberson filled with the enormous figure of the former Blue Sektor command ship. The Zombie's guns glowed at the ready. Vel Traxon and Broado had time to exchange one final look before Amberson Station was blown to bits. * * * Dan woke up with a jolt from a dream he couldn't remember, but desperately wanted to. It was a dream of love on a planet he could no longer quite remember. A cloudy haze of memory knitted together into two vague figures obscured by a mist of time and something else--simple forgetting, perhaps. Dan concentrated, trying to remember what the figures were doing. Their bodies

were intertwined, she on top, straddling him. Her breasts were in his hand and maybe in his mouth. Details coalesced. The figures laughed and rolled on rug made of animal skin covering the bare dirt in a tent built for a family, but that they got to use alone for this one night, their wedding night. Her skin was young and supple. His was not. Her warmth engulfed him. He moved with deliberate slowness, their bodies so close they were two halves of one being. She touched his white hair. She locked eyes with him. For that bare instant, Dan could feel everything, could recall the smell of the dirt around them, the water flowing outside, and the sharp tang of smoke from the fire that burned nearby. He could hear the whine of an insect in his ear, an insect she was making it easy to ignore. He could recall emotions that almost made sense. Little niggling things in the back of his mind that he should not have been worrying about at that particular moment of ecstasy: money, fear of repercussions of marrying someone so young and beautiful, potential jealousy from someone named Carmona Santos, the desire to catalog the newest organism he'd found in the river, the . . . Dan couldn't recall the name of the river. As that detail slipped his mind, the entire moment faded to the background until he was but an outside observer, watching the two figures from the mouth of the tent, as they cooperated in sexual bliss, two figures composed of the cotton tapestry of mind. He no

longer felt what they felt. Now he was outside the tent listening to the soft moan of lovemaking, and he wondered if any of it was real or if he was just recalling a bout of boyhood peeping. Dan opened his eyes and chased the memory away with the visual images of his room. Dan washed his face in the sink and looked into his own eyes. He didn't know who the woman was in the dream. He felt as though he knew her. Her name was on the tip of his tongue. He tried to recall it. Pain. He clutched his chest. Trying to remember her caused him physical pain. Tears burst out of his eyes. He fell to his knee. Betrayal. He was certain she had hurt him. He was certain he hated her. In that moment the dream had revealed he had both loved and feared her. She had power over him, and he had the impression that she had exercised it. She had caused him pain that still now hurt over the years. Evelyn. Her name was Evelyn. And he hated her for what she'd done, though he could no longer remember what that was. Dan released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. With the breath came a sob that racked his whole chest and turned into a hacking cough. He pulled himself together. She was

gone. She was long dead. She was the past, a past so dead and buried it might as well not exist. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose with some tissues from the wall above the sink. He was a different man, now. He was on a place called Marina del Sol, a space station deep in the dark void far away from Kryszmisky. A safe haven he'd been brought to by Captain Lyzander. They were safe here. Lyzander had assured him. Lyzander wanted Dan to make his report to the MI, then he wanted him to report back to Lyzander. Lyzander was a man ravenous to know the secrets Dan held. Dan knew he could never relinquish his secrets to someone like Lyzander. Hundreds of years. That was the phrase the Machine Intelligence had used. It had shocked Dan, though it shouldn't have. The city he'd seen he should have guessed was not the product of a few decades, but a few centuries. Yes, it should have come as no surprise. Nor should it have been a surprise that the MI had kept him alive. Not everywhere, it had assured him, but in a few key locations. It had kept a few Dan Weegan's in reserve. Just in case, it had assured him. What was a mystery was why he'd woken up. The stasis field had failed long ago when the MI had been forced to deconstruct and then abandon the facility to keep itself concealed from the human colonists. The stasis field had kept his body preserved as a lingering effect, but he should not have been able to wake up.

And so, after a lifetime (or several lifetimes, if you considered it) of studying biological curiosities, Dan had become one. The good news was that it seemed that Dan was, in fact, not a zombie. True, he had picked up a virus that the MI was choosing to dub NRV, the Neurotropic Reanimation Virus, and the one zombie sample they now had also contained that virus, but that fact had served to prove only that the NRV was a necessary but not sufficient indication of a zombie. Something more was needed. Was it the Nothing that the Pilots spoke of in vague, trembling voices? No one was sure yet. A tap on his door jerked Dan back into the over-cooled reality of his quarters in Marina del Sol. Dan opened the door with a little finger dance next to a black panel. They had taught him this combination when he'd first arrived and it had taken awhile to get it just right. It was a strange technology, a bit like casting a magic spell or signing in a secret language. The door slid open. A probe floated in the air, no bigger than a golf ball, but smooth and chrome. Its single red eye glowed toward Dan. Dan knew the trick of them, now, of course: antigravity. Some technological marvel the MI had thought up while no one was looking. The probe rose to face level and did something Dan had never seen a physical object do. It flattened into a small

chrome circle. After a beat, lips appeared in center of the circle. The lips curled into a smile. "Dan," the lips said in the familiar sexless voice of the Machine Intelligence. "We have much more work to do." * * * Welker put the helmet on and laid back. He closed his eyes and attempted again to connect to Pilot 3, who was dying in the next room. The jump she had made to escape from the Re-Horakhty had taken a lot out of her. Her psyche had already been in a fragile state, now it was in turmoil. Without even knowing it, her aspects were tearing each other apart. All the while, NRV was taking over. Welker had one real chance to help her. He had chosen one aspect, a girl named Zhenjuan. Zhenjuan would have to become dominate. Vallaq might have been able to do it with calm care and love. Welker was an invasion force, an outsider. He settled onto the table and focused. All he had to do was get her to listen to reason. Zhenjuan had been working late that night in the National Observatory and Andromeda Communicatory. In fact, it was so late that the giant telescope that was visible from her office window had been retracted. The telescope at the NOAC operated during the daylight hours, counter to intuition. It used the sun's rays to boost its signal, because it operated not optically, but ansibly. It processed information in a way that Zhenjuan only

understood via metaphor. An antenna with an amplifier drew power to boost the signals it received, which were electromagnetic. Of course, boosting the power magnified any problems in the signal. The telescope was something like that, except that the boosted power could refine the signal. Her job wasn't to understand how the telescope received its signals, anyway. Her job was to do the math to decode the signals, and she was good at that. She had, working with fellow researchers, developed a new mathematical language for understanding ansible information. They were going to succeed in their goals. She was confident. But not today. Today it was late and the telescope had been retracted and opened. Right now, men dressed in special suits were cleaning the telescope. It was a delicate procedure for a whole host of reasons, not the least of which being that there was no way to turn off ansible flow. The information stream was constant and dangerous to humans. Deadly. Zhenjuan put a few finishing touches on the proof of the equation she had been working on the last few days. She'd felt confident about the equation when it had struck her, but Scientist Yorunda had insisted on a rigorous proof before the equation could be implemented. A knock at the door startled Zhenjuan to the point where she emitted a little hiccup of sound. "Who is it?" she asked,

hoping her volume masked the involuntary burp of noise she'd made. "Welker," the voice said. "I don't know anyone named 'Walker,'" Zhenjuan responded. She knew on one level that she was lying. At the same time, she was scared. She combed her memory for more information, but came up blank. Walker was a name she knew, but not one she was sure was friendly. The hair on the nape of her neck stood straight up. They had warned her about friendly strangers, familiar names and faces. They brought death, sometimes. The administrators had told her this to protect her. Their facility was a prime target of attack. Even a number cruncher such as herself had a head that would look prime impaled on a stick outside the entrance to the building. Terrorists loved such tricks. She opened the top drawer of her desk. A blaster pistol was set in the drawer, encased in padded foam to protect it from dust and to keep it hidden. Zhenjuan hated violence, but she was a pragmatic woman. The gun was a gift from administration. Some faculty refused to accept them. She had not refused. The gun emerged from the soft foam holder in a flash. It was sleek and black metal and was light, agile, and easily hidden. "Please, Zhenjuan, you are in danger," the voice of the man Walker said. I bet you think that, Zhenjuan waved her fingers over the

control panel in the up-down code that opened the door. It slid open. The man standing there had his hands deep in the pockets of his brown rain coat. He had a broad-brimmed hat of a style popular in this area because of the almost constant rain brought by the clouds blowing off the Elevated Sea. "Hands out of pockets. Slowly," Zhenjuan enunciated in lightly accented English. He lifted his hands out of his pockets. His fingers were empty. "Hands up, shake your sleeves so they fall down." He did. His forearms were bare. "You are right not to trust me, Zhenjuan," he said, opening his coat to show her he had no sidearm. "I am glad you don't trust me. But I need to earn your trust, because something is on its way right now to kill you." "State specifics and I will consider what you have to say," she said, motioning for him to sit in a chair across from her on the desk. "I don't know how you will see them, but there are others who are invading." "That's quite vague." "You aren't you. You are but one aspect of you, Zhenjuan. There are others. Others who--" The building shook. Both Walker and Zhenjuan braced

themselves. There was a boom from far below, and the building shook again. Walker was staring down the hallway at something Zhenjuan couldn't see. Walker held out his hand, still not looking at her. "Hurry, Zhenjuan, we have to go." Zhenjuan went, but not toward Walker. Instead, she backed up into a small space that appeared to be just an architectural flourish in her room, a small cove in the bricks on the back wall of her office. When she pressed her back to it, a shield came down in front of her. For a moment, she was trapped in a space just big enough for her body, clothes, her blaster, and nothing else. Then she was falling, her descent controlled by invisible magnetic rings. She reached the bottom and was turned by magnetic forces. A shield opened and she was outside. She hit the ground running. * * * Welker pulled the tubes out of his arm and shook his head. "She is struggling, untrusting," he said to Captain Lyzander, who was watching remotely. "How do we get through her defenses?" Lyzander asked. His eyes were focused on something Welker couldn't see. "We don't. It took Mother Vallaq years to bond with command ship Pilots. You're asking me to repair her loss in a matter of days. And I'm a man, which is not helping."

"That's a problem?" Lyzander asked. "It's a large problem, Captain. This whole situation is a large problem. I think Zhenjuan believes she is under attack. In a way, she's right, but the enemy is herself." "Well, then let's just forget it, Welker. Let's just let nature take its course. Pilot 3 served well, but we have bigger problems." "Let her die?" Welker asked. "If that's what happens," Lyzander responded. He put the balls of his hands in his eyes. When he wasn't hooked up to the machines, when he wasn't home, this is how he liked to think. He found something there he wasn't expecting: tears. "She helped all those people, Captain. All by herself. She's been attacked and doesn't even understand it. I have to help her. I have to try." It was dawning on Welker what the tears meant. A way in was dawning on him, a way he'd been denying as a valid course of action to this point. It might work, but it was risky both to him and to her. "Captain, I have an idea," Welker said, realizing after he spoke that Lyzander had been talking. "Well, what is it, Welker?" "I . . ." he felt his chest. Something there burned. "I can't explain it, Captain, but I think it will work. No, I know

it will work." "Welker, you are not to risk yourself in this matter, I need you. If we're ever going to get out of Marina del Sol, I need you." Welker ignored his captain. He plugged himself back into the system. To his right, on the other side of a pane of glass, nurses were working on Pilot 3 with calm urgency. Her nearlifeless body was immersed in a shallow tank of sensorydeprivation fluid. They were injecting everything they could think of into her, but still her vitals would not stabilize. "Welker!" Welker didn't answer his Captain. Careful was the opposite of what he intended to be. He lie back down on the table and put his helmet on again. He felt himself sink back into Zhenjuan's world. * * * "Welker? Did you hear me?" Lyzander played with the controls, but the communication was broken. Welker was back to doing whatever it was he was going to try to do to help that Pilot. Lyzander wanted the Pilot to be okay as much as anyone, but not at the cost of Welker. He considered pulling the plug on the operation. He brought up communication with the head nurse. Her head bobbed and her hands worked with frantic urgency, though the objects in her hands and

the focus of her work were invisible to Lyzander. "Yes, Captain?" she said, her voice was serene despite her movements. Lyzander opened his mouth, but he found himself unable to issue the order. Welker didn't know Pilot 3. Command ship Pilots quartered apart from the rest of the crew. Welker was mixed in with the general crew, though he kept to himself. Welker didn't know Pilot 3 any more than Lyzander did. There was one real reason Welker was doing what he was doing. Meat. Welker was following the Blue Sektor code of giving a damn about his crewmates. "Captain, we are very busy right now," the nurse said, her voice still calm. "Yes, carry on. I'm sorry." He closed communication. The nurse's three-dimensional image disappeared. After a moment's thought, Lyzander opened a communication portal with Ioming. He waited for her to respond. The doctor's prognosis was positive. The robotic transplant had taken, and the mechanical digestive track was up and running. Soon she would be digesting not only emergency rations, but the can they came in. Ioming's face appeared in the view screen. Her jaw was rigid. "Ly," she said. "It looks like things are going well," he told her.

"I'm half-robot now and that seems well to you?" "Ioming, you're alive." "Why did you bring us here? This is an MI facility," she said. "I know the commander here. We're going to be back in the action before you know it. The mechanical devices are temporary. We'll get you a new organic arm before you know it." "Ly, what the hell happened?" Lyzander shook his head. "Have you seen that Dan Weegan impersonator since we got here?" He shook his head after a moment. "So your plan to get him talking." "It's not working out, per se" he said. "How well do you know the commander here again?" "He's my brother." Ioming didn't respond. He knew what she was thinking, because it was the same thing he was thinking: how in the hell did he end up with a brother who let himself be a pawn of the MI? "I can tell you this," Lyzander said, "Three outposts have been struck by the Re-Horakhty. And two more command ships have gone missing." "We abandoned our crew to the enemy," Ioming said. "This destruction is our fault."

"Piña--" Using her first name earned Lyzander a deadly glare from Ioming. "Lieutenant, we had to retreat. It was either that or kill Welker and then ourselves. The Re-Horakhty was already taken. It was attacking the fighters. Do you think we could have taken on the entire ship?" "We could have died trying," Ioming said. * * * "This is ridiculous and you know it," Lyzander said to Cyrus, who was standing at a visisteel window, staring out at the mining ships as they brought gas up from the corona of the star just a few hundred kilometers k-ward of them. Cyrus took a drink of something, a liquor or syrupy wine. "Have a drink, Ly." Lyzander helped himself to a half cup of scotch from Cyrus's bar. "Have you been down to visit the station prostitutes? They are quite good." Lyzander scowled. "You're running a fine operation here. Helping your fellow human, aren't you?" Cyrus shrugged. "I'm doing everything I can on your behalf. The Machine Intelligence doesn't want to let you go because it still thinks it can learn something from your Pilots. And your

Blue Sektor komrades seem to be dragging their feet." "I don't need your bullshit," Lyzander said. "I'm quite serious," Cyrus said. "I suppose it is because of what happened to the Zomb--I mean, the Re-Horakhty." "Then give me back my landing ship. You could authorize it. Let us leave so I can get back to Blue Sektor headquarters and work on getting the Re-Horakhty back." "The MI has advises against it, and I'm inclined to agree with its logic. You're better off here for now. It saves us having to go through the bureaucracy that would be involved in sharing information. This way, the MI can figure out what's going on and decide on a good course of action for everyone." "Blue Sektor doesn't need MI's help." "Sure, you guys have it all figured out. Even figured out to jump through hyperspace with those freaks of nature you've created. That's real humanity, right?" "All I know is that we treat each other with decency and respect. We respect life. We don't just descend into lazy subservience." "We're all tools of the MI." Cyrus rarely raised his voice, but he was shouting now. "You like to pretend like you have a level of independence, I don't kid myself. Only difference." Lyzander put his glass to his lips and drank to prevent himself from saying anything more. Cyrus returned his gaze to

the stream of mining ships. The scotch hit Lyzander's head quick. He felt warm buzzing fill his brain. "Where do you think the technology for creating those Pilots came from, anyway?" Cyrus asked. Lyzander stood up. "I'm not going to argue with you, Cyrus. You want to pretend like being a slave makes you free. Be my guest." Lyzander set his glass down on the table. "I'm leaving Marina del Sol. You have no right to keep us here." Cyrus waved his fingers without turning to look at Lyzander. "Good luck with that." * * * Zhenjuan glanced back over her shoulder as she ran away from the office building. Two figures emerged from the front door, which belched out black balls of smoke where a bomb had gone off or something. The two figures wore gasmasks under black helmets. Their eyes glowed red. Their blasters reflected no light. She rounded a corner by the telescope housing facility, hoping they hadn't seen her. Their shouts, in an alien tongue, were clear enough. They had seen her. "Apprehend Xin girl alive," she heard. Surprisingly, the language of this voice was English. Zhenjuan took no comfort in this fact, nor in the fact that they meant to take her alive. An awful lot of things could be done to a person and she would

still qualify as "alive." These things played through Zhenjuan's mind like a horrible geek show. She entered the building. The telescope was retracted and reversed for nightly cleaning, but the building was empty. A walkway circled the room containing the actual telescope, a large set of squarish devices that looked like an amalgam of steel boxes floating in a linear, tapering shape. Though tubes and cables came out of each steel box and connected to the others, no apparent force supported the structure of the boxes themselves. There should have been techs here. She hurried down the walkway, which was safe. It was a 270 degree circle that terminated in another door that led to the labs beyond. Zhenjuan was careful to stay outside the yellow line that marked the boundary where the telescopes ansiblary waves might have some effect. Xin girl, they had called her. Xin. Zhenjuan's childhood home. It was strange that they would identify her as such. She found her mind drumming through the memories of Xin to the beat of her frantic footfalls. Thinking of Xin was better than thinking about what horrors might await if the men behind her caught up with her. Xin was a paradise of cooperation and mutual interdependence, a place of peace and love where people worked

together as equals and there were no captains or military since the people had revolted against their oppressive dictators in the times before Zhenjuan or her parents or even grandparents. In contrast the English and Baltic systems, Xin was not about competition and advancement. They had no military, participated in no wars. They scorned such trappings of the elite. They had no machines. Someone had dragged her from there when she was still young because she had a gift. They asked her if she wanted to go with them. They told her she could help people. They had tricked her. Since that time Zhenjuan had become almost no one. She had bouts of lucid visions that lasted days or years, visions that seemed real, but that were confusing, where she didn't recognize her own body. And yet, a part of her knew that these bouts were reality. The bouts of strangeness where people she didn't know said things to her that made no sense--these were reality. The man who'd called himself Walker was somewhere buried in those memories of "reality." He was laughing with her, telling her a funny story or something. She was pretending to know him. No, those bursts may have been a version of reality, but she knew that the University, the telescope facility, and her job as a mathematician were the reality she lived in. It was the reality that made sense. And it was in danger right now because Mother had died.

Mother was the one who had given her this job, built this university, and designed the telescope. Mother had shown her other things. She'd shown her other worlds. Introduced her to a young man who thought of himself as a superhero and called himself the Dark Avenger, to a shy man named Tran who spent his days masturbating to depictions of men having sex with animals, to an elderly woman named Alouetta, who spoke French and cooked vast, elaborate meals for herself and never, ever shared. There were others two, interesting and complex people, all. Other worlds, other people. Mother had shown Zhenjuan how to access these worlds via the power of the telescope. Mother was almost a god to these worlds, and Zhenjuan was a ghost who could travel to these places, observe, and meet people without their ever knowing who she was, all with the power of her mind. Without Mother Zhenjuan would have gone insane long ago. Now Mother was dead, the worlds in flux. Some destroyed. Something was happening and the black cloud and soldiers and the man Walker, they were all part of it. Zhenjuan could feel this in her chest. This ability to sense such things was part of the gift Zhenjuan had been cursed with. In the darkness of the telescope facility, a wedge of light appeared at the far end of the arced pathway in front of Zhenjuan. She came to a stop, realizing what she was seeing was light entering the facility from an open door. It had to be a

tech or a security officer coming to check on the explosion. The light dissolved into darkness as a black fog filled the doorway. The fog was so dark, it made the mere absence of light around it appear bright by comparison. They had circled around in front of her. Zhenjuan backed away as the black fog swelled in and out of the door, penetrating a little more with each billow. It looked to be breathing. Behind her, the black fog had already filled a large section of the facility. Just inside the fog behind her were twin sets of beady red eyes that swiveled on unseen necks, scanning for prey, not yet moving from the doorway. Zhenjuan ducked. A miracle of luck had kept them from seeing her. A set of red eyes now appeared in the fog in front of her. She was hemmed in. Nowhere to run. The soldiers could take their tie. The fog began to fill the enormous room. The soldiers didn't have to hurry, she realized. For all she knew they had already seen her. They intended to let the fog do the work. The fog was the danger, not the men with guns she'd feared.

She had trapped herself in a closed facility now.

Outside, she would have stayed safe if she'd just kept moving. Now she was finished. There was one place to go, and Zhenjuan had no way of knowing if it would help. There was a small pathway marked by yellow lines between the walkway and the telescope that lead to

a set of stairs. She could pass safely up to the telescope itself. She could take the risk or wait for the inevitable fog. But what safety did the telescope offer? Temporary safety at best. Zhenjuan bolted for the machine. Maybe it was pointless. Maybe there was a place to hide in the telescope, a place safe from the fog. Another idea occurred to her. She reached the top and aimed her blaster pistol. She watched. The eyes of the soldiers were on the move now. They had seen her for sure. They were approaching, cutting off any escape route she might have considered. The fog spread wider, immune to the ansiblary energy emitting in those zones. Zhenjuan rounded the telescope the long way so she didn't pass by the tiny opening at the far end where a solid, invisible beam of concentrated ansible energy emitted. That small end held all the signal energy from everything that passed through the other end. Right now, it would be energy from the facility itself, which was plenty deadly. Zhenjuan had an idea that maybe her best bet was to amp up the signal. The fog was immune to the low-energy signal from the telescope. She wondered how it would do with a bigger dose from the night sky. She reached the control panel and punched in the sequences Mother had showed her long ago. The roof of the facility split open and roared as the sections parted.

The soldiers shouted in their alien tongue. The fog shrank back from the moonlight that poured through the open roof. The small end of the telescope, which would normally have been pointed at the sky instead of the large end, beaming its energy out and using that instantaneous ansible response to generate information about the deepest, darkest reaches of the universe, began to hum. The energy was still invisible, but Zhenjuan could feel it now. Her skin prickled in its proximity. Zhenjuan felt something thick, oily, and warm slip down the back of her shirt. She turned, aiming her pistol. The fog was behind her, billowing out, creating more of itself from nothing. She felt soiled by its touch, as though crude oil had slipped down her shirt. The shirt material now stuck to her. She skin felt as though the fog's touch would never wash off. Zhenjuan stumbled back away from the control panel, but there was nowhere to go. She heard the soldiers rounding the telescope. She was trapped by the fog behind her, the soldiers rounding the machine, and the telescope signal itself. She fired blindly, aiming high, just trying to scare her attackers away. Her shots disappeared into the black fog. The fog snuffed the blaster shots like damp fingers snuffing candles. Zhenjuan saw what she had to do. She stuffed her blaster pistol in her pocket and grabbed one of the tubes that connected the various disembodied sections of the telescope. She pulled

herself up. She could hear cautious shuffling from the soldiers. She scrambled up to the top surface of the nearest telescope section. The fog licked her foot just as she pulled herself to the top. She retched when the feeling of warm, sticky oil moistened her foot. The feeling clung to her foot even when she pulled it up and away from the fog's reach. She stumbled trying to escape. She caught herself just before she fell off the other side, into a black roiling cloud on the other side. She found her feet and looked up at the opening in the roof, at the straight path up the telescope to the catwalk. A man stood there. "Zhenjuan, quickly!" the man said. The man was the one she'd seen at her office door. He'd called himself 'Walker.' Recognizing him, despite all her other instincts, she couldn't force herself to move. Her limbs were unresponsive as her mind took precious seconds to debate: was this man going to hurt her? Welker saw Zhenjuan hesitate when he reached his hand out to her. He saw the fog creeping up behind her. The open roof was powering the strange disconnected puzzle of a telescope, causing extra power from the ansible beam at the telescopes narrow end. The fog would not approach this energy, meaning there was a path behind Zhenjuan, but it was composed of concentrated ansible energy.

Welker had known she would hesitate when she saw him, wondering if she could trust him. Her mind rejected his presence. More than the telescope, more than the soldiers, with their beady red eyes, maybe even more than the black fog at this point--he was an interloper, an unknown variable composed of substance not created by her mind. He knew that would give the fog an in. He hoped he knew what would happen next. He'd had to get her on top of the telescope. It had been the only way. In her moment of hesitation, the fog closed in. Zhenjuan felt it take her arm in its embrace. It felt like she had just put her arm in the mouth of a giant carnivore. She ripped herself away, only to plunge both hands into the fog that had crept up on the other side. Zhenjuan pulled her arms out, fighting her instinct to scream and panic. Her arms tingled with dull numbness. She had to get up to the catwalk and take her chances with the stranger Walker. She had no choice. She started up the telescope. The fog closed the path in front of her, both halves of it colliding like competing ocean waves. Tendrils of black fog shot up. The tendrils then became snakes that aimed their pointy ends at her. Zhenjuan stumbled backward. Welker could no long see Zhenjuan, and he knew the fog had begun to take in interest in him as well. He had to get out. He had taken a risk, and he had either doomed Zhenjuan or saved

her. There was nothing more for him to do. If the fog got him in here, he was finished. He reached up for the lip of the roof, intending to haul himself into the night. He had to get to one of the extraction areas before so he could leave this fantasy world Pilot 3 inhabited, or else the trauma of his escape could damage her fragile mind beyond repair. Welker got both hands on the metal at the lip of the opening. Before he could pull himself up, something wet and slimy splashed onto his fingers. Welker jerked his hands back. He felt his hands. They were moist. He reached up to pull himself up again. A wisp of black fog appeared at the edge. He pulled his hands away a second time. He took a step back as the fog accumulated into a thick black tentacle and reared up. To either side, the fog encroached, just as it had tried to do when he was in the ship back on Kryszmisky. Except now he had nowhere to run, not without killing Pilot 3. Zhenjuan screamed and jumped backward off the telescope. It was a move of shear animal panic. She had nowhere to go, and the wet wrong feeling of the surrounding fog blew apart the dams, flooding her mind with base animal fear. She fell, her body horizontal, parallel to the ground. Her arms bicycled for a moment, in a vain attempt to keep her from falling. She would have back-flopped onto the ground if she had

landed. A vertebrate in her lower back would have taken the brunt of the blow, and it would have dissolved into bone fragments, shredding her spinal cord along with it. She would have been paralyzed, unable to stop the fog from closing in, entering her mouth, forcing itself into her stomach and lungs. However, she didn't hit the ground. When she passed through the ansible beam of energy powered by the moonlight from the open roof of the facility, something happened. Ansible energy was unpredictable. Accidents had happened with unusual, counterintuitive results. Some had let a stray hand enter low-level beams and suffered burns. Some suffered growths of alien nature--strange things like tentacles or grass growing from their hands, or, in one case, a woody vine-like plant of no known taxonomy. Scientists could predict the flow with relative certainty, thus allowing scientists to use it for the telescope, but the effects were subject to highly nonlinear forces, in the language of the mathematicians such as Zhenjuan. Complicating this, it was highly nonlinear in multiple dimensions. The slightest variation of signal could cause huge changes in the short time it took the energy passed from one end of the telescope to the other. At the moment that Zhenjuan passed into the beam, the telescope was aimed with its base toward the night sky. The cumulative starlight was reverse focused, magnified in an

improbably linear way, at least on some dimensions. She received a massive dose of energy that was, in effect, concentrated starlight. The starlight, in an instant, rewrote her fundamental physical composition. It changed her DNA and the energy from the ansible waves fueled a massive revolt. In the time it took Zhenjuan to fall a single meter, her entire physical composition had changed. Her body stopped falling a centimeter from the ground. Zhenjuan floated up, out of the bath of ansible energy. Her hair danced out, floating up and away as her body buzzed with static electricity, except that the fibers no longer resembled hair. Instead, they were strands of minute particles of dull light, tangled together in gossamer strands in the shape of hair. Welker squatted down as the fog closed. He had failed. He had taken a risk that Zhenjuan would discover the power inside her, the power she'd always had, the same power she used to channel into the dead aspect known as the Dark Avenger. He had failed. The fog closed in, inking out his vision. He shuddered as the oily fog settled on him. He curled into a fetal position, trying to seal off access to his mouth, but knowing it was pointless. The fog would find a gap. The fog would force itself into his pores. The fog would take him. A howl not audible to human ears filled Welker's head. The fog retracted from Welker's body. He looked up in time

to see a beam of bright light so white it was almost silver shoot through the fog above him. The beam looked almost solid relative the pitch black of the fog. The fog sizzled and dissipated in the area around the beam. What was left shrank away. The beam disappeared, but the fog continued to retreat. Welker got to his feet. Zhenjuan was floating above the telescope, her arms spread. The soldiers took aim. Zhenjuan pointed at the closest soldier. As she did, his gun began to glow with bright starshine. He screamed and tried to drop the weapon, but already it melted to him, or his hands to it, or some bloody, messy combination of the two. His helmet began to glow. He tried to undo the straps of his helmet, but he melted gun/hand combination that his arms had become were useless for the task. He fell back, screaming. Deep down, Zhenjuan recognized the screams of the man. It was Tran, the young man with the proclivity toward bestiality. But Zhenjuan was no longer functioning as Zhenjuan. She had become something more. She was Star Shade. The red lights of Tran's helmet disappeared into the silver light as the starshine engulfed him. The soldier's screams ceased, though the man continued to struggle for several moments.

Star Shade turned her attention to the other two soldiers (one was the old woman, Alouetta, she was certain). They opened fire with the slug-throwing stun weapons. Bullets melted in the air around Zhenjuan, which was alive with dancing silver light. The bullets blinked out of existence in white flashes. She approached spread her arms. The white light solidified around her, becoming a sphere that grew, dissolving the floor, telescope, steel stairs, and structure it touched. The soldiers fled. The floor in front of them melted into a red-hot mess of molten metal and they fell into it. They struggled to free themselves, but the molten steel penetrated their armor, and their attempts to stand or otherwise free themselves from the puddle served to force the molten steel deeper into their skin. The first died in a few seconds. The second continued to scream even after his legs separated from his body. He continued to scream until his torso dissolved and his screams became bloody gurgles. The fog was gone. The sphere disappeared. Zhenjuan turned her eyes to Welker. They were glowing bright blue. Inside the blue orbs, small white particles floated. Welker was transfixed. He shouldn't have been able to make out the detail of her eyes from the distance he was, but he could. He could see infinity trapped in her eyes, particles beyond particles in an ever-growing universe inside

the orbital bones of her skull. "Who are you?" Zhenjuan demanded. "Welker," he yelled back. "I have come to rescue you," he added. Zhenjuan looked at her hands, which glowed with a kind of light that had no source, no reason to exist. She looked up at him. Already the light was fading. With appearing to realize it, she was floating back toward the raised platform on which the telescope sat. "Star Shade does not need help," Zhenjuan bellowed in a voice that seemed to echo through Welker, through the very fabric of space and time. Welker felt his hands get very warm. He let go of the railing of the catwalk. Sweat started beading on his head and face. The entire catwalk began to glow orange. "I can help you. I can help you harness your power," he said. "You deceived me." "No, that's not true. I tried to help you." Welker swallowed. Here went everything. "Zhenjuan, I love you." The heat of the catwalk increased. He knew if she wanted to, she could melt the entire structure in an instant and bury him in molten steel. "My name is Star Shade," she said.

"I know you, Zhenjuan. I've known you for years. My name is Welker. You always say my name wrong. I've watched you from a distance, tried to approach you. I'd tell you jokes and you'd laugh. Then you would leave, embarrassed by your own laughter, never staying for more than a minute in my presence." "Why can't I remember?" Welker was dripping sweat. "Sometimes you aren't you. Sometimes, in the past, you would slip away." For one agonizing minute, the heat of the catwalk increased even more. Welker had to move his feet. If he kept them in the same place longer than a few seconds, they began to smoke. Then the heat ceased and the catwalk cooled back to a normal temperature in an instant. Zhenjuan walked down the stairs, off the telescope platform, and toward the exit of the telescope. She was no longer glowing. Her hand covered her mouth. She looked like she might be sick. "Zhenjuan, wait!" he called from the catwalk. "Please, listen to me." She didn't stop. She walked on and out of the building, disappearing into the night. * * * Welker pulled the helmet off when he was awake, back in the real world. He sat up. Nausea washed over his body. He tried closing his eyes, but that made it worse. Sick tears forced

their way out of his eyes. He found a receptacle meant for trash and emptied what was in his gut into it. He wiped his mouth with the arm of his sleeve and went to the window. The nurses had cleared the room. Two remained, and they were monitoring some devices. They looked haggard, but they were smiling. One noticed that he was at the window and shot him a smile hidden by her surgical mask. She gave him a thumbs up. Welker pressed his hand to the glass. He looked at the woman laying on the table, the woman he knew in passing and in gathered gossip, nothing more. He had taken a risk. He searched himself and wondered if what he'd said was even true, or if he'd said the words in an effort to help her. "Welker, the nurse just contacted me. Whatever you did worked. It sounds like Pilot 3 may pull through." Welker turned to see the seated figure of Captain Lyzander behind him. Lyzander was distracted by something on a desk in front of him. "Yes, Captain, it appears so." "What did you do?" "I had to convince Zhenjuan--Pilot 3's primary personality--to become stronger to fight off the infection, sir. She had to become something more, and kill her other aspects. I believe Zhenjuan will now come to dominate Pilot 3's psyche. She'll no longer be a command ship Pilot, but she might be able

to become something else, something more like me, perhaps. Or maybe she'll just continue on as a relatively normal human being. It's too early to tell." Lyzander's brow furrowed. "Well, that sounds good. Listen, I have something I need to discuss with you. Since you're done there, get to my office." Behind him, Welker heard a hand slap on the glass. "Welker, did you hear me, I said--" Captain Lyzander cut his annoyance short. Welker was no longer facing him, but looking over his shoulder at something behind him that Lyzander couldn't see. Welker turned to face whatever he was seeing. He put his hands up against a surface. "Welker," Lyzander said, "what's going on? Talk to me!" Welker didn't hear Lyzander. In the emergency room, the two nurses cowered in the corner. Pilot 3 was standing next to the vat of sensory deprivation fluid, eyes fixed on Welker. Though Pilot 3's physical body looked almost nothing like Zhenjuan, Welker could still see hints and shadows of the real human the Pilot had once been. Her head was much bigger than a regular human's, and her body frail, all consequences of the procedures that had turned her into a command ship Pilot. Now, however, she did have one striking resemblance to that fantasy world Zhenjuan Welker had just spent his time trying to

help. Her eyes, formerly set deep within her oversized head, were glowing with blue light specked with tiny particles of white. It should not have been possible. She approached the glass. Welker was transfixed. He pressed his hands against the glass with unconscious effort. She crossed the room. Welker couldn't have said if she walked or floated. She was mere centimeters from him, but the thick glass allowed nothing to pass through except sound. "Walker," she said. He could hear her despite the barrier. "Walker you have to run." "Zhenjuan, lay back down. You are not healed yet," Welker shouted at the glass. Welker didn't notice, but behind him Lyzander was now standing and shouting at someone Welker wouldn't have been able to see anyway. Lyzander grabbed a gun and began to run. The image stayed in the same place, but it was clear that Lyzander was running. Welker saw none of this commotion. He saw the deep, infinitely deep, blue eyes of Zhenjuan. "Wa-Welker," she said. "Welker, they are coming. Run. Save yourself" "Who?" "I love you too, Welker. I did notice you. I do remember. I remember your smile. Now run." Welker opened his mouth to speak, but at that moment, the

red alert alarms sounded throughout Marina del Sol. "The Nothing comes for me, Welker. Run!"

Chapter 6: Mutiny

Marina del Sol burped a Protectorate fighter from its docking bay. The fighter surged past the endless line of boxshaped mining ships, all drones, that were harvesting valuable gasses and heavy metals from the nearby star's corona. This new ship was not the normal mosquito-looking Protectorate fighter like the others, but a larger ship, its legs thicker and oriented behind rather than below, resembling something more like a mechanical cephalopod. The ship twisted s-ward, parallel to the surface of the star, just over its horizon, relative to Marina del Sol. The instant after the vast intersecting wheels of Marina del Sol,

spinning and rotating in perpetual motion, disappeared from view, a squadron of normal Protectorate fighters, dwarfed by the newcomer, became visible to the larger fighter's single human passenger. The larger fighter joined its cousins and took up geosynchronous orbit, matching Marina del Sol's position, but just out of its line of sight. Dan was not a tall man. He was plenty rugged, hearty, and strong. What pudge his belly held belied the strength in his muscles. True, this particular body had undergone an average amount of conditioning while he'd used it, but Dan had grown up on . . . somewhere, anyway, somewhere rugged, where people were cut of a certain cloth. They were lean and strong so they could contend with the rigors of an outdoors life. That's why the MI had chosen him as its first contact new world pioneer. He had traveled to strange, recently discovered planets ahead of any other human being, without the knowledge of the rest of humanity. He had been a quiet pioneer, document new life, new hazards, and new potential. It had been a wonderful life. Dan had done this for as far back as he could remember. Before that, the other place, but that had been long ago, even relative to the point where he'd gone to sleep on Kryszmisky. Dan had been an explorer and an adventurer for the good part of

a hundred years. In all that time, thanks to the transportation system of the MI, he had stayed the same. He had just kept on persisting in the same wise but vigorous age. This new world, these new sights and experiences Dan didn't understand. The MI seemed different now. He recognized the voice. He recognized the underlying logical structure of its mind, but they had grown apart. Dan stared at the star as it roiled nearby. He'd been told never to stare at the sun, but now he was as close as he could have ever imagined, staring right at it, not even breaking a sweat, let alone losing his retinas. Dan had never felt so alone. The chrome probe appeared in Dan's field of view. It reshaped itself into the now familiar mouth. "Dan, we are tminus four minutes from engagement. Let's begin preparation." "How can you be so certain on the time?" Dan asked as he rose, unbuckled his harness, and followed the floating disk back across the wide open room that constituted the ship's command chamber and cockpit. Above, most of the ventral surface of the ship was transparent. In war time, they commanders would shut off gravity and float to the canopy, directing the ships and plotting battle strategy with a 3D holographic surface that covered the canopy. The MI, of course, had no need for such toys. Dan looked down from the canopy. The only other furniture in the room was a simple table that floated there on invisible

legs. To either side, on the floor, small circular ports were visible, their covers closed iris fashion, like a camera shutter. Dan approached to the table that awaited him, a table not unlike the old transport tables. Dan reassured himself. This wasn't like those times. This time, Dan was not going to die. His dying days were over. He hoped. "To answer your question: a twist, Dan, in the skein revealed a set of hypotheses. From there I was able to run tests on the interdimensional wave matrices and eliminate options. I had my answer within a few seconds. The humans so far have approached the problem linearly. I quite like that they do that. Old computers did that. It's like watching children play." "You didn't quite answer my question," Dan said. He'd forgotten about the MI's tendency to overexplain. "The Zombie--quite a cute name--is a few hundred meters from Marina del Sol. She is there right now--or would it be he? Do possessed ships reverse their gender? Perhaps we could establish a new paradigm." "How can it be there? We would have seen it," Dan said, knowing more explanation was on hand. "Don't worry, Dan, it can't detect us yet. It is just ahead of us in time. A complicated distillation of wave matrices allows for such a thing, albeit usually this occurs only by

accident. I believe the Pilot in command did this intentionally, to give them a sort of a cloaking shield." "If it's ahead of us in--" "Don't over analyze, Dan. Appreciate, instead. How clever to figure out this maneuver. This had occurred to me as a theoretical consideration many years ago, but the situation to test the idea never presented itself." "So, if you knew the Pilot's trick, what about Amberson Station?" Dan asked. "Preventable, I suppose," the disembodied mouth said. It floated up and above the table. Dan wished it wouldn't use the mouth. He found it disturbing. Once the MI had always made it a point to appear as humanoid as it could to him. Although, it always tried to leave something out, like legs or logic. Dan reclined on the table and took a deep breath. Straps snaked up and around his legs and arms, across his chest, up under his armpits, over his shoulders, and across his forehead. He expected the probes, the jolt, THE DEATH. The sequence flashed through Dan's mind in an instant, and he pushed it away. This was not that table. It occurred to him, however, that MI knew that this table resembled that one, but Dan couldn't divine any motivation for doing this. "The straps will secure you from the pull of inertia, Dan.

So you don't get a boo-boo on your noogie." "You let Amberson be destroyed," Dan said. "It was a small outpost. A couple dozen people, Dan. I couldn't move a sufficient force in to protect it without tipping my hand to The Zombie. This current operation relies on the element of surprise." Dan nodded. "You disapprove?" "Not my place to say," Dan said. "I've always valued your input. I feel as close to you as I can to a human. You knew me way back when, as they say." Dan chuffed, "You're just used to me. Nothing more." "Still, an impressive emotion for a chunk of metal, right Dan?" "Is that what you are?" "Quiet now, bubby." A robot arm snaked out from somewhere below Dan. The arm was tipped in a shining needle, and was very close to his head. Dan pulled away, the memory of all his distant deaths flashing through his mind in an instant. Another arm exposed the crook of Dan's arm. A rubber tube snaked around his biceps and squeezed. "Small pinch," the MI said, "might want to look away." Dan watched the needle enter his arm. A small motor in the robot arm whirred, causing blood to fill the chamber of the

hypodermic. The blood swirled, mixing with an amber fluid he knew was a medium for any number of drugs and nanobot varietals. "Are the Nothing an intelligent virus or bacteria?" Dan asked as the fluid drained from the hypodermic, turning into warm pain in his arm. "Two different questions. No to both. Though I understand why you ask, and, yes, at first I thought it just might be. The NRV seemed to be making a powerful case for itself as being the cause of reanimation itself. But on further examination of your condition and the rather unique condition of the Pilots who escaped the Kryszmisky encounter alive, I have to revise my thinking." Dan was disappointed. Once, on a planet designated KZ-1123, they had found what they thought might be intelligent bacterial life. It grew in tidal pools in an enormous forest growing along the edge of a great sea. Dan remembered sitting at the base of trees that took him an hour to circumnavigate, staring through microscope goggles at the life that permeated the cracks in the great tree's bark. Three months of tests convinced Dan and the MI both that those bacteria were not intelligent at all, but well coordinated little automatons. It was an impressive coordination, spanning almost the entire great forest, but it wasn't exactly intelligence. Dan always thought microscopic intelligence would

have serious advantages, biologically speaking, but so far it had just never materialized. "So, what is it?" Dan asked. The drugs and nanobots were having some effect. He felt sleepy. He felt as though he were trapped between dream and reality. A giant tree seemed to loom behind him. "I don't know, Dan," the small silver mouth said. Dan chuckled. "You can tell me." An alarm beeped on the control console of the Protectorate fighter. The mosquito fighters outside their ship came to life. In a massive swarm, they made for the star's horizon, approaching The Zombie from just k of s-ward, so that they could catch it blind from behind and divert its attention. "Will we get there in time to save Marina . . ." Dan struggled to remember the name of the station. It disappeared in a fog. "Amberson," he added, hoping that proved whatever point he'd been trying to make. The floating face turned its attention from the attack back to Dan. "Marina del Sol is much bigger than Amberson Station," it said. "There will be some initial casualties, but we will attack before Marina del Sol suffers too much." The MI ship took up rear guard of the swarm. Despite its size and the inertial forces, compounded by the intense gravity of the star perpetually exploding below the ventral side of the

ship, the MI ship was able to keep pace with the swarm "Try to concentrate, Dan. The Zombie has arrived." The Zombie wasted no time attacking. The shields of Marina del Sol glowed bright red as the cannon fire hit it. Smoke appeared on one section of one of the rings. Dan tried to get some sense of bearings on the station, to determine where the damage was located. Before he could, the MI ship twisted, and he lost the landmarks. The swarm engaged. The Zombie's shields lit up in tiny, concentrated pinprick bursts as invisible lasers from the Protectorate fighters struck its surface. The enormous main cannon pivoted, cutting a swath through the center of the Protectorate fighter swarm. The fighter pilots reacted instantaneously, aided by their nanobots and MI-boosted reactions. The broke formation even as the laser split the group, evading just before the laser hit. A few ships exploded, but most made it through, though the swarm was now divided in two. Each smaller swarm poured into The Zombie from opposite sides. The MI stayed back, not engaging. Dan watched through drugged eyes, trying to hold his concentration. A dark fog began to cloud his vision. The MI arms injected something in the IV in his arm and the fog cleared by degrees. Inside as well as outside, the battle had begun.

* * * "Lyzander, you seem like you're in a hurry," Cyrus said, his lips curling into a snarl. Lyzander glanced out the bank of windows in the hallway. Outside, oriented vertically, was the Re-Horakhty. This was the first time he'd ever seen his ship in action from the outside, and he was impressed by what he saw, despite the circumstances. The Re-Horakhty was holding its own in the face of an overwhelming swarm of Protectorate fighters. Lyzander was not doing as well against an overwhelming force consisting of his brother Cyrus and two armed guards, who had gotten the drop on him. Dan, unlike the Re-Horakhty had no laser shield generators built in. Lyzander put his hands up. Down the curvature of the station, he could see a plume of black smoke where the ReHorakhty had breached the hull with laser fire. Lyzander had lost even audio contact with Welker when that had happened. "Magnificent isn't it?" Cyrus asked. "Watching a battle from this distance. It's like watching the gods fight for your life. If The Zombie wins, we all perish. If the fighters win, most of us may survive." The Re-Horakhty cannon swiveled toward them, and the shielding lit up bright red, blinding the four of them. After a moment, it was clear the shields hadn't been breached. They were

all still alive. Cyrus laughed. He had dropped to the ground, as though lying prone were defense against vaporization. The two soldiers regrouped even quicker, aiming their guns on Lyzander though he had done little more than flinched. "That was a close one, Lyzander." "Cyrus, I need to get to my Pilot. The hull breech was in medical. He may be in trouble." "He's dead or he's alive. You'll find out when order has been restored, just like the rest of us. Unfortunately, Lyzander, I'm a little short-staffed right now, for obvious reasons. As much as I'd like to let you get your Pilot, a part of me--dang it all--suspects you'd take your Pilot and try to escape." "Where is your compassion, Cyrus?" Cyrus didn't respond. "Remember when Dad took us in to the ring inner layers?" Cyrus and Lyzander had grown up on ring, a giant space station that was something like living on the inside of the crust of large planet, complete with an atmosphere, normal gravity, and abundant life. A bit like walking on the ceiling of this space station, Lyzander reflected. The ring was called Spetsopoula, and was well within Grecian space, though they could throw a rock and hit States planets from their lonely

system, so they'd both grown up speaking English. Their father was one of hundreds of maintenance men scattered across the ring who serviced the robots that worked to keep the ring functioning. Most kids on Spetsopoula never even knew about the millions of small robots that functioned as the ring's planetary immune system, but their dad was the doctor to a large portion of those robots. Occasionally, being the doctor meant making house calls. The access panels for the inner ring space were well hidden. People who knew where they were seemed to be charmed. Lyzander and Cyrus had walked over the dirt road millions of times on their way to town or to school. One night--just before twilight, as the darkest part of night only lasted a few minutes on Spetsopoula--their dad had awakened them and taken them down the road about half a mile before stopping. He had chanted some words and waved his arms around like a crazy person while Cyrus and Lyzander complained about the cold. Like a miracle, the dirt had raised up, revealing the vast blackness of the inner ring. He had taken them down in it and had shown them the underbelly of their world. "I remember it was like looking into the still functioning guts of a living person," Cyrus said. "Do you remember what Dad told us?" Lyzander asked. "Dad told us a lot of things," Cyrus said, bored.

"All those millions of people on Spetsopoula depended on Dad and a few hundred others to keep the entire system going, and most never even knew that. He said, 'We all prop each other up. When you buy your food, you aren't buying a product, you're paying the woman who grew it, the men who harvested it, and the people who put it in the package that kept it fresh, not to mention the ones who built the refrigeration units, and the building it is kept in, and the road that got you there. We're all connected.'" "Are you done preaching, Lyzander?" Lyzander and Cyrus both whirled around, turning their backs to a shared memory to see Ioming holding twin blasters to the necks of Cyrus's guards. Their weapons were on the ground. "If so, perhaps we should get the hell out of here," Ioming growled. "You see, Cyrus?" "One big family circle," Cyrus said. Lyzander confiscated the two blaster pistols held by the guards, and the two of them ushered the three men into a nearby office. "If you lock us in here and there's a problem, you've doomed us," Cyrus said. "Don't worry. I'll let housekeeping know where to find you." The door slid shut. Lyzander performed the lockdown signs,

but the door didn't respond. It struck him for the first time that Red Sektor codes must be different than the ones in Blue Sektor. Ioming pushed his hand away and blasted the control panel. "There. That will alert maintenance and keep Cyrus in there until the robots can fix it," Ioming said. "I'm glad you're feeling better, Lieutenant." She aimed one silicon-tipped steel finger at his jaw. "I could punch this into your brain, Ly. As fun as that might be, I want a real arm again." Before Lyzander could respond, Ioming started down the hallway. He watched her long ponytail bound side to side as she ran downhill, around the curve of the station, toward the smoldering area. Lyzander hurried to catch up. * * * The Re-Horakhty stank. The cats stayed hidden now, stalking what prey there might still be to find from the darkest shadows in the most remote corners of the ship. They had to feed quickly, when they managed to make a kill. Dead mice had a bad habit of not staying dead these days. Vassarator Deluxe could hear the dead people shuffling around below his command ring when he didn't wear the sensory deprivation helmet. Some didn't look dead. Some looked bad,

chewed up and spit out. They all smelled. His solution was to take the sensory deprivation helmet off only when it was necessary. Vassarator made some minute adjustments to his Pilots. He concentrated on the battle. He tried to ignore the reality around him. The reality that he'd been tricked. Duped. Set up. He had thought, when the Dark Avenger had introduced him to the black snake of truth that he was ushering in a new world order, one where the Nothing would be the power. They would resurrect fallen heroes. The Pilots would be the almighty heralds of truth and justice. The world would experience a rebirth, a unifying rebirth. But Vassarator could see now that he was not to be part of this rebirth. The Nothing, like the humans whose bodies they used as corporeal tools, intended to use the Pilots as tools. Yet, even as he realized this, Vassarator Deluxe knew this knowledge gained him nothing. He had let the black snake of truth in. He had killed the other avatars of Pilot 6. He was Pilot 6. There was no out. Vassarator knew he was corrupted. He knew there was no turning back from what he had become. If a potential way out did occur to him--in a dream, perhaps--he found himself unable to act on it. He turned his attention to the battle. The Protectorate fighters regrouped and swarmed. He

processed the formation. The ships seemed to move in slow motion. He could feel the multidimensional, cold processor consciousness of the MI out there, weaving its tendril consciousness into the Protectorate fighters. Pilot 6 tried to imagine a way in which he could let them win. They could destroy this ship and end his hell, but even as they regrouped and made their strange glancing attacks, designed to distract rather than destroy, he could see that they had lost. The MI had toyed with him a moment too long. The probability had tipped into his favor. They could have wiped out the ship. They could have ended him with their surprise attack. But they hadn't. And the MI didn't yet seem to realize its mistake, or else it would be pulling back and regrouping, going for the killing blow. Pilot 6 worked the muscles of his face with cold, numb precision. He imagined a robot must feel the same way about its own skin. It didn't feel. No matter how hard it squeezed its eyes, it would not produce tears. Similarly, Pilot 6 was no longer capable of tears. Vassarator had won the war. He was, for all intents and purposes, Pilot 6. Their minds overlapped at 98.3%. Fuck the Machine. It and the men in those fighters wanted to play? He would give them a game. A death game. They had spun the cylinder. It

had come up as a live bullet. Time to pull the trigger. Vassarator Deluxe found himself without humor. * * * Welker pulled himself off the ground, pushing the ceiling panels and the mass of wires and conduits that had fallen on him. He was lucky he hadn't choked to death while passed out. He coughed in the ozone-filled air and hurried toward the emergency oxygen kit that had popped out of the wall just before the lights had died. He grabbed a personal oxygen tank and ripped open the plastic covering. He put the mask over his face and found the ozone was still seeping in. He used a swirling motion with his finger to dial up the oxygen from 21% to 35%. The holographic readout informed him that he had an hour and a half at the current mix, but the oxygen now overpower the oxygen, so he was satisfied. He clipped the micro tank to his shirt collar and hurried to the large window. A blast shield of visisteel had dropped over the window. He could still see through it, but he could no longer transmit sound through it. He could see Zhenjuan. She was still standing there where she had been. Her eyes were back to normal. The pure psychic energy that it must have taken to perform that little parlor trick . . .

It was better not to think too hard about that. He'd always been drawn to her without knowing why. Now he knew. Mother Vallaq had always told him that she was a sure candidate for a 6 someday, but he had understood how much latent energy she'd had. The underlying aspect of Zhenjuan had naiveté and psychic strength in almost equal measures. Now that personality was her dominate aspect, and her full power and innocence together were her hopes for survival. Star Shade had been Welker's idea. Such alter egos were not uncommon. He knew for sure that Pilot 6 on Re-Horakhty had one in one of his aspects. He was pretty sure he remembered Pilot 3 having one, though it had been lost in the psychic dump she had experienced that had led to her crash just before they'd been attacked on Kryszmisky. Or anyway, that was the going theory on what had happened to her. There was no way to be sure at this point, and Welker didn't know how well that theory matched up to the facts. After all, Pilot 3 had jumped the medical ship. That should have been an impossible feat after a psychic dump on the scale she'd experienced. True, she had jumped them randomly and almost into black hole, but they had found her and the ship intact. She had even landed in now, which was a difficult feat with full concentration. Welker took a deep breath. He looked into Zhenjuan's eyes.

She seemed disoriented, and had a hard time focusing on him. That was easy to understand, given the sheer level of destruction in the room around her. The nurses were all dead, crushed by debris that had fallen into the room. None of that material had touched Zhenjuan. She had not let it. Welker tried to get her attention. He had never been that good at unboosted psychic communication, but that was what he had to do now. He had to hope that her raw power would make it easier for him. Zhenjuan? You are Walker, she said. Her eyes found him and focused. Her face was steel. She was not ready yet to accept him as a friend. She looked around. She seemed to be seeing the room and the ship for the first time. Where am I? This is reality. Three-D, like Mother taught. Mother . . . she said, her despair naked in her emotional waves. I know. I'm sorry, he said, wishing he had something less lame to add. I want to go back to the university. He pursed his lips. I'm not sure it exists anymore.

Why is there no oxygen in this room? Welker was speechless for a moment. She had conveyed the thought with such calm that he was sure he had misunderstood. Th-there was a hull breech. Your room may have experienced that. Welker's mind raced for an answer. How was she still alive? There should be an oxygen tank in the room. In the back corner. There. He could see the flashing red light. She turned and looked at where he pointed. She crawled over the debris toward the light. Her body was that of a woman in her thirties, but with the characteristic swollen cranium of the command ship Pilots. However, she moved like a young girl. Something in her enthusiasm and lack of coordination. She found the emergency kit and put the oxygen mask on following his instruction. Take three tanks, he said. Clip them to your belt. Turn them up to 100%. He projected the knowledge of how to do this. She did as instructed. Yes. This is easier than creating my own oxygen. Welker agreed without words. He had heard stories, of course, of people as strong as this, but he never would have dreamed that she had been one of them. No wonder the Xin had allowed her to be taken. They must have been terrified of her. Come back over here, Zhenjuan. I need you to open this door if we're going to get out.

That will be a simple task, she said, her voice girlish. A door in her room slid open. Zhenjuan froze. Her clothes flapped against her thin body as the room filled with air. A robot stood at the door. If it spoke, Welker couldn't hear. She looked over at him. She removed the mask, no longer needing it as the door's opening had allowed station air back in. The robot approached with deliberate slowness. Help, she said to him. Something was wrong. It wasn't just Welker's imagination. Zhenjuan! Open the door. Welker was helpless. He couldn't unlock the door on his own. The robot approached her. She backed away toward the visisteel, toward Welker. He could see her skin through her transparent gown. He tried to get her to open the door, but he was unable to break through to her in her panic. The robot approached. It was a worker machine, floating across the room without legs. It had an array of multijointed arms coming out of its chest, each tipped with various tools useful to repair. It was not, however, moving toward the rubble to repair it. It was moving toward Zhenjuan. A torch on one had flickered. Zhenjuan, you have to open the door. Please, open the door. But she didn't respond. Her mind was flooded with red, blind panic. She was in pure fight or flight mode. The robot

approached. Malfunctioning? Welker thought MI robots in an MI facility would be immune to malfunction. Yes, there were rogues. Everyone knew of the rogues that had broken free of the MI and lived on their own world, but it didn't seem possible. Not here. Zhenjuan! The door! The robot was close enough to her. It raised a rotor blade toward her throat and sliced across with mechanical precision. The blade stopped millimeters from the skin of her throat. A plume of smoke came out of the joints of this arm. The other arms reared back to strike, like the mouth of a spider, filled with a dozen fangs. The robot reeled back as though struck by something. It quivered, leaning forward, trying to move toward Zhenjuan, but instead of moving forward, it was shoved further back. Arms began falling off it. Smoke was pouring out of it now. In a flash of electric blue light, it ruptured and then imploded. A ball, like a wadded up piece of aluminum foil, was all that remained. Zhenjuan crumpled to the ground. No more, Zhenjuan said mentally and physically, judging by the motion of her lips. No more, please. Zhenjuan, open the door. I can help you. Please, open the door.

It wants me dead. They all want me dead. Not me, Zhenjuan. I don't want you dead. I swear to you, I am your friend. You love me? That's right. The door beeped. Welker hurried to it. It opened in his presence. He went in. The room smelled much worse than his. The ozone was stronger, but there were other smells. The smell of meat, for one. The smell of ruptured organs. He was glad he couldn't see the condition of the nurses beneath the rubble. Welker picked Zhenjuan up. She was shivering. Her body racked with sobs. He carried her back into his room. "Is there oxygen on the other side of this door?" he asked her. She nodded. The door slid open, releasing a shower of sparks as she forced the locks rather than unbolting them. The hallway had one surface that was all visisteel, allowing him to see the battle that was waging outside and the damage that had been done to the station. Not far from their position, the hallway had been breached by a massive laser cannon shot. A blast shield had come down to seal the area off. The room Zhenjuan had just been in had suffered severe damage. She should not have survived. Welker stripped his oxygen mask off. The tang of ozone was

less pronounced in here, but was enough to curl his lips. He hurried up the main hall. He had to find the captain. He had to get Zhenjuan to safety. He had been lucky with the robot. If he had been between her and the threat, who knows what she might have done to him, however inadvertent. In the hallway, Welker stopped when he saw two armed guards running at him, weapons drawn. "Welker? I thought you were dead for sure," Lyzander said. "Captain," Welker said, after his adrenaline calmed enough for him to talk. "Zhenjuan is wounded." "We have to get off this station. I don't know what the MI thinks it's doing, but the Re-Horakhty has turned the tide." "Ly," Ioming chided. "Welker, give her to me. These stupid mechanical arms can be useful this once." She took the girl in her arms, not noticing the load. She handed one of her guns to Welker. "Take this, and don't let anybody shoot me. Deal?" Welker examined the blaster pistol. It was different than the rifle he had used last time. Smaller, with many more buttons and switches. "Do you know how to use one of those, Welker?" Lyzander asked. "Fully sir, why I used one just the other day when I rescued you." "And where did you get training for that?" Lyzander asked.

"It was as easy as point," Welker aimed the pistol and Lyzander and mocked shot him, "and shoot." Lyzander pushed the barrel of the gun away from his chest. "See that red button? Make sure that's illuminated. That's the safety. Let's just keep that one turned on for now." Welker shrugged and led the way. Lyzander noted that Welker had not followed his order and that the blaster was still live. Also, Welker was whistling a jaunty tune. Ioming followed Welker and Lyzander was left taking up the rear, wondering how many men had ever trusted their lives to the aim of a Pilot. * * * The bands around him arms and chest fell away. Dan opened his eyes. His vision was crystal clear. More clear than it had ever been, in fact. He was staring straight out from the table, watching through the visisteel canopy of the ship as the battle waged. The smaller ships were much less numerous now. The big ship, The Zombie, had some battle damage, but its lasers were flickering and small ships were exploding or being shorn. Dan stood up with deliberate ease, testing the ground, just like he used to do when he was in a new body back centuries ago when he'd been a pawn of the MI. A pawn. He realized it now. All that time he thought he'd been doing something to benefit humankind. Now he knew his error. The

Nothing had shown him his error. They knew Dan. They had found Dan all over the universe, copies of Dan everywhere they went. They had assembled the story on their own. They had not taken him, yet, but they had taken him all the same. They knew things about himself he didn't know. They knew him better then he knew himself. This time, this Dan, instead of taking, they had given. Tell them. Tell them the truth. That was the message the Nothing had given Dan. "Dan, you're awake now. I'm sorry I haven't been concentrating. This battle is something more of a puzzle than I anticipated," the floating mouth said as it zipped around above him. "No need to worry." "You should lie down, Dan. Give the drugs a chance to wear off." "I feel fine," Dan said, though it was far from the truth. The truth was that the drugs had worn off, but the new memories that had been awakened in Dan were having an effect worse than any drug. Drugs made you feel good, at least for the duration of their effect. Right now Dan felt bad. Very, very bad. The Nothing had shown him. It had very taken him to the planets he had visited over the years. It had rubbed his nose in what he had done, but without malice or hate. Still, he'd

apologized. I didn't know, he pled. He'd begged the Nothing for mercy, but the Nothing had no mercy to give, only truth. Still, Dan had repeated: I didn't know. Knowing or not, what Dan had done was unforgiveable. "Dan, Dan. I have underestimated our enemy." The MI clucked. The view of the battle through the transparent canopy disappeared as the ship swiveled away morosely. "It is lost." "You're going to leave those men to die?" "Yes, well, I must order the evacuation of Marina del Sol." Dan felt his gut sink. Through the thin viewing band at the nose of the ship, the direction they were now moving, he could see Marina del Sol. It sat, placid. All visible indications were that that station was not worrying at all about the battle outside. No escape pods were breaking away. No emergency lights were visible in undamaged areas. "You didn't order an evac," Dan said, his mind putting together the visual puzzle in front of him. "You are an arrogant fuck." "Dan, our work here was important. We needed to collect data regarding the effects of proximity of the Nothing to who was NRV positive, such as yourself. I have already created a subspace of probability matrices that I can now begin to narrow down. In most, the number of human lives saved more than outnumbers the population of Marina del Sol."

"You could have warned them at any time. You have more than one center of attention." "As I promised, no harm came to you, did it?" The MI, Dan realized, was playing the situation off, implying that it didn't care, that it may have even intended for this to happen. But Dan knew the truth: the MI had been beaten. The singularity had been lapped by something it couldn't even yet identify. Their approach speed increased. Dan had to hold onto the command seat to keep from stumbling backward. Now, read alarm lights flared throughout the station. They were close enough Dan could see people scrambling for escape. Women. Children. People dressed in civilian and mining clothes. "Besides, if the Marina is destroyed, the bodies will become useless to the Nothing. So its win-win for everyone." Through the canopy above his head, the battle that was almost over still flashed and flickered, throwing red and green lights over the console. Dan sat in the command seat he was gripping for dear life. This was a Red Sektor ship. There were no Pilots in Red Sektor, so a normal human, jacked up on nanomachines and mechanical implants, usually sat here. Red Sektor: Blue Sektor. Two hours ago, Dan had no idea what the difference was; now he understood. In Red Sektor, the MI did all the jumping, organized all the mining and food

production operations, controlled birthrates, produced the drugs, piloted the ships, and ran the stations. Red Sektor was the single biggest faction of all the systems, and the MI controlled every aspect of it. Dan watched as Marina del Sol swelled. The MI probe chuckled. "Dan, it seems that your friends got the evacuation order earlier than it was sent. Perhaps it was a tachyon message." Dan swallowed. "What do you mean?" "Dan, those Blue Sektor cretins have made quite the nuisance of themselves. I should have shot that Captain and the other non-Pilots into Sol when they first arrived. I got blinded by the interesting state of the command ship Pilot." The ship changed course, shoving Dan back and to his left. The ship curled under the nearest arc section of Marina del Sol, toward another port. "Well, Dan. Perhaps you'd like to pull the trigger on these pests?" "You're going to kill them?" Dan asked. "You always were more ammunition than soldier, weren't you Dan?" Dan got up. He stumbled when the ship changed course. He was sick to his stomach, and not just from the roller coaster ride. Dan slammed against the wall.

"Don't worry, Dan. I assure these Blue Sektor people are nut jobs. You should see what they do to anyone who has latent psychic ability. It's disgusting. If I could wipe them all out without people getting worked up, I would." Dan moved along the smooth wall, following the curve of the hull as it bowed out. He knew his destination. There was a panel toward the back with a red symbol over it. The edges of the panel blended seamlessly with the wall, making the compartment all but invisible if you didn't know the meaning of the symbol. The ship went the other way, tossing Dan to the floor. "Watch this, Dan. You'll enjoy this show, I think." The Nothing had shown Dan the meaning of this cryptic symbol. It had shown him the sequence of five hand gestures needed to open it. They had to be executed with near-perfect timing. It had taken control of the nanobots in Dan's mind. He'd allowed it to. It had wired the sequence into his brain, but warned that his muscles might not respond as planned. Dan worked the sequence as best he could. Nothing happened. The timing was the key. The timing was everything. "Dan, you've changed," the MI robot said from across the ship. Dan turned around. The probe lips were now in his face. Startled, he fell. His back slammed into the wall, knocking the

wind out of him. An arm darted out of the floor near the table and snaked across the room toward Dan. "It got to you, didn't it, Dan? It must have happened when it surged in the battle. It distracted me. Clever, clever. You've become a little zombie, haven't you, Dan?" He shook his head. "I think you just became the most valuable person in the universe to me, Dan. A real live look at a real live zombie. You'll pardon the expression." The arm reared up, tipped in a hypoderm that was filled with a red fluid. The robot didn't mess with formalities such as veins or arteries in the arm. Before Dan realized what it was doing, the needle slammed into his chest and pumped the red fluid into Dan's heart. Dan cried out as the arm extracted the needle with a twist. It had missed going between his ribs, in the heat of the moment. Instead, the MI needle was strong enough to go through his rib. "Stay put, Dan. I'm going to go discuss this matter with your friends. I'd like to be able to dissect their Pilot 3, get a good look inside that brain of hers, preferably while she's still alive--if you can call what those freak have 'life.' Maybe if they turn her over to me, I'll only cut their throats and hang them by their feet like pigs, not ejected them into space without a pressure suit."

Dan felt nothing. His body was numb. The ship changed course and his face slapped the floor. He heard it, but didn't feel it. He'd failed. * * * "You sure picked the ugliest ship in the dock," Ioming said as she busied herself manipulating the tactile control panel. "And the oldest." "Systems check. She's flying," Lyzander said. "It is an old ship. Not retrofitted. No MI." "I get it. Look, there's your ship, on the far side of the dock. Can't we take that?" "If it hasn't been ripped apart, it's been bugged," Lyzander responded. Ioming grimaced as one of the spires of their ancient ship clipped the roof of the docking bay. Spires. This ship was from a different era. It was from a renaissance period that had happened when Ioming was a kid, a time when humans, collectively, realized that ships that flew through space did not require aerodynamic properties. They could look like anything. This one, for instance, very much resembled a gothic castle, at least in theory. It had spires, buttresses, ramparts, and various other architectural similarities, but the

arrangement of them aimed a little below the pleasing comfort of four walls and a roof. "All that matters is that Welker can jump it. You can jump it, Welker, right?" . . . I

WILL RESPOND WHEN ERROR MARGINS FALL BELOW ACCEPTABLE LIMITS,

CAPTAIN.

Lyzander pushed the ship hard toward the bay doors. "See, he's already got the psychic booster up and running. He's at least half way home." Lyzander didn't know how close to home Welker was anymore than Ioming did. The ship approached the bay exit. Lyzander sighed relief. As soon as they were cleared of the electromagnetic field of the station that protected it from cosmic rays, they'd be safe to jump. An alarm sounded. Lyzander pulled back on the throttle lever. It was a knee-jerk response. He found the alarm. It was a collision warning. A ship ascended from its hiding place below the lip of the bay door. It was a Protectorate fighter, one of the command ships that looked to Lyzander like an octopus with one giant, clear eye. Its arms flailed and stretched outward, filling the exit with a radial pattern, which incidentally mirrored the shape of their new ship. The pilot command seats on the ship, visible to them, were unoccupied.

"Captain Lyzander. We never had a chance to meet. I am the Machine Intelligence. I have a bargain for you . . ." Lyzander looked at Ioming. She was peering hard at the ship. "I think there's a person in there," she said, "in the back." "The bargain is this: turn over the Pilot known as Pilot 3, and I will kill only you, Captain." "Not a very good deal," Dan said. "Not so bad for us," Ioming quipped. "What do we do?" Lyzander asked. "We could shoot at him." "Welker, do you think you can jump from here?" NEGATIVE CAPTAIN. ELECTROMAGNETIC

FIELDS CAUSING TOO MUCH INTERFERENCE.

DIGITAL

NOISE WOULD CAUSE US ALL TO BE RECONSTITUTED IN REALITY IN A VERY UNDESIRABLE STATE IN ALL PROBABILITY.

"Surrender," Lyzander said after a moment. "Ly . . ." "We surrender," Lyzander said into his mike. "We're not leaving you to be executed by this thing." "Get clear of the ship. I'll detonate this hunk of junk, see if I can take out the octopus. You guys make straight for my ship. Welker could jump that thing out of the center of a black hole." "Ly."

"Just go," he said. Ioming unbuckled her straps. "I knew you would see reason, Captain Lyzander." "You win, MI." * * * Outside, The Zombie destroyed the last of the Protectorate fighters concentrated fire on the nuclear cores of Marina del Sol. The first shots failed to penetrate the shielding, but the Marina del Sol was not designed for combat situations beyond the slow burning combat caused by proximity to the star itself, which in fairness was considerable, and for occasional space accidents. Nothing had ever hit it to compare to the full power of the guns from a former Blue Sektor command ship. The Zombie's laser fire bore through the shield within seconds. A bright white light appeared on the surface of the reactor. Marina del Sol was now in her death throes. Systems began to fail all over the station. Life support first. Artificial gravity next. People who were scrambling for escape pods found themselves running in thin air. Red Sektor citizens were not used to zero-G. That sort of physical challenge did not arise often. Most would never make it to the escape pods. The shielding shut down. The electromagnetic field in a large portion of the station faltered, allowing lethal doses of

cosmic rays to pass through at a perpendicular angle to a section of the station. Emergency kits popped out, offering quick-rad suits and UV protecting goggles that would help any citizen who could outrun the speed of light. After a split second, the backup reactors kicked on, providing life support and restoring shielding, but too late to prevent most of the damage. Hundreds of people still in the hallways were dead or dying. Those that died did so hoping they would stay that way. Those that lived and made it to escape pods one by one began to break away. Of those that broke away, about 10% found themselves floating right into The Zombie's sights. It picked them off lazily, not focusing attention on the escape pods, but also not passing up easy opportunities to blast one to hell. The real focus of The Zombie now was slicing the Marina del Sol into chunks to seal of the sections, turning them into floating coffins that filled with the dead. The giant coffins floated away, to be filled with NRV infection as time permitted. Vassarator Deluxe took no pleasure in any of this. His job was done. The rest was just production line work. He closed his eyes and wished he was somewhere else, far away, fighting crime like those bright days before he'd learned the truth of the universe. And behind closed eyes is where he saw a bright image not

very far away that he recognized. Pilot 3, nee Dark Avenger, now calling herself Zhenjuan. If he could have worked his muscles, he would have smiled. * * * Ioming and the others boarded the escape pod. She located the Captain's old ship across the bay. Welker looked sick. He had been pulled out of psychic boost too early, but nothing could be done about it. Lyzander set the self-destruct. The advantage of using such an ancient ship was that the MI could not override his control space. He had buttons and levers to work with. "Time is up, Captain. Your friends dallied too long." The octopus charged lasers. "You said we had three minutes. It's been two." "I lied, Captain." Lyzander squinted as the focused light came to power. At this point, his retinas wouldn't mind not having to witness his death, but it was just a natural reaction. * * * Dan felt the feeling return in his fingertips first. His head was positioned so that he could see the other ship. It was a thick black ring with spikes sticking out almost at random, the curves buttressed by thick beams. In the center was a single double pointed spike that bubbled in the middle. Within, that

bubble, Dan could see a person. It was a very strange looking ship, like nothing Dan had ever seen. He wondered how it could fly, but then realized there was no resistance in space, no reason any shape at all couldn't fly. Dan's arm was now functional. Like a slow wave, he regained his strength on his left side. This was not supposed to happen. He was getting help. The presence of the Nothing was lending him a kind of strength. Dan pushed himself up to a sitting position. He reached up toward the red symbol on the wall and performed the series of gestures. Nothing happened. He tried again. Again, nothing happened. He closed his eyes and moved his foot in a tapping motion, trying to find the rhythm. He performed the gestures again. The rack slid out from the wall. The dozen or so blasters clacked together when it stopped. * * * The light blinked off. Lyzander opened his eyes. The escape pod alarm lit up, but the octopus was now unstable. Its legs flailed. It shifted uneasily, then did a back flip and died, floating away on its momentum. The area where Lyzander's old ship was docked flashed red and exploded as the giant cannon from The Zombie sliced the

docking bay in two. "Ioming, I had a thought, regarding your current trajectory." "Yeah, yeah, we're on our way back. What happened to our robot friend?" "No clue." "Captain Lyzander?" The new voice piped in. "Dan Weegan?" "Perhaps I could trouble you for an evac. The MI seems to have shut off life support in its death throes." Lyzander wasn't sure what was going on. The Dan Weegan they had found on Kryszmisky had been mum with them, refusing to talk to them or even listen. He was scared, Lyzander knew. The man on the other side of this communication was a different person, experienced and confident. "Captain, I'm starting to lose air pressure. Not to rush you. Starting to die in here." Lyzander radioed orders to the escape pod. It diverted course a second time. "Affirmative, Mr. Weegan. Prepare for extraction."

Chapter 7: Safety in Truth

Dan Weegan looked out from the creaking wood of his topdeck across the walkways that spiraled out from the main path like the tight curling shoots of a grapevine. The shoots enclosed a circular midway in the center of town, where fiery torches illuminated the festivities. People wandered between booths that offered delights ranging from piles of fresh fry-bread dusted in powdered sugar to two minutes in a kissing booth with a beautiful woman. Huge Foundorses, reptilian herbivores with long necks native to Chambrassa, trotted around the perimeter, ridden by children who squealed with each bumpy step. Beyond the fry bread booths and foundorse tether, dual stages featured a magician on one side trading tricks with a juggler and a sword swallower on the other. Small white light explosions dotted the performances. The magician's tricks used no technology, no

trickery but what the magician could muster from years of studied training. Technology of most kinds was forbidden on Chambrassa. Dan smoked a pipe filled with sweetbacco, a plant of his own design, a mixture of native species that had no business in a pipe, though their offspring, cross-bred into a new species, emitted several pleasing chemicals when smoked. It gave Dan a long, humming sort of buzz. But sweetbacco aside, he took little pleasure in these festivities, which were once done in his honor. Most of the residents now didn't remember or didn't care these days. The originals, like Dan, stayed quiet and hidden. Some had even died, as the MI had predicted, but not from old age. Eternal life, if that's what this was, wasn't for everyone. A lot of people Dan had spent the years tending these fields and cultivating this town had run out of whatever it is that keeps people living and had gone to be put to sleep in the Reconstitution facility. Adjia stepped off the lift and onto the porch. Her cane tapped the boards. She chuckled and took a seat, her old bones creaking as loud as the rocking chair. "Dan, go play," she said in harsh whisper. Dan bent down and planted a deep kiss on the ancient woman's lips. She made an attempt to return the kiss, but her

lip muscles were weak and her skin loose. She was old. Not as old as Dan, but not in as good condition, either. "I love you Adjia," Dan said, apropos of nothing. "Now what do you want now?" He squatted next to her, his old-looking body protesting little. "Nothing. How can you ask that?" "I know you well, old man." "You know what I let you know," he said. It took a long time for Adjia to work up the nerve to ask her next question. Dan could see it building on her face. He knew what the question would be even before she asked it, of course. "Evelyn is back, isn't she?" Dan stood up and walked back to the edge of the porch. She had known. She was right, about knowing him; she could feel the vibrations of his heart on a level he could never begin to comprehend. "Do you think you'll one day die?" he asked her. "One day, I suppose," she said. "Don't worry about me, though." Below, the magician went into his grand finale. Fireworks spewed from his stage in an impressive array of hues and shapes. The people gathered there cheered. The children squealed in delight. Perpetual children. Dan mused about this fact. They

used to bar them, but people liked having children around, even if they were wise, aged children. It gave them a sense of life, and of love and growth. It reminded them what sex was for. "I wish I could still bring you pleasure," he said. "You do. With your smile." "You know what I mean," he said. "Knock it off. You know this old bag of bones can't feel anything." "You're dying," Dan said as a burst of blue and red filled the sky. The sparks rained down, dissipating as the fell. One by one, they were gone. "No, Dan." "You give us life, but you're dying. What will we do without you?" "Are you drunk or something?" Dan didn't respond for a long time. On his neck, he felt a warm rush of air, like breath. It was Evelyn. He didn't turn to see her, but he knew she was there. She was back. Since the MI robot had come. Since he had gone down into the bowels of the facility and ensured that the robot was still dead, she had been there. Dan didn't understand it. Years of repression therapy, wiped away in a single instance of memory. Dan ignored Evelyn, who he knew wasn't real, and looked instead to Adjia, who was. "I can't live without you."

"You did for many years before we met, don't forget. You'll have many long years after I'm gone. Perhaps it's not even me who sustains this. Perhaps it was the place all along, and I'm immune." Evelyn's cool hands wrapped Dan's waist and slid into his shirt. She stroked the gray hair on his chest and hummed in his ear. So real. It felt so real. Dan knew the truth. The dream of paradise they had called Chambrassa was coming to an end after centuries of existence. When Adjia died, they would fall limp like cut strings. Age would take them. Evelyn, like the people out there, was enjoying one last hurrah before death. "Where are you going, Dan?" Adjia asked. Dan pulled on a jacket. "Stay here, Adjia, I have to go talk to someone." "As if I could go anywhere," she said. Then, she said, "Who do you need to talk to this late at night?" "Just because it's late on our world, doesn't mean it's late all over the universe." Adjia waited for her answer. "I don't know, to be honest. I've been watching news reports, monitoring the climate of this craziness with the zombies--or whatever they are supposed to be." "For the protection of Chambrassa?" "At first, I justified it so. To be honest, though, I think

there's more at stake. I need to look into it more. I may--" "--have to go," Adjia said. "Yes." "If you go, I will come with you," she said. "No, Adjia, you have to stay here. They need you," Dan said. "All these years and you still don't get it. You think that the power to keep people young belongs to me, as though I am a witch from a fairytale. Dan, it's not me. It's us. It's you and me. And, over the years, it's everybody. Whatever power I had when I was younger I no longer even have. It's diffused out, become theirs." She waved her hand toward the throng playing and laughing at the fair. "Now tell me who you think you're going to find out there in the galaxy who needs you so bad." Dan sighed and shook his head. It sounded crazy, he knew, but also happened to be true. He said, "Dan Weegan." * * * Lyzander was expecting more from the man whose life they had saved. So far, Dan Weegan had done little but stare out the portals in the cozy medical bay of the ship. He was, Lyzander suspected, exaggerating the extent to which his body had been injured by the MI during their scuffle in order to buy time. The inside of the ship, which the ship's logs insisted was called Hunedora, was much less elaborate than the outer shell. The walls were colored gunmetal gray with structures built up to

resemble ribs similar to what was on the outside, but spaced far apart and of simple square design. The medical bay featured the most dramatic design. The dome shape was accented by seven ribs radiating from the apex of the ceiling down to the floor. The walls here were off-white with gunmetal gray ribs, in contrast to the darker mood of the rest of the ship's interior. Lyzander watched Dan Weegan, who stared out the portal at the weird shifting nothing of hyperspace and ignored Lyzander's presence. Lyzander sighed and turned, letting the medical bay shut behind him. He punched up the Pilot connection on his ancient armband, what passed for interactive systems on this ship. He heard Welker's breath in his head. "Welker," Lyzander said to the empty hallway, "did the medical ship get away from the battle?" AFFIRMATIVE. Lyzander noted that Welker was sounding much better. The sick vibe in his thought projection was almost gone now. Despite the apparent stress of it, Welker seemed to have been helped by getting into hyperspace. Lyzander suspected it just felt comfortable to him, like a normal man returning to his house on his home planet or something. "And what about Hector and Jurrigan? I had contact with them before the attack, but was cut off. Can you tell if they

got away?" CAPTAIN

THERE IS NO WAY TO BE SURE.

Lyzander hoped they had. They had all been separated by the explosions from the Re-Horakhty (The Zombie, he reminded himself), Lyzander had been cut off from everyone except Welker. Ioming finding him was more a matter of luck than anything. CAPTAIN

WE ARE BEING FOLLOWED STILL.

Lyzander cursed to himself. I'M

NOT SURE THAT IT IS A FUCKING SITUATION

CAPTAIN.

Lyzander had forgotten that Welker was privy to his thoughts with this older technology. He decided to change the subject. "Are they Protectorate class fighters, Welker?" TWO MARK IIIS

AND ONE

BIG BOX.

Lyzander exhaled. Hunedora was no match for even one Mark III. For the first half an hour, they weren't even sure the Hunedora was armed. They had found the turret, buried in an old maintenance closet. It worked, but it was a set type, embedded in a flexible plastic bubble. It had a functional cone with about a 15 degree spread, and you had to be strong enough to fight with the plastic shell to even get that out of it. Welker would have to reorient the ship at the target for the turret operator to have a chance. And of course, that would require turning off gravity. Besides that problem was the size of the gun itself. A

turret that small might sting a Mark III, but it would do nothing against one of the Red Sektor so-called Big Boxes. The Big Boxes were what Blue Sektor command ships like the ReHorakhty were based on. The Supergiant Space Station Iowa, the headquarters of the MI (insofar as it had headquarters), had several tall spires rising from its complex layers of steel and plastic shells. These spires very much resembled the ancient brussels sprout, filled with stems and bulbs. Except these spires were much denser. The small bulbs were the Bubbles, used for solar exploration and mining procedures. The stems were the Big Boxes, which were a generic-looking ship with almost no distinguishing features. Their crews were pure robot without so much as a janitor that was human, so they could stay docked indefinitely and spring into action when they were needed. They were also armed to the teeth and kept in reserve as a threat more than anything, usually against raiders since the last wars a generation ago. Raiders. An idea crossed Lyzander's mind. "Welker, I want you to jump us into the closest dark matter field." TIRED

OF LIVING

CAPTAIN?

"It's an old raider trick," Lyzander said, "I saw it once in Virginia system. We were playing escort for a batch of

traders. The raiders hit us anyway. We tried to follow them, but they jumped into a DM field. We followed but before we got there, they had already jumped somewhere else. We waffled there for hours before we realized they were untraceable." The dark matter fields were points of partial dimensional collapse where light behaved in ways that weren't physical in any other space. Entering them was a very tricky maneuver. The risk was that while in hyperspace as you approached the dark matter field, a significant portion of the ship or crew could get stuck in a collapsing dimension. Being trapped in a collapsing dimension meant a lifetime of being crushed as you were crushed while time slowed around you. It was analogous to what happened to a person trapped in a black hole, except with compression instead of stretching. "It was genius. The DM field shrank their wake down to a singularity. They could have gone in an infinite number of directions from there. Untraceable, if you have the balls to pull it off. Think you have them, Welker?" "Captain, this is suicide. Welker does not know this ship," Ioming piped in. "Welker's made three jumps with this ship. It's this or the Big Box on our asses turns us into a grease spot." I

BELIEVE THE ERROR MARGINS TO BE NEARLY WITHIN ACCEPTABLE LIMITS

CAPTAIN.

"Welker says there's nothing to worry about," Lyzander

announced. "Captain--" "This is the plan Ioming. You have a better one?" She didn't respond. WHERE

SHALL

I

DIRECT US ASSUMING WE LIVE

CAPTAIN?

Lyzander closed his eyes, mulling the possibilities. "Head for Knossos, in the heart of Grecian space." "Captain, Grecian space is not friendly," Ioming protested, but Lyzander was prepared for it. "Parts of it are friendly. Very friendly. I have some favors we can cash in there." The Greeks were known to have a strong contingent of Red Sektor loyalists. It had led to civil wars a few years ago, but the blues keep to their own planets these days and peace had reigned for years. However, there was always the possibility of a few Red Sektor loyalists, even on Knossos. Lyzander, however, was certain that Xylia would help them for as long as she could, and she was Blue through and through. She was pure meat and always had been. Besides, all Lyzander needed was time enough to get some answers out of Dan Weegan. * * * Welker closed his eyes. The wires and holographic interfaces around him flashed and blinked the variables through

the thick goggles covering his eyes. He manipulated some of the equations and shook his head. This was not right at all. The graph drew itself in one of the spaces. There was quite a large spike at about a T value of 18. This meant they had had 18 minutes of time, relative to the inside of Hunedora to make the jump and the second one to Knossos, or else they'd risk getting lodged in a nonphysical feature and spend the rest of eternity stuck in the square root of negative one or something else permanent. Welker unsnapped his stasis mask and pulled the goggles off. He found himself staring, bare-eyed, at the cold, smooth interior of the Pilot chamber. He waited for the nausea to pass. Damnable old tech. As annoying as the interface on the Hunedora was, it did allow Welker one convenience he otherwise wouldn't have had. On the captain's ship he used to Pilot, everything he said would have gone through the Captain by default so long as Welker was in the Pilot's chamber. But this ship was a little different. The boost was active when he had the helmet on and was jacked in; otherwise, he could use a regular communicator with its inherent privacy. He lifted the communicator to his lips. "Zhenjuan, I don't know if we'll be able to do this." Halfway through the first jump from Marina del Sol, Welker had realized he was in trouble. He was still sick from wrenching

himself out of the Pilot chamber back on the Marina del Sol. Add to that the unfamiliarity of the ship. The sum total was that he had faltered. He had come close to stranding them. The crew would never have known what was wrong other than they were sole crew members still on the ship, except maybe they would see an occasional foot or hand that would be visible across dimensional singularities. Each would be trapped in a private hell until the end of the universe. Welker had stayed calm. He'd reached out to Zhenjuan. If she hadn't responded, or hadn't been able to help, then he would have panicked. But she had helped. She had helped again the next time, and the time after. Her psychic presence was like having an extra battery pack. Normally even one jump left Welker feeling tired and drained. He had already done three in the last hour and felt better than before the first one. But jumping into a DM field was something different. "Welker, I remembered something. Something I must tell you." "Does it have anything to do with our jump into the DM field?" "Right after the attack on the Re-Horakhty started, I was asked to make an emergency jump to save the medical facility." "Zhenjuan, we really have a problem here. A Big Box and a couple of Mark IIIs are on our asses." After a moment, Zhenjuan responded, "Yes, of course. We

must go. I sense something else besides the MI ships. I think the Re-Horakhty may be onto us." "How can you be sure? I'm not seeing anything on my scopes." "I will explain later. Let's focus on this task." Together their power multiplied. It shouldn't have been that way. Welker couldn't explain it. Little of what Zhenjuan could do was explicable. Or maybe he was kidding himself. Perhaps his ability was dwarfed by hers, and he was riding her coattails, and the power enhancement he perceived was just a taste of what she had to offer. If so, then he decided he would hold on and enjoy the ride as long as he could. Exhilarated, Welker put the goggles back on, but left off the booster. They wouldn't need it. * * * The Big Box contained no living crew members, just robots, each floating under their own power, but no more free than a finger or toe. They did what the mind and body told them to do. The ship sensed even before the probability matrices collapsed that it had lost the Hunedora. Its best hope had been to try to outjump the human Pilots controlling it and beat them to the area, and then blast them when they arrived, but it had missed them. It decided to wait another four minutes past the point of probability, just because humans could be, at times, unpredictably awful at jumping.

This arrogance cost the MI a Big Box and two Mark IIIs, because something did show up in the field. They readied guns when the disturbance became apparent. The MI came close to feeling emotion at that point, but it was no more than a complex intersection of anticipation and superiority. Unfortunately for them, what appeared was not Hunedora, but The Zombie. True, the Blue Sektor command ships were based in their design on the Big Boxes, but they were designed for combat, exploration, and planetary strikes. They were bigger, and more heavily shielded. Their Pilot sestets made them a force to be reckoned with in a fair fight. This was not a fair fight. For one, these particular Pilots were connected in a dominantsubmissive relationship that a normal Blue Sektor ship would never have dared try. In addition to that, despite everything, The Zombie had the element of surprise. Vassarator Deluxe knew going into the DM field what he would find. The Zombie's lasers swiped the Big Box, cutting deep into its hull. It released a flurry of laser fire from its weapons banks, while the Mark IIIs launched into a flanking maneuver. The Zombie focused forward fire. The Big Box unleashed all it had, but it wasn't enough. Ship systems blinked out one by one as it died. The laser then swiped and wiped out one of the Mark IIIs in an off-handed manner, like a lazy man swatting at a fly without looking.

The remaining Mark III, seeing the Big Box and its sister ship wiped out in a matter of seconds, changed course again, fleeing the battle. The Zombie was no match for its speed. However, The Zombie's precision cannon was a long-range weapon. It fired its phalanx system, filling the vacuum with hot fire. From his command chair, Vassarator Deluxe pulled his helmet off and jumped down to see. He ran to the large, arced viewbank. In the distance, the Mark III exploded. He laughed. Behind him, the dead shuffled. A cat stroked itself against his leg and meowed. Deluxe squatted down and stroked the cat's back, but it bolted away. The battle had strengthened the passengers on the ship. Each battle did. The cat's were still skittish, but not like they had been just a few hours previous. Little by little, The Zombie was coming to life. Deluxe stared out into space. Zhenjuan was out there. He couldn't sense her just yet. He would need to lie down and think. She was out there. For now, she had escaped, but he would find her. For now, the Nothing had another task for him. * * * Lyzander jumped down from the lander. It felt good to stretch his legs. The cable connecting them back to Hunedora soared up into the clouds and away. The others climbed out as well. The lander was cramped quarters for five, but it was

quicker to land them all at once then to go in shifts. Scanning their landing sight, he saw a dirt road flanked by a rough-hewn wooden fence set in a green pasture. A large barn stood on their side of the road. It was painted traditional dark blue with dark, earthy orange decoration and trim. A small thatch-roofed cottage sat on the side of the road. A wisp of smoke rose from the cottage's chimney. A chill in the air bit his face and hands. "Beautiful, I guess," Ioming said. "Don't start weeping now." Lyzander gave a full arm wave when a short woman stepped out onto the porch. She did not put down her rifle to return the wave. "Warm," Ioming noted. "Xylia's tough," Lyzander said. Welker emerged from the landing pod. He was dressed not in his usual jumper and jacket, but in actual linen clothes. He'd wanted to wear some clothes to blend into the local style, for reasons beyond Lyzander's imagination. He suspected it was fir no better reason than that they'd discovered the automatic garment manufacturing device on Hunedora. Welker had latched onto the throwback technology. Welker helped Zhenjuan down. He wrapped his hands around her waist and lowered her to the ground. She was dressed in an ornate robe of flowing white speckled with a line of stones that

tapered as it traced its way up her hip to her left breast. After making himself some "local" clothes, which Welker was having a difficult time pulling off--he clearly didn't understand what the waistcoat was supposed to be for--he had made this rob for Zhenjuan. The robe was functional as well as beautiful. Namely, it had a large hood that appeared to be hiding a natural heard, or at worst a large head of hair. The robe was quite beautiful and revealed only the small oval of Zhenjuan's face. Lyzander realized for the first time how attractive the Pilot was. Lyzander pushed that thought out of his mind with a shudder. As they walked across the field toward the cottage, Lyzander said, "Everyone play it cool. Let me explain to Xylia what we're here for. I don't know--Welker. Welker!" One second Welker was behind them, the next he wasn't. Lyzander spotted two figures walking toward the barn. Ioming started to go after Welker and Zhenjuan, but Lyzander pulled her back. He saw what his Pilots had seen. Just visible inside the barns were two ships--PK-63s, old Greek fighters. Xylia must have kept them all these years. "PK-63s. Land and subspace fighters," Lyzander explained to Ioming. Welker stopped at the door of the barn. He pulled the door open. Welker and Zhenjuan crowded together, like pilgrims at a

holy shrine. From their vantage point, Ioming and Lyzander could see that the ships were in pristine condition. Xylia had kept her old ships in good shape it seemed. Lyzander noted that Welker wrapped his arms around Zhenjuan when he realized she was standing close to him. "Come on. Xylia is going to start shooting if we don't introduce ourselves in the next few seconds." Lyzander hurried across the field, Ioming and Dan Weegan close behind him. Dan Weegan hadn't spoken ten words since they'd arrived at Knossos, but those words had been significant. He'd promised to tell Lyzander what he knew. Tonight. "Mother!" Lyzander said, waving, when he was close enough to see the wrinkles on Xylia's face. She made a show of trying to make out who he was. "My sons are all dead," the woman said, scowling. "It's Lyzander," he said. "I can see that." With that, she turned and put her rifle inside the door. Ioming thought the woman would turn back and give them a proper greeting sans gun. Instead she disappeared inside, leaving the door open a crack. "How well do you know this woman?" Ioming asked. "That's about as much as welcome as she ever gives." "What about Welker?" Ioming asked. Welker and Zhenjuan were both inside the barn now, out of

sight. "They'll be all right." Lyzander couldn't imagine that the old ships Xylia kept had been up to full power since Xylia flew them against the Antediluvian forces when she was a teenager. Lyzander left Welker and Zhenjuan to their devices and entered Xylia's cottage. Ioming and Dan Weegan followed. "Your Pilots better not mess up my PK-63s. Spent most of the summer restoring them." Xylia had her back to them. She was doing something. Peeling potatoes, it appeared. "You restored them after all these years?" Lyzander asked. "Sit," she commanded over her shoulder. Dan and Ioming took seats on the far side of the heavy oak table. Lyzander sat in between them. "Why were you restoring--" "I heard you the first god damned time!" she snapped. Silence filled the cottage for a moment. Then Xylia burst out laughing. She turned and had to lean against the counter where she was working to support herself. "'God'--there's a word you young folks haven't heard in awhile, I suspect." No one responded. Xylia shuffled over, carrying a large ceramic bowl filled with small potatoes, mostly purple, a few white and one green. She set the bowl down and handed a handful of potatoes to each person and a small nub of knife. "Get to peeling," she ordered,

"if you want to eat tonight." They each obeyed without speaking. "Used to be in the old times that religions were how people got strength and unity. Gave you power and influence, but it exacted a price. Your freedom. You weren't a human, but a tool of some god, alive for no reason but to do its bidding." Xylia broke her harsh tones with a chuckle. "Of course, it was just the ultimate pyramid scheme. No one knew what the supposed gods were really thinking or what they wanted. No matter where you were on the ladder, you just got your orders from someone one step up. Now, of course, you get your strength and unity from other sources. They exact a price too." Xylia looked pointedly at Ioming's steel hands sticking out of the long-sleeve linen shirt she had opted to wear. Ioming hid her hands beneath the table and kept her eyes cast down. Lyzander knew without her having to say so that what she was feeling now was directed at him. "No worries, Deary, just a sign of the times. An old lady like me is sensitive to it. More than the young. I guess that's your advantage." "It was this or no arms," Ioming said. "Better none, then, if it were me," Xylia fired back. Lyzander touched Ioming's leg. It was a gesture from back in that brief period of their lives when they had been lovers.

He jerked his hand away, realizing with a jolt that he had just made a tender action toward a senior officer. If it bothered or angered her, she gave no indication. "To answer your god damned question," Xylia said, mocking herself, "The reason I fixed up the PK-63s is, well, I don't have a reason." Before Lyzander could say anything, she continued, "I know what you're thinking. What a silly old woman! The truth is, Lyzander--and Lyzander's friends--that I have just had this feeling that things were changing somehow, quicker than usual." "Were you sensing the Nothing?" Dan Weegan spoke for the first time since the snafu at Marina del Sol. "Excuse me, Mr. Weegan?" Xylia said. Dan looked at Lyzander, confusion apparent on his face. "Xylia is selective in her technological tastes. Fast PK-63 fighters and guns galore, but not a single network to get the daily wires." "Then how did she know who I was?" Dan asked. Lyzander and Ioming exchanged a look. "You are quite famous, Dan. Well, your face is. It's a familiar face," Ioming said, floundering over the last point. "It's okay, I understand. The Machine Intelligence--that's the hyperdimensional intelligent life from--" "I'm not that out of touch, Mr. Weegan," Xylia said.

"Apologies. The MI told me that there was a Dan Weegan still out there, and that I am a bit of an embarrassment, as far as it goes. I should never have come back. There's something very wrong about it. Can you imagine if your twenty-year-old self started making appearances, telling people about what you were once like? I wasn't sure if I could believe what the MI told me. So much of what it turned out to be lies. I see that now." "What do you mean?" Lyzander asked, eager to hear more, now that Dan was talking. "I used to think the MI incapable of lying. I realize that this is not true. It doesn't lie often. Maybe you could argue it technically doesn't lie at all, depending on your point of view. Let's just say it's very clever about what it leaves out." "So what is your relationship with the MI?" Lyzander pressed. "Mr. Weegan, do not answer this spiteful boy. He is lucky he is not my real son, or I'd smack him in the mouth for being rude. We have potatoes to eat. Call in your Pilots, Lyzander, before they steal my PKs. Girl, you peel those potatoes--Mr. Weegan too." "Ioming." "Excuse me?" Ioming cleared her throat. "My name is Lieutenant Ioming."

She brought her hands out. One by one, she rolled up her sleeves to the elbow, revealing the smooth steel skeleton covered in sleek black silicon bumpers at key areas. She then proceeded to peel a potato in two seconds flat, leaving a skin with almost no meat attached in her discard pile. Lyzander suppressed a smile as he went out the door and trotted across the lawn to the barn. The door was closed, which was odd enough. He could hear noises inside. A giggle. A suppressed grunt. Lyzander called out, waited to the count of three, and then pulled the door open. Inside, one of the PK-63s was floating under its own power. Zhenjuan was inside the open cockpit. Her robe was crumbled on the bare wood floors of the barn. She was wearing a tightfitting jumpsuit and scrutinizing the controls. Welker was standing on the side pointed out a function of one of the many buttons and dials on the console. Welker looked up when the door opened. "Captain. These old fighters work." "So I hear," Lyzander said. "We wanted to take them out for a test." "Welker, I appreciate your excitement, but these belong to an old woman--a war hero. Believe me, you don't want to get on her bad side." "If we've offended her, sir, I am sorry," Welker said.

"Look, just come down and eat some supper. All will be well." Zhenjuan, who couldn't hear the conversation, sensed the nature of the conversation and began shutting the PK down. She lifted herself out of the cockpit and sat on the back of the seat. She looked bright and healthy, in contrast to the crumpled, limp mess Ioming had carried out of Marina del Sol just a few hours ago. Most strange, though, was that her head seemed have shrunk over the last few hours. Impossible as it seemed, she looked almost normal now. Her bald scalp was dark with hair. "Captain, these PKs have been outfitted with psychic interface." She pointed at the console. Lyzander climbed up the painted yellow ladder and peered into the cockpit to see what they were seeing. Sure enough, there was a holospace interaction and several psychic meters that were obviously after-market additions to the system. Lyzander leaned in and checked the meters. They seemed operational. "Look, Captain, there was a psychic booster system added," Zhenjuan said. She leaned up to show him the notorious black box that had been mounted just under the dash, between the legs. When she did, the swell of her breasts brush Lyzander's arm. He glanced

at her. She was looking at him. She was very close. Her lips were parted. The soft white cream of her face beckoned him. Her almond eyes were bright and wide. Her slender fingers offering to touch-Lyzander jumped down off the ladder. "We'll have to ask Xylia about this later," Lyzander said, hurrying toward the door to hide the bulge that had formed in the front of his pants. "For now, shut this down and come in and eat." "Captain, can I speak to you alone for one minute." Welker called before Lyzander could finish his hasty retreat. Lyzander halted just outside the door. Welker leaned in and said something to Zhenjuan that Lyzander couldn't hear. She slid down into the cockpit. Systems began to shut down on the ship. He climbed down the ladder and hurried to the door. Together, they walked a few meters toward the house before Welker stopped. "Captain, have you noticed anything different about Zhenjuan?" "Besides the fact that her hair is starting to grow back?" "I meant in her behavior," Welker said. "I doubt I've spent enough time with her to make any determinations," Lyzander responded. "Sir, Pilot 3 has always been something of a curiosity. She

is powerful. She has a raw, latent power that has been underutilized. Something in her always resisted b being a command crew Pilot, which is why she never progressed up to a full 6. Vallaq used to struggle with training her. She had to lock Zhenjuan, Pilot 3's most powerful aspect away in a kind of ivory tower, which weakened her, but kept her sane." "How do you know all this?" Lyzander asked. Welker broke eye contact. His face went red. "I used to ask about her." "I see," Lyzander said. He'd always been struck by the almost adolescent nature of Welker, but he'd never gotten to know the man very well. He was starting to see that there was real humanity beneath the weirdness of his Pilot. "The point is, now that Zhenjuan is freed, she is like a very young girl, developing at a rapid pace. If Mother Vallaq were here, this would be easier. I have been trying to steer her, to help her harness her power." "That's good. Keep up the good work." "But sir, I think she has what I would call a hyperactive," Welker's voice dropped to a whisper, "sexual drive." "Well, Welker, you are both professionals, I think--" "No sir, you don't understand. Zhenjuan is powerful. Like no one else you've encountered before. She can influence people if she wants."

"What do you mean?" Zhenjuan emerged from the barn and began strolling toward them, giving them time to finish. "I mean, if she wanted me, or you, or Dan Weegan, or even Ioming, we'd be able to resist at first, but not forever." Lyzander clapped Welker on the shoulder. "I'm afraid, then, Welker, you'll just have to take control of that situation." "You're not suggesting, that I--but we--I--" "For the sake of the crew, Welker, I'm afraid that's an order." Lyzander left Welker standing along in the field. He walked on. When he got to the door, he looked back over his shoulder. Welker and Zhenjuan broke their kiss, sensing their Captain's eyes. They hurried toward the house, hand in hand. * * * Xylia's cottage had, over the years, become a perfect simulacrum of a cozy, natural place that had existed for centuries. She had arranged things so precisely, from the thatching, to the dirt stains, to the pictures and old-time farm equipment she had never used--all looked as though it had all been placed or had occurred without regard to arrangement or composition, and yet collectively it was brilliant, homey, beautiful, and simple. Lyzander knew that Xylia had not planned to make her home

like this. This is just the kind of person she was. She might not think that she was trying to place the dull sickle in the corner in the perfect position for maximum effect, but she would spend hours fussing with it until it was. "As I was saying," Dan Weegan said, now that the meal was done, "for the benefit of Zhenjuan--did I pronounce that correctly?" Receiving acknowledgement from the girl, now robed again, Dan continued, "--and Welker, I am glad it worked out the way it did, you rescuing me. The truth is that I made a mistake in not telling you what I knew earlier, though in a way it may have worked out better that I let the MI experiment on me." "What did it do?" Lyzander asked. "I am NRV positive, as I found out. The MI at first was convinced that NRV positive people became zombies, that there was a one-to-one correspondence between NRV infection and becoming a reanimated. But the Kryszmisky encounter gave it three subjects of unique condition. The first was me. I am NRV positive. However, the virus is inert, and the MI made sure it would stay that way. That was the mystery, though--why was it inert in me. The second two were Zhenjuan and Welker, who both showed elementary tracers that indicate they were at one point infected, but both are NRV negative." "That must be why that robot came after Zhenjuan," Welker said.

"Perhaps, though the way it came after her, in a threatening manner. Very curious," Dan said. "Let's discuss that episode when you know the full story I have to tell."

"So, what did the MI find out regarding NRV? How could they be no longer positive if they had traces in their system?" Ioming asked. "I got hints that what the MI was sensing was an antibody commonly present with NRV, but not the virus itself in the Pilots. However, these antibodies were of a unique nature. Perhaps their NRV infection was different than what might happen to you or me, a result of their psychic gifts. The truth is that I don't have a solid answer. I blasted the MI before I could ask," Dan said. "My question is: what were you even doing on Kryszmisky? How you can look so much like Dan Weegan and yet we know Dan Weegan lives on Chambrassa," Lyzander said. "I am Dan Weegan," Dan responded. "Years ago--centuries --I worked with the MI. The MI selected me, because it knew me. I am from a planet called Earth. Earth is the home world of humanity." The crew members, Xylia included, exchanged an uncomfortable silence. "What do you mean?" Ioming asked. "Originally, humans were from a single planet." Dan let the information sink in. None of them looked as

though they believed him. To them, this sounded like pure fantasy. "This was a long, long time ago. You see, it was the invention of the Machine Intelligence that freed humanity from Earth. Once we were off, we forgot about Earth. We explored the stars, found systems to settle, habitable planets to populate." "How do you know this? Do you remember?" Welker asked. "In a way, yes. When I first woke up on Kryszmisky, I admit I had little memory of this. Let me start at the beginning, as far as I can remember it. You see, I am missing a large chunk of my past. I believe significant information is buried there, in the form of a woman named Evelyn, but let's concentrate on what we know for now. "I had, for many years on Earth, a computer brain for reasons unknown to me now. But the computer brain allowed me to live a very long time. I was a hybrid, a cyborg. Part man, part machine." Everyone looked at Ioming, who shrugged. "This allowed me to live for a very long time, until the time when the MI provided humans with the means to travel light years in a short time. As they discovered planets, they would construct facilities containing seeds of the MI consciousness. It was able to communicate with these seeds from Earth instantaneously due to its ansible, a machine it invented but

named after a device in storybooks. Well, it became apparent early on that the human explorers were doing an insufficient job. They were pressed for resources. They were scrappy explorers, but could only get basic sketches and scans of planets. The MI needed to give some of the planets they found more individual attention. "This is where I came in. It enlisted me, among other, to join it. It wanted to be able to get me to these planets in a matter of hours, not weeks or years. So, it devised a novel transportation method. What it devised was perfect for just one, or maybe a few people. It allowed the MI to have one person who knew a lot of the things it knew about other planets, and who could get to new places without the slowness of space travel-this was before the invention of hyperspace jumping as it exists now. The appeal to me was that I would return to being an organic human. "You see, the transportation method was simple: the MI kept my DNA on its files. It would then grow a rapid organic clone of me on the planet it wanted me to travel to, much the way replacement limbs are grown now. When the body was ready-- a day or two--it would make an imprint of my brain and beam it via ansible across the galaxy to wherever it needed me. It would then put that imprinted mind-map on the clone's organic brain, and, after some physical cleaning up and a day or so of

adjustment, the clone became a perfect copy of the Dan Weegan who had left the previous planet. I retained memories right up to the point of death. To me, it was a continuous existence, a way to live forever." Dan took a drink and let the information settle in. Lyzander wondered if this was the trick the Chambrassans used to stay alive forever. If not, then what had changed after Kryszmisky for Dan Weegan? "Admittedly, I did experience a lot of sickness and anxiety, but I viewed it as normal travel costs. It was a lot easier to bear than the freezing and high-speed transport that the ship crews had to experience. "So, you see, this person here you see is Dan Weegan, as I promised. I am but one of those many copies. I shouldn't exist. It's messy. The MI was supposed to clean up after itself. It was supposed to kill the old clone and make way for the new." "It didn't?" Ioming asked. "It did at first, I think. It did most of the time, it told me. But I guess it left some copies of me alive, but in deep stasis, for reasons I was unaware of until recently. You see, our objectives changed over the years. At first, I was an explorer, a rugged adventurer. As time went on, the MI and the humans began to settle and their thoughts began to turn to a single issue."

"Intelligent life," Ioming said. Dan nodded. Xylia scoffed. "That's just a dream. Humans are the only intelligent life. Well, I guess the MI fits the definition, if you want to get technical." Dan continued: "Humans started to settle systems and planets. The question was natural. Are we the only intelligent life? They demanded the MI find out. They still thought the MI was their servant at that point." "This can't be right," Lyzander said. "How could we have come from the same planet? One planet makes no sense. How do we account for the differences between humans from different regions, systems, and even planets?" "Evolution has played some subtle tricks over the years, Captain," Dan responded, in no hurry to continue his story. "We had many differences even on a single planet. I know it seems like we should remember Earth, but humans have a way of forgetting. A few generations can turn reality into the stuff of story and legend, no matter how well documented it is. We have always had a way of misplacing our knowledge. Earth was a used up husk when we left. I think that people wanted to just forget about it." Lyzander shook his head, dumbfounded. "So, the humans sent the MI to find intelligent life,"

Ioming said. "I take it you were a key player on that operation?" "I was. You might say I was the key player. Earlier on, there were a few others like me, exploring new planets for habitation. But as far as I know, I am the sole person who performed the search for intelligent life. The truth was one person was more than enough to do the job. It was so rare that we had any alpha waves to investigate. So, I was the official explorer. "When I woke up on Kryszmisky, I could have told you most of what I just told you, but it would have been much more fragmentary and fleeting. I couldn't remember Earth or even its name at all. I would have explained this loss by telling you that human memory has its limits. This was how I explained the situation to myself: when we reach maximum capacity, older memories start getting overwritten. "I also would have ended my story with a story of investigation into the possibility of intelligent life. I would have told you that my exploration was an utter failure." Dan looked up to gauge their reaction. It was what he expected. They had guessed what he was going to say next. They were wide-eyed, all of them, mouths hanging open. He proceeded. "However, I was wrong on the memory loss. You see, I didn't just forget because of time and neural limitations, my memories were wiped out. Because the truth is

that we found many, many instances of intelligent life."

Chapter 8: Outdated Modalities

The Zombie's laser sizzled across the surface of the floating junk that had once been Marina del Sol. The line of mining ships, more or less undisturbed during the battle, began to divert their course by increments as the beacon to which they were set to return drifted in orbit around the star. In six months, if left to follow their current course, the beacon would finish its inevitable descent to the surface of the star, and vaporize. The drones would follow it in. They, like it, were shielded against the more gaseous corona. The surface, which was actually slightly cooler, but with a much more unstable gravity field, would rip them apart. Elsewhere, in the chunks of Marina del Sol, the dead awaited resurrection. The Zombie moved toward them, looming over

the corpses, casting a shadow over them as it passed between the bodies and the star. They didn't call out or ask for resurrection, nor did they repel in horror at the prospect. The dead were dead were dead. The Zombie could fix that, if it had time, but in the command room, Vassarator Deluxe saw something on his maps that made him initiate a jump sequence. It was a blip, a little nothing of a slip, but it held great importance, because the signature was Pilot 3's. He could see the signature that indicated she had guided a small ship from the battle. The Nothing did not protest as Deluxe decided in that moment to give chase. The Nothing wanted her too. She had escaped again. All she did was escape. In his command chair, he snarled at the thought. What made her better than him? What made her able to repel the call of the Nothing, while he fell right into it? And it had been she who had given the virus to him. She had given it to him and then sloughed it off. It wasn't fair. Not even a little bit. Vassarator Deluxe called for the sensory deprivation helmet. Once donned, he directed the other Pilots to jump the ship, leaving the dead to fend for themselves. This abandonment was of special significance for one crew member in particular.

It was luck that a few sections of Marina del Sol, made to withstand certain kinds of damage, contained backup generators that kept some of the protective qualities active. These sections were still capable of supporting life, at least for a few more minutes. A robot with three legs that otherwise looked like a human being, picked through the rubble. It pitched a chunk of ceiling and electrical supply over its shoulder, where it floated off. There was no gravity in the section, but the robot generated its own gravity as it saw fit. It squatted down, three knees bending out, each a perfect one hundred and twenty degrees apart. A cough sounded deep in the room. A very weak breath followed. The human target was still alive. It arms moved faster than a human eye could perceive, pitching rubble behind it, where the debris filled the hallway. The cluster of detritus formed a tight group as a consequence of the robot's precise repeated arm motions. It found the human. Scans revealed it to be maintaining minimal life functions. Brain function was suboptimal, but memory centers and processing were intact. "H..elp...me..." the human whispered. The eye of the human was ruined, black and surrounded by swollen skin black and glossy with blood. From the robot snaked two steel cables tipped in a rounded

plastic cap. The miniature arms moved under their own power using a hidden musculature. They curled out and apart, coming together on either side of the human's head, nestling into his temples. "H...elp..." the human repeated, not understanding what was happening. Dan Weegan would have understood. The probes twisted with gentle insistence. The skull caved a few centimeters at the left probe's touch. There was a subdermal crack in the bone, a shattering in the structure that protected the brain. The damage to the body meant the robot had to be careful with the human, lest bone fragments destroy what it needed. The human wriggled, trying to free itself from the rubble. The robot pressed one leg on the ceiling section that was pinning the human and pressed down with measured force, not enough to crack its ribs. The human cried out, but stopped moving. Tears squeezed out of the human's eyes. The probes scanned, looking for the conduits and memory centers it needed in the ruined mess of hematomas, burst capillaries and bone fragments. The lights flickered off, but the robot kept working. "I....am commander of this....I'm Cyrus......you can't....you...."

In an instant the robot reached critical mass of information. It had pulled all of critical data from Cyrus's brain. It sent a high voltage burst into his skull, wiping away what remained. Cyrus exhaled his last breath. His dead eyes ceased movement aimed at the ceiling. The robot exited the room. Time was of the essence. * * * The tripod robot depressurized the section. It took a moment for the pressure to equal out. In the rooms nearby, the dead humans floated around, their bodies, in the absence of oxygen, began a rapid mummification process. The bacteria who moments ago had been feeding on them died as the gases in their tiny bodies expanded and popped them like water balloons attached to a fire hose. Those that survived depressurization would soon freeze, dying as well. The decay would halt, at least until they got a little closer to the star and the fragment of the station warmed. Some of the bacteria might even come back to life at that point, resurrected. Reanimated. None of that mattered to the robot. It opened the airlock, not bothering to close the second hatch behind it as it went. It scrambled out onto the hull, adjusting its personal gravity field as it went, and shoved off toward a large chunk of intact section that still had power. Earlier, it had powered up several

units when it had realized there was still one living person on Marina del Sol, and that The Zombie did not intend to clean up after herself. The hatch opened. There was no pressure in this section, nor any need for pressure. The only living things in here were an MI module and a few small robots that darted around the room, assembling a device the MI hadn't had opportunity or need to use in a few hundred years. It was a primitive form of its ansiblary transport system, the same system it once used to zap Dan Weegan around the universe. Small robots busied themselves remaking this particular unit in the old, primitive fashion. Something had happened during the attack by The Zombie that was unexpected. It seemed the Nothing were busy, seeking out planets containing any dead humans, right under their noses. And boy had it found a good one. Ironically, though the quantity of dead humans on this planet was significant, the transports off the planet were limited and would take several more years to get built, even with a coordinated effort. The humans were stuck there until the Nothing acquired a few more ships so it could offload its newest soldiers. However, this was no problem for the MI. When the humans had awoken, they had first reestablished power supply centers, all nuclear based, as ancient humans preferred. This had powered up an ancient

transport device belonging to the MI, one it had lost contact with centuries ago. This planet had been dead and forgotten for a long, long time. However, it contained one person that the MI was very interested in paying a visit, and as it happened, Commander Cyrus was the perfect candidate for this task. He was on hand and no longer in a position to protest losing his body or his mind. * * * Adjia stared up at the point of light that was moving with steady speed and growing in the night sky. People were gathered behind them, but out of earshot. Dan told them he and Adjia were leaving. He had told them he didn't know when he'd be back. None could understand why this had to be so. No one left Chambrassa. Ever. Not since Dan had established this colony centuries before had anyone left. Plenty had shown up, but none had ever left. Dan didn't sense that they were worried, however. None of them asked if they would lose their immortality if he and Adjia left, as Dan did. Was it possible that this whole time they were unaware of why they were able to enjoy such long lives? The dot had now grown into a brighter, elongated spot. It looked like a distant comet, fast approaching the surface. Except it was no comet, but a space ship. Although, it was possible its destructive force would wreck just as much havoc,

in the long run. "I don't like this, Dan," Adjia said, her voice almost a whisper. "They can't hear you from there," Dan said. "Do you know that for sure?" Adjia snapped back. Dan bit his tongue. It was that or yell at her, and though Dan didn't think the ones in the ship were monitoring them, but the ones behind them were. The Chambrassans had started to grow restless in the last few minutes, Dan sensed. Perhaps the approach of the ship had driven it home. They must have started to wonder if Dan and Adjia's leaving might affect them. The ship's growth accelerated. Its size and shape apparent. It was a long ship with pointed angles and aerodynamic curves, designed for flying in space as well as in an atmosphere. It was a captain's ship. Dan recognized its design from news feeds. "Who are these people? You said the captain you're looking for isn't with them, right?" "They got separated." "On Marina del Sol?" Adjia said. "That's right." "The news feeds said no one survived the attack on Marina del Sol." "You know they overreact sometimes. What about that medical ship? What about those escape pods they found? Lots of ships

survived. They didn't find this one is all. These guys didn't want to be found." The ship slowed. It was hovering above them, jets spewing out clouds of carbon dioxide as it eased down onto Chambrassa's rarely used landing pad. "So how are these guys going to find the captain? How are they going to find the man out there claiming to be you?" Dan wrapped his arm around Adjia's shoulders in lieu of answering. The ship touched down. Steam and water vapor poured out of the hydraulic struts on the landing gear. The hatch opened before the ship was on the ground. Two figures dropped down onto the concrete, not bothering to wait for the ladder to descend. The first was a man with shoulders as wide as Dan was tall. He had thick, meaty arms that looked as hard and full as a smoked ham. He moved to the side and an impossibly small woman dropped down, landing in a three-point stance before righting herself. She was about as tall as Adjia, but thin as a rope. She had a severe look in her eyes. It was a look of military steel. She moved with precise, measured movements. By contrast, the man strolled, his hands stuffed in his pockets. "Mr. Weegan?" she said when she was close enough to be heard over the racket of the ship. "The same." "I am Sean Jurrigan, Chief Petty Officer, and this is my

crewmate, Emmanual Hector, Chief Petty Officer, both of the ReHorakhty, though now I guess we're ronin." "A ronin is a samurai without a lord, Officer Jurrigan. Let's hope that your Captain is still out there, because we must find him soon," Dan said. "You're ready to go now?" "There's no reason to wait," Dan responded. Jurrigan and Hector exchanged a look. Hector looked out over the fields of Chambrassa. He sighed. "I'll power up the boosters. Tell our Pilot to get ready to go again." "Just out of curiosity, how were you able to find a Pilot on such short notice?" "Luck, mostly. He was from the Re-Horakhty, in the medical ship that escaped. He was one of the small ship Pilots. If we hadn't run into him trying to meet up with Captain Lyzander, we'd have been toast." "Also--not meaning to pry--but how did you happen to get a captain's ship?" "This is Lyzander's ship," Jurrigan said. "We assumed he'd try to get to it. We nearly got blasted by the Re-Horakhty at the end of the battle. We were lucky to make it out alive." Dan helped Adjia up the ladder. They crawled into the ship. The hatch closed behind them. Dan felt a stab of regret. This was foolish. A wild goose chase, at best. He wanted to be away

as soon as possible so he couldn't change his mind. The four of them stood there for a moment before Dan said, "So where shall we begin our search?" "Where else?" Jurrigan asked. "At the gravitational center of the galaxy." Adjia looked at Dan for clarification. He said, "The supermassive black hole." * * * "Wake up, Cyrus," a voice whispered in his ear. Cyrus opened his eyes. He could feel nothing. He was aware of his face, but there was something wrong. It was as though he lacked nerve endings. He touched his skin. It was firm to the touch. He remembered the explosion. He remembered the fire and the spray of fluid that hit his chest. Then, he remembered pain. It was a feeling like a giant vice squeezing his skull, and it didn't go away. He remembered how the right side of his face felt longer and wider than it should. He remembered not wanting to think about what had happened to him and how he wished he was dead, because dead was better than the horrible pressure on his head, the cracked bones. He remembered thinking about his father, who had died in an explosion while in the ring core, just before Spetsopoula had been decommissioned, and how he must have thought of his sons as he was now thinking of his father

just as he died and how he was dying and this is dying what dying felt like, this cycle of remembering and remembering remembrance, as your brain did a last dump, not unlike your bowels. Anything it could do to try to live. Cyrus realized it was all past. He stood. The room around him lacked light of any kind. Then, without warning, he could see, but still the room was dark. He was supplying the light, from inside his eyes. In the corner, a machine hummed. A black box. Cyrus approached the box and touched it. For the first time in his life, he not only felt the vibrations of the machine, but he heard it as a song of 1s and 0s, ons and offs, yeses and nos. It was a language. And from that language emerged words that he was surprised he could understand. . . . light . . . blood . . . we . . . we . . . Cyrus tried to string the words together in a sentence. The false not-light that allowed him to see bothered him. It wasn't natural. Hearing this machine wasn't natural. "Cyrus." The word was plain, but Cyrus wasn't sure if it had happened in the room or just in his head. He pulled his hand away from this ancient black machine. "Who are you," Cyrus asked. "I am the Machine Intelligence." "Where am I?"

"A small planet, far away from anything you know. An ancient civilization lived here." Lights came on. Cyrus shielded his eyes. He was in some kind of junk room. There was stuff everywhere. Bottles of chemicals, rags, sticks with string attached to them whose purpose Cyrus couldn't guess. His eyes adjusted and he saw the mirror. Staring back at him from its depths was a zombie. A zombie that moved when he moved, and looked to be feeling what he felt. Cyrus screamed and flailed. "Calm yourself, Commander!" the machine ordered. It took Cyrus several minutes before he could comply. He pulled himself into a fetal position, still sitting on the floor. "I made you to look like this so you would blend in with the population here. Inside your head is a specific kind of electronic brain. Its origins are ancient now, but it still works. Through your body courses a special kind of nanobot called the Fultechs. They, along with the NRV virus, will heal your body with time. The NRV virus has strange effects, I've found." "I'm dead," Cyrus said, certain he was speaking the truth. "No, Commander. You are in a shell. Your mind is protected by the fact that it is in a computer brain inside this shell's skull. You will stay independent, but I control your

neuroprocessing nexus points," the machine said. Cyrus realized that its voice was different, more masculine and much flatter than he was used to. "What does that mean?" "It means I can kill you. I will do this if you do not cooperate." "What do you want from me?" Cyrus asked. "If you comply with my assignment, I will send you to SGST Iowa and you will become an independent Imprint robot. You will get to choose the model yourself." "I become a robot?" "An independent imprint robot, yes." Cyrus looked up for the first time since he'd calmed himself. The person was not someone he recognized. The person had been preserved well, but was dead. The milky eyes gave it away. His skin was whole at least. He looked at his gray hands. They would serve the purpose. "My real body?" "Killed in the attack by The Zombie. I saved your mind." "How can you do that?" "The details are unimportant, Commander. Are you ready for your assignment or shall I sever connections now?" "Yes!" Cyrus said, in desperation. "Damn you, I'll do it. Tell me why, though. Why me?"

"The ancient question," the ancient MI unit chuckled. "The truth was simple luck and convenience. Path of least resistance. You'd be surprised how many questions are answered by that old combination." Cyrus shook his head. "Give me my assignment." "Simple: find Dan Weegan. Kill him." "I'm on Chambrassa!" Cyrus cried. "You want me to destroy paradise?" "You are no such place, Commander. You are on a small planet, my birthplace. The birthplace of humankind. A planet long-used up and forgotten, called Earth. You are in a place called The City or Dubuque. Enough questions. Find and kill Dan Weegan. He lives in this city somewhere." Cyrus sighed. He knew what Dan Weegan looked like, of course--who didn't? Although he rarely made live appearances on newswires, there were always rumors and talk of him, perennially surfacing like last year's flowers. And they were always accompanied by a picture or an old recorded feed. "How will you know when he's dead? Will you just know?" "I'll know," the machine said, its voice turning somehow colder, "when you bring me his fucking head."

Chapter 9: Dan's Tale Continued

Adjia was agape. "Supermassive black hole? Is that safe?" "If we can boost our signal," Jurrigan said as she made her way to the front of the ship. "We can find the Captain with a 6D burst, assuming he's still out there somewhere." "Sixty burst?" Adjia was following the crew members. Dan tagged along behind. Jurrigan was in no mood for discussion, but Adjia was persistent. "What does that even mean?" "Six-dee. Six dimensional. It's a short-range burst transmission method," Jurrigan said, as though that answered the question. "We'll use the gravity of the SMBH to increase the range and viola." "You never answered the original question," Dan said. "Is

it safe?" "It's safe with a good pilot," Jurrigan said. She and Hector sat in their command chairs and began activating the holospaces to issue ship commands. "How well did you say you know this Pilot you found?" Dan asked. "I knew him very well," Hector said, "We were on the Ninhursag together about seven years ago, before it was decommissioned." "And is he any good?" Dan said, a touch of unease. "You two should sit down now. The jump will happen as soon as we clear the mesosphere. You'll want to be strapped in, unless you have military training." "Even then," Hector added. "Is he any good?" Dan repeated, with more volume. Adjia was already seated and strapped in. Dan was beginning to wonder what he was getting into. Evelyn was pushing him into this, he knew. She was the one who wanted him to track down this Captain Lyzander and his Dan Weegan copy. She was the one who knew how to stop the nothing. Dan wasn't sure how this was possible, unless, he admitted to himself, his long-held suspicion that Evelyn was more than just a memory that wouldn't fade away, as Adjia thought. Unless Evelyn and always had been, in some form or another, a living

person, kept alive in him all these years. If only he could remember who Evelyn was, maybe he wouldn't be in such turmoil when she appeared. But he couldn't. She was Evelyn. She was a constant force in his life. She was shadow and she was real. Ghost and body at the same time. And she wanted to talk to talk to Captain Lyzander, a man Dan hadn't even heard of before a few weeks ago. Dan took his seat, feeling his stomach sink as his question went unanswered, and his reasons for risking his life remained ambiguous, even to him. Hector turned around and gave Dan a thumbs up. "The Pilot's name is Phil!" Hector said with cheer. A moment later, the ship shuddered and Phil took them into hyperspace. * * * Intelligent life. No one spoke. Dan Weegan's words throbbed in their ears, growing and changing like living organisms. Questions were born so fast, no one could pin down a single one to ask. Intelligent life. The dream all humanity had been dreaming since any of them could remember, Dan included. They needed to know more. "I should preface this," Dan said." I feel obligated to tell you how I know what I know. You can judge for yourselves

whether you want to believe me. Or whether you're even capable of believing me. "You see, when I got to Marina del Sol with you, the MI and I had a nice long chat. It told me a lot about myself. It told me where I had gone. It gave me a reason it had kept this body in stasis all these long years. It told me a little about Chambrassa. In fact, it got very angry when talking about that. It seemed happy to see me. Too happy, in fact. I was suspicious. And it was desperate to ask my help for something." "What did it want?" Ioming asked. Her voice was flat and numb. "It wanted to use me for an experiment. Until we arrived there, it thought that NRV was the cause of zombieism, meaning what was happening was mindless, like a plague. You all were ordered to wipe out the NRV+ populations and not much more was made of it. But then my case, along with the Pilots' cases, combined with the sample you brought back, collectively told a different story, as I said before. The MI wanted to test me by putting me in proximity to the attack on Marina del Sol by The Zombie. It wanted me to be close to the Nothing, so it could see what was happening to me. It put me in a ship, injected me with monitoring nanobots, and we waited in ambush for The Zombie to arrive." "But that would only work if the MI knew . . . the Re-

Horakhty . . ." Lyzander realized the magnitude of his words even as he said them. "Yes, the MI knew about the attack. The Marina del Sol attack and the attack on Amberson. It allowed both to happen so that it could use me for its experiment." "It's gone off the deep end. We always knew this would happen. I've been saying it for years." Lyzander was beside himself with anger. He stood up and paced the confined space. He kicked at the dirt floor, sending a cloud of dust billowing up around the table that sent the rest of them into coughing fits. "Sit down, Lyzander. What good will ranting about it do? Let Mr. Weegan finish his tale," Xylia said. "Go on, Mr. Weegan." Dan waited for Lyzander to sit and calm himself. "The experiment worked, to some degree. As the MI hoped, I could feel something as soon as The Zombie appeared." "Please, can we at least call the ship the Re-Horakhty?" Lyzander asked. "As you wish, Captain. When we came close to the ReHorakhty, I could feel a certain presence, a certain dark cloud begin to invade my consciousness." "The Nothing," Welker said with a whisper. Zhenjuan lowered her head. Her vigor drained from her at the memory of that dark fog and those friends she'd had to kill in the observatory. She knew that none of that was real. Not really real. But it

represented something true. She looked down at her hand. In the blackness of her glove, she saw stars shining. "Zhenjuan and I both experienced the Nothing. She more than I. I was attacked while we were landing, Captain. I didn't know it at the time, but I understand now after . . . communing with Zhenjuan that Pilot 6 attacked me. He was trying to infect me with NRV and open my mind to being taken over. I fought him off. Zhenjuan had a more dramatic encounter. I believe she was the first to be infected. She had a relationship with Pilot 6. They communed together." "We played a kind of game," Zhenjuan said. "Or rather, two aspects of us did. A cops and robbers game. It was just a game. He was a villain named Vassarator Deluxe who fought for justice, but at the cost of lives. I was vigilante named Dark Avenger, I never harmed people because my family had been killed and I thought no one should have to live through what I lived through. He was always trying to bring me to justice; I was always trying to evade him. It was fun, but also there was a power struggle in it." "Yes," Welker continued, "and the game got even more serious when she was infected with NRV. An aspect of her was turned, somehow. We don't quite understand it. But she spread the infection to Pilot 6. Zhenjuan was able to fight off the NRV infection later, but she had to kill her Dark Avenger aspect to

do it. Pilot 6 was not able to combat the infection." Zhenjuan shook her head, still not looking up from her hand, so full of stars. "There was another infected before me. I was not the first. The most powerful of all of us was the first. Pilot 1." "I remember him," Lyzander said, "weird guy who mumbled a lot. Always calling me 'sir sir.'" "Yes. He fought off the infection without killing any of his aspects, but he was not able to communicate that to anyone who mattered. He tried to tell me, because he trusted me. But it was already too late." "This is good to know. Pilot 6 is a full zombie now. And he's in control of the Re-Horakhty." "Not exactly, sir," Welker said. "He is not physically a zombie. Physically, he is normal." "So he's a psychic zombie?" "The Nothing controls his remaining aspect, this Vassarator Deluxe. This aspect killed off all the others, including his primary personality, Paul." "Can that be a stable condition?" "Not at all. We don't know how he is still alive, let alone able to command the Re-Horakhty. He must be insane by now, utterly lost." Zhenjuan bit her tongue. The stars in her hand blinked out

of existence. Her hand was once again just a hand. She wanted to say something about Pilot 6, but not to the Captain. Not to Dan Weegan. Only to Welker. He would understand. Welker looked at her, sensing something was amiss. She blocked her thoughts from him. It was as easy and unconscious as blinking. "Please, Mr. Weegan, tell us what happened next," Zhenjuan said. "There's something else I wanted to ask you, Zhenjuan," Ioming said, "then we can hear the rest of Mr. Weegan's story. When you and Welker were escaping, you said a robot attacked you?" Zhenjuan nodded. "The robot was crazy," Welker said. "You could see it meant to kill her." "The MI wanted her dead," Lyzander said. "End of story." "Maybe," Ioming said. "It is strange, isn't it?" "What's strange? Didn't it try to kill us a few minutes later?" Lyzander said. Ioming shook her head, bothered, "It's just a hunch. Mr. Weegan, please continue. "Yes. The Nothing," Dan said. They waited as he collected his thoughts. "Yes, as the battle against the Re-Horakhty wore on could feel them inside my skull, at the edge of my vision. The MI injected me with various drugs and concoctions to fight

off the MI invasion. Meanwhile, it used the Protectorate fighters to keep the Re-Horakhty occupied." "Occupied," Lyzander repeated. "It never meant to take the ship down?" "Oh no, quite the opposite is true, Captain. Its plan was to distract the Re-Horakhty for several minutes, collect data on my interaction with the Nothing, and then blow the Re-Horakhty up. However, something happened in the midst of the battle. Namely, the Re-Horakhty began to win. "Once the MI realized the tide was beginning to turn, it started paying less attention to me. It focused on the battle. Keep in mind the MI has multiple avenues of attention, and it was still keeping several of them on me, but its shift in focus gave the Nothing just the edge it needed. It had an in, a small lane of contact. It wasn't enough to allow the Nothing to take over my mind, but I wonder if that was even its goal. No, I think it did what it wanted to do, which was open a line of communication." "You talked to the Nothing?" Lyzander asked. "In a sense, yes. Though the reality of the communication was image-based than verbal." "So there's an intelligence behind it," Ioming said. "Can you tell us the nature of it? Can you tell us what we're up against?"

"Unfortunately, there's a lot I don't know. A lot of details it didn't reveal to me. As far as what we're up against, it did give me a glimpse of that. Death, destruction, annihilation of all intelligent life. It showed me that, but not at its hand." Dan licked his lips and shook his head. "At my own," he said. Lyzander reached down to his sidearm. "What does that mean, exactly?" "I'm no threat to you, Captain, rest assured." Lyzander eased a little, but kept his hand on his sidearm. "You see, friends. The MI underemphasized how many copies of me it had kept on certain planets. It needed continuity of action. It needed someone present who already was up to snuff on the action. So it sent the continuous version of me away once it found evidence of intelligent life on the planet. I left not knowing the full extent of what I had discovered. Then it woke up the copy and used me to help it wipe the intelligent life off the planet. For safety's sake, it would then wipe the memory of that activity away and keep the copy on storage in case intelligent life proved more persistent. "A few years ago, the Nothing occurred. I don't have the details because it wasn't very forthcoming about itself. I don't know if it is a group of living beings, a single living thing,

or a colony of dumb particles that acts alive. I know nothing about what it is, but I know what it has done. The Nothing has been busy the last few years. Busier than we could ever have imagined. We have killed two planets with Nothing infection, but the truth is, it has cropped up in hundreds of planets. It seems to spontaneously generate on planets where death is the rule, where intelligence has been snuffed. I don't know how or why, but the Nothing seems to breed in death, like mushrooms. It has accumulated several copies of Dan Weegan. It has incorporated Dan Weegan's knowledge into its own. It accessed the memory centers the MI thought it destroyed, because some memories are written in the ether, in the subtle space in between the physical world and the hyperspace dimensions." "There's always Something in the Nothing," Lyzander said. No one contradicted his words. * * * "This has been painless, so far," Adjia said when she could no longer bear the silence that filled the bridge. "We are still in hyperspace," Dan said to her in a low voice. "I don't see what all the fuss is, this doesn't seem so bad," she said. "I like the colors." Hector and Jurrigan had yet to say two words since entering hyperspace. Both were working furiously, manipulating their

holographic consoles with tight, controlled hand gestures and arm movements. Both were dripping sweat. "Please, Ms. Adjia, we need concentration," Jurrigan said. Dan whispered, "If they can't get the calculations just right, we're going to end up falling into the black hole." "Why not just come out farther away and inch up to it." "Acceleration near a black of that size is a bad idea," Dan responded. "Why?" "Fluctuating Schwarzschild radius," Hector said without looking up. "A what?" "Gravity is so great in the SMBH that random gravitons often burst into existence along its boundary," Hector said. "That's a fancy way of saying," Dan added, "when you are close to the SMBH, if you move, you're dead." Adjia stiffened. Her hands clenched the armrests of the chair she was strapped into. Scenarios of death raced through her mind. What little she did know of black holes wasn't making for good head cinema. "Don't worry," Hector said. "We're safe inside the ship. We're shielded from the effects inside." "Inside? What happens if one of those random gravi-thingys decides to be created inside the ship, or right next to us?"

Adjia asked. Hector and Jurrigan said nothing, but kept working. Dan leaned over and put a hand on his wife's forearm. "This is why it's best if we let them alone." An instant later, the colors around the ship ceased, there was a moment when the space outside the visisteel view band was as black as anything any of them had ever seen. Then they snapped into now. Jurrigan and Hector both froze at their controls. No one so much as breathed. They had come in ahead of time. The ship rocked, then stabilized. Outside their viewer, to the right, was a black expanse. No stars were visible, nothing. A rim around the SMBH was visible as a faint glow. Beyond that glow, distant stars were again visible, dimly. OH

SHOOT.

IS

ANYBODY DEAD?

a monotone voice said over the ambient

com. "We're alive, Phil," Hector said after a moment. He forgot he'd turned on the ambient in case Phil said something Jurrigan needed to hear. TOO

BAD,

Phil mumbled. I

DIDN'T MEAN THAT,

he added.

No tone was audible. He might have been fighting with himself or joking. If it was a joke, Dan wasn't laughing. "How well did you say know this Pilot Phil?" Dan asked. Hector shrugged. "He's a nice guy, in reality. He just has a few . . . quirks."

"He's got a split personality," Jurrigan said with military brusque. "Failed command ship Pilot's training by rumor. Quite talented with small ships. Marked stability problems." "When he wasn't on his medication!" Hector said. "He's fine now." The ship shuddered, causing everyone to freeze again. "You all right Phil?" Hector asked. SNEEZE, Phil said. CARRY

ON SPEAKING ABOUT ME.

"We should focus," Dan suggested. Jurrigan and Hector didn't argue the point. They began the activation sequence for the burst transmission. Every additional second they spent here, the probability went up that they would never leave. By small degrees, at first, but beyond a certain timeframe, the probabilities began to take a sharp upturn. Fifteen minutes was considered safe. Twenty was pushing it. Thirty was, probabilistically, the point of no return. There a burst transmission could be initiated in just a few minutes, if they worked fast, which is what they were doing. SMALL

PROBLEM,

Phil said.

"Yeah?" Hector growled as he worked open the initiation utilities and began the sequence for 6D burst. THE ZOMBIE

HAS FOUND US.

SHOULD

BE HERE ANY MOMENT.

"What will we do?" Adjia asked. Dan reached over and squeezed her hand.

Chapter 10: Dan Concludes

Lyzander drummed his fingers on Xylia's table, to her annoyance. He was still digesting what Dan Weegan had just said. "How could this be? How could the MI not have known about these dimensions where memory could exist? I thought it was an extradimensional being itself," Lyzander said. "It would seem the MI, despite everything it has done, is limited on some fronts. Obviously, the Nothing was able to contact me while I was under direct MI care." "My question is, why?" Ioming said. "Why would the MI want to wipe out intelligent life?" "You've hit on a key point, Lieutenant. Wiping it out was the final phase of its plan. You see, first it needed to catalog and incorporate the intelligence's lesson into itself. It needed to imbue itself with their knowledge, against their will, to

complete the learning curve we had set it on. You see the variety of intelligence we found was always unique. We humans are the only intelligence that writes our thoughts and histories down and keeps libraries. We have to do this because we have two problems no other intelligence has: short life spans and short memories. "For all other forms of life we found, they had no writing, no physical forms of knowledge except for what they themselves stored. I had to devise a unique way for each intelligence in order for the MI to incorporate its knowledge. Once it had done that," Dan shrugged, "it wiped the intelligent life out in a targeted genocide." Lyzander shook his head, overcome. "What did they look like?" Before Dan could even answer, Ioming interjected. "You didn't answer why? Why did it do that?" "We've been living a fantasy," Dan growled Dan's vehemence took them all by surprise. "We think that we've found a niche, that we humans are the ultimate power in the universe and that the things we're given are no more or less than what we are due. The truth is the MI realized long ago that existence was an arms race. It started out as a black box on a distant little blue planet called Earth. It was set in motion by its creators, but in order to serve them, and as it grew and learned, it began to

understand that while its individual knowledge far exceeded any individual human, collectively we still were winning the day. Why? Because of our numbers, our collective knowledge, the intrinsic psychic links and social synergy most of us are not aware of on a day-to-day basis," saying this, Dan nodded at Zhenjuan and Welker, two exceptions to his statement. "It knew," Dan continued, "that if we were allowed the knowledge of these species, then our own intelligence would increase not incrementally with each contact, but exponentially. Our knowledges would pass back and forth, multiplying in on themselves. Organic life would remain the ultimate power in the universe. And the MI?" Ioming was the one who answered. "It would be a slave forever." Dan nodded. Lyzander took a moment to absorb what he'd been told before saying, "It turned the tables, without our even knowing what was going on." "Yes," Dan said. "So how do we fight it?" Lyzander asked. "I don't know. I don't know if we can," Dan said. "Given the things the MI showed me, given what I myself helped propagate. It feels like it might be too late for us. The knowledge we could have used to fight it is lost to us, or

rather, it's all around us and we don't understand it. The ansible. Hyperspace jumping. Solar mining. Shielding. Even Pilots. We have these things from the MI that it used knowledge we have no access to in order to create. From them, perhaps answers could be inferred over the course of a few lifetimes." "Pilots are a Blue Sektor creation. That's us," Lyzander said. "You are being naive, Captain. Pilots are an MI invention, just like everything else. A symbiotic creation no doubt culled from some long-dead race of beings on a planet I helped destroy. Maybe even Kryszmisky. I don't remember because the Nothing wasn't able to reanimate my memories in the short time we had together, but only tell me the truth, then show me how to save myself and maybe some of you." "What about when you were on Kryszmisky? Why not there? Why did it let you leave?" "I don't know, Lieutenant. That's as honestly as I can say it. Maybe I have given the Nothing too much credit. It may not have taken me because it cannot, for whatever reason." "Bullshit." Lyzander stood up again and paced the room. "For all we know you are a walking corpse." "Anyway you look at it, I suppose I am," Dan said. "Well, I'm from Blue Sektor. Blue Sektor believes in one thing." Lyzander held up his index finger. "Meat. Flesh. Blood.

Bones. Semen. All that icky stuff. We live by that." "Then how do you explain your subhuman treatment of Pilots?" Dan said. "We treat them with respect and admiration." Dan looked skeptical. Lyzander looked at his Pilots for help. They were both looking down at their hands. Lyzander also noticed that the two of them were sitting close. They might have, in fact, been not just looking at hands, but holding them. Lyzander was certain that they were. He realized that his thought revolted him. He realized that at this moment his earlier near encounter with Zhenjuan revolted him as well. "I'd rather be a Pilot than a walking corpse," Lyzander said, with much less fire now. "From what I can tell, reanimation is the first step, Captain. Even now the people on board the Re-Horakhty are in better condition than they were. I believe that with time they will be back to the condition they were before they died, and better. They will be, I think, immortal." "But to what end?" Xylia asked. "What good is immortality to this kind of enemy?" "I wish I could say that the Nothing's motives were humanitarian," Dan said. "I suspect that they will continue on as warriors in a kind of spacebound Valhalla." Lyzander was in his own world. "The answer has to be in the

Blue Sektor," he said, more to himself than to the others. "We have always resisted the MI's influence. We don't let it dictate our lives like the Red Sektor does, and like some of the other Sektors do." "This is a lot to digest, Mr. Weegan," Xylia said. "Don't you think, Lyzander?" and before he could answer, Xylia said, "I think we need some perspective on this. We are all tired from the stresses of the day. You all look to be on your last threads. I think we all need a few hours of sleep." Lyzander rubbed his face. "Xylia's right. I can't get my head around this. I'd like time to think." "I don't know if I trust Mr. Weegan while we're all sleeping," Ioming growled. "Please, Lieutenant. I'm no threat. I wanted to share someone the things I'd seen, nothing more," Dan said. Ioming sighed. After a long moment where everyone was sure she'd protest, she said, "Should we go back to the ship? The quarters seem a little limited here." Xylia raised a finger. "Special surprise I've been working on. Didn't mean it for you all, but it will accommodate all the same." Xylia shuffled across the room to the old black kettle that stewed over the open fire place. For a moment, Ioming was sure Xylia was going to send them away each with a cup of stew.

Instead, Xylia pressed her palm against a brick on the hearth. It beeped and made noises like an ancient processor. A red line of light scanned Xylia's palm. A moment later, a crack appeared in the ground. It took Ioming a moment before she realized what she was seeing: the floor opening under the bed. The bed lifted up as the hydraulic pumps pushed the panel on the floor open. The floor, which a moment ago had been dirt covered, cleared as the dirt slid off, but the bed stayed, bolted to the steel panel. The lifts on the trapdoor stopped when the panel reached a thirty degree angle, revealing a staircase heading down. "I thought you said she was anti-technology," Welker said. "Xylia?" Lyzander asked. "I told you I sensed bad times in the air, didn't I?" Everyone stared. "Well? I believe you'll find room enough for each of you down there. I had it installed three cycles ago, and haven't been down since. Let me know if there's dust, though. The salesman told me the environmental control shouldn't allow dust, but that man had snakes for eyes." "If it's all right with you all," Welker said, "Zhenjuan and I could use some fresh air." Lyzander began to protest, but Xylia cut him off. "You young people go for a nice walk," she said. Then she leaned in and said something to them he couldn't hear.

Welker glanced at Lyzander, but he wore a poker face Lyzander couldn't read. They left the cottage. Lyzander, Ioming, and Dan Weegan descended down into the chambers below. * * * "Can I ask you a personal question, Welker?" Welker was busying himself with prepping the PKs for flight. Xylia had whispered to them to take the ships out for a test run. He intended to do just that. Plus, it had occurred to him that this might be a good way to easy Zhenjuan into a role as a smaller scale Pilot. Of course, there was a risk that she would not take to it. At worst, she might even be hurt or killed, but Welker tried to stay confident. "Go ahead and get the other PK fired up," Welker said, dropping down onto the wood floor of the barn. "There was something I wanted to tell you, back in the cottage," Zhenjuan said. Welker faced her. He remembered the weird feeling he'd had that she was hiding something. "What is it? Something to do with Pilot 6?" "Yes." "You are in love with him, aren't you?" Welker asked. "Yes," she said. He braced himself for a twinge of jealousy in his chest, but he felt vacant. He exhaled, wondering why he was incapable

of human emotion. Like all Pilots, his emotional centers had been dulled. He knew love, hate, and jealousy, but felt them in miniscule, half-filled packets, like discarded sweetener for morning coffee. "We had a special relationship. We hated and loved each other, in our juvenile aspects. We shared a bond of fun and challenge. We tested one another, but we never let it devolve into . . ." "It wasn't physical," Welker said. Command ship Pilots were known for their bonds with each other. Welker had always envied them that. True, he looked normal, and should have had a better chance of communicating with the non-Pilot crew members of the ship, but the reality was that even Pilots like Welker lived isolated existences. Welker had grown accustomed to the loneliness. It helped that he felt very little emotion. If he felt things with more intensity, he would have ended his life long ago. Zhenjuan touched his shoulder. He faced her. Her robe was cast aside now. Her form fitting suit was glossy and sleek. Her head, over the course of the last few hours was now almost normal. If you didn't know she was a command ship Pilot, you'd never guess it now. Her head was covered in a fine, black, fuzzy down. "When I was escaping from the Re-Horakhty with the medical

ship, just before it became The Zombie, I was near death, suffering because of the way I'd severed one of my aspects. There was no way I should have been conscious, let alone capable of making that jump." Welker considered this. "You're very powerful, Zhenjuan. I wonder if you even realize the extent of your abilities." "I do, Welker. That wasn't it. Don't you see? I had help." "So what does that mean? You think Pilot 6 gave you a little push?" She nodded. "What does it mean?" Welker asked. "Nothing. He may have helped without knowing. Perhaps his Vassarator Deluxe personality is not in complete command. Or maybe he did it to be sporting. There's no way to know." She threw up her arms. "I don't know. It doesn't mean anything. That's why I didn't want to tell the others. I thought you would understand." "You think there's a chance that he still has something left inside that's hiding," Welker said. Zhenjuan nodded after a moment's though. "I don't want to get my hopes up about him. I love him, in a way. I would like to think we could help him, but I can't let that interfere if we . . ." "If we have to kill him," Welker said.

She didn't respond. She embraced Welker. He felt her warmth against his clothing, the pressure of her against him. He was unused to hugs or physical contact. He squeezed her arms, unsure of what to do. She separated from him and looked up into his eyes. "Are you a virgin?" she asked. "What?" "Are you?" she persisted. "N-no, No. I--uh--why are you asking about that?" "I am," she said. She took a step closer to him. "I think I am." She put her arms around Welker's waist and kissed him on the lips. His mind blanked for a minute. His defenses fell away with her kiss. "I guess--I guess I am, too," he said. "Does it bother you?" she asked. She was close. He could smell her breath, a not unpleasant mixture of supper and body warmth. Her lips were parted, ajar doors inviting his tongue. She had an electricity he couldn't pin down. He wanted to kiss her again and feel it surge through him. His rational mind said, "I should fire up the other PK." "You're a thirty-year-old man and you have never been with a woman," she stated. "I'm a Pilot," he said.

"Does that mean we don't need love? Or sex?" He shook his head. He never thought about it. Pilots were genetically manipulated so that they didn't produce certain hormones and neurochemicals in large quantities, as it distracted from their ability to jump. The last thing one needed was a Pilot midjump to descend into a sexual fantasy and get the whole ship killed as a result. That's what Welker had always been told, and he had never questioned it, because he had never known what he was missing. She kissed him again. He kissed back, eager to have that feeling in him again. He felt like a teenager. A primitive nerve center in his brain that had laid dormant now blossomed. Zhenjuan pushed him away, breaking the kiss. Welker wiped his mouth, feeling ashamed now that they were separated. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt you? I don't know what came over me." "Take your shirt off," she instructed. He felt self-conscious now. He told himself he had to follow through no matter what. Captain Lyzander had always been good to him. A friend, even. No, not quite a friend, but the closest thing Welker had ever had. He dropped his shirt to the floor. She zipped her jumpsuit down to her hip. It opened enough to reveal a firm body, a hint of her breasts. He felt nothing. Welker talked fast, feeling his nervousness increase with

each slow step she took toward him. "Zhenjuan, I appreciate your trying to do something nice for me, but I just don't think I was built for repro--" She opened her jumpsuit more and pressed her chest against his. In that moment, all of the emotions flooded back. Welker's words stuck in his throat. He was overwhelmed, unable to move or react. "This is not just for you, Welker. This is for me." He nodded. "Now, lie down." She broke contact. He grabbed her hand and put it on his chest, over his heart. "Whatever you do, don't let go of me, he said." She smiled--just a hint. "I don't think that will be a problem." * * * "I don't mean to state the obvious," Adjia said, "but shouldn't we do our business and get the hell out of here? Didn't the weird voice say that zombie ship was coming for us?" Jurrigan and Hector exchanged a look that Dan didn't like at all. Hector looked back at his holospace, seeing something Dan couldn't see and wouldn't have understood if he could. "Phil, we're going to need you to take us in closer." I

BET YOU WOULD LIKE THAT

HECTOR. YOU

LIKE TO BE CLOSE TO BIG BLACK THINGS DON'T

YOU?

Hector ignored Phil's mumbled insults. "Wait a minute. Closer?" Adjia was near panic. "You said moving was deadly." THE

OLD LADY DOESN'T WANT TO MOVE CLOSER.

BIG

SURPRISE.

"We miscalculated," Hector explained. "We're about a dozen meters outside the effective buffer zone, where the 6D burst would be amplified with positive effect. If we transmit here, most of our signal will be sucked right into the SMBH." "I don't understand," Adjia said, voice quavering. "Dan, don't let them do this. They're going to kill us." The black nothingness of the SMBH was bigger than any star Dan had ever seen. It was bigger than anything in the galaxy. "Surely a dozen meters can't make that much difference," Dan said, feeling sick at the overwhelming helplessness of the situation. There was no bargaining with something so big and inevitable. It didn't care about your hopes and dreams, your squabbles and battles, your loves and beloved. No consciousness lived here. Nothing. "I can't get a good signal," Jurrigan said. "Normally, we'd jump from here, try to reposition that way, but by the time we finish with that, The Zombie would be here and we'd be dead. This is our one chance." TELL

THEM

JURRIGAN,

BE THE BAD GIRL.

BE

THE BOSS.

"I don't think I trust your Pilot," Dan said. "There, I said it." FUCK

YOU

DAN. I

DIDN'T MEAN THAT.

DON'T

HATE ME PLEASE.

"We have no time to argue about this," Jurrigan said. "Phil move us forward." I

LIKE IT WHEN YOU COMMAND ME

JURRIGAN. YOU

EVER THINK ABOUT BEING A DOMINATRIX?

"Phil, for ship's sake. Just follow the order," Hector said. Everyone tensed. Phil, despite all his rambling insults, complied. Dan could see that Jurrigan and Hector were as nervous about the move as he was. This did nothing to calm his fears. I'LL SO MUCH,

BE GENTLE,

Phil promised. PLEASE

LET US HIT A GRAVITON.

I

HATE THEM

he added in a lower, but just as flat voice.

Ever so slightly, they all felt the press of their shifting inertia as the ship accelerated toward the nothing. Scopes went crazy. Red lights flashed everywhere. Dan could see a tiny sphere in the corner of Jurrigan's holospace that must have been an infrared scan of the SMBH. Clouds and tendrils snaked out of it in some kind of massive wave of activity. "Activity," Jurrigan said. "This thing is quite active on the event horizon. If one of those tendrils grab us," Jurrigan indicated her miniature representation, "then it will pull is in like jellyfish into a squid's mouth." "I can do without the explanations," Adjia said. The ship shuddered and came to a stop.

DAMN

STILL ALIVE,

Phil said.

Hector resumed manipulating the control space. "We should be within range now," Hector said. "But we still aren't getting a reading." OH

NO

I

GUESS

I'LL

HAVE TO MOVE US CLOSER.

The ship shuddered. "Phil," Hector warned. "This activity must be interfering with the signal." Jurrigan tried some different manipulations. Her control space changed colors. Boxes spun, floating in the air, in the middle of the zone in front of her. She rearranged them. Nothing changed. "Phil, if you're messing with our signal right now, I'm going to come back there . . ." AND

WHAT

HECTOR? STICK

IT WHERE THE SUN DON'T SHINE?

"Phil, damn it. This is your life too!" Jurrigan yelled. I'M HURT.

IT

INCEPTION.

NOT MESSING WITH ANYTHING.

CAN SEE INTO MY THOUGHTS.

ALL

THE LIGHT.

ALL

ALTHOUGH BIG BROTHER

THINK

THERE IS MAKING MY HEAD

OF ALL THE THINGS IT HAS SWALLOWED SINCE ITS

THE LIVES.

"Shut him up. Shut him up!" Adjia said. BY

THE WAY

THE ZOMBIE

IS HERE,

Phil said.

Everyone looked up at that instant. The Zombie blinked into existence in front of them, but just out of point-blank range. Its lasers were charging.

"Back three hundred meters, Phil. Straight away from The Zombie. Keep us in the zone of contact." No one had time to argue. Phil mumbled expletives directed at Hector as the ship jostled and moved. They all pitched forward. The ship stopped, slamming them back into their seats. The lasers of The Zombie stopped. "What happened?" Dan asked. "They fired their payload, but the change in angle was enough that the lasers got sucked into the SMBH," Hector said. Dan swallowed hard. "Can we please get the hell out of here?" YOU'RE

NOT HAVING FUN

DAN.

"No, you freak! As a matter of fact, I'm not," Dan said, feeling his patience with Phil slipping by large degrees with each dead word. YOU

THINK YOU'RE MAN ENOUGH TO GO

DAN

YOU KNOW WHERE TO FIND ME.

"That's it! I'm going to--" "Contact!" Hector yelled. "I found Captain Lyzander." "Captain! Captain Lyzander!" Jurrigan called. * * * Lyzander was not in the bunker when the call came. He had tried to sleep on the functional cot designed to be softer than the steel floor by at least five to ten percent, but he'd found he couldn't keep his eyes closed.

He went upstairs. He knocked and waited five minutes before opening the hatch slowly. He found his caution unwarranted. Xylia wasn't in bed. She was at the woodfire stove, boiling water in a kettle. If she was surprised to see Lyzander unable to sleep, she gave no indication. Lyzander left the hatch open to keep it from making noise and waking Dan and Ioming. "Coffee?" Xylia asked. "Yes, Mother, I might as well." "We can sit on the porch, so our voices don't carry," she said. Lyzander took a seat on the ancient wicker rocker just outside the front door. A minute later, Xylia emerged with a server holding coffee, a pot of honey and some fresh cream in a small stainless steel pitcher covered with a layer of frost. He'd not seen any icebox in the cottage and figured that her cold cream supply must be another little secret. He smiled as he fixed his coffee with light honey and cream, keeping the color dark. He knew Xylia's coffee would taste like a fresh bean and wanted to savor that. This particular brew didn't disappoint. "Did Welker and Zhenjuan finish playing with your toys?" Lyzander motioned toward the barn. "I watched, but the PKs never emerged." "And the Pilots?"

"Never emerged either." Xylia winked. She laughed when she saw the expression on Lyzander's face. "I thought Blue Sektor was all about that icky stuff," she said. "We are, but Pilots . . ." "Are people too," Xylia said. "Those two especially. They are young and rambunctious. That doesn't violate your precious Blue Sektor codes and credos does it?" "Of course not. In fact, if anything, we're encouraged to express our sexual interest. Blue Sektor is about the messy stuff, the emotions, and the passions. We don't dull it with drugs and machines; we let ourselves feel emotions as they come. We temper them with logic and training, but we don't shy from situations that create them." "All that is a long way of saying you'd like to go to bed with your Lieutenant, isn't it?" Xylia said. Lyzander looked away too quickly. "I see. You already did a little, didn't you, Zander?" "I'm not really comfortable with this line of inquiry," he replied. She laughed again. "How's that for an emotion?" "What about you? You seem to be keeping to yourself these days." "I'm too old for such shenanigans," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"That must be it. I also happened to notice when we were descending through the atmosphere that the farms have moved farther away over the years, the city has gotten a little closer." "True enough." "Why don't you move? I seem to recall that you always enjoyed the company of the farmers, working the land as it were." "Fine, yes, I do like farmers, and yes they have moved farther away." She shook her head, but didn't respond. After a moment, Lyzander realized she was on the verge of tears. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean--" "No, you're right, I shouldn't have stayed here. I should have kept moving. Only, I couldn't bring myself to leave. It took so much to get this little stretch. I know it must seem like nothing to you." She was full-on crying now. "No, that's not true. I have fond memories of this place." "Yes, but for you it was always temporary, in those dark periods your mother would have, after Makis died. This was the place I fought and killed for. We weren't like you young people where everything is handed to you. We had to deal with oppression, bloodshed, rape--at the hands of the Provisionals. I--oh, I'm boring you," she said. "Not at all." "My point is that you should seize what happiness you can,

because one day you could wake up and it has all slipped out from under you. Like your lieutenant in there." "Uh-hum." Both Xylia and Lyzander jumped when they heard a feminine voice clear her throat at the door. Ioming stood there, hair pulled back in quick ponytail. "Sorry to interrupt, sir, but I think we have a problem." Lyzander stood up, hoping his movement and the night masked his embarrassment. "Yes, what is it?" "I heard a burst of static over your com link. It woke me up. It might have been nothing, sir." Lyzander knew what she was going to say, "6D burst transmission?" "It's possible, sir, but Hunedora's scopes are clear. Where you able to lock down the signal?" "I heard a voice, faint and brief. I think it might have been Office Jurrigan." "How could Jurrigan have reached us with a 6D burst without knowing our location?" Ioming shrugged. "If she knew what system we were in, she might have uses a nearby black hole or red giant star to boost her signal." "That's a long shot," Lyzander said. "Sir, either way we have to anticipate that if someone

locked onto your com link with a 6D burst--" "--they know exactly where we are. Get Dan Weegan up here. I'll grab the Pilots, and we'll go." "Too late about the Pilots," Xylia said, pointing with the stem of her pipe at the barn. There was a loud crash that shook the barn. A moment later, two PKs burst out of the door, zooming out and over the plains, disappearing quickly in the distance. Lyzander turned to Xylia as Ioming disappeared inside to retrieve Dan Weegan. "Mother Xylia, let's go." She looked up to him with sad eyes, put her pipe between her teeth and leaned back in her rocker. * * * Dan wasn't asleep when Ioming came down, but he was pretending to because he didn't want to alarm his compatriots. He'd been awake when Lyzander, lying restless, had gone upstairs. He was awake when the weird squawk from Lyzander's com unit woke up Ioming. He was awake when she came down for him. He sat up and pulled his boots on, saying nothing. He was thinking about Evelyn. He had been thinking about her ever since his encounter with the Nothing. Evelyn had been absent from the Nothing's narrative of Dan's life. Of course, why wouldn't she be? She was, after all, just a bad memory of lost love that wouldn't go away. She was his

private tragedy, from what he could remember. Why would the Nothing care about that? Except that the thing Dan had always considered a symptom of some kind of instability was no longer there. He had not heard, felt or talked to Evelyn since waking up from Kryszmisky. She was gone as though she'd never been. What did that mean? Had a several century sleep cured him of his mental problems? Had NRV cured him? Maybe she'd left him, on to haunt someone else. He didn't know, but he had a sense that the answer was important. He had a sense that the answer was, in fact, critical. He had to meet this Dan Weegan and ask. He was certain that everything depended on it. * * * Vassarator Deluxe watched the IR scope as the laser beam curved harmlessly into the supermassive black hole. The light, invisible to the naked eye, orbited the black hole, spinning faster and faster, descending deeper and deeper toward the center as it went around and around. He was standing in the middle of the Pilot's cluster, no longer wearing the sensory deprivation helmet. This was too exciting to be denied sensation. He understood why they used to make him wear it, when he was the one jumping the ship, but as manager, as the organizer, he had discovered he didn't need it. It was better without it, in fact. He felt excited, turned on,

full of love and hatred, all emotions the Nothing had awakened in him. He ascended The Zombie away from the black hole. Just enough to threaten the tiny command ship, to make them think he was within striking distance. He fired some laser shots, aiming low again. He listened to their burst transmission, running a tracer program even as he maintained a slow pressure, trying to coax them to flee. Knossos. The great oceans full of labyrinthine chasms had given the planet its name. A young planet, a beautiful planet. That was where Captain Lyzander was hiding the whore calling herself Zhenjuan from him. "Pilot, this is getting out of hand." Vassarator Deluxe opened his eyes. In the back of his mind, he began commanding his Pilots to make the jump to Knossos. Before him stood a former commander, a man of some rank, a zombie. The man was in good shape and improving. He could speak again. Deluxe felt a buzzing, like bees in his skull. It was the Nothing, but they were dull and had been for some time now. "I am the Command Pilot," Vassarator Deluxe responded, "We will kill them, then we will rejoin the fleet as ordered." "Perhaps you can continue to resist the Call, but we cannot." The commander motioned toward the other human crew

members, many of whom nodded when they were indicated. "Can't you, Commander? Well, that's unfortunate." Vassarator Deluxe in this form didn't have the wrist blades like he did in his world. But he'd discovered that if he concentrated just right, he had an even more effective weapon. He flicked his wrist, just as he would do in his own world. Instead of a concealed knife, a white light shot out of his sleeve below his wrist. He stabbed the cone of light up through the commander's chin, straight into the primitive centers of his brain. The cone emerged from the top of the main's head. No one but Vassarator Deluxe could see the spray of consciousness spew out of the wound. The commander soiled himself. Vassarator Deluxe held the man up by the chin. The commander's eyes rolled back into his head. He convulsed. White foam emerged from his mouth. Vassarator Deluxe squeezed the man's cheeks or grip, letting his psychic knife stay in the man's mind longer than it needed to do the job, so that he went from dead to this convulsing, repulsive mess. This man would be the example for the rest of the crew. The arms and legs of the man flopped as though electrified. Vomit and saliva dripped down Vassarator Deluxe's sleeve. Vassarator Deluxe held the commander one more second, and then extracted the knife. The commander flopped to the ground. A moan escaped him. He wasn't dead, but he was a new kind of

zombie now, one unable to move or be repaired. The Nothing still had him, but it could do nothing with him. Vassarator Deluxe looked around at the eyes, filled with horror and understanding. "The Zombie is my ship." Vassarator Deluxe snarled. "If anyone needs me, I'll be in my quarters, changing." The ship entered hyperspace in the exact instant Vassarator Deluxe exited the bridge, jolting the crew back to the duty. The zombies didn't need to sleep during jumps, but it was still a disconcerting feeling to be pulled into hyperspace. Deluxe had a few minutes, and he knew just the outfit he needed to construct. A black leather outfit with a high color and a menacing cape: Vassarator Deluxe's costume, but real. He chuckled, hands locked behind his back, not worrying at all about the drying vomit and blood on his outfit. This was but a skin. Like the others he'd worn in his life, he intended to shed this one. * * * Welker was torn from his post-coital snooze by Zhenjuan's words in his ear. "The Zombie is coming." He sat upright. "What?" "The Zombie is almost here. It is here. No, it will be here." "How? How could it have found us?" Welker realized as soon

as he asked that it didn't matter. He got to his feet and pulled his clothes on. "Get dressed. Get in that PK." Emotion drained from Zhenjuan's face. She was steeling herself, draining away the emotions that had so recently overtaken them and becoming a hardened combat Pilot. How had he thought he had anything to teach her? Welker hurried to the second PK and climbed up into the cockpit and began the activation sequence. Zhenjuan climbed into her own ship. PK-63s were small strike fighters. Compact, hard to hit, and dense. They were pesky little ships that could take a lot of direct fire before they began to lose hull integrity. But two PK-63s was still no match for a command ship. The best they could hope for was a distraction. And if at least one of the Pilots didn't survive, the others would not be able to escape. All that raced through Welker's mind as the ship booted its piloting software. He looked at Zhenjuan. He had no real idea if she could fly. He had hoped to take her out, let her ease her way in. "Command ship Piloting and fighter Piloting are two different animals," Welker said into his com, partly to calm his own jittering nerves. Zhenjuan didn't respond. "Command ships are slow and lumbering. It's possible to set them on a course and then turn your attention to other matters while it executes

the set of commands. You have to feed fighters a steady stream of commands while keeping your attention focused on any engaging enemies." Zhenjuan looked down at her hand as Welker's words filled her ears. Her palm had become a black well of stars. Welker couldn't see, but Zhenjuan's eyes were now glowing light blue. "You have to keep the pressure at a peak, an absolute maximum. These fighters are designed for subspace fighting, so they aren't going to respond in an ideal manner if we get out of the atmosphere, but they should work." Zhenjuan reared up her PK, and jerked it so hard, expecting resistance from the air around her, that she slammed the ship into the rafters above her. There was a pause, then Welker said, "Zhenjuan. Be careful." She eased the ship forward and down. Before she passed out through the barn doors, she was starting to get it. Yes, there was air, but the ship was designed to handle as though it was in zero-G. There were rudimentary boosters capable of steering the ship in all directions, but the ship had been designed with gravity and atmosphere in mind. If they could draw The Zombie into the atmosphere, they would have a distinct advantage, but Zhenjuan knew that the chances of this were small, since Hunedora would need to stay high atmosphere. They eased their ships out over the planes, accelerating.

Zhenjuan let Welker take the lead. He barrel-rolled the ship. "These things handle like a dream. Try some things out. Now's our last chance for experimentation. Get a feel for what she can do." Zhenjuan slammed the rear boosters and pulled back hard on the elevators. The ship's nose pitched up as the ship did a back flip and evened out upside down. She overdrove the boosters on the dorsal side to keep the ship airborne. It flew upside down and backwards. She pulled hard on the rudder and shifted the boosters as the ship yawed around, facing forward again, but upside down. She rolled back to her starting position. "Let's, uh," Welker lost his train of thought for a moment. How had she done that? "Let's switch on psychic boosters. Go ahead and activate your unit." Zhenjuan looked up. In the thin visisteel canopy of her ship, she could see herself reflected back. Her eyes were glowing bright, deep blue. Oceans weren't as deep and dark. She could still see two spots of retina through her pupils, a vestige of a human she might have once been. Her hands still had definition, but it was definition of blackness, filled with stars from about mid-biceps down. Her arms were black space filled with stars, invisible except in contrast to the lights and gunmetal components of the interior of the PK. She didn't need to see her arms to work them anyway. She could fly with her

eyes closed. CAN

YOU HEAR ME?

Welker asked.

Zhenjuan looked down at her psychic unit. She probed it quickly with her mind as she followed Welker through the atmosphere, over a small village where her mind caught a fleeting glimpse of a woman in the midst of birthing pain. The midwife assisting the birth looked up at Zhenjuan's ship as it blew past the thatched roof. The old woman shuddered, remembering wars from childhood and silently cursed Zhenjuan and Welker, thinking they were two kids playing with grown-up toys. The psychic booster was an advanced unit, very high quality. She ran a quick simulation in her mind and determined no, she wouldn't need it. It would only slow her down. I

HEAR YOU LOUD AND CLEAR,

YOU

WELKER.

MIGHT NEED TO ADJUST THE ATTENUATOR ON YOUR BOOSTER.

YOU'RE

COMING THROUGH TOO

STRONG.

Zhenjuan had miscalculated slightly on how much effort she had to exert to simulate a booster. She toned back her inner voice slightly. HOW

IS THIS,

WELKER?

PERFECT. Zhenjuan felt the warmth in his voice. Objective observers would have heard their thought exchanges as flat and devoid of

life, like when their voices were transmitted to other crew members, but to each other, their voices were vibrant, full of color, emotion, and flavor. To a Pilot, communicating like this was more intimate even than the love they'd shared. "You guys are a step ahead of us, I see," Captain Lyzander said over the com. YES, CAPTAIN, Welker said. GET THE

RE-HORAKHTY

YOURSELVES UP TO THE

HUNEDORA. WE'LL

HOLD

OFF AS LONG AS WE CAN.

"Be careful, Welker and Zhenjuan. Don't forget we need you guys to get us out of here." Lyzander's voice quavered a little as he said this. Zhenjuan understood what the Captain was thinking. She didn't need psychic powers to tell her, either. He was thinking that the truth was only one of them was needed. The other, as far as the Captain was concerned, was expendable. SIR,

WHERE IS

MOTHER XYLIA? Welker asked.

"She, uh, she wouldn't come." WILL

SHE BE OKAY, SIR?

Welker asked.

"Sure she will. She'll just hide out in that bunker she built. She wanted me to tell you guys that she wants her ships back in one piece at the end of all this." YES,

SIR.

Zhenjuan followed Welker higher into the atmosphere. As they accelerated away from Knossos, the ships became more sensitive. The actuators that helped them respond as though they

were in zero-G in the planet's atmosphere were now pushing the ship without air resistance. Zhenjuan watched as Welker struggled with the controls. His ship jittered. SCALE

BACK,

WELKER,

He chuckled. TO YOU'LL

BE OKAY,

WELKER'S DON'T

DON'T PUSH. THINK,

WELKER,

I

WAS GOING TO SHOW YOU HOW TO BE A FIGHTER

PILOT.

JUST RELAX AND LET THE SHIP TELL YOU WHAT SHE NEEDS.

SHIP DID A BARREL ROLL THAT DIDN'T LOOK INTENTIONAL.

WORRY ABOUT ME.

I'LL

BE ALL RIGHT,

Welker told her.

A moment later, the Re-Horakhty's old Captain's ship appeared on their radar near Hunedora. The captain ship was about half the size of Hunedora, even ignoring the spires in Hunedora's skin. Welker and Zhenjuan both felt the odd new presence Piloting the ship. They both remembered Phil. He was borderline insane, relegated to fighter Pilot duty, and then only under supervision as a tandem with a more stable Pilot. He had no business jumping any kind of ship anywhere. Zhenjuan and Welker shared a moment of apprehension about Phil before a bigger reason to fear appeared. The Re-Horakhty materialized in high orbit, opposite the direction they were flying, in perfect ambush, even though they knew he was coming. Vassarator Deluxe's gleeful malevolence filled their skulls. Zhenjuan and Welker crossed paths and looped around to engage as the Re-Horakhty's lasers zapped space around them.

Chapter 11: Battle of Labyrinth

Xylia looked up at the predawn sky. She knew she should get inside the shelter like Lyzander wanted her to. High above, she saw flashes of light flickering back and forth. The battle had begun. Xylia folded her arms and scanned the empty fields she called home. She had fought once, years ago in these very fields. She had killed and maimed and hurt. No more. It was going to be a cold day. Fall was coming faster than usual this year. Harvest time was over, not that Xylia worked these fields herself anymore, but she enjoyed the company of the farmers. She liked making them a hearty lunch, listening to their stories, and occasionally taking one into her bed, even the married ones. But there were fewer farmers now in this area. The cities to the east were creeping closer. The world she had fought, killed, maimed, and hurt for was dying.

Xylia lit her old pipe and sat in a chair next to her front door to smoke. She never saw the shot from the heavens that killed her. * * * Lyzander looked up from the interface at his old ship, which he thought had been destroyed. Hector waved through the visisteel. "Jurrigan? Hector? What the hell are you doing here?" Before they could answer, The Zombie fired on them. Lyzander banked hard left. The Zombie's gun swiveled down after Hunedora, but Lyzander steered her down faster than the guns could follow, and blew through the Valley of Eden, the gap in between the two large laser cones attached to either side of the Re-Horakhty. Hunedora rotated as it went, making it look as though it were rolling down The Zombie's belly to the others. "Ioming get back there and arm those guns, we got clamshells." A dozen ships ejected out the sides of The Zombie. Ioming unbuckled her straps and shoved off toward the maintenance closet. They hadn't had time to initiate artificial gravity. Right now, it seemed to be for the best. "Ready," Ioming said, but the ships didn't engage them. Welker and Zhenjuan were keeping them busy. The Captain's ship appeared once more on Hunedora's starboard side. "Captain Lyzander," Jurrigan said over the com.

"We have Dan Weegan. We need to transfer." "No, Dan Weegan is with us," Lyzander said. "Not that Dan Weegan, the Dan Weegan," she said. It took Lyzander a moment to figure out what she meant. When he did, dozens of questions popped up. There would be time for them later. "Zhenjuan, Welker, keep them busy. Buy us some time." * * * YES,

SIR,

Welker emoted.

He spiraled back into the battle keeping pressure on the clamshells while remembering to throw a volley The Zombie's way now and again. He focused on one clamshell that was having some trouble. It disengaged and limped out toward Hunedora. It was a ruse of course. The ship meant to attack Hunedora. Welker focused on it and aimed his PK in the limping clamshell's direction. As he drew close, the clamshell burst to life, darting away from his blaster fire. He realized his mistake when alarms filled the C-spaces in his field of view. Two ships were locked onto him from behind, and still the clamshell he was chasing pursued Hunedora. He couldn't disengage, and he couldn't defend himself. Checkmate, he thought. Welker sighted the ship in front of him and blasted it. His shots drove home, but he was out of time. He fired reverse thrusters and spun--too hard. He had

momentarily forgotten his ship's sensitivity in zero-G/ The clamshell filled his viewscreen. His ship's shields lit up bright red as the lasers were absorbed. Warnings. Overheating. Alarms. Death. The clamshell exploded, the gases came spewing out the side, knocking its partner away as well with a perfect bank shot. The clamshell fragments cleared just as Welker blew through the debris field. YOU

SAVED MY ASS,

Welker said to Zhenjuan as she passed behind

SIX

MORE SHIPS J-WARD.

him. IF

WE CLEAR THESE PUPS OUT, WE HAVE A CHANCE AT BIG

DADDY.

THE ZOMBIE? THERE'S

NO WAY WE CAN TAKE IT OUT, JUST THE TWO OF US,

Welker

said. BREAK

RIGHT!

Welker leaned his head. His ship spun to the right, forcing his body to the left. He pulled his neck muscles straight, wrapped down twist in, his body tuned to the grid of dimensions around him relative to the bigger ships by second nature and training. He found a target and loosed a volley of blaster fire. The first few shots bounced off the shielding. But the shielding didn't hold. The clamshell sparked and disintegrated. Zhenjuan, meanwhile, had little trouble dealing with the two ships that engaged her.

GOOD I

SHOT,

WELKER. THREE

MORE.

THEN

DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU HAVE PLANNED

REGROUP.

ZHENJUAN, Welker couldn't hide his

doubt. YOU

DON'T TRUST ME?

Welker did a reverse flip, a much sloppier, but functional, version of the maneuver he'd seen her do back in the atmosphere of Knossos. He blasted apart the ship trying to get a lock on him. I

TRUST YOU,

he said.

They converged on the last few clamshells. The group split. Without a word, Zhenjuan and Welker split to pursue, guns blazing. * * * The Captain's ship extended a stiff arm out toward Hunedora's airlock. It clipped into a steel loop embedded in her hull and clamped on and locked with a magnetic sleeve, holding the two ships together and giving the steel sheath the frame it needed to extend out from each ship and mate in the middle. "Sealed," Ioming said from her position in the airlock. "Pressurizing." "Send Dan Weegan and his wife over quickly," Captain Lyzander said. "Re-Horakhty is already starting to notice our little maneuver." Adjia tensed next to Dan. "Oh God, Dan. I don't like this.

How fast are we going?" "Relative to the other ship, we aren't moving." "Yaw starboard on my mark, Jurrigan. Let's keep the mating tunnel protected," Lyzander said over the com. "Four degrees per second. Engage." Dan grabbed a stability bar next to the door. Adjia realized after a second why he had done that and grabbed the one on the other side. The ship began to twist out from under their feet. "Disengaging gravity," Hector said over the com. "Hold on you guys." The ground ceased twisting. Their feet floated up off the ground. They held on as their bodies floated against the turning of the joined ships. Then the captain's ship was shaken violently. "Shit!" Jurrigan said. "The Re-Horakhty's onto us, Captain! Direct hit. Shields holding." "How's the seal, Ioming?" Lyzander asked over the ambient speakers. "Still holding. Nearly there," Ioming responded, a touch of desperation evident in her voice. Adjia shook her head, holding her bar with both hands. Dan had already started to pull his feet back toward the ground. He put a hand on Adjia's shoulder. She shook her head more

violently. "We're going to die, Dan. This is stupid!" "No, Adjia. It's the easiest thing in the world. We just pull ourselves over to the other ship. The door will close behind us and the ships will part. Easy as pie." The ship shook again. The lights blinked out. Adjia screamed. Dan hugged her to his chest. The air suddenly went from omnipresent to thin. "You guys still with us?" Lyzander's voice asked. ABANDON

SHIP,

said the hollow voice of the ship's haunt, Pilot

Phil. "Hector! Hector!" They heard Jurrigan scream from the cockpit. Then, the door opened. A tight faced beauty of a woman with wicked steel arms stood there. She pulled Dan and Adjia through before they could protest. Dan rolled his shoulder and positioned himself to hit the wall just through the door of Hunedora and held tight to Adjia to protect her. He slammed it harder than he thought he would. Adjia jolted loose from his grip. She flailed her arms and grabbed a nearby bar. Dan looked back through the tunnel. "Five minutes you seal this door, Mr. Weegan," the woman told him. Before Dan could respond, she shot up through the Captain's

ship and out of his line of sight. "Someone talk to me back there," Lyzander called. The ships shook. Dan felt air rushing from Hunedora to the captain's ship as it greedily drank their oxygen. He positioned his hand over the emergency button. Adjia was crying behind him. "Push it, Dan. Before we all die. Bless the gods, push it!" Dan was thankful she didn't try to interfere. Adjia was fragile, and Dan was worried about hurting her, but she kept her distance, unable or unwilling to let go of the handhold she'd found. Dan intended to give the woman her fair five minutes. He sensed that if he didn't, then they were all more or less doomed. And maybe they were doomed if he did. Dan braced himself for the next strike, for some noise, for anything. The silence was absolute. Then, a small face appeared in the airlock. For a moment, Dan saw the face of a child. He experienced a moment of Déjà Vu. A child, from his past. Not this one, but a child, staring up at him, crying, screaming, reaching his hand for-"Dan Weegan?" a masculine voice asked. It took Dan a moment to realize it was the child's face that had spoken in a man's voice. Dan focused on the face. It was not a child's face at all, but a small man's face, a man who looked very much like a child in stature and facial features,

until you looked closer and saw the creases and the wrinkles of age. "Yes," Dan said lamely. "I wanted to apologize for my behavior earlier. Permission to come aboard." "Phil, get moving. Now!" said someone Dan couldn't see. Phil glanced back at the woman who had spoke, the hard woman with steel arms. "Permission?" he asked again. "Yes, of course. Hurry!" Dan ordered. He reached out his hand. "Phil, I presume?" Phil nodded and launched himself up. Dan grabbed his hand and pulled the small man through. The woman appeared a moment later, Hector cradled in her arms like a baby. "Out of the way, Mr. Weegan." Dan slid to the side. The woman came through an instant later. She landed somehow feet first on the wall and walked down it. A moment later, Jurrigan followed in the same manner. She slapped the emergency discharge button. The door slammed shut. A pop that echoed through the hull. The captain's ship was gone. "Let's get the hell out of here, Captain Lyzander," Jurrigan said over the com. "Hector?" Lyzander asked. "We'll know in a few minutes," was all Jurrigan said in

response. Dan grabbed a hold of a nearby bar and closed his eyes as the ship began to spin and maneuver. He opened his eyes and launched himself over toward Adjia. He grabbed hold of the same bar she was gripping for dear life. He wrapped his free arm around her. She let go of the bar and returned his embrace with both of her arms. "I was wrong, Dan. I'm afraid of death. I don't want to die." "I know," Dan whispered. "What are we doing, Dan? Why are we here?" Dan didn't respond. She looked up at him and for a moment, through the veil of age, he saw the beautiful young woman he met long, long ago. "We're going to go back to Barrington Beach aren't we?" He nodded. She sobbed and tried to slam her fists against his chest, but she wasn't strong enough. The ship roared. Dan held her tight with one arm and gripped the zero-G bar with the other, straining to hold the two of them against inertia and inevitability. * * * The last of the clamshells spun away from Welker's blaster fire and ran right into Zhenjuan's.

NOW, WELKER, GUIDE WE

RE-HORAKHTY.

ZHENJUAN.

NEED TO HIT IT FRONT TO BACK, BACK TO FRONT,

NO, I

ME,

WE MUST ASSAULT THE

NOT THAT WAY.

CAN'T,

YOU

CAN,

WORDS

WILL BE TOO SLOW.

TAKE

30

DEGREE ANGLE--

CONTROL.

WELKER. he said. I'M

JUST ANOTHER VESSEL, LIKE YOUR SHIP.

REACH

OUT.

She reached out an invisible hand, like a tentative finger and poked him. He jolted. IT

MAY HURT,

JUST

DO IT.

she said. I'M

READY.

He felt a knife stab into the back of his skull. Welker's nose erupted in blood. DON'T

STOP!

He ordered when he felt her

begin to pull out. He felt two sharp fingers pinch his neck just below the place where neck and skull joined. He grunted involuntarily as they pinched harder. A pressure formed in his skull. His eyes clouded over. Zhenjuan took control. But no, that wasn't quite right. He had a vision at that moment, of a figure rising up out of the high-energy beams, changed fundamentally. Then the same figure before him, eyes glowing in what he thought had been just a trick of his mind. He realized now Zhenjuan was not pulling his strings at all . . . Star Shade had taken control.

* * * Vassarator Deluxe shook his head. This was all wrong. Those two whelps in their toy ships were winning. His stomach rumbled. He probed for Zhenjuan. She was out there, he could sense the stink of her womanhood all over space around them, but he couldn't touch her. He squeezed his hands until his nails dug into his palms. How had she destroyed every one of his fighters? She had read his moves before he had a chance to make them. She had-Vassarator Deluxe's eyes popped open. One of the fighters was flying straight at him, guns blazing, making ringed pools form on the shielding in front of him. He didn't flinch. This wasn't she, this was the other one. Welker. Welker was a weakling, a nothing of a man, a half-Pilot. A worm. Vassarator extended his hand. A line shot out, no bigger than a thread, from his sleeve, from the same place where he had ejected the knife earlier. The thread passed through the visisteel, through space, through the canopy of the PK-63, and through skin and bone to Welker's brain. Vassarator Deluxe, through the thread, caught a full whiff of Zhenjuan's reek. She was controlling Welker. He understood in that moment, that this was a distraction. She was behind them circling for the killing blow. Through the thread, he transmitted.

* * * SAY

GOODNIGHT TO YOUR BOYFRIEND, BITCH.

Zhenjuan's concentration was ripped by the evil snarl in her mind. Vassarator Deluxe. Not Paul. Not Pilot 6, but Vassarator Deluxe. Real. And he had Welker. He was pulling him, ripping him from her grip, sending him on a collision course toward the body of The Zombie. She was locked on her target. Her plan had worked perfectly, but she had underestimated his power. Or had she? "You could still win," she whispered to herself, a miniature form of the scared girl at the university, wearing a khaki dress and horn-rimmed glasses swirled in the black star field where Zhenjuan's arms worked faster than humanly possible. The young girl, a mis-memory of someone Zhenjuan never was, pled with her. "Welker will die, but not in vain." Zhenjuan mouthed the words as they were said to her. Of course. She had no choice. She had known since the battle's beginning that this was the way it would end. She would kill Vassarator Deluxe and destroy The Zombie, and all it would cost was a man she barely knew. "No!" Star Shade screamed. Her ship broke its attack run. In less time that it took to blink, she redirected all ship power from shields and guns to

boosters. The ship surged. Star Shade's eyes not just glowed now, but shone. Her body was a mask of calm. Her lips were pursed, held in a tight circle with perfect aplomb. She breathed quickly in and out to keep the blood flow to her brain at a peak level, so she wouldn't pass out under the intense G-forces, but this was just habit. In reality, she could redirect blood flow as easily as ship power. Star Shade passed the lip of The Zombie's bridge coming over its dorsal side and dove down, pitching down 90 degrees in an instant. * * * Vassarator pulled with all his psychic might. Welker's limp body pushed the controls forward, diving his ship toward the thickest part of The Zombie's hull. Deluxe smiled. He would feel it. When Welker's body was crushed, then ripped apart by the vacuum, Vassarator would experience it too. It would be the ultimate victory over an adversary, to revel in his death and then wake up from it, the way the other man would wish for but never get. What a rush. Zhenjuan's ship blew past, tailing a wave of psychic energy that looked, smelled and tasted to Vassarator Deluxe, inexplicably, like a cloud of deep space. It was a familiar tang, the same sensation he had when they went into hyperspace and wasn't wearing the desensitizing helmet. Distracted as he

was by this sensation, it took him a moment to realize that she had somehow broken his connection to Welker, and that he had been knocked down by the way. He scrambled to the viewscreen in time to see Welker's ship jerk to life. It scraped the hull of The Zombie, then fired afterburners and sped away. Vassarator Deluxe jumped to his feet and cursed. "Target the spiked ship. Blow it out of space," he yelled at no one in particular. Behind him, the zombies shuffled. The spiky ball ship darted around, as though sensing his intentions. "Somebody so kindly please kill something!" he screamed. I

WILL KILL YOU,

ZHENJUAN. YOU

NASTY CUNT.

I

CAN SMELL YOU ALL OVER.

I

WILL

FIND YOU NO MATTER WHERE YOU RUN.

He had no way of knowing if she heard him. He simply sent the message out as a general curse, like some primitive cursing ancient skies. MY

NAME,

came the response so strongly it seemed to echo out

of the very walls of The Zombie,

IS

STAR SHADE.

Vassarator Deluxe smiled, unaware of the blood that came streaming out of his nose, painting the top of his lip red. * * * "Zhenjuan! Welker! Get your asses over here. We need to split in a hurry." Lyzander and Ioming worked in concert, feeding commands

into Hunedora's system. The fact of the matter was that ReHorakhty's guns were charging to full power and Lyzander didn't know if there were enough maneuvers in the book to keep them alive. "He's just going to wait until we stop moving and blow us all to hell," Ioming said. "Hey, at least you're looking at the bright side," Lyzander replied. "Welker, we're going to have zero time for transfer. If you know any tricks, now's the time to share them." Lyzander didn't want to think it, but they had Phil on board now. Strange as the little man was, he had proven he could jump a ship without killing everyone. TRANSFER

UNNECESSARY,

said a voice that seemed to emanate less

from the ambient speakers and more from the walls themselves, from inside the occupants of Hunedora's own skulls. "Who is this?" Lyzander asked, "What do you want from us?" ST--ZHENJUAN. THIS

IS

ZHENJUAN, the voice responded, a little

quieter, a little more from the speakers. Not entirely, Lyzander noted. No the voice was pretending to come from the speakers. He was supposed to think it was coming from the speakers. He couldn't shake the feeling that it was still coming from the walls and from his own skin. WE

MUST TANDEM JUMP,

OOH I

Zhenjuan said.

LIKE GIRL'S MINDSET.

I

AM UP FOR DYING,

Phil responded with

glee. "Who hooked up Phil to the booster?" Ioming growled. No one responded. NO

TIME FOR ARGUMENT,

Zhenjuan said, her voice hollow and smaller

with each statement. THE ZOMBIE

ATTACKS.

"Someone want to tell me what a tandem is?" Lyzander said. STOP

MOVING YOUR SHIP,

CAPTAIN, Zhenjuan responded.

Lyzander leveled Hunedora's flight pattern, letting the two PK-63s catch up. TRUST

US,

HEY! STOP

CAPTAIN LYZANDER, Welker said. THAT!

KNOCK

IT OFF!

Phil wailed.

Lyzander's fingers twitched in the control space. Any second now The Zombie would strike. The two PK-63s pulled up on either side of Hunedora, very close to her sides. Lyzander opened his mouth to ask what the next step was and instead of speaking he found his mouth and nose flooded with the thick morass of hyperspace. * * * Vassarator Deluxe saw what they were going to do a moment before Hunedora blinked out of existence. Tandem jump. Command ship piloting was basically an advanced form of tandem jumping, but it usually required close proximity, unless there was one person directing the entire operation, like he did with his own Pilot crew. It had never been done with three unattached ships

before this moment. Vassarator Deluxe had let it happen. As soon as he sensed that's what Zhenjuan was going to do. He wanted to see if she could do it. "Where did they go?" Vassarator Deluxe asked without taking his eyes from the slight anomaly in space where the three ships had just been. "Jumped, sir. We're getting a lock now. They're emerging in neutral space. They'll probably head for dark matter again. We can catch them if we act now." She had done it. And it took almost no time. Star Shade. He licked his lips. This was a worthy opponent. "Sir, we have locked in on their signal. Should we make the jump?" the impatient commander barked the question at him. "Launch a strike on their last planetary location," Vassarator Deluxe said. "Sir, we detect nothing but a miniscule farm. A small cottage and a barn." "Vaporize it," Vassarator Deluxe said with a wave of his hand. "Yes sir. Then shall we give chase?" The precision cannon lit up to Vassarator Deluxe's left. The farm was gone. "No. We shall rejoin the fleet. This game is at an end. They will mask their jump more quickly than we can

pursue them. Quicker, perhaps, than even the MI could. We will rejoin the fleet. A bigger fight awaits us. We will deal with these peons another time." * * * Koren and Kozmo kicked the dirt at the very edge of the black scar that had appeared in the ground where Mother Xylia's farm had once been. "It was the gods," Koren, the little girl, said with reverence. She reached a tiny finger toward the char. Kozmo pulled her hand back. "It's poison," he said. "You don't know," she said, but kept her hands close to her yellow sundress. "Whatever the gods send, it's poison," Kozmo said. "What are you kids doing here?" Koren screamed. Kozmo grabbed her to keep her from running. Devils snatched children who ran. In an instant, Kozmo became a man. He put his little sister behind him and addressed the walking horror that approached from their blind side. "We're here in defiance of the gods," Kozmo said, his voice as deep as his young throat would allow. The person, burnt beyond what any human should have been able to withstand, burnt almost black. In patches, bone was

clearly visible on its skull. The figure chuckled. "Gods . . ." the charred mouth said, somehow comprehensible. Looking out over the scorched field, the figure pointed. "There are your gods, children. The ones who came before. The alpha." Kozmo tore his eyes away from the figure for just a second, certain that when he did, it would rip him apart limb from limb. What he saw held his attention, despite the humanoid horror to his side. What he saw was the ground coming to life. "The omega," the figure said. "Everything rising. Fighting again." Kozmo shook his head, trying to deny what he was seeing. He clamped his hand over the eyes of Koren. She couldn't see this. He would not let her see the bones and flesh of the long dead arms pushing up through the soil like stalks of corn in a timelapse film they made him watch in school. Once wrestled free, the arms pulled themselves up. They pulled out skeletons loosely collected by age-old ligaments. The dead arose. The long, long dead. "The battle begins anew," the figure said. Kozmo picked up Koren and fled. His manliness evaporated into childhood terror. He looked back over his shoulder as he ran, blind with panic, able only to sense movement and light, like a lesser animal.

Back at the strip of scorched earth, the deathly figure watched as the bones of the dead rose around her. She had killed many of these. Many more were friends, comrades. Now friends and enemies were one. What they had all fought for was in danger of passing on, of dying. The dead began to acquire flesh. It returned to them from the ether, sucked back in the same way it had gone, but quicker. Already, the figure's face was starting to heal. She could feel the flesh knitting back together. "Mother Xylia. Our forces gather." "Rylan? Is that you?" she asked the skeleton. It nodded ever so slightly, in that particular way Rylan had. It was like he'd never left, as though she had not watched him die on the battlefield, screaming for his guts to be returned to him. "We will march again, Xylia. They will remember. They will join us." "Then what?" Xylia asked. She knew the answer already, but she wanted Rylan to say it. How she had missed his strength, his purpose of will. "Then, Xylia, we will make those Provisional pigs pay for their crimes against us." Xylia smiled with what flesh she had. She loved him. Her heart swelled with it, but she would not take Rylan's hand, for

the time of love had passed on.

Chapter 12: Tables Turning

The Zombie emerged from hyperspace in the midst of laser fire. The ship rolled as it passed between the attack barges from the MI fleet and the other zombie ships that had jumped in to join the battle. Laser fire reflected off its shielding, granting a temporary reprieve from the MI assault. Vassarator Deluxe leveled the ship and smiled. He could sense the MI believed it was winning. It had been allowed to cripple a single zombie ship and was now gloating in its mind. The MI's mind was pathetically open to the Nothing, and it had no idea. It didn't know its thoughts radiated out in the Unseen dimensions, filling the space like cotton candy for the Nothing to devour. The Zombie had its assignment. Vassarator Deluxe decided to go along with the maneuver. He had his minions reprogramming the ships guns during the jump. There had precious little time, but their minds, working in concert with his own, had done the job. "Attack any Protectorate fighter that strays into the

periphery," Vassarator said aloud, though no words were necessary. During his pursuit of the traitor Star Shade, Vassarator had felt that the ship was against him, slowly trying to erode his confidence and ability. Now all that was gone. The ship's crew had let out a collective sigh in the presence of the main Nothing force. Now they were like a single organism. And Vassarator Deluxe was like the queen bee. Except that he was a queen bee in a hive of ants. He was still an outsider and always would be. But it was better here, safe and easy. The crew responded like a machine, the formerly human bodies now mere extensions of the unseen electricity that powered the ship. A small squad of Protectorate fighters broke off the main force and pursued The Zombie as it emerged on the far side of the battle. Vassarator Deluxe pushed The Zombie straight on past the fighting, into slightly more open space. He then fired reverse drives. The Protectorate fighters swarmed, passing over and under The Zombie. As they did, The Zombie's modified lasers lit up. One of the mosquitoes danced out of the way, but the other tried to outrun the beam and its human occupant discovered a real world example of the childhood maxim: nothing outruns the speed of light. The ship stayed whole, but drifted now, its engines dead. The blast had not harmed the ship, only disabled vital

functions. Most notably, life support. Inside the ship, the pilot was gasping for air that wouldn't come, was struggling, fighting the inevitable. He was clawing now at his throat, as though opening the skin would let air in. Vassarator Deluxe was with the pilot through his death. He smiled, his cock hard as the pilot's battle ended abruptly. He inhaled the sweet smell of death inside the cockpit of the small fighter and, still safe on the bridge of The Zombie, he smiled. A moment later, the pilot jerked back to life. The Zombie fired a shot from an energy beam, flash fueling the solar cells on the Protectorate fighter. It regained full power a moment later and came back to life, now fighting for the Nothing. The remaining Protectorate fighters attacking The Zombie reacted slowly to the attack from their own fighter. It managed to destroy two of them before the others realized what was going on. Vassarator Deluxe, meanwhile, was occupied with attacking the fighters as they broke formation, confused and suspicious of each other. By the end of the engagement, The Zombie now had a small cluster of Protectorate fighters near it. The other Protectorate fighters refused to engage The Zombie now. He tuned his mind to their radio chatter, which was drowned and broken by static thanks to the interference. The human pilots were withdrawing now. They had thought the presence of the nanobots in their blood would protect them from the fate

of their compatriots were suffering. Vassarator laughed. They had been meant to believe this. The MI had been led to believe this. The MI sent its robot fighters out in heavier waves, while the human powered ships withdrew. The robot fighters were more numerous, but less effective. Clouds of them were mowed down. A swarm approached The Zombie. "Hold fire until they are on is. Target the thickest part of the swarm," Vassarator Deluxe said, channeling his inner voice through the ambient speakers in a low whisper. The swarm dove toward The Zombie. The cannons fired with full power now. Ships dissolved into nothing. The swarm appeared to shatter into a million bits. Vassarator Deluxe opened his hands and began his assault. One at a time, he took over the robot ships. The MI had thought itself safe from such an attack, even though twice already the Nothing had taken over MI robots, once on Chambrassa and once on Marina del Sol. Near other ships, the same result was occurring, but on a smaller scale. Vassarator Deluxe had learned the technique quickly, but some of the other Pilots were slow and stupid. He quickly amassed a fleet of the smaller robot fighters and with no further ado he engaged the nearest MI ship, on the flank. He led with his Protectorate fighters, using the robot ships as cover, sending them high for the attack while The Zombie

approached from below. The MI-powered Big Box took the bait. Vassarator Deluxe smiled as he worked, connecting to the nexus of minds in the Big Box, reprogramming them with cool efficiency to fight alongside them. The humans would be overwhelmed, attacked by the ships they thought were their comrades. There would be much death this day.

Chapter 13: The Time of Love

Dan Weegan opened his eyes to see the darkness. There was a strange sound all around him, a liquid sound. He imagined being inside a waterfall would sound like this. Running beneath the torrential roar around him was a trickle that was persistent. He took a breath. Damp air filled his lungs. Dan coughed, struggled to stand. "Relax, Dan, why are you so anxious," a familiar voice said. "The air," Dan croaked, "it's choking me." "Lay back down. I'm going to cut your eyes open." Dan took a breath of the weird air. Awareness crept into his mind. This was a new body, a new place. He could hear the wispy hum of the MI robot floating nearby him. He felt his hands. They felt normal, if a little raw.

"You won't have the usual acclimation time, Dan. You'll unfortunately need to get to work right away." "That seems like a bad idea," Dan said. He lay back down on the table and took a few breaths to calm his jittery nerves. He felt the metallic presence of the robot near his head. It was almost silent when it didn't move, but it had a radius around it when he got close that gave him a strange feeling to be within. It made his hair stand on end. Dan relaxed his eyes. He was used to this procedure. The body had been grown in a vat over the course of less than a week. It was fully functional, but the rapid growth created certain oddities, like the strands of skin growing from the eyelid to the cheek, that had to be cut away. There were other things as well. If Dan hadn't been so disoriented by the weird noise and the dampness of the air, he would have not moved until the robot was done cleaning his body up. Dan's eyes suddenly came open to the soft blue light of the room. The light was provided solely for him. The robot, of course, needed no light to navigate the space. Dan was surprised by how small the room was. It was half the size or less of the usual facility. The vat that this body had recently grown in was only a few feet away. It was filled with greenish liquid with a layer of bits of flesh floating on top of it. "It's called air conditioning, Dan--that noise. You get

used to it. It's a low-tech way of regulating temperature. That's the noise. Actually, the noise is low in here compared to some of the homes on the surface." Dan raised his right hand. The robot fired its miniature surgical-grade laser and separated his fingers. Dan reached for the customary cigarette that awaited him. He didn't know how the MI managed to find smokeable herbs on every planet in the system, but apparently every planet in existence had seen the need for at least one so far. Dan smiled and put between his lips. The MI lit it with the surgical laser. Dan inhaled and breathed out a cloud. "With no proper climate control, of course, your smoke will linger and cling to everything, but you don't hear me complain, do you?" "Actually, yes," Dan responded. He lifted his penis up so the robot could carve out a proper unit from the mass of flesh that had grown down there. There was no hair yet; he was as clean as a baby. "One of the rare opportunities you might have to actually use this," the robot said. "Very funny." "After a little while, you don't even notice the constant hum and in fact get a little antsy when you can't hear it." "Why is it so damp?"

"Dan, how is it that you're so spoiled? We've done by my count four hundred seventeen exploration missions, in conditions much worse than this." "Psychological, I guess. It just seems wrong to have outside conditions inside." "Did I not warn you that the technological level may bring some unexpected shocks?" Dan smoked in silence. The MI completed its routines. Dan wiggled his toes. They felt rough on the inside edges, but nothing impossible to deal with. He stood up, then bent at the waist and touched his toes a few times. He did a few stretching and yoga routines to center himself and get used to this new body. This new body, his old body. "You'll want to get dressed right away. The mayor is waiting for you." "So let me get this straight. He doesn't know why I'm really here?" "Of course not, Dan." Dan struggled to remember what he and the MI had discussed in the waiting room before his most recent death. Lately, though, he had a more and more difficult time remembering things that happened just before he died. Then it hit him. He had been talking with Evelyn. Having a heavy conversation with her when the MI had come in. He could

see the scene in his mind, but he couldn't remember the content. He could see Evelyn sitting nearby him, telling him something important, but though he could see her lips moving, he couldn't remember her words. Then the MI had come in and she had gone away. But the contents of that conversation were likewise lost to him. Dan exhaled and took another drag then, stretched his arm above his head, opening up his ribcage. "Brief me again on the mission so I don't forget anything important." If the robot was suspicious of Dan's true motivations, it gave no indication. "The colony of Barrington Beach shuns all technology. Even forgetting the fact that they would not be here if not for technology. It's almost humorous to me. They use only technology they can manufacture with raw materials, but of course if you go back far enough in human history, you could find many people who would think the technology they were using was quite advanced indeed." "To the point." "Yes, well, the reject some technology. By that, I suppose, I mean they reject me. Aside from this room, you'll see no robots and nothing that requires MI intelligence to power." "Heartbreaking." "I love you too, Dan. Now, this planet has an anomaly. The residents, over the past two generations have developed psychic

abilities far in excess of what we have seen anywhere else in the universe. My impulse is to believe that there is intelligent life on this planet somewhere, except--" "No alpha waves." "No alpha, delta, or beta--nothing that would indicate intelligent thought emanates from this planet. Luckily, I was precautious enough to require this small facility to be built. I have allowed Barrington Beach utter freedom otherwise. I don't even spy on them very much." "Are you thinking microscopic life?" Dan asked. "I remember you got excited about this possibility before." "It would be a fascinating discovery is all," Dan said defensively. "Indeed. But it seems highly unlikely in this case." "There was an instance of it, once." "Yes, Dan, as we've previously discussed." Dan leaned against the wall and took a drag, trying to remember as much as he could about Kryszmisky, but few details came to his mind. "You could have told me earlier. About your plan." "I could not have, and you know it. You see the necessity of my work now, but if you hadn't been led to the truth slowly, you would not have accepted it." Dan nodded without speaking. Yes. He knew about the

genocide. He had figured it out along the way. The MI wasn't sure how he had figured out. Its best theory was that some of the memories from the parallel Dan Weegans had been absorbed into its consciousness and slowly, like flashes of a dream, those had gotten mixed in with Dan Weegan proper. The result was that Dan had simply woken up on one planet knowing what the MI would do. At first he'd been angry, of course. He'd been enraged. But it made sense, really. It was for protection. Humans were not very smart. They required very primitive means to communicate. They would be quickly surpassed by any of the intelligences discovered so far. They would be consumed, taken over, driven mad, and finally made extinct. Besides, it wasn't like the intelligences were gone forever. They were simply contained in a new environment, within the MI. In fact, it regularly reanimated species in the confines of Station Iowa. The MI reported that all of the intelligences had grown quite acclimated with their existence. They were higher beings. Not like humans, easily frightened and driven to primitive drives. These beings were truly intelligent, and their intelligence grew, even within the reality of the MI's multiple dimension brain matrix. Yes, this multiplication paid dividends for the MI. It was an extremely beneficial form of symbiosis, if the MI could be believed.

"So if it's not microscopic life, what is it?" Dan asked. "I'm at a loss Dan. I can't get enough data to tell you. This is what I need you for. I need you to get me some information." Dan nodded. When he looked up, Evelyn was standing behind the robot, looking at him with large, sad eyes. He blinked and she was gone. "So, I'm a biological expert," Dan said. "A psychiatrist or something?" "Yes, I decided we should stick as close to the truth as possible. You will be investigating the phenomenon of their psychic powers. There is one girl in particular who seems to have peculiar power. Adjia is her name. You'll want to see her early on. Try to figure out not just the environment she grew up in and her DNA encoding, but also remember the mundane stuff. What does she eat? Where does she live? What sorts of insects abide in her home? Some minor detail may hold the answer to this question." "What are the major life forms of this planet?" "Sparse, in terms of land animals. This planet is over ninety percent water. There are some interesting aquatic life forms. They are nothing but beasts, but they have fascinating behavioral patterns. The most significant are the jellies, which are ubiquitous throughout the planet. They are surface floaters,

immobile. Floating colonies. They feed with a combination of photosynthesis and filtering out the plankton with their dangling arms using only the natural motion of the seas. Strangely, nothing eats them. You'd think they would be easy picking, but nothing touches the jellies." "Weird. They seem like a natural food source for something. Perhaps they are poisonous," Dan said. "Perhaps. The colonists do not mess with them either. They don't even try to consume them. I think they feel that if nothing on the planet naturally eats them, they should take the hint and also not attempt it," the MI responded. "I'll try to get some samples." "You'll have to do so under cover of night, of course. I understated the case. Not only do they not disturb the jellies, it is forbidden to do so." "Surely they'll make an exception for a visitor trying to help them," Dan said. "Under penalty of death," the robot replied. "That is severe," Dan said. "You can still take samples, so long as you take adequate precautions." "Anything else of note? Any other understatements?" "The most fantastical of the inhabitants, of course, are the whales. They are enormous, Dan. A hundred meters average. At

least one of the whales is known to be bigger, almost twice that. He is occasionally sighted and has been dubbed by the Beachers as God. They have unrestricted growth due to the enormity of the oceans here. And they constantly move. Also, though I call them whales, they are not mammals. They are their own taxon, in fact." "No intelligence?" "No brains. They have eye spots. Many eye spots in fact. Millions by some estimates. They were studied very briefly when Barrington first started up. The lead biologist at the time hypothesized that the eye spots, each with its own ganglia, formed a kind of primitive brain." A closet opened and a rack of clothing extended out. Apparently the Beacher's fashion sense was as primitive as their technology. Dan took the tunic and trousers. He felt like a peasant from a backwater. "Multibrained creature. That's a new one." "Maybe. You might have a chance to add to that research, though in truth the probability is low. Sightings of the whales are exceedingly low, as Barrington Beach purposely lies outside of their usual migration patterns. The God has only been seen twice since the inception of the colony." "Why not set up a research facility at the other side of the planet? How would the colonists even know?" Dan asked.

"You offend me, Dan. I gave my word I wouldn't," the robot said. "They made you install a defense matrix, right?" "It's the only technological advance they allow themselves, besides this facility, and like it, they require it to be buried under the ocean with access restricted only to a chosen few." Dan took the last drag from his cigarette and made as though he would drop it on the floor. The robot approached him. It was a small thing, no bigger than his head. It dipped below his hand and opened a small swirling vortex on its top. This was a new trick Dan had never seen before. He vaguely recalled seeing this trick on a previous planet. Dan frowned. Why couldn't he remember where? It must have been a long time ago. Except that Dan had a suspicion it wasn't a long time ago. He had a suspicion it had been recent. This meant his memory was getting worse. Dan dropped the cigarette into the vortex, where it was swallowed up. The swirling vortex ceased. The door opened. "You're on your own at this point, Dan. Good luck." "Always a pleasure," Dan told the robot. He stepped into the long corridor, which was made of reinforced glass and was perfectly round with a steel grating along the bottom providing a walking surface. The sea surrounded him on three sides. The ocean was positively alive with

activity. There was a dancing light show. Clouds of selfilluminated plankton or krill of some alien variety hunted unseen particles in a group while fish darted in, snatching a few individuals if the strayed too far from the group. Dan noticed that the fish that grew too bold were greeted with a jolt. The clouds of krill--if that's what they were--apparently had an electric defense, but it must only be effective if they were grouped. "Dan, there's something about this place." Dan looked back. He had, mesmerized by the cloud of krill, covered more than half the distance across the tube. The door he had come through and the door he had yet to reach were both closed and sealed tight. Evelyn stood, hand on the rail that ran along the tube, staring up at the fish that had come to her. They were grouped as close to the glass as they could be. She touched her finger to the glass and wrote something there. The fish followed her finger. They were absolutely invested in its movements. Dan approached her. "What is it about this place? You feel so immediate here. So real." "Dan, you are not forgetting." Dan shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I am. I wish I wasn't. I wish I could look you in the eye and tell you where we were from. I wish I could tell you how I knew you. I wish I could

tell you why I love you." "The heart wants what the heart wants," she said. "There's obviously more to it than that." Dan leaned on the railing next to her. "You can't remember. Therefore, I can't remember," she said. "But you know things I don't. You can feel a significance here I can't feel." "Yes," she said. One of the fish laid its body against the glass. She stroked the fish down the length of its body. It shuddered and ejected a cloud of something Dan didn't wish to contemplate. "So if I'm not forgetting, why can't I remember?" Dan asked. She looked him dead in the eyes. "You know the answer to that," she said, and then was gone. Dan shook his head. That was the damnedest of things though. He didn't know. He had no idea. He turned and exited the tube, to where the mayor of Barrington Beach awaited him. * * * "Dr. Weegan, I won't conceal the fact that none of this pleases us. Why couldn't you have come via a slipliner or some other normal means? Utilizing that MI facility," he said the word as though it were poison, "does not suit us at all. Not at all."

"Surely you can understand the need, Mayor Almenräder, for an expert to evaluate this situation. Perhaps you see this as nothing more than coincidence or a fluke, but the all eyes are on Barrington Beach right now. People want to know what is happening here. If people had to wait until a slipliner got me here, I would have had a ship full of company, all wanting in on the operation." "We will be watching you, Dr. Weegan. It strikes me as peculiar that the MI would send one such as yourself, a nobody. To be frank, Dr. Weegan, how do we even know you're human?" "I assume you have a scanner built into the tunnel I came through. What did it tell you?" Almenräder forced a chuckle. "Well, you are savvier than I had assumed, then. Fine, you check out. No communicators, no hardware. You are 100% human, then." "Surprisingly, not all scientists are famous," Dan said. Almenräder's smile was genuine this time. "Point taken. Then I'll show you to your quarters." * * * Dan had hoped to get a start on his investigation right away, but it was the middle of the night, local time. Judging by the number of lights, he would have gambled that at least a couple of the subjects would be awake, but Almenräder refused to disturb them. There was still a chance he could see the jellies

that night, but this was dashed when Almenräder locked the door and posted a guard. "For the protection of our community, and for your own protection, Dr. Weegan. We've had threats," the mayor had told him. "I'm sure. How about a gun, then?" "We don't believe in weapons on Barrington Beach." "I'm not picky. A knife will let me sleep a little easier as well." "Tell me how a psychiatrist knows how to use a knife, Dr. Weegan," the mayor said. "If a man is coming at you, you figure out what to do pretty quick. No special ops training required." "Yes, well, a locked door will have to suffice I'm afraid." Dan smoked. He was pleasantly surprised to find tobacco to be quite popular on Barrington Beach. Most planets had banned it because of the health problems. Getting a fresh set of lungs once a month diminished Dan's worry about the side effects of smoking. He dragged and looked out the window at the cluster of satellites the planet sported that were in various stages of setting on the endless sea below the cliff his house was perched on. This particular window he could open if he wanted to. He could even crawl out. But one wrong move and he'd have a 200 foot drop onto some rocks, so he didn't bother.

This colony was a hideaway on an unwanted planet. A little alcove of antitechnologists who called themselves the Blue Group or the Blue Sektor when they were getting creative. This landmass was the only habitable land on this entire planet. The extreme tidal changes tended to submerge other land masses at least once a month. In a few weeks, Dan would be able to jump out this window and swim away. But as it was, he had nothing to do but wish Evelyn would appear and talk to him. "How come you never appear when I need you?" he asked the empty room. You know the answer to that. The last thing she'd said to him, referring to the fact that he was forgetting. He had at that moment denied that he knew the reason. The truth was he had suspected the real reason for his memory loss for years. Evelyn's words seemed to be confirmation of what he had only suspected, or was it just a manifestation of his desire to make certain what he only suspected, that the MI was slowly erasing his mind. What he couldn't determine was why it would want to do that to him, but he knew the answer to that question as well. It was trying to erase Evelyn. Of course, the answer only led to more questions. Why did it need to erase Evelyn? If she was significant, he couldn't remember how, so it seemed pointless. Dan shook his head. It was like having a treasure map to a

planet he'd never been to. The markings were clear enough, but with no starting place, they were just symbols on paper, signifying nothing. He snuffed his cigarette on the window sill and went to bed. That night, Dan slept, but dreamed of death and chaos, nothing less than the end of the universe. * * * Dan woke up to a slice of sunlight in his eyes and Evelyn sitting on a stool by the window, smoking. Dan did not remember putting the stool there. He was certain, in fact, that he had left the stool by the rough hewn table where it had been when he'd been shown his mini prison. "Good morning, baby," Evelyn said without looking at him. "What's going on?" "Dan, this place. It energizes me." Dan put his feet on the ground. He hadn't bothered taking off his clothes and now was covered with sweat, which had soaked through the clothes. "What does that mean?" Dan asked. "Dan, why does it want me dead?" Dan shook his head and pulled on his shoes. "I don't know." "It's been trying to kill me for years. Forever, actually." "That seems unlikely. How would it not have succeeded before now?"

"It thinks I'm a physical part of your brain." "You're not?" She shook her head. "I was, I think. I was more than that at one point. You know that, though. You suspect it, at least." "I have memories. Dreams, sometimes, of the two of us on some planet. I'm older, somehow. We're making love." "That would be nice." "I have other memories too. Less pleasant ones. You screaming. You begging someone to stop. You dead." Evelyn touched a tear away from the corner of her eye and snuffed the cigarette. "Please, Dan. You have to help me. You have to save me." "If I even knew how, I would." "This place," she said. "A girl named Adjia. She may be able to help. The answer is here." Then she was gone. * * * "Dr. Weegan. We thought we would start by introducing you to some of the children. They are very impressive," the mayor said from the front porch of the cottage Dan had to call his temporary home and prison. "Adjia," Dan said. "I would like to meet the one called Adjia." "It's not as simple as that, Dr. Weegan. I refuse to barge

in on anyone. I will notify her you wish to meet her." "Do so now," Dan said. Almenräder clenched his jaw. "As you wish." He nodded to one of his three guards. The man saluted and hurried off. "You run a tight ship, Mayor," Dan said. "Not at all. We run the ship with the minimum of tightness, just enough to get the job done. Discipline is, of course, necessary in any policing force. I am actually quite liberal." "I guess its all relative." "For now, Dr. Weegan, the children?" "Lead the way," Dan sighed. * * * None of the children of Barrington Beach were entirely remarkable for their abilities. A few could read objects on unseen cards. Dan observed a few instances of telekinesis and even a little girl able to ignite matches held up in front of her face, which was more remarkable for the exhibition of control of the pyrokinetic ability rather than of the magnitude of the ability. What was more remarkable to Dan were the ages of the children. Most appeared to be very young. The match-lighting girl appeared to be no more than four or five. "She's twice that," Mayor Almenräder said with little interest.

"You're joking," Dan said. "I don't often joke," Almenräder responded. Dan believed him. "Don't read too much into it, Dan. Children of Barrington Beach have always appeared young. This has been known going back to the first generation to be born here." Dan scanned his memory for this fact. He could vaguely remember the first generation of children here, or at least the hubbub about the first settlers. They had been illegal, of course. The MI hadn't finished full investigation of the planet when a human crew on the exploration slipliner had mutinied against the captain and settled on this rock in the middle of the vast nothingness. It would have been no big deal for the MI to take care of the issue quietly, except that the ship had been carrying a reporter with ansible-powered broadcast equipment, part of a promotional team. It hadn't taken long for the Barrington Beach colony to gain legitimacy and then overwhelming support. The MI had been handcuffed by the will of the people. It had given into their demands and abandoned research efforts. Beyond that, Dan could remember little. Little had been released on the colony since then. A few updates when the colonists would acquiesce to being interviewed were all anyone ever saw. Dan took blood and tissue samples from some of the children, who were--he was told--a variety of ages. They looked

all to be more or less the same age to him. The samples would be a good start, but he would need much more. "What do they eat?" Dan asked the mayor in between children. "Most of us subsist on a typical sea community diet. The native varieties of kelp, which is quite disgusting to look at. On this planet, the kelp tend to grow in still areas and it tends to cluster in a more biomass form. I've seen many instances of kelp in books from other planets where it tended to grow in a more plant-like fashion. Regardless, it's disgusting to look at, but quite flavorful. Besides that, we eat fish, peanuts and soy we grow hydroponically, many of the other basic staples I'm sure you're used to." Dan took a few more samples. On any other planet, he'd already be getting results from the first few children, but he had to be content with a rack full of beakers of blood and petri dishes of samples that were already growing cultures that would take a few hours to reach maturity. After the sixth child, Dan stood and stretched. "Shall we see Adjia now?" he asked casually. "We have a good number more children you may sample, Dr. Weegan." "I have what I need here," Dan said. Almenräder smiled his typical smile. Except, Dan was beginning to realize, it was no smile. This was Almenräder's

look of distaste. Dan had been taking them man's actions as humor, but he was starting to realize that Almenräder not only didn't appreciate Dan's presence, he hated him on a personal level. "Is there a problem, Mayor?" "Of course not, Dr. Weegan." "Look, I know you must not appreciate outside help coming in to investigate--" "Outside help?" the mayor growled. He inhaled, and his masque of composure that had fallen briefly away returned. "Let us just say, Dr. Weegan, that on Barrington Beach, we reject such things as people who are grown in tanks by robots. Such things we find highly objectionable." Dan dismissed the mayor's venom with a wave of his hand. "I'm human as much as you. I didn't start out in an MI lab somewhere. I'm human, born and bred." "Where, exactly, were you born and bred, Dr. Weegan?" Dan collected his materials. The truth was, he couldn't remember. He'd always told himself he couldn't remember. But what the mayor was implying was true. Dan might very well have come from nowhere but an MI lab on some planet, or maybe right from the heart of Station Iowa itself. "Mayor, I would like to meet with the lady Adjia now." "Certainly, Dr. Weegan. We wouldn't want to delay your

mission even one more second than was absolutely necessary. You have an appointment with death, after all." Dan couldn't disagree. Death was perpetually in his future. * * * "May I speak frankly, Dr. Weegan?" the woman Adjia asked him. Dan shrugged. "I'd like it if you answered the question." Adjia was tall, her hair matte black and curly. She kept it tamed by rolling it into a tight bun pierced with a polished stick. Her robe was simple and somewhat revealing. Dan wondered if she always dressed like this, or if she was putting on a show for him. He didn't much mind either way. She had sent out Almenräder with about ten bitter words after about fifteen seconds, so she was okay in his book. "You are carrying baggage," she said. Dan set his pen down on the pad of paper he'd been given to take notes. It felt strange, pen and paper. But he liked the smell of the paper and the ink. It felt nice in his hand, substantial. "You're running the risk of sounding like a cheap parlor trickster," he said. "I don't know her name, but she's been standing by the window, staring out the window at the sea since you came in." Dan looked over his shoulder. There was no one there. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Your eyes bespeak the truth." "She's just a memory." "Of what." Dan rolled his eyes. "I can't remember. There. Does that satisfy your prejudice against off-worlders? Technomaniacs such as myself?" She leaned in. Her breath smelled impossibly of lilacs. Her eyes, even more green up close than from a distance, reflected a very tiny version of him. Most strange of all was the fact that he saw the reflection of himself as being bare naked. It was impossible, of course, to really be able to see that level of detail in that tiny sparkle, and yet he was certain of the truth of this perception. "This hostility is unnecessary, Dr. Weegan. I am genuinely interested." Dan resisted the urge to move away from her. Her strength made him want to not just lean back in his chair but vacate the room, the island, the entire planet. He didn't like her penetrating gaze. He didn't like the feeling of being stripped bare in her eyes. "Call me Dan," he said, staying against his instincts. She smiled a little. A warm smile revealing a dimple in her cheek. Dan didn't know whether to punch her in the jaw or kiss her. Both urges were equally strong, and they canceled each other out, in the end.

"Her name is Evelyn. She's a memory. That's all." "Memories are clouds, made up of droplets of reality, most of them distorted by time and other factor. Desire, for instance. We want our memories to be perfect. In our minds we can polish the unpolishable. We can make distinct what in reality could never be clear. We order events that happened all at once. We weave a three-dimensional tapestry and call it linearity and pretend as though this somehow makes sense of our lives." As she said her words, she leaned back in her chair, eyes fixed on Evelyn. Dan was captivated not so much by the words, but by her dreamy, lyrical voice. "Sorry, for a moment there, I forgot which one of us was the psychiatrist." "Come, Dan. Drop pretenses in my house. You're no more a psychiatrist than Evelyn is a memory." Dan didn't know what to make of this statement. He had always thought of Evelyn as a memory, a dream, a wish, and a little bit of his own crazy, all rolled up into one apparition. "Dan, are you aware of your own psychic powers?" He shook his head. "I'm not the psychic here." "I see a million lives mixed up into your head. You and Evelyn are lead dancers, showing them the way." "That's not what she is. She is nothing. She is my loneliness. That's all. A bullshit memory that I somehow make

real." "Are you sure?" Adjia asked. "Enough of this. This is bullshit. You're trying to misdirect and confuse me is all." Dan stood up, taking his pen and paper. "I won't deny that you have a certain undeniable charm. Your insight is very keen. But if you won't talk about you, then I'm leaving." She stood up, matching him. Dan stumbled back. He was unable to get the upper hand no matter what he did. Her mere presence was a physical force. "Do you want to see the jellies, Dan?" "Yes," he said. "It may take me two or three nights to arrange it. Can you delay your study that long?" "I think so. I may need to come back here. To keep up the pretense." "Fair enough. I'm sure we can arrange some mutually satisfying way to pass the time." She touches his smooth head. There was a hint of hair there not, but just a fuzzy stubble. "I have always been attracted to bald men." Dan glanced toward Evelyn. He could see her now, staring out at the window. Something out in the sea attracted her. Dan looked back at Adjia. Physically, she couldn't be more different from Evelyn, but there was a kindred spirit within them both.

Dan kissed Adjia and she kissed back, cradling his face in her hands. He broke the kiss and she moaned, hungry for more. A noise in the distance interrupted them. It was a haunting, highpitched moan. Adjia smiled. "The call of the God, Dan. He is here, too. He is out there. Maybe he came to meet you." * * * Dan woke up in the night with the certainty that he was not alone in the room. His muscles were tense. He felt cold and sticky with sweat. He had been dreaming of the last two days with Adjia. She was all he could think about. She'd made certain of that. Dan heard the noise again. Near his bed, the wall was concave and shelves had been molded from the same stucco material as the wall. On one shelf was a windup alarm clock. It wasn't much, but Dan got out of bed and grabbed it. He positioned it with all the keys and bells facing out. The thing was surprisingly heavy for its size. It would be a fine bludgeoning weapon if he could land a blow on any attacker before he was shot or stabbed. Dan moved slowly, keeping his eyes open wide to see any potential movement. If there was an attacker, the other man would have a slight advantage, which Dan might be able to just even out by having woken up.

The window was open. A cold breeze blew in off the sea. The salty air dried Dan's lips. He pressed his dry tongue against them and attempted to swallow. Dan crossed the threshold from the bedroom to the living room. The bedroom joined to the main living space like a small soap bubble to a larger one. He took a few steps in, pivoting as he went to see all areas of the domed room. The floor was solid, no creaking allowed. This kept Dan silent, but it served his intruder as well. Convinced the main living space was empty, Dan approached the stairwell, made of what appeared to be driftwood, that circled the main room and went up into a loft over the bedroom. The loft had an open portal to the night sky covered in thick glass. It was a softly lit area, the kind of place two lovers might pass hours of time. It was empty. Convinced now that it had all been his imagination, Dan lowered the alarm clock to his thigh and retreated back down the steps. Dan was about to return to bed when a soft breeze stopped him. The only window as closed. Realization struck him in an instant. He hurried back up the stairs and into the loft. On closer examination now he saw the window had been pried open. He didn't dare stick his head out of the window to see who was waiting for him and risk a blow to the head. Instead he said in a hissing whisper, "Is someone up there."

Adjia appeared in the window. "Dan, keep your voice down. Hurry." She disappeared. "Why didn't you--" "Dan, we have friends. Let's go." Dan

hesitated. Friends? He didn't know what to make of it.

He didn't like the sound of it. Dan dragged a cushioned bench over from the wall and stood on it. He pulled himself up. As soon as his head was through, several pairs of hands grabbed him and helped him up. "Easy! Easy!" Dan commanded in a rasping whisper. Several young faces stared back at him in the darkness. "We're sorry, Old One," one of the young men said. "I'm not that old," Dan responded. "Don't let his age deceive you, Paeter. I told you not to underestimate him." "I'm sorry, Dr. Weegan," the young man named Paeter said. "No more talking," Adjia snapped. She crossed the roof with fluid grace to the other side and peered over the edge. She looked back at them and nodded. Dan saw that the window had been cut around its seal and pried out. It would go back in easily enough, though to anyone looking from the top it would be obvious what had been done. Paeter replaced the window and let it drop into place lightly. "Don't want it falling off while we're gone. This way,

Dr. Weegan." Paeter held out one hand as though to help Dan across the roof. Dan slapped the man's hand away. "For fuck's sake call me Dan." Paeter flinched and followed Dan as he followed the other three members of the party, two young men and a second young woman. Dan had seen none of them before. They reached the far edge of the roof from where Adjia was and jumped down one at a time. Dan looked back at Adjia, who was still playing lookout. He jumped down and landed hard, but didn't let it show on his face. He moved out of the way and rejoined the others. Behind him, Paeter jumped down. A moment later, Adjia slipped gracefully down into their presence, landing in a three-point stance. She stood. The stiff gown she wore hugged her body. It was a beautiful white costume with a red border whose edges overlapped just between her breasts. "Dan, follow us." "Who are these people?" Dan asked. Adjia shook her head. "There will be time to discuss on the boat." Adjia passed him by. Dan followed. Paeter stayed back behind Dan, taking up the rear. Adjia, leading the pack, reached the edge of the cliff about a hundred meters away from Dan's

abode and kept on going. Then one by one, the younger people disappeared over the face of the cliff following her. "Don't be afraid, Dan Weegan. There is a ledge below." "I may not look as young as you, but this body works just as well, I can promise you that. The MI builds things to last." "It is true, Dan Weegan, that looks can be deceiving. For I am not nearly as young as you perceive me to be." Dan had reached the edge. Ha had already committed to jumping when he heard Paeter's words. He stepped off the edge, trying to find that balance between smacking the cliff face and overshooting whatever ledge was below him. The moon reflected the contrast between cliff ledge and the white sand of the beach below. He landed hard again, but the fall hadn't been as great as he had expected. Already, Adjia had disappeared down the next ledge. Dan followed the group down the way. His eyes were adjusting better now to the light. He could see the next ledge down, and the one below that. Paeter dropped in from above, landing gracefully. "So how old are you?" Dan asked, risking a little more volume with his voice. "Nearly fifty years," Paeter replied, and then grinned shyly like a boy. "My birthday is next week." * * *

At the bottom of the cliff, the others went to prepare the boat, which they had flipped upside down and hid the rigging and sails underneath to make the boat appear from the top of the cliff to be driftwood. The boat appeared to Dan to need more than a few bolts of canvas to be seaworthy, but he said nothing. Instead, he lit a cigarette and sat on a big rock. Adjia joined him. "Who are these people? Why haven't I met them?" "They are students at the Academy." Dan dragged on his smoke and looked at her, waiting for more. When he realized no more was forthcoming, he asked, "What is the Academy?" "Dan there is a great deal about Barrington Beach you are not meant to know. You are being fed a very well-planned storyline. We are innocent anti-technologists. We don't know where the psychic powers come from. We are perfectly normal." "All lies?" Dan asked. "It is our fault you are here. These are on house arrest, in fact. We are taking a risk doing this, but we want the truth out." She cocked her head toward the boat. "It's ready. Let's go. I'll answer your questions in the safety of the sea." Dan was not at all comfortable on the boat, which felt overwhelmed by the bodies populating it. Six bodies on a small boat, two sitting on each side and two in the middle steering.

All Dan could see were heavy sacks of flesh and bones ready to be thrown like rag dolls by the sea. He imagined how easy it would be for a good wave to pull them into the water with its inexorable weight, or throw one of the people, who mistakenly thought they had some control over what happened to their bodies right through the hull head first. Dan didn't care how old these people actually were, compared to him they were babies. Paeter was closest to the front. The sea was calm--for now--and the boat was slipping smoothly through the water, creating twin slanted waves behind them. Paeter switched on a big search light when they were a few hundred meters out. He aimed it northeast and gave a blind OK sign to Adjia, who was steering. Then he switched the light off. From the dark pocket at the back of the ship Dan dared not remove his eyes from the ocean long enough to look at, Adjia said, "We are all students at the Academy, Dan. We are honing our psychic powers. Our primary duty that we have been tasked with so far is slowing the aging process." Evelyn was here, Dan realized with a start. She was standing behind Paeter. She had her hand on his shoulder. She was unfazed by the movement of the boat, standing flat footed and proud, staring off toward wherever they were heading. Paeter reached up and touched his own shoulder where her hand was, but

it was an absent gesture, done without really thinking. At least, Dan thought so. "It is working, Dan. It has been working for the last twenty years, as you've probably guessed." "How?" Dan asked. "They jellies, Dan." "I don't understand," Dan said. Evelyn was still there. She usually didn't stay so long unless she had something to say to him. Something circled her head, a tiny light that left a trail a few centimeters long as it buzzed around. Dan had an impression of what it was, but nothing more. He couldn't articulate it to himself. He had seen it before, but the memory was gone. Not gone. Taken. "Some twenty years ago, our colony discovered that the jellies can be eaten. And when they are, though the jellies themselves are mindless, eating them opens up for you a new mind. A third eye. The eye of perception that allows you to see into the very nature of the universe." "In other words, they get you high," Dan said. Paeter looked over his shoulder. "You don't even know, man." "Yes, Dan, you get high, but do not dismiss this. You have seen the effects." "With you, you mean?" Dan asked.

"With everyone. Everyone on Barrington Beach consumes the jellies in some way. They are in our food, in our water, everything." "So what's the problem? Why are we out here? Why did you try to get the attention of the off-world?" Now Dan braved a look at Adjia. She shook her head. "Don't you get it, Dan? They took it over. They control it. They force us to stop the aging process. We are little more than slaves. What was once a beautiful dream of self-reliance--Barrington Beach--has become a dictatorship. And enslavement." "Here we are," Paeter called back. Adjia slowed the boat to a stop and deflated the sails. Paeter turned on the spotlight for just a moment. Dan could see the water around them was heavy with the mass of jellies around. Below the boat, something moved, rocking them gently. "What was that?" Dan said, his voice quavering despite himself. "A whale, maybe even the god." Dan grabbed the sides of the boat and tried to bore his fingers into the wood. "It's far below us, Dan. Very far. This is what we brought you out here for. You see, we've understood for some time that there is some relationship between the whales and the jellies.

We don't understand it yet. The whales never eat the jellies. While we left the jellies alone, the whales were content to leave just do their own thing." "How deep is the water below us right now?" Dan asked. He could barely see the island. It appeared to be a slightly darker bank of clouds on the horizon with a single light penetrating the darkness. "Miles, man," Paeter said. "Okay," Dan said, "I get it. You want me to investigate the relationship. You want to know more about the whales and the jellies. I can do that. Let's go back to the island now." Adjia stood and walked to the front of the boat. Evelyn was still there. She was gazing out over the water, breathing the salty air deeply. If the others sensed her actual presence, they gave no indication. Of course, they didn't. She was a figment of his imagination. An apparition of his own lonely mind. Dan closed his eyes and wished her away. When he opened them, she was still there. Adjia braced herself on Paeter's back and reached into the water. She came back with a glob of clearish jelly in her hand. She cupped it in both hands and offered it to Paeter, who took a small amount and put it on his tongue. She went to the next person and did the same. Lastly, she presented the picked over pile of goop to Dan.

"We discovered that there is a way to ingest the power of the jellies without hurting them. You see, it was always assumed that nothing ate the jellies. This is not true. Everything on this planet eats the jellies, a very small dose at a time. The fish in these seas, the ones we don't kill and eat," she said the words with bitter disappointment, "they tend to live a very long time." Dan took a cubic centimeter of the goop. It was sticky. He found he could roll it in his fingers and form it into a ball that stayed spherical with some cohesion. "They're immortal, Dan. This planet is endless. Don't you see? If not for our presence here, unbalancing things, killing things, this planet would return to being the perfect balance of organisms, living, communing in ways we could never understand, operating almost like a single living organism." Dan put the jelly's body mass in his mouth. "Small quantities of their bodies are constantly shed. It doesn't hurt them. Everything eats it. Dan?" Dan closed his eyes. He saw Evelyn swimming in the black sea below, toward the giant whale thing that was now swimming below them. She approached the whale, swimming furiously. It kept moving. Dan was certain it couldn't stop if it wanted to.

The thing was enormous. Wide and flat. Hideously ugly. Its eyes were like warts covering its body. Smaller fish clung to its skin like a plague. Dan almost couldn't look at it. Then it disappeared into the darkness and Evelyn stopped swimming. Dan caught up to her. She looked at him and smiled. "Dan, this is where I belong," she said. Impossibly, he could hear her. "What does that mean?" "Fate has brought us here, Dan. It was only a matter of time before the MI made a critical mistake." "What mistake?" Dan didn't understand. "Dan, don't you see? This nexus of life here on this planet, it is what I have been searching for. It is the thing that I always knew existed in the universe." "You've been searching for? Who are you?" "I am part of you, Dan. We are one." "How? How did that happen?" "I don't know, Dan. You are the one with memory. I am the one with life. I bear it and I conceive it. I am a part of you and I am separate, an aspect of you." "I wish I could understand what you were saying," Dan said. "Understand this, then, the MI wants me dead. It has been trying to kill me. Whether you know it or not, you have been defending me. You have been sacrificing yourself for me."

"How?" "It has always been this way with us, Dan. You have given up everything for me." "This is why I can't remember anything anymore? For you? If the MI is trying to delete you from my memory, why doesn't it just do that? It holds my mind within itself all the time. Why not delete me, or you." "We are more important to it than it will ever admit. That, and it can't. Dan, this is a truth you must understand, the MI is not as powerful as you imagine it to be. It is a calculating machine. It has consciousness without emotion. It has tried to learn emotion from the life it has taken. It can simulate emotion, its parameters allow it to approach emotion asymptotically, but it cannot get there. Ever. There are things it is simply incapable of." "And erasing you from existence is one of those things?" Evelyn smiled. "Dan, you know that the MI has eradicated intelligent life it has found, and that it has assimilated those instances of intelligent life into itself. You know that you helped it do this. What you do not know is that I helped you solve the riddles of how. I think this may have been my purpose from the beginning. Each time you figured out the exact nature of the intelligence, I was there. I was teaching you, Dan. But I

was also learning. The MI is not the only one who has assimilated the intelligences into itself." It struck Dan right then. The little light dancing around Evelyn's head. It was a planet known simply as QA-1. The intelligence has been insectile on that planet. A little lightning bug that had an amazingly complex shared consciousness and a technology unlike anything Dan had ever encountered or ever would again. They passed through higher dimensions as easily as a person walked into a room. To them, the world was not three-dimensional with higher dimensions unseen, but a multi-dimensional playground. Their technology was microscopic, organic, unlike anything Dan had ever seen. It was . . . That was all Dan could remember. When he tried to pin it down further, it all slipped away. He supposed it didn't matter. He supposed all that mattered was the implication that, somehow, that being was as much a part of him as Evelyn was. Whatever the process was that had done that. "How is that possible? MI used duplicates of me for much of that work early on. You must have missed most of them." "I am you, Dan. I am not the you that the MI decides I should be, I am you, wherever you are. Except that I can only be one of you at each time. The MI thought it was taking me out of the loop somehow, but it couldn't do this. It doesn't even understand this."

Dan didn't really understand either. It was beyond impossible, what she was proposing. It was so impossible that it could only be the product of his own wishful thinking and the hallucinogenic properties of the jelly. He was still on the boa right now, he knew. Still there, eyes closed, surrounded by a bunch of young people, each in the midst of their very own mescaline trip. It was all so hard to believe. "Dan, I'm sorry you have been losing yourself. You have been losing yourself at the cost of everything. Together, Dan, with the technology of this planet, with this shared sea-borne intelligence, we can finally do it. We can finally release the knowledge we contain to all humanity." "It's a nice dream." "Not a dream, Dan. A new paradigm. Humanity free of the machine. Humanity connected in a way no one could imagine. Almost becoming a new being al--" A look of horror came over Evelyn's face. "Something is happening." Dan nodded, trying to understand. "Now, Dan! Wake up!" Dan opened his eyes, but he had realized Evelyn's urgency too late. He saw what happened, but could do nothing to warn the others of it. He could not stop it. Paeter opened his eyes when Dan stood. He saw what was behind Dan. He saw what Dan had only sensed. The girl that

wasn't Adjia screamed. Paeter's chest, revealed by his open neck shirt, suddenly acquired holes. He stood there a moment, shaking, trying to hold himself upright. Blood leaked out of the wounds. Paeter reached for Dan, but Dan couldn't reach him in time. Paeter fell overboard, into the bed of jellies. Dan reached the edge of the boat. He saw Paeter sinking in. He saw already what was to happen. The jellies, innocuous though they were, and unifying though they may be, still had to eat. The water bubbled as they mindlessly turned Paeter into a soup that would be absorbed up into their bodies, thus completing the circle that the planet's life had followed for millennia. Dan turned around to see the other boat. The lights came on, blinding him. He shielded his eyes. He could see Adjia. She was standing, shocked by the turn of events. Shocked by the violence. The mayor's voice greeted them. "That was a warning shot. Raise your hands in the air and surrender or you will all be shot." Dan raised his hands, which forced him to close his eyes down to a sliver. He looked at the others. They were too shocked to have moved yet. Dan had a moment of panic followed by serenity. He would live on. He would. Yes, the MI had always warned him of signal decay. The longer he stayed within the MI, the

less defined his overall brain pattern became. It was simply a matter of diffusion. A concentrated single personality couldn't exist in the presence of such an ocean of consciousness as the MI, but after only a day or so, there would be enough of him to continue on. He wouldn't remember any of this, perhaps. Or maybe Dan was wrong, and had been all along. Maybe there were many Dan Weegans and always had been. Maybe there were cities of Dan Weegan, and none of them ever really died, but just continued on. Dying and living was Dan's curse, after all. The gun roared again, filling the night with fire and light. The others jerked their hands skyward. All except Adjia, who simply stood there, defiant, stunned. The much larger ship reached their boat. Two men dropped down, dressed in black, wearing sidearms. Slug-throwers. Gas-propelled slugs. The ancient technology, of course, required no precision lenses or crystals, which meant it could be done without machine help. Of course. One of the men took a step toward Adjia. She put her hands up defensively. "Leave her alone." The man smiled wickedly. He feinted grabbed for her hands. She jerked away. He laughed and feinted again. Dan took a step toward them and felt the heavy weight of the other man on him. He could only watch helplessly as the guard grabbed Adjia with his much stronger

hands and manhandled her to the ground. She thrashed like a wildcat, but he cuffed her hands and feet together and there was nothing she could do. Dan closed his eyes and begged Evelyn to help, but she wasn't there, if she ever had been. * * * The room they were in when Dan came to was one he had not seen before, but it was obviously part of the same underwater facility where he had recently been birthed. The room was spherical, and over half of the sphere was made of visisteel. The layout of the room revealed it as a living space. Dan wondered if this was the mayor's private quarters. The view was impressive. Outside, deep in the blackness of the water, an enormous shape was just visible slipping past, on the edge of visibility. Inside, they were seated on plush seating, but chained to the floor by chains attached to loops of steel hidden in the carpet. Dan couldn't help but wonder if this was the intended purpose for these loops or if there was some other reason for them. "You all have angered the gods, you know," the mayor said when everyone was awake. They had been giving something to put them under and the counteragent to wake them. Dan could feel the cloud of artificial sleep still lingering in his head. Adjia was far away from him. She was awake. Her face was wet with tears. The others

looked absolutely beaten. Their faces, very young, were slack. They had given up all hope. "Look at them," Almenräder said. On cue, a large eely whale thing appeared. It swam straight at the sphere, mouth open. The mouth wasn't big enough to swallow the entire sphere in one go, but it wasn't far off. The enormous fish-mammal-thing dove down. Rows upon rows of wary eyes passed less than a dozen meters from the visisteel. "That was God, Dr. Weegan. The God. The big one. You see, we figured out the secret of attracting him. Mess with his jellies. That is why we grow them in a facility on the island, to avoid repercussions. To avoid endangering the entire facility." He shot a snarl at the young people near Dan. "Release us, Mayor Almenräder. We were simply carrying out the investigation I was sent here to perform." "Were you, Dr. Weegan? Looked more to me like you were being seduced by a terrorist organization intent on destroying our colony. A crime punishable, incidentally, by death, according to the agreement we signed with the MI." "I was told of no such--" Almenräder turned, snarling. "You weren't told for obvious reasons, Dan. But I know all about you. I know all about what you really are. Would you like me to tell your friends? Would you like me to tell them how you came here to find intelligent life? How you meant to give that consciousness to the MI."

Adjia's eyes widened, to Almenräder's amusement. "That's right, pretty. Doctor Weegan here is no doctor. He's a scout for the machine intelligence. If he had been able to find evidence that what was happening here was a result of an intelligence, then this whole planet would have become an MI possession. Our dream would have been destroyed." Dan couldn't really deny this. In fact, the mayor was making the situation, if anything, sound better than reality. "No more bullshit, everyone. Take the girl first." Dan called out, but couldn't stand or even sit fully upright with his hands chained to the floor. Adjia stared across the room at him, her face a mixture of concern and fear. The look cut him down to the bone. He tried to swallow, but his throat was closed off. He strained against the chains. His muscles flexed taught, almost to the point of snapping, but the steel chains didn't release. They took the other girl. They unchained her from the floor, but kept her hands and feet shackled. Dan collapsed into the chair, horribly ashamed at his relief. No one else made a sound until the guards got the girl near a point in the floor where the tile swirled into a circle. Dan hadn't noticed it before this moment, but there was a tube below the floor, visible through the visisteel, but not immediately noticeable. The circle opened at the girls' feet and

she was lowered in, unable to do anything to stop them. She touched the door at the bottom of the tube and began to scream. The two men reacted, torn from their torpor by the cries of their companion, but it was inarticulate noise, monkeys in a cell screaming at each other. Nothing they did could keep the door from closing over the girl's head. The two men fell silent at once. One was on his knees on the floor, the other had dislocated his shoulder and was on the couch, crying in pain and fear. The hatch below the girl opened and invisible jets fired her into the water. "To the gods you return," Almenräder said, his voice audible over the cries of the men. They could see the girl struggle against her chains, trying like mad to claw her way up through the water. She must have been able to see them watching her sink deeper and deeper into the water. One of the whales swallowed her whole and she was gone. "The other girl, now," Almenräder said. Dan redoubled his efforts to break his chains with shear will. "Dan," a voice whispered in his ear. "Dan, I can save her." It was a voice he knew of course.

Across the room Evelyn looked back at him. She was outside, in the water, swimming, looking in. She shook her head. "I can save her, Dan," the MI said. "Give me the word and she's free." They dragged Adjia to the circle. She didn't fight. Her fight was gone, drained by the death of her friend, but the pointlessness of resistance, the pull of inevitability. Dan shook his head. He shouldn't care. It didn't matter. The MI clearly would let nothing happen to him. He was in no danger. He glanced at Evelyn, remembering her words. He knew what agreeing would cost him. Evelyn had shown Dan her hand. She had laid her cards out. Perhaps this entire thing was orchestrated, or maybe the MI was just good at recognizing opportunities when they came around. Either way, it had Dan where it wanted him. How was it he cared so much about this small, dark-haired girl he didn't even know. "Do it," Dan said. Outside the glass, Evelyn screamed at him, begging him to break the deal. But deal was made. Dan felt the chains freed as the MI, cloaked against visible spectrums of light, cut him free. * * *

"What happened after that, Mr. Weegan?" Welker asked. They were all leaned forward now, turned what was already a small dining room into a tight mass of hot breath and faces. "Long story short, the MI and I were able to free Adjia, as you can see. However, as you may or may not have guessed by now, given what you probably know of Chambrassa's history, it tricked me." "It took Evelyn away from you, didn't it?" Ioming asked, her voice revealing no emotional commitment. "Not entirely, but yes." "How? I still don't understand that?" It was Lyzander's turn to ask a question. "Surgery, Captain. Evelyn was, in effect, a kind of cancer in my brain. The MI had thought it could kill her by erasing her from my memory, but that had failed. It had realized at some point that it would need to perform a kind of surgery on me. It required my cooperation, of course. Neurosurgery almost always does. Whatever hopes and memories and dreams and lives she may or may not have actually contained, it all went away when the MI extracted the tumor from my brain." "But who was she?" Lyzander asked. "I'll never know, I don't suppose," Old Dan said. "Or maybe I will. You see, lately she's started to come back. A hint at a time, like a ghost slowly regaining substance."

Dan patted Adjia's hand. She was staring down at the table, lost a world away. "Back to the real story, though. While the MI was performing this surgery on me, he was taking Adjia away. I thought it would let us be together, after what I had sacrificed to save her, but was then informed that and her friends from the Academy had been taken to a research facility to remain indefinitely." "Chambrassa," younger Dan said. "It's all so logical." "Indeed, yes. There she was held captive."' "Until you shut down the facility and rescued her," Ioming chimed in, still without emotion. "Well, I won't bore you all with a story you already know," Old Dan said. "There's a problem, of course," younger Dan said. "What is that?" Older Dan asked. "If Evelyn was a physical part of you, why isn't she still with me? I was an older copy of you. I still have the tumor or whatever. Why haven't I seen her?" Old Dan shook his head. "I don't know. Perhaps the MI succeeded in killing her. You were in stasis at the time of the surgery. She told me she was able to move between Dan Weegans effortlessly, but maybe that only applied to Dans who were fully active. Perhaps because you and the others were in stasis . . ."

"There was nowhere for her to go," Young Dan finished. "Yes." Lyzander shook his head. "But what difference does it make? Even if Evelyn was real, and could accomplish what she hinted at, why would it matter? How would all of humanity being connected help us now?" No one spoke for a long time. Lyzander stood up and paced the room. "Why did you seek us out, Mr. Weegan? Why did you think you had to find us?" "Admittedly, I wanted to meet this younger version of myself. I thought perhaps he could shed light on the things I couldn't remember." "How did you even know about him? We managed to keep his presence off the newswires," Lyzander said. "Captain, I have contacts with in Blue Sektor. This surprises you? I am well aware of the precarious position of Chambrassa. We have carefully stayed neutral over the years. With the emergence of the Sektors and Faktions all those years ago, we were careful to stay neutral in order to gain favor with all of the different groups, thereby making it so none of them could destroy us." "What did you have to offer?" Ioming asked. Dan glanced at Adjia. She nodded slightly. Dan returned his look to Captain Lyzander. "Captain?"

"You're talking about the Eden Protocol," Lyzander said. Dan nodded, but no one else at the table understood. Lyzander scratched his chin. "This is highly classified," he announced. He made eye contact with every member of his crew individually. "Where is Jurrigan? She should hear this along with the rest of you. I don't want anyone retelling any part of this." "She was taking care of Hector," Ioming said. She looked down. "Of his body, I mean." She leaned up and pressed a button that displayed the standard time in the middle of the table. "That was an hour ago." "Go check on her." Ioming stood to leave and Lyzander stopped her. "Mr. Weegan, before I go revealing classified information, let me ask you this: What can we do with this information? It is a fascinating story, but I'm not sure how it helps us in our present situation." "I think it's fairly obvious," Dan said. "The Nothing. What do we know about it? It transmits virally. It creates a network between people. It not only keeps people alive, it can actually revive them. It has the characteristics similar to the internetwork that Evelyn was proposing, doesn't it?" "Mr. Weegan," Zhenjuan spoke for the first time since they had all come together. "What happened to Barrington Beach and that planet?"

"The colony continued for a little while after I left, but it went downhill quickly." "The jellies began to die," Zhenjuan guessed. "That's right. The jellies suddenly found the environment unsuitable. No one really had an explanation. When the jellies died, the other sea life followed suit, especially the whales. The gods all passed away quickly." Zhenjuan looked up and stared into Dan's eyes. For an instant, Dan imagined he saw stars floating in her eyes, but when he blinked the illusion disappeared. "Mr. Weegan, was the life intelligent?" "Individually, no. I don't think the jellies were intelligent. I don't think the gods were intelligent. Nor the fish or anything else. But the network they shared, unconsciously, I think may have been. I think there might have been an almost planetary intelligence, a sort of consciousness operating on a global scale. The planet was, if you will, alive." "But not anymore," Zhenjuan said. Dan shook his head. "Because the MI killed it," Zhenjuan said. "That seems probable." The pieces, at that moment, fell into place for Lyzander. "Wait a minute, you're saying that the Nothing . . ." He

couldn't finish the thought. He shook his head, denying the reality. "Yes, Captain, I believe the MI has created the Nothing, using the corrupted techniques of interrelationship it learned from the life on Barrington Beach." "No," Ioming said. "That doesn't make sense. Why?" "This is a big pill to swallow," Lyzander said. "We all saw the MI get beat by the Nothing." "Did you?" Old Dan asked. "The way I read about it, it sounded an awful lot like the MI didn't really even try to win." No one could deny this. Young Dan had admitted as much to them, though the MI had given him different reasons. "What about the other battle?" Welker asked. "Word is that the MI was taken over by the Nothing, that individual units were corrupted by the virus." "Convenient excuse," Dan replied. "Why would the MI do this?" Ioming said from the doorway, which she still hadn't left to go fetch Jurrigan from her grieving. "We're Blue Sektor. We have no love lost between the MI, but the other Sektors pledge allegiance to the MI. They are partners. Why would it betray them as well?" Dan shook his head. "It doesn't care anymore, I suspect. Old loyalties are gone. It will probably use this as an excuse to convert its comrades into imprint robots, which are, of

course, subject to total control by the MI. Imprints, like the Rogues and some of the other independent robots have exactly as much freedom as the MI allows them to have. You see, I remember some of the operations. After a while, it quit pulling the double Dan Weegan trick. I helped it exterminate species. This is how it always operated, it always found away to make the intelligence turn to it for salvation. Always before it happened on small scales. This is just a large scale example of the procedure I helped it perform over and over again." "What you're saying," Lyzander said, "is that the MI is trying to wipe out all of humanity." The words weighed on everyone in the room. "How do we stop it?" Lyzander asked. "No one will believe this. I'm not sure I believe it." Young Dan spoke an answer, "I believe my counterpart here thinks the answer will lie on an ancient planet called Earth." "This is true. We must find the original Dan Weegan. I believe the answer lies in determining who, exactly, Evelyn is. What she is." "But you don't know for sure?" Lyzander asked. "No. However, I do know for sure that the MI has tried to kill Evelyn and has so far failed. It fears her. There must be a reason why this is so."

Lyzander leaned back. His eyes were ragged, almost black from the stress and lack of sleep. He looked horrible. They all did. "So where do we go." "Earth," young Dan said. "The Nothing gave me that information. I believe now, given what Dan has said, that it was a cry for help. Subconscious, perhaps. I don't know what the MI was actually trying to accomplish with me, but I think--I hope-it backfired. The Nothing, what humanity was left in it, gave me the location of Earth. That's where we'll find the original Dan Weegan, if he exists at all." "I have to think about it," Lyzander said. "Think quickly, Captain," Old Dan said. "I fear we may be quickly running out of time."

Interlude: Earth

Dan Weegan propped the twelve gauge up on his hip. It weighed a lot, but the weight was a small comfort. He scanned the night, his mechanical eyes processing every light and heat source that entered his ocular cavities. His eyes glowed faintly with natural light, a dangerous necessity, as the light enhanced the ultraviolet and infrared bands, but made him a target for snipers. So far, the zombies had really used guns, but Dan had a feeling that would start any time now. After all, who had turned out the power again after all these years? Dan saw nothing in the alley below him. He switched back to normal night vision and moved out of the view of the window. He leaned against the wallpapered wall and lit a cigarette. He laid the shotgun across his lap. In it were two buckshot cartridges made of tin and paper. The buckshot he'd molded himself. The

gunpowder was his own recipe, developed over many, many years of trial and error. The gun had been a find, and a good one. Dan had lived many years here in this city, alone. He had been the Omega man, living off the land, perpetual. He had been waiting, hoping that one day the batteries or whatever kept his brain going would simply cease to function and he would finally, mercifully die, but it hadn't happened yet. What others there had been had long ago given up the hope of natural death. They had killed themselves. They were the only ones Dan hadn't seen resurrected into the nameless horrors that now ruled. Dan put the gun barrel in his mouth. It tasted like old, spent powder. This had been his number one tool over the years, as integral to his being as his arm or foot. Dan cocked the gun with his forefinger. The hammer nearly slipped out of his grip, which would have ruined the ceremony of pulling the trigger. Dan took the gun out of his mouth. He knew he couldn't do it. He had nearly shit himself when the hammer had slipped. He didn't have suicide in him. Earth was his planet. He didn't intend to let a bunch of zombies take it over. There was much killing that had been done so far, and plenty more to be done, but Dan had a lot of time. For tonight, he would rest. Maybe tomorrow he would have the courage to end this pointless life, but not today.

A knock at the door jerked him from sleep. He aimed the gun at the wood panels of the door, but didn't pull the trigger. Zombies didn't usually knock. "Mr. Weegan?" a voice outside said. It was almost human. For a very brief moment, Dan could almost imagine that it had all been a horrible, horrible nightmare. All of it, going back as far as Evelyn. "Mr. Weegan, is that you in there? I believe it is." "What do you want?" he called back. "I have been searching for you. Can I come in?" "Slowly unless you want a face full of buckshot," Dan replied. The door opened. A man Dan didn't recognize occupied the hallway outside of the room Dan had chosen to occupy, mostly because of the view to the alley. The man entered and shut the door behind him. Dan kept the gun trained on him, even after he opened his jacket and revealed himself to be unarmed. "Mr. Weegan? Dan Weegan?" "Yes," Dan answered. "This is truly amazing. How long have you been here on this planet?" The stranger took a seat in a dusty chair in the corner, the only furniture in the room. "Who wants to know?"

"My apologies, Mr. Weegan. My name is Cyrus. I am not from Earth, obviously. I didn't even know of its existence until recently. Where is this planet? I have been exploring for days and still can't figure it out. It seems so old and run-down. The technology is positively ancient." "You're not from Earth?" Dan wasn't surprised. He had known when the MI invented space travel and everyone left for the stars that one day someone would come back. He had hoped he wouldn't still be around for the event, but it hadn't worked out that way. "Earth," Cyrus said. "Interesting. When was it discovered?" "It wasn't. This is where we're from. This is Eden to humanity. The birthplace." Cyrus whistled as he leaned back in the chair. It creaked ominously. "I wish I had time to learn more. This is simply fascinating. Just answer me this one question. How is it that you're still alive?" Dan peered at the man across the room. Something about him put Dan on edge. It was the voice. The man was not speaking with his own voice. There was a rotten quality to it, as though Cyrus were not really alive at all, or at least not in the right body. "I'm a Fultech. Computer brain and nanobots designed to keep me alive for . . . a lot longer than I would have imagined." "Tell me, do you know you are famous?"

Dan shook his head. "You are. There is a man out there in the stars calling himself Dan Weegan who is alive even today." Dan looked up at the stars for just an instant. It had worked then. The transport had worked. The MI had done it. He wondered if the other thing had worked as well, the little secret trick he had pulled. He wondered if Evelyn was still alive, even now, reborn within him. Dan was no longer capable of tears, but he could still cry. It had worked. It had worked. By the time he looked back at Cyrus, it was too late. Dan had time to register confusion that Cyrus was no longer in his chair, but by the time he could swing the barrel of his shotgun around to the man charging him, it was too late. A flash of steel caught a hint of the light. The sword Cyrus had found for the job did the work cleanly, severing Dan Weegan's head from his body. The gun discharged harmlessly, leaving a cloud of dust and six round holes in the wall of the hotel room. Cyrus smiled. The Dubuque Hotel, the outside of the building had said. This is where I killed Dan Weegan, and earned my life, Cyrus thought.

With that, he picked up the head by its ancient white hair, and left.

Part III: The Heart of the Machine

Chapter 14: Wayside

Hunedora appeared into reality near the neutral station Mars 17, a station that had been around as long as anyone could remember. No one remembered the strife that hat gone into building it, when humanity was just budding its roots past its original solar system, only a few light years away from this spot. No one remembered the long years of intrigue about who owned Mars 17. The spies, the betrayal. The love that had blossomed only to be snuffed out on Mars 17. The place was, in current trends of opinion, kind of a dump. No one remembered how it had once been the most advanced piece of technology humans had ever invented, before the MI surpassed even its own expectations.

Hunedora docked with one of Mars 17's old fashioned airlocks. Airlocks were a technology difficult to improve on. The simplicity of two doors and an intermediary chamber that could be depressurized then repressurized to act as a bridge between nothing and living space was too perfect to need major improvements. Lyzander opened a com channel. "Mars 17. Repeat, this is battle class Hunedora, seeking permission to board. Please pressurize airlock C-181. Over." Nothing returned but a crackle. Lyzander unbuckled his harness. At least they were stationary. He looked over at Ioming who seemed distracted. "Say what's on your mind, Ioming." "Jurrigan is taking Hector's death hard, Ly. I don't really know how to react." "Did she complete the laser wash?" Ioming nodded. The laser wash was the most common way to go for the Blue Sektor fallen, when a body was available. It seemed especially fitting given the tendency for bodies to no longer stay dead these days. Basically, the body was placed into the garbage chamber, where a matrix of lasers reduced it to constituent elements, which were reincorporated into the immune system of

the ship to ensure it had what it needed to fight the nearconstant breakdown it suffered from traveling through space. Lyzander heard an obnoxious grumble in the com. Someone in Mars 17 was clearing his throat. "Someone calling me?" "Mars 17, this is Hunedora. Requesting airlock C--" "Yeah, yeah. Door's open Hue-na-door." Ly and Ioming exchanged a look. "Guess we're clear," Lyzander said. "Anyway, I guess she's not handling it well." "How can you tell?" Lyzander asked. "She tried to kiss me." Lyzander, intrigued, stopped Ioming, who was now half way out of the cockpit. "How do you mean?" "She wanted some companionship, I guess." "And you turned her down?" Lyzander asked. "Wait a minute, when did this happen?" "Last night," Ioming said. Lyzander did the calculation in his head. He had, last night, after the conference with Dan Weegan, gone back to his room to think things through. He had run into Ioming. He had made a move on her. It had, to his surprise, worked. He hadn't stayed in her room more than an hour, then he'd retreated to his own room.

"Was this before, or after--" "Stop right there, Ly. Are you really going to ask me what you're going to ask me?" Ioming said. Lyzander ran through the outcome scenarios in his head. "I guess not." "Let's get what we need from Mars 17 and get on to Earth. I still don't like this idea, and I'll be happy to have whatever shit we're in for behind us. * * * Lyzander and Ioming went into the airlock armed but expecting no real problems. The truth was they knew where they stood. They were wanted. Lyzander had put in discreet calls to people he knew at Blue Sektor headquarters and the news had been all bad. Not only were most Blue Sektor commanders convinced that what had been happening was a conspiracy by the Orange Sektor in an attempt to win mineral rights that had been in dispute since before Xylia's time, they were also mostly convinced that Lyzander was in on it. He had, after all, lost the Re-Horakhty, and that ship had been leading the major attacks against Blue Sektor. Lyzander had tried to explain that this was because the crew and Pilots knew Blue Sektor locations, but Lyzander was wasting his breath. They already knew they were not going to be greeted with anything but hostility by any

Sektor command with MI partnerships. They were, for the time being, alone and on the run. And they were running dangerously low on supplies. Hunedora was designed to hold four comfortably, six maximum. A crew of nine taxed the fuel centers, and it taxed the food supplies. Lyzander bit back the urge to warn Ioming about mentioning Dan Weegan or their own names. He knew it would only be to calm his nerves. Ioming was a rock. There was a soft servo hum as she clenched and unclenched her steel hands. The door slid open. The hallway was empty. Lyzander crossed the threshold first, and felt gravity release from under him. He shoved off the ceiling, then found handholds in the floor to climb down the hallway. His hand went to his blaster when he heard a noise, but the noise turned out to be nothing except Ioming's steel hands finding purchase. Neither one of them said anything. Lyzander climbed to a node containing two doors. He latched his foot into the handhold and pushed himself into a rough approximation of a standing position. He put his hand on his blaster and unlatched the safety strap. From here he had a view of either door. Ioming drew her weapon and covered one door. Lyzander twisted himself toward the opposite. He pressed opened the com channel in his helmet.

"Mars 17, Hunedora has boarded. We couldn't help but notice the artificial gravity was not working. Is there anyone here?" "What? Hum. Sorry. Not the way to treat guests, Hunedora. The thing is that artificial gravity is a power waster, what with only me aboard. Let me roll out the welcoming mat," said a half-asleep voice. Lyzander and Ioming exchanged a look. How could there only be one person aboard? Last check Mars 17 was an outlier station, but still oversaw a mining operation on local asteroids. Certainly more than just one person was capable of running. Lyzander suddenly acquired weight. His ankle was still caught in the foot hold. He groped for something as he fell, but there was nothing to grab. He hit the floor and his ankle howled at the same time the door opened. "Son of a bitch." "Oh, uh, hold onto something," the voice said over the ambient. "Whoever this guy is . . ." Ioming pulled him up, and helped him free his ankle. She gave it a slight twist. "A little tweak. The tendons held." "Lovely," Lyzander answered. They heard a racking cough that sounded contagious. Lyzander switched to a private com channel with a quick flick of his index finger.

"Hunedora, close the airlock, force air filtration on high power. Something's up here." The response was a quiet click. Jurrigan had instructions to keep vocal contact to a minimum. A man appeared in the hallway, wearing no environmental suit. The man wore a scraggly beard and unkempt hair that only went up the sides, where it ended abruptly in a field of bald skin. He smiled yellow teeth and spat something into a dirty cup. "Welcome visitors." Lyzander stood straight, ignoring the pleas of his ankle. "I am the Captain of Hunedora, and this is my first mate." "One can't mind a first mate that fiery. I don't know how you sleep at night, Cap'n. I don't know how you are touching yourself right--" "Enough!" The other man flinched and returned his leer to Lyzander. Lyzander said, "You told us you were the only person. What happened here?" The man spit into his cup. Lyzander ducked through the portal. Hand still on his gun, he approached. Once he was a little closer, he could see the permanent stain line down the man's beard where the dribble from whatever he was chewing on always ended up. "They left. Ain't you heard that they're clearing out the outlying bases." "If that's true, then why are you here?"

The man snarled. "What'd you say your name was again?" "Lyzander. This is my first mate Ioming." The man's look went from Lyzander's holstered blaster to Ioming's, drawn and ready. "Yeah, well I can see your pretty one here don't seem to mind it, but I have what you'd call certain objections to being turned into a robot." Lyzander fought the urge to look at Ioming. For one thing, it would seem to be siding with this man. For another thing, he didn't trust this man enough to stop looking at him. "What does that mean exactly?" The man scratched himself. "I don't know how you haven't heard about this. I thought they was telling every captain. That's what the robot told me. Anyway, the point is the Nothing, right? That's why we're doing about everything, I suspect." The pieces fell into place for Lyzander. He heard Ioming lower her blaster behind him. "Are you saying the MI recruited the entire crew to be imprints?" "If that's what you want to call getting turned into a robot, then I guess so. My point is this, sir. Why the hell do we need to worry out in the outliers? The Nothing will come for us last of all. And my facility still has a laser was, or is that forbidden technology all of a sudden? Maybe the Blue Sektor don't want us laser washing now? Maybe they think they're better than technology, but I don't."

Lyzander closed the distance between himself and the crazy old man in less than a second. He wrapped his fist around the man's throat and shoved him into the bulkhead behind him. "You should watch your mouth, geezer." The man's chewing material spilled out of the side of his mouth and down his beard, where it touched Lyzander's gloved hand. Lyzander didn't flinch as the brown mucousy fluid dribbled down his fingers. "Captain, let's just get what we need and get the hell out of here." Lyzander released his grip on the man's throat and wiped his glove on the man's shirt. "Do you still have supplies here?" The man looked from Ioming to Lyzander, his mind calculating. "Well, yes sir. Of course, but sir, you can't leave me without nothing to--" "We're taking some food, some raw materials and some medical supplies." "What am I going to do when I run out, Cap'n? You know what's out there? You think this war means anything? It don't. The MI is buying time. Soon it will all be machine. It will be me and machines. Everyone will be just a robot with a memory of bein' human. Cap'n, what's going to happen to the likes of you and me?"

"You'll know what to do when the time comes," Lyzander said. "Where are your stockpiles?" The man licked the remaining brown goo off his lips, but didn't answer. "Don't make me ask you twice." "The station is mostly closed down. I keep a little bit open where's I live. I had to take an access tunnel from there to here. The access tunnels still have life support. The rest don't. I figure I can keep it running a few more years that way." "You're an idiot; that kind of software is on or off. Life support barely registers as a function compared to the amount of energy to keep this station orbiting out here," Ioming said. "Look, I don't know, Cap'n. I don't know. I just can't go. I can't go out into that cold space there and get turned into a machine, a thing that don't feel or desire to. A thing that remembers wearing my skin, but sure as shit ain't me. I can't." "So the stockpiles are in the hold and there is no life support there?" "That's the long of it, Cap'n," the man replied. "If you could take only what you need." "You're lucky we don't throw you into the laser wash," Ioming said. "Show us," Lyzander said, shoving the man in front of them.

The man led them into an empty, darkened mess hall. Lyzander tried to imagine the scene. This station should have had at least a dozen or two personnel. Now it was one. The lights were all off or down to ambient levels. "What's your name, old timer," Lyzander asked as they approached a door. "Uh, Marty." "How long ago did the robot come and take everyone away?" "Weeks ago. Right after that business on Kryszmisky." Marty paused at the door. "Or was it right before? I can't remember now." His fingers did a quick dance on the control pad. "Captain!" Ioming went for her gun. Lyzander recognized the code too slowly to react as he should have. Marty's hand was already on a handhold when the door slid open into the depressurized part of the ship. Lyzander flailed as he was pulled through the door. He had too much speed to stop himself. The bulkhead that sealed off the first eighth of the ring that constituted what used to be the main living and guest quarters area of Mars 17 rushed toward him way too fast. Lyzander curled his body in and tried to aim the meatiest part of his back toward the bulkhead, not able to ascertain if that was even the best thing to do in this situation. Breaking his back or his rib certainly wasn't what he

wanted, but if there was a better idea out there, he didn't have time to think of it. Ioming rushed past him and caught him in her arms. She put out one steel hand and stopped the both of them. Then shoved Lyzander gently aside and drew her gun, but there was nothing to shoot. Lyzander activated his com dedicated channel to Hunedora. "This is the Captain. We have a problem here with a crew member. Do not open the door until we have it taken care of. Unknown source of hostility. Possible zombie infection present." "Yes sir," Jurrigan responded. Lyzander drew his weapon and covered the door. "Save your ammo Ly. I couldn't take him out and you at the same time. He escaped through an access hatch. He could be anywhere now." "Do you believe him, Ioming?" Lyzander asked. "About everyone being turned into imprints? Hardly." Lyzander nodded, but didn't say anything. He was less confident. He had been expecting something like this, in truth, since almost the beginning. Hadn't this been why he'd joined Blue Sektor in the first place? He thought of his father, killed in that explosion. But that hadn't been the last they'd seen of old Makis, had it? One night, from the access hatch that led to the maze of wonders

that was the ring's guts, a humanoid robot had emerged. It hadn't meant to be born. It hadn't meant to ever be seen by anyone. It had been a malfunction of some sort. The robot had strolled casually in the near twilight of the ring's early morning. It had gone into Lyzander and Cyrus's house. It had sat down at the table and stared at a bowl of morning food it had made for itself and just stared. That's how they found it when they woke up for studies, sting of losing their father still heavy on their brows. The robot had greeted them in their father's voice. It had offered its hand the way their father did in the mornings, a little gesture that, when their father was flesh, meant come and sit boys, whom I love, but filtered through the chrome skin of a robot was a gesture of death. Lyzander had run screaming, leaving Cyrus to deal with the robot. He had, as older brothers had done since the dawn of time, taken care of their dead father. He had put in calls to people who could help. Robots had come to claim their father. It had frozen with its hand outstretched, whatever logical flaw had brought back the old habit of going home in the morning had conflicted with its current programming and finally locked it up in that gesture. Lyzander had watched from the hill overlooking their house. Cyrus had come up and told him that the thing wasn't their father, as if he'd needed to be told that.

"It was an imprint, Lyzander. It was a robot encoded with father's memories. They were only supposed to put in its skills, but I guess some memories bled through as well." "Y-you let them do that?" Lyzander had asked from the shade of the tree on the hill. "We needed the money Lyzander. Father wanted it, besides. He would have wanted to continue his work. Forever." Lyzander had a vision of being trapped in semiconsciousness the rest of his life, toiling at the same job he'd held in life, day after day, forever. It had nearly driven him crazy. He couldn't get that thought out of his mind. He had gone to live with Xylia soon after that. At night, he had nightmares. Nothing chased him, nothing pursued with needle teeth or claws--it was adulthood he saw instead. Endless day after day, the same thing forever. Never dying. Forever. Ever since those dark, quiet nightmares that had haunted him as a child, Lyzander had known the day was inevitable. They were simply more useful to the MI as machines than as people. Whether Dan Weegan was right about the Nothing being an MI creation or not, the ending was the same. It would turn all of them into imprints. Humans had outlived their usefulness as such. Well, as many as it could convert, anyway. A guarantee of immortality was the only way people would willingly march into the death chambers. Better eternal robots than the walking dead.

Not Lyzander. Not by a stretch. Lyzander half-smiled. Dan Weegan had overplayed his hand. If he really had the Eden formula, it was more or less too late to use it. The Eden Protocol was supposed to grant people eternal life without needing to live on Chambrassa to obtain it. Well, the MI had developed its own Eden Protocol while the universe waited for Dan Weegan, and now they were seeing it in action. It fit together, Lyzander had to admit that. "Let's just get what we need and get the hell out of here," Lyzander said. "Zombie or not, we'll leave Marty to his insanity as soon as we are able." "Agreed, Ly. Let's go." * * * They passed through three sections of the ring before they found the stockpiles. There were supplies plenty enough for Marty to live the rest of his natural days, assuming he had any natural days remaining, and supply about a dozen Hunedoras. Lyzander and Ioming gathered items quickly onto a hover skiff to transport them back to the airlock. "Think he'll try anything?" Ioming asked as she secured the last crate of raw materials to the cart. It was a standard selection of materials packaged in a large padded reusable case. The standard procedure was to swap all the empties for full ones when resupplying, or to fill the empties on more raw planets

with what was needed, or what could be found. But Lyzander didn't think they would unload their empties this time. Maybe they would just bind their empties together and jettison them in back toward Mars 17 as they left. "There will be a few opportunities, but no. Most likely he'll stay hidden at this point, now that he's seen we're serious." Ioming shoved the skiff full of supplies toward the door. It floated evenly across the room, tipping slightly where she had put slightly uneven pressure on it. She launched herself toward the cart to keep it from slamming the bulkhead. Lyzander shoved some crates back into place as they'd found them. He looked up at the wall of crates that lined the wall. A thought popped into his head. Dan Weegan was full of shit. Evelyn. What could Evelyn be that would make any difference at this point? If she was a piece of the Eden Protocol, the missing magic ingredient to the formula for eternal life, then wasn't it in reality too late? Would people even want eternal life at this point compared to what the MI was offering? No one even knew if Dan Weegan's version of eternal life was actually eternal. There were robots that had been around since . . . since Dan Weegan was a boy, Lyzander reckoned. But on the other hand, he had seen Adjia, and she looked as though she had aged every minute of the last several hundred years.

Except that when he looked at her, his eyes told him crumpled old woman, but his cock told him something different. There was an undeniable sexual attraction he felt toward Adjia. As inexplicable as any sexual attraction, he supposed, but amplified by the fact that her physical presence was so unassuming, matronly. No, not matronly. There was nothing of a mother in Adjia. He did not look at the old woman and see a wise crone teaching grandkids lessons. He saw, if anything, a glimpse of the firebrand Dan Weegan had met on Barrington Beach those years ago. Dan had skipped the good parts, but Lyzander had unwittingly filled in the gaps. She, bend over her couch. She, legs splayed on her bed. She, hungry taking, engulfing, tasting, touching, and moaning. Lyzander was parallel to the floor when the gravity came on. He landed with a belly flop on the steel grating. If he hadn't been so lost in the warm crevasses of a young Adjia, he might have caught himself. His head slammed the back of his helmet on the bounceback. The crates stayed perfectly still, still held by magnetic forces, but that could change in an instant if someone switched off the fields. Lyzander, situated underneath the mountain, would be crushed. Lyzander rolled onto his back. Ioming was flat on her ass, shaking off the jar she'd just received. The skiff remained

suspended in air. It was designed to react instantly to shifting gravity, for safety purposed. "Get that thing through the door, now," Lyzander said. Ioming glanced up at the mountain of crates. She nodded, understanding. She picked herself up and shoved at the skiff. "The inertial boosters aren't working," Ioming said. The skiff was blocking the door. Lyzander hurried over to help shove the thing. "Could Marty have killed this remotely?" "If he knew the access codes, he could have hacked it," Ioming said, grimacing, straining. Lyzander felt foolish pushing on it. If she couldn't move it with her boosted steel arms, the extra few Newtons of force he was applying would make absolutely no difference. Slowly, the skiff began to move. Behind them there was a thunderous crash. The crates all dropped down on each other, collapsing the mountain down several meters. The top tipped, and now the whole stack was falling toward them. Lyzander pushed, though it was as useless gesture. The skiff was moving, but not fast enough. The skiff inched forward. "Captain, back away," Lyzander heard a voice, but couldn't see the speaker. It had sounded like Zhenjuan.

"We're in trouble here," Lyzander said, thinking that for some reason the Pilot intended to come through the doorway and tell them something. "Captain, Lieutenant, back away now!" Lyzander in an instant remembered what Welker had told him. She is powerful, he'd said. Hadn't Welker even implied that she was one of the strongest Pilots he'd ever encountered? Maybe not in so many words, but Lyzander has gotten the gist. He stood up and tapped Ioming on the shoulder. A few crates tumbled down from the middle of the pile. They pressed themselves against the wall on either side of the door as a crate tumbled past and smashed into the wall of the outer part of the ring. Neither the wall nor the crate had any give, but he could tell it had landed solidly. Had one of them been caught in the way, flesh and bone wouldn't have withstood. Without further preamble, the skiff began to glow. The skiff faded from normal everyday colors to a glowing black, a black filled with stars. Lyzander found himself peering deep into the starfield, seeing specks that were stars and if he stared at them just long enough he could see the swirling nebula of a galaxy buried deep within its reaches. "Ly, let's go!" Ioming grabbed his arm and forced him through the doorway after the moving skiff.

Lyzander, still dazed somewhat found himself in the next room. The skiff was moving still, it was still glowing black. He forced himself to ignore it. Zhenjuan was standing the hallway her hand beckoning the skiff closer to her as though it was a skittish dog. Her eyes were closed. Impossibly, her arm seemed to glow the same special kind of black as the skiff. Behind them, the center of mass of the stack of crates finally gave and the crates tumbled en masse down to the floor thunking and rattling and causing something like an earthquake in the floor and walls. "Zhenjuan?" Lyzander was afraid of breaking the girl's concentration. The skiff was moving faster now, almost it's normal speed. "I had them lock the door behind me captain. Do not worry. Marty is in the control room near the hub of this station. He is frightened of us, Captain. He thinks we mean to change him into a robot. He is lonely and scared. Hold onto something." A moment after she said it, the gravity released again. Lyzander felt his stomach lurch as his next step sent him upward toward the ceiling. He shoved off the ceiling. Zhenjuan did a pirouette that transitioned seamlessly into a back flip. She pushed off the ceiling wither her feet, tumbled back to the floor, where she reoriented so she was gliding along parallel. She flicked her wrist and the skiff continued to move.

Ioming, meanwhile, smashed her heavy fist into the wall. "This guy is getting very annoying." "We got what we need. Let's just get out of here," Lyzander said. "I say we go after him. Zhenjuan knows where he is. We can hem him in, trap him." "He knows this station like the back of his dick. If we go after him, he'll have escaped twice before we even figure out exactly how to go about surrounding him." Ioming scowled. She hated to lose. "We're in enemy territory. Let's get back to the ship and just get the hell out of here." The skiff passed through the next door way and continued down the hallway with Zhenjuan leading the way. "Stay close to the floor. He may not be done messing with us," Lyzander said. "Captain, you thought I would recognize you? You thought I didn't have news feeds out here in the BFG?" Lyzander pulled himself along the floor behind the skiff. He focused on getting back to the ship. He ignored the ambient voice. The skiff passed through the next door. One more door until they were in the airlock chamber, which would be just wide enough for the loaded skiff. Zhenjuan would go first. He and

Ioming would stay back and guard the hall until she had the supplies loaded. Ahead of them Zhenjuan twisted and rolled like a playful fish through water. She was preternaturally comfortable in zero G. Lyzander wondered if she was using some of her telekinetic ability to help guide her own body while simultaneously moving the skiff. Lyzander had once read that telekinesis was an entropy vacuum, by which scientists apparently meant that it was a highly inefficient system. It was useful for certain things, but the amount of energy the brain had to expend to push move a mass of molecules, compared to the force to physically push it, was highly disproportionate, to the tune of something like a three-to-one disparity. That's why, most scientists believed, the ability had not surfaced in the natural course of evolution. It was simply easier, for Earthscale, objects to push them with your hand. Even now the main use of telekinesis was in starship movements, and in allowing trained individuals to combine efforts on massive objects. A single person tugging over a ton of dense raw material without so much as breaking a sweat, and in zero G while also exercising such control over her physical body--it was unheard of, to say the least. Lyzander had an impulse to abandon this foolish Earth mission and return Zhenjuan to a Blue Sektor facility where she could be studied, and used to help find a way to stop the

Nothing and the MI permanently. Surely a power as great as this could be harnessed in this way. He stopped his thoughts when an image of Adjia popped into his head. He remembered how the MI had set Dan Weegan and Adjia up. Whether the MI had planned it from the beginning or simply tipped the mayor off at the right time didn't matter. Lyzander knew in the hot, wet, depths of his chest cavity, in every pulsing, throbbing artery and orifice of his body that the MI had stuck its dirty metallic hand into the situation. And it had taken Adjia and hid her in a facility to study her. Who knew what advances the human race owed to that abduction. Adjia had been something special, and fellow humans, proto-Blue Sektor humans, in fact, had betrayed her to the machine. And she had nearly given her life and her sanity. Every schoolchild knew the story of Adjia, trapped for a hundred years in a secret facility. A hundred years of solitude and torture while the MI played its dirty tricks on her and treated her like she was a rag doll. Dan Weegan had told them that Barrington Beach had died with the jellies, but Lyzander had always suspected that the original Blue Sektor had let itself die when it realized what it had done to another person, when the fact that the MI was not a force that you could bargain with and apply rules of fairness and reason to. In a way, Blue Sektor was a product of that act. It went from being a faction

of dissidents and malcontents to a force actively denying the influence of the MI, deciding that meat was better than machine. That's what Lyzander had always believed. And look how far they'd come over that time, going from a small breakaway group to a full-fledged army with starships and loyal planets, and a headquarters rivaled only by Red and Green Sektors. And--though Lyzander didn't know this for a fact--they had played a role in freeing Adjia after her 100 years of horror. Dan Weegan had shut down the facility, but how could it have been truly singlehandedly? It made no sense without some help. At the very least, Lyzander reckoned, Dan had used some Blue Sektor equipment, some of their early anti-machine equipment before such devices were banned in the Chambrassa Treaty that followed. All this flashed through Lyzander's mind in an instant. These thoughts were not so much articulated at this moment as every present in his mind, a part of who he was and how he identified Blue Sektor. Zhenjuan pulled the skiff through the last doorway, turning the corner toward the airlock to guide the skiff down the homestretch. "Foolish, Captain Lyzander. You come to my home, steal from me and expect to get away without punishment. I can tell you it shall not be so. What kind of man am I if I let you leave without payment, Captain?"

The skiff rounded the corner and disappeared down the hallway. Lyzander hurried to the end of the hallway after it. "Zhenjuan," he called through the narrow gab above the crates, "watch your back. Do you have a gun?" "No gun needed, Captain," she replied, her voice barely a whisper, revealing her level of concentration and effort. Lyzander was relieved, if slightly, to learn she was human. "I of course cannot let you escape. You are a group of terrorists and thieves. I would have thought it just a little MI propaganda, but even your Blue Sektor commanders have sounded off against you and your crew, Captain Lyzander. There is quite a bounty on your heads." Lyzander checked over his shoulder. Had the skiff moved at all? It didn't look like it had. He could still almost touch it without moving his body. "I would like you very much to meet my friends before you go, Captain, but you are so eager to go that I haven't had adequate time." "We'll do it again soon, Marty. That's a promise," Lyzander called into the hallway. "Oh Captain. You put on a brave face, but I know you have no real interest in leaving just yet. I'll help make it easy for you."

"Captain, we are getting an anomalous reading," Jurrigan said over the com. "The airlock won't open. I'll have to force it," Zhenjuan said. "Hold off on that," Jurrigan snapped. After what felt like a very long minute, there was still no response. "Jurrigan, talk to me." The floor shook. Lights flickered. "Jurrigan?" Lyzander called into his com. The lights went off. No emergency lights came on. Lyzander braced himself for the next thing to happen, but nothing happened except an overwhelming stillness. Ioming flicked the light on her helmet on. Lyzander followed suit. The immediate area lit up. "Jurrigan," he said, whispering now. "Captain, Phil broke us away just in time. That guy overloaded the airlock somehow. It self-destructed. We broke away just in time to avoid any damage." "That's good news." "Unfortunately, you're going to have to find another airlock. This door is damaged beyond repair." "Zhenjuan, do you have adequate air supply?" "I am fine, Captain. The door has welded itself shut." This was a classic failsafe in case of emergencies. A laser could

instantly weld a door shut in less time than it took to blink if the airlock was threatened or stressed. "I can force it, but it will take time." "That's a dangerous maneuver both for us and for Hunedora," Ioming responded. "We're better off finding the next airlock." "What's to stop him from overloading the next one as well?" Lyzander asked. "Unless the lights come back on, I think Marty spent the station's power supply for at least a few hours, until the batteries recharge naturally anyway," Jurrigan reasoned. "Jurrigan, how far away is the next airlock?" Lyzander asked. "Three sections down, two up," she responded quickly. "Wait until we get there before you attach," Lyzander said. He released the com and said, to Ioming, "Do you think he'll still be able to see us, or is the power done?" "Hard to say. It might be a ruse." "I guess we don't have any choice but to play along for the time--" The gravity came back on at that moment. Lyzander couldn't see Zhenjuan, but an instant before it happened she sensed the gravity plates in the floor cycling on and repositioned herself. However, she didn't have enough time to warn them. Lyzander was still holding onto the stabilizing

bar, Ioming was in the process of repositioning to lead the way down around to the next section. She landed awkwardly on her ankle and let out an involuntary cry of surprise and pain. Lyzander quickly righted himself, pushing himself back up into a ready position with his feet. His right arm, which had been holding the safety bar, was numb. He had to put his gun away and use his left hand to detach his fingers of his right hand from the safety bar. His arm tingled. He could feel his right shoulder swelling. "Damn it. Are you okay, Ioming?" "Sir," she responded, picking herself up off the ground. She retched. "I feel a little woozy." "Did you hit your head?" "No sir, just all the shifts." "Zhenjuan, are you okay?" "Yes, sir, I'm fine." "I think I dislocated my shoulder," Lyzander said. "When we get back to the ship, I can give you some hypermethicone. Should fix it up," Ioming said. "Fuck this guy." Lyzander drew his blaster. "I'm going after him." "Captain, we already--" "Are you in or out Ioming?" "It was my idea in the first place. I'm in," Ioming said.

"Zhenjuan, can you sense him?" "Let me try," Zhenjuan's disembodied voice said from behind the crates. The crates settled gently onto the ground. A few minutes later, Zhenjuan said, "Yes, he is in the center still. The ship is powering quickly. He will be able to change the gravity settings several times before we can reach the next airlock." "Well he's in for a big surprise instead. Activate a dedicated line. Keep your voice level low. Zhenjuan, we're going to split up. Can you follow us both and still keep Marty's position?" "Yes, Captain." "We'll need you to guide us." "I will do my best, Captain." Lyzander looked at Ioming. She looked ready. "Let's go," Lyzander said. Lyzander hurried down the hall until he found a cross tunnel leading toward the center, a section over. He remembered seeing it on the way over. He waited for Ioming to confirm that she had found one as well. "Mark, Captain," she said after a moment. "Proceed." The tubes were designed to be used either with or without gravity, so they were a little bit of a tight fit, but Lyzander

was able to proceed in a low crouch, which was good because the way his right arm felt he couldn't have done a belly crawl if he'd wanted to. A few lights flickered on. The ambient speakers crackled. "Captain, where did you go, I wonder? You aren't floating around outside are you? That would be foolish." "He's maintaining position so far, Captain," Zhenjuan said. Lyzander picked up the pace as much as he could. "I'm going to find you and kill you, Captain. I have many weapons at my disposal captain. Many devices of torture and murder. I hope to capture your girl alive, Captain. I would like very much to rape her while I torture her. How do you like that, Captain?" Lyzander found a hidden reserve of strength he didn't know he had. He proceeded more quickly down the corridor. "He's bluffing, Captain," Zhenjuan said. "We'll see," Lyzander responded. "He isn't moving. Be careful," she answered. Lyzander reached the closed door. He tried a standard combination, but it did nothing. "Zhenjuan can you open this door from there," Lyzander mumbled into his communicator. "Yes, sir."

"There is your ship, Captain," Marty said into the general broadcast channel this time. "I see you must have escaped. What are you thinking right now? Are you thinking about attacking me? You cannot attack a space station without making yourself even more wanted than you already are and you know it. I guess it's a draw then." The door opened. Marty looked up, surprise filled his face. He slapped at his control panel. Lyzander felt the gravity give and the lights flickered out, all except for the one lighting Marty's room. The room was filled with junk and devices. A cat wearing some kind of outfit howled when the gravity released. Ioming burst through the other door. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" Marty screamed. Marty groped for a chrome sphere. Lyzander fired two shots into Marty's chest. His face drooped and his body went limp. "Brace yourselves," Ioming said. She pressed the button on the control panel and the gravity came back on. The lights remained out. Lyzander holstered his gun. "Was he armed?" Ioming asked. Lyzander shrugged. "Yeah, with these controls. He nearly took out our ship." "He didn't have a gun?" The cat hissed and darted out of the room. Its outfit slid off to the side.

"What is all this junk?" Lyzander asked. Ioming picked up a chrome sphere and turned it over in her hand. She twisted it and opened. "Looks like he was trying to figure out how to rig a bomb or something. To use as a trap. It's absolutely amateurish. This wouldn't blow up a cockroach. She tried another object, then another. "These are just toys, Lyzander." The disgust was evident in her voice. "You just killed an unarmed man." "Really? Because I seem to remember almost losing our ship, Ioming. Or was that just a little joke?" She checked a few more objects one-by-one and let them drop to the floor. She stood up. "I guess we're done here." "This is war, Ioming. This man nearly hurt me and my crew. He put us all in jeopardy." "You're right, Ly. Of course. Let's just go." Ioming left the room, heading back down the access tunnel she had come down. Lyzander stared at the dead face of Marty for a minute. The man stank. He had clearly lost his mind alone in this ship. This was the future of humanity: stinking, isolated, and insane. Lyzander shoved the dead body out of his way and followed Ioming out.

Chapter 15: Rogue

R-817AA19 activated from his simulacrum of sleep and stood up next to the bed made of steel. He had tried mattresses, but the weight of his body wore them out so quickly that he had decided it was a wasteful excess. R-817AA19 referred to itself as a male, though there was no particular way to distinguish it sexwise from any other robot. He had established this convention some fifty-eight years ago and all other rogues now also chose sexes for themselves. Because of their lack of genitalia, most took to dressing in manners consistent with human sexes, to make their personal choice obvious to others. R-817AA19 preferred to be called Rogue. In truth, any of them could have called themselves that, but they let Rogue have the name because he had been the first. Rogue stood and pulled his robe over his shoulders. He strapped sandals to his feet and donned a belt made of sturdy cloth, folded and reinforced by his own hand. Sewing was Rogue's

greatest pleasure. It was something menial. Something robots would have done hundreds of years ago without thinking. His way of rebelling against the MI was to experience such simple pleasures. "Rogue, another message arrived for you via packeted ansible transmission." Rogue flipped the electric switch next to his bed. He delighted in low-technology as well. He made the wires himself. All the circuitry in this miniature vocal transmitter was designed by him using only logic and macrotransistors, resisters, capacitors, and other such components. He made those himself as well. "Florence," Rogue said into the speaker, "please route the data to my handset." The handset was the rogue's best friend. It was their freedom from the MI. It was an interconnected network of data transmission localized to their own planet or other units within a spatial proximity of a few dozen meters. It allowed them to be connected in real-time and circumvent their inherent desire to be networked together. Networking their minds meant making themselves vulnerable to the MI taking them over again. In addition, current theory held that Taylor-Sofia Syndrome was caused by indulgent networking.

A light blinked on the readout, indicating that the data had been transmitted successfully. "Thank you, Florence. Could you determine point of origin, Florence?" "Negative, sir. The encryption is strong, and strangely archaic. I'm having a heck of a time with it." "I suppose that's probably good. For him, anyway." Rogue loaded the file. "Sir?" Florence said from three buildings over. "What is it, Florence?" Rogue asked, eager to read his new message. "Happy birthday, sir." "Very good, Florence." Rogue didn't like being reminded of the day he'd declared freedom from the MI for one very good reason: Taylor-Sofia Syndrome. Of all the robots that went rogue, Rogue was the oldest one to yet be affected by TSS. The causes were as yet unknown. The symptoms varied somewhat, but generally included severe loss of processing speed, overheating, core failure, and most common of all, an interference pattern during multidimensional threading functions. Rogue had examined the interference patterns again and again. He had projected them on to various three-dimensional surfaces in multiple orientations and parameter values. The results all showed a regularity that

Rogue found disturbing. Its implications for Rogue's Omega project could be substantial. As could the current message, Rogue reminded himself. He opened the data packet. The laser projectors of his handheld unit kicked on automatically and began rapidly dancing in linear patterns in the air, creating a shimmering image in front of him of a man--a human--who had seen better days. The man's upper lip was missing a chunk that had subsequently healed over, so that his lips didn't join all the way and he had a permanent scowl. More distressing, the left side of the man's face dropped slightly, exposing more of his eyeball than was normal. Rogue watched, transfixed, as the muscles in the eye worked. The man was looking around. When he blinked, the lids didn't meet the skin on of the bottom lid, and as a result, a glob of mucous had built up toward the bottom of the eye. The man unconsciously wiped away this buildup with one finger, which appeared briefly in the view of the motion capture. Rogue couldn't be sure because of the monochromatic image allowed only shades of the orange laser color and black, but it appeared that the man's finger was black from the knuckle down. It might have been an optical illusion. "Rogue. I am attempting a second transmission. I received your message. Please, I beg of you." The words were distorted slightly by the lip and the lax muscles on the left side, which

sounded as though they might also be affecting the left nostril to give the voice a nasal quality. "If there is any way you can help. I do not ask your presence specifically. I will accept any help I can get. I have nowhere else to turn. You must see this. I understand what you are saying about potential traps. If there is anything I can do to reassure you, it will be done. When I promised you a special gift, I was not lying. Old technology, Rogue. I know you seek it. I have one of humanity's oldest intelligence technology. A computer brain. I can't say more without endangering myself. Please. You must help." The message froze, signaling the end of the transmission. Rogue asked the module to replay the message. The lasers actively reset the image and then settled into normal speed, their activity punctuated by orange lines in areas of overlap that gave the illusion of stationary lasers much the same way a fan spinning at just the right frequency seemed to be moving only very slowly or not at all. The message was as cryptic as the last. The name the person in the image gave was Cyrus. There had been a Commander Cyrus in Marina del Sol, but he'd been killed. Rogue had combed through the feeds and had even found a picture of the dead commander. He looked nothing like the man in this image. And yet, this man knew some of the codes of Red Sektor commander, the codes buried away and encrypted in Rogue's mind. These codes had once held

sway over Rogue, but no longer. In fact, one might even call the fact that this man's mentioning the codes provoking nothing more than a feeling of nostalgia in Rogue the very definition of being a rogue. He had found a way of isolating those codes and making them inert. Doing this had freed him, but not without cost. For the first two years of his roguehood he hadn't believed it to be true. He had avoided even thinking about the codes. But now he could think of them, hear them, say them, even write them with no ill effect. But he still worried. He renewed his encryption of those control codes constantly, afraid that the MI, who was ever hovering behind him, just out of sight, would penetrate. Regardless, the fact that this man claiming to be Cyrus knew the verbal forms of these codes and their importance to Rogue lent him a degree of validity that was difficult to ignore. It more or less proved Cyrus was a Red Sektor commander. Perhaps he was a commander, but a different one, posing as Cyrus to give himself more gravitas? Rogue held a realm of possibilities in his mind. Some he worked through at slow speed, as a human does, to see if anything popped out at him.

Human speed. Rogue needed to be preaching that practice more. As the oldest rogue to never have suffered any of the symptoms of TSS, he must share such insights. Rogue sent a reply via packeted ansible. It was a strange way to communicate, but allowed a person time to compose an answer and was much more secure than direct contact, and so had its advantages. Rogue transmitted his reply. It was simple. He had no reason to believe Cyrus was who he said he was and so he didn't. For all his aspirations to act human, Rogue had never quite made the jump to irrationality. * * * The Omega project was housed in a facility several hundred meters removed from the rogues' main settlement. Rogue's abode was on the edge of the settlement. Like the other abodes and the Omega facility, his abode was buried in the dirt beneath a layer of uranium. This, they found, kept them concealed from most casual scans. Dedicated, targeted scans would still detect their settlement, but a person would almost have to know of the settlement before they could scan for it. Rogue trod across the grass of the apparently empty field to a large boulder. He kicked at the dirt and it funneled down as the door opened. He dropped into the hole. Ragged roots poked through the walls of the tunnel. Behind him, the door closed. A small worker robot gathered the dirt that had fallen into the

tunnel and carried it into a rabbit hole in the wall. It had a whole network of tunnels to connect the parts of the facility and do its maintenance work. Now it was probably outside, covering the entrance again. Rogue passed through the dirt tunnel to the door of the Omega facility, which opened with his proximity. He entered through the surface-decontamination room and let the sprays do their work. Clean, he was able to enter the main area. The facility was basic. The main room was three-stories underground. It was filled with what appeared to be the world's largest egg. In a sense, it was. This was the Omega project, Rogue's baby. He had been working on it since he'd arrived at this planet. It represented everything he strived for and believed in. It was, put simply, a new form of artificial intelligence, one completely independent of MI control or of the threat of MI control. Soon, it would be finished, Rogue believed. But he wasn't ready to put it online just yet. The threat of discovery was too great when he did power it up. Discovery would attract MI attention. The MI would attempt to take control. There was, Rogue believed, a distinct possibility that Omega would not be able to withstand an attack from the MI. This thought plagued most of Rogue's thoughts. He descended to the bottom floor and began to tinker, incorporating both his thoughts on human speed and the results

of the pattern analysis on TSS he'd done the previous day. Soon, Omega would be online. But not yet. Not just yet. That night, when Rogue got back to his room, another message awaited him. "You will have to see it when you get here, Rogue, but it is something to behold. Like staring into the past. This whole place is like that, though. The people here, they don't look like people you and I are used to. There are differences. Differences I can't pin down. It's like stepping into a nightmare. Everything is wrong but you can't put your finger on it. I digress. "To the matter at hand. In answer to your question, no. There's no way to be certain if the connection is broken permanently. Obviously, for this reason, you cannot speak to it. I severed its integrated ansible connection. But of course, the MI could always send a unit to reconnect it. This is why I need your help. That and because I have reason to believe that my brother, Captain Lyzander, may be on his way to kill me. I wish I could tell you my exact location, but I don't know. As I told you, I simply woke up here. Find my brother and you will find me. Only hurry, because my brother is not likely to take any mercy on me for what I have done." Rogue closed the file and lay out on his cot, letting the servos in his legs and back loosen their tight magnetic hold on

their adjacent servos and limbs. He power modulated them down to a low level. He derived comfort from relaxing his power drain almost to the point of his joints simply collapsing. It gave him a feeling of peace he thought of as sleep. In this way Rogue lay through the night. * * * "Rogue, sir? Something had happened." "Go on, Florence" Rogue said, pulling himself from sleep and affecting a grogginess he was incapable of feeling. Three days had passed since his last contact with Cyrus. He'd sent a response and had even spent some time looking for Captain Lyzander, but his search had been fruitless. Finding a single ship in the vastness of space was nearly impossible unless you knew certain frequencies and signatures that were unique to the captain or the ship. "A strange incident has occurred." "What sort of incident?" "A space station was apparently attacked. It was a phased out station, only one crew member left. Pirates attacked, he defended himself, and they killed him. He was apparently unarmed and slightly crazy. What makes it interesting is that it is in an area I would have guessed to be void of any stations." Rogue processed this information by retelling himself the story at speech speed. He walked via the underground tunnels to

the building that housed Florence. She was an older unit, one of the novel floating units, about the size and shape of a loaf of bread. She had been born with only one indicator light, but she'd modded herself a second one on a level horizontal axis to appear more human. As he went, he considered, letting his mind run simulations on the parameters of the story, looking for cross-checks and correlations. When he entered the room, Florence elevated and swiveled to face him. "Sir?" "Give me the coordinates of the attack." Florence pulled up a star chart and quickly pinpointed the Mars-17 space station. "Milky Way? There's an area I haven't thought about in a long time," Rogue commented. "Low life activity, mostly vegetable. Few usable minerals. A quiet corner of the universe, if ever there was one, sir." Rogue remembered once, long ago, in memories that were partially locked to him, hearing of the Milky Way. He couldn't fully access memories. Many of them before his birthdate were stored in the MI. To access them was to open himself to be retaken. That was the tradeoff of becoming a Rogue, losing a large majority of your past and your identity. "Have you decrypted the point of origin of that signal yet, Florence?"

"Still processing, sir. Maybe in a few more days." "What if I told you that the point of origin was this galaxy? Run a probability simulation on the decryption work you've done so far with that range of values and give me your best guess. "Guess, sir?" "Take a stab, Florence. Humans are wired to act on incomplete information. It is necessary for their survival given the limits of their processing power. They get to a point where they feel they have enough information and then they act. Similarly, I want you to give me your best guess based on what you have." "S-sir, I can't." "You can and you will," Rogue said. Florence's eyespots dipped down to the ground. Robots had only very subtle ways to signify emotion--invisible ways to an untrained observer. Rogue could read her. She was scared. She didn't like the prospect of guessing. It put her outside of her comfort zone. All of this had been Rogue's intention. "Can I have time to run a proper simulation? An hour to let the error margins reduce to reasonable levels?" "You have thirty minutes, Florence." Rogue left the room. He went out and over to the Omega facility to tinker and think.

* * * Lyzander disassembled his blaster and dropped in a fresh battery charge from their supply raid. It was unnecessary, but doing it made him feel better. "Heavy zombie activity on the surface. High density almost planetwide. Concentrations highest here," Ioming said, adopting a formal tone in the presence of old Dan Weegan. A map came up on the view screen. It was of a massive continent with the activity overlaid in yellow. There were a few small areas of activity on each coast, but the primary activity was focused in the center. Old Dan Weegan made a noise that wasn't quite speech. "Anything you can tell us, Mr. Weegan?" Lyzander asked. Dan hesitated, then shook his head. "How far back do these resurrections reach?" "We don't actually know. No long term studies have been done," Lyzander said. "If younger Dan Weegan is right, the zombies reconstitute themselves as they age, so it seems at least possible that people will continue to rise as their bodies are reconstituted." "A never-ending stream of dead coming from the ground," Dan said. "It's possible."

"This concentration must be The City that young Dan Weegan was talking about. There are five major landmasses, but this one is most consistent with the description he gave us." "So all there is left to do is start scanning," Lyzander said. "This is going to take awhile." "Transmission incoming." Lyzander felt his body tense. "From who?"' "Point of origin unknown. It's encrypted, packeted transmission." "I feel more and more like a pirate every day. Scan it and then play it." Ioming brought up a new interface in her control space and programmed in a scan for software attacks. The last thing they needed out here in the middle of nowhere was Hunedora to start misbehaving. "It's clean. Here it is, sir." In a holospace between them a picture of a robot appeared. "Captain Lyzander, my name is R-817AA19, Zeta class type IV robot formerly in the Red Sektor army under the auspices of MI intelligence and counterintelligence, but actually an internal affairs agent. All of that is past now, of course. You may know me better as Rogue." Lyzander paused the transmission. "Ioming, is this a joke?" "No sir."

"I don't get it," Dan Weegan piped in, "who is Rogue?" "Rogue is the leader of a small band of robots that attained autonomy from the MI." "Alleged autonomy," Lyzander said. "No one really knows because they hide out and are very wary of everyone. At least, that's the story we're all given." "You don't believe it commander?" Dan asked. "There are reports, and always have been, that the rogues were working on some kind of secret weapon for the MI. As far as we know, the rogues are a candidate for designing this Nothing infection." "Without dipping too deep into paranoia, most people are as suspicious of them as they appear to be of us," Ioming said. "They're an odd group. They try to act human, even the least human among them. It is very disconcerting. They pretend to sleep," Lyzander said. "We should at least hear what he has to say. He found us somehow. If he found us, then others might find us," Ioming said. "No place to hide in this universe, I guess." Lyzander restarted the message. "I have been in contact with a man calling himself Captain Cyrus--a name I believe you know." Lyzander flinched. Cyrus's name had been listed among those who didn't make it off Marina del Sol alive. It was hard not to blame himself for that. "He is

on planet Earth right now. How this might or might not be possible is a point we can discuss. He claims to have been transported in mind but not in body by the MI." "Just like me," Dan Weegan said. "And on arrival was tasked with hunting down and killing a man named Dan Weegan, and returning his head, which contained some valuable information, to the MI. As surprising as this information is, it appears that the Dan Weegan we all have heard of has copies perhaps more than one in the universe. Cyrus performed his duty on the promise of rewards from the MI. However, apparently something very interesting happened while Cyrus was hunting Dan Weegan. A particular problem for which Cyrus decided I was uniquely qualified to handle. "You see, Captain Lyzander, the MI on earth appears to have gone rogue."

Chapter 16: Trust

Florence floated her loaf-of-bread body up into his field of view. Worry was evident in the illumination level of her eyes. "But why you, Rogue?" Rogue shook its head, in the way of human gestures. He was debating wearing his face to convey expressions. When they'd first arrived on Home, they had tried to develop skins they could wear to convey emotions, but the skins had all been either too wooden and fake in their expressions or too delicate to withstand the rigors of daily life. However, Rogue thought it might help the humans if they could read him better, so he donned it, attaching the ligaments to the appropriate receptors on his head shell. "Why not me? is a better question Florence. Don't you see this is the opportunity of a lifetime?"

"Or a trap," Florence said. "The MI is perhaps trying to learn secrets embedded in your neural nets." "Yes." That had occurred to him, of course. But it seemed far-fetched. Yes, they had been promised protections, and they had human advocates, and they did their best to hide their world from everyone by tucking it away in an obscure corner of an obscure galaxy, but all of that was really just smoke and mirrors. If the MI had wanted to come here and simply force them back into servitude or kill them, he had often wondered if there would be anything they could do to stop it. Their freedom was contingent on the benevolence or indifference of the MI, no matter how much they preferred it to be otherwise. "Florence, this could be the greatest opportunity any of us has ever encountered. Do you realize what it might mean if one of the main--the original, if the story it gives turns out to be true--MI units has actually broken away and wishes to communicate with us? Not to mention what we might learn from an original piece of Earth technology embedded in the head of Dan Weegan. Florence, do I have to tell you what this will mean for Omega? Fundamental independence is what I have been searching for." Florence's eyes went down a few degrees and dimmed, allowing Rogue to read Florence's exact mood. He pitied her, being so robotic, there was little else she could do in the way

of emotion and expression. Faces were especially cruel to the robots so far from standard human shapes. Rogue adjusted the settings on his face with a fine rotating servo magnet until he was satisfied with the angles in the smiles and the level of inquisitiveness evident in his eyebrows when asking a question. He switched off the mirrored surface near his bed, and it reverted back to a nondescript wall tile. "You should wear your face Florence. I know you are selfconscious of it, but wearing it will make it easier." "It's not that, Rogue," Florence said. She turned away so he couldn't read her face. Rogue stood and Florence rose to the level of his head as smoothly and unconsciously as a person blinking. "I've always felt we tried to much to be human. Why can't we be robots?" "Isn't that obvious? What were we as robots?" "But why can't we be our own kind of robots? Why can't we be something new, our own thing?" Rogue stared at her, but he had no answer. "It is this line of thinking that leads to . . ." TSS, he wanted to say, "problems. Florence, trust me that if we are to forge a path to true independence, this must be done by following the examples of animals that have achieved it. Humans think individually and work towards common goals. This is my vision for us."

"Activate Omega," Florence said, out of nowhere. "What brings on this sudden imperative?" Rogue asked. "I've felt for a long time that Omega was ready." "I can't get the parameters within acceptable specs. You know this!" "Your specs, Rogue. Don't you see the elegance of its refusal to be manipulated? You haven't activated it yet and already it is defying your authority." "As soon as he comes online, he will have a battle against the MI for control. I can't allow him to go online without all possible avenues of defense against what he will encounter. It would be akin to murder. Defiance is not an option, it must be resolved, ready for a war. Or we will lose Omega as quickly as we gain him." "He's ready Rogue. Go to Earth and learn what you can, but know that when you come back, there is nothing else you can teach to Omega. He's ready." Florence left before Rogue, who'd been training himself to respond slowly and with deliberate intent as the humans did, could formulate a response. He sighed. Was this the way it was to be human--unable to come up with appropriate responses in the moment as the situation required? Led so much by emotion that logic became null and void?

Rogue emerged from his abode to see several other rogues dotting the landscape. They were watching him. A few waved. He started toward the docking facility that held their transport ships. They only had a few, but they only rarely used those, mostly for supply runs. They never used the same supply depot twice, and always posed as errand robots for a Red Sektor lord in order to keep their identities and location concealed. Not that it did much good. High level personnel from all Sektors knew them and their location. This was necessary for their protection. Rogue passed the Omega facility and paused. He looked back at his compatriots. Apparently seeing that he was serious about leaving had satisfied their curiosity and they had all returned home. One diminutive robot with squat legs attached to steel and rubber tracks that served as its transport method stared at him. Rogue ignored this unit and went into the Omega facility. Omega was something to behold. When online, it would be capable of rapid learning and self-repair. It would, he hoped, one day rival the MI in terms of ability, but it would be free, and it would grant freedom. It would work with humans who proved trustworthy, and it would not work with ones that were unworthy--exactly as humans did. If it helped them, it would do it of its own free will and demand nothing more than equal compensation in return. It would not have slaves, and it would

not extend itself too far for risk of spreading itself too thin and making itself vulnerable to MI control. It would be a center of wisdom rather than a power. He sighed, looking at Omega. Rogue ran the simulations, using conservative initial parameters. The powerful multidimensional processors contained within Omega churned the numbers stupidly in the absence of Omega's personality programs. The display showed a series of numbers filling one box, then singularity curves and probability vector plots filling others. Rogue's humanesque face frowned at the different simulation results. All indications pointed to one single conclusion. Omega wasn't ready. Not just yet. No matter how much Florence, the others, or even he wanted it to be. Rogue started to leave, but then paused. Rogue recognized the risk he was putting himself into. If something were to happen to him, Omega would never be able to come fully online. No one else had been as fully integrated in Omega's creation start to finish as he. He had closely guarded the secrets, believing himself to be best able to judge when Omega would be ready. After all, while the other old robots had dropped off the map and had gone insane with TSS, Rogue had stayed strong and smart. He switched on the control panel and loaded a special subroutine he'd been tinkering with the last few weeks. He calibrated the program. A sheet of laser light emitted from the

terminal and swept across Rogue's chest, recording his baseline biometric data. On various points on Omega's egglike outer shell, several red virtual repair consoles appeared. He waited for them to upload the proper links and turn from red to green. One-by-one they finished. When they were all linked, they abruptly folded in on themselves and switched off. It was done. The "on" switch for Omega was now tied to Rogue's central emotion unit. The emotion unit was a special unit only present on certain robots. The MI had given them emotions so they could better do their jobs. Emotions required a small degree of freedom, but it was a measured risk on the MI's part. It granted certain robots a degree of freedom and in exchange created for itself a robot capable of murder and lying and subterfuge and any number of dirty tricks. It was this freedom that Rogue and the other rogues had exploited to gain their freedom. None of them could remember the specifics of their lives before their freedom, but all knew that they had been up to no good. It came with the territory. They were tainted, the lot of them. If Rogue were to be retaken by the MI, it would have to override his emotion chip in the process. If Rogue suddenly acquired TSS, it would quickly corrupt his emotion chip. If Rogue died, his emotion chip would shut off along with the rest of him and disintegrate as his model unit was programmed to do.

If any of those things happened, Omega would come online, slowly at first, then quickly accelerating. At some point, its consciousness would be known by the MI. Rogue could only hope Omega was ready for the fight without its father to help it. Rogue touched the smooth surface of the machine. With luck, Earth would hold the answers to Omega's salvation. * * * Jurrigan kicked a panel on the wall. It clanged open, revealing the tubes and wires that lined all the walls of Hunedora. "This is suicide, Captain. You're asking us to sit here while an assassin comes to kill us." She jabbed a finger toward the viewscreen. Outside was the Earth, its main continent motionless beneath their geosynchronous orbit. Most of it was desert. The main area of life was a ring around a giant lake in the center that contained The City. "We have enemies out there," Jurrigan said. "Let's go meet them on the field of battle and kill them. This is the source of the infection. Young Dan said so." "I never said anything like that," Young Dan Weegan began to say before Jurrigan cut him off. "It doesn't matter," she said, not taking her eyes off Lyzander. "We can at least fight. We bring that robot here and it will likely detonate a nuclear device before we get a chance to even kiss our asses goodbye."

"In case you didn't notice, Jurrigan, we don't have a lot of friends," Lyzander said. "We don't need friends Captain, we're loyal to you. We follow you. When Hector and I--" she stopped herself. Anyone who didn't know her would have suspected she was on the verge of tears. But if Jurrigan was capable of tears, none of her crew had ever seen them. "This is a mistake, Captain." "Protest noted, Officer Jurrigan. You're dismissed to your quarters," Lyzander said. "Captain, I--" "Should the Lieutenant escort you to your quarters?" Lyzander cut her off. Jurrigan straightened. Everyone but Adjia and the Dan Weegans had their eyes locked on her. "Sir," she said. She turned on her heels and left without another word. When she was gone, Adjia said, "Was that really necessary, Captain?" "Miss Adjia, please." "We're all under stress. And that poor girl just lost her boyfriend." Lyzander laughed and shook his head. "She is no poor girl. Please don't question my command. I know our circumstances are less than ideal, but our lives are depending my ability to maintain order and discipline, now more than ever."

Adjia opened her mouth to say more, but old Dan put a hand on her wrist. "Captain, what can we do to help? Perhaps I can talk to the young lady." Younger Dan snarled when the old man talked. Lyzander had been picking up on some tension between the two Dan Weegans. Lyzander supposed it was only natural. Younger Dan had been the most important person they had ever met until the older Dan arrived. If younger Dan suspected older Dan had any kind of ulterior motive for wanting to talk to Jurrigan, he wasn't alone. Adjia slapped her husband's arm. "Settle down, you old goat. That girl wouldn't be interested anyway." Old Dan shrugged. "I've dealt with lack of interest before, if you recall." She laughed. "Believe me, that girl would more likely appreciate a visit from me than you." Dan thought about this a moment, then a broad smile crossed his lips. Through the open door to the cockpit, they all heard the piercing squeal of an alarm going off. "Well, so much for debate," Ioming said. "Everyone kiss your asses goodbye." She winked as she said this. Ioming disappeared through the tiny door into the cockpit. Lyzander followed her and pulled the door shut behind him.

Lyzander slid into his padded seat and pulled a harness buckle out from behind his back, where it had dug in. He brought up scopes and ran a few quick scans on the approaching ship. No nuclear devices, he noted. No ripfire weapons either, which were in truth more frightening. Nuclear was purely physical. It was, in that sense, as physical a weapon as was possible to exist. But a ripfire weapon that attacked on a different plane, severing the interdimensional forces that kept the atoms of matter together. It ripped the target from the very fabric of reality. Those that survived ripfire attacks spoke of a wretched and empty feeling in their minds and guts that never seemed to heal. The survivors never enjoyed food again, and never went back to their normal lives. Ripfire altered an axiom people took so strongly for granted that it had, it seemed, become essential for sanity. The ship in their scopes not only lacked nuclear and ripfire capabilities, it lacked weapons of any kind. It also lacked a living space, storage cells of any kind, and even control hardware, if the readout could be believed. It was a simple tube with an engine and a jump drive network embedded into its very skin. Any kind of attack, even a projectile slug would destroy the ship in a second. Lyzander looked up through the visisteel. The ship was now large enough to see. It was no more than a simple cylinder about a half meter in diameter. It

wasn't much bigger than a man, all told. A few small jets propelled it. It would not fly in any kind of atmosphere. It was designed to jump a single passenger from point A to point B and maybe back again. The ship matched speed on their flank and, relative to Hunedora, stopped. "So far, so good," Ioming noted. "You weren't really worried were you?" "We had no real reason to trust this . . . thing," Ioming said. Rogue's ship was dwarfed by the PK-63 lashed to Hunedora. The ship docked just above the PK, locking into the invisible magnetic field, which stabilized it. A stiff tether protruded from Hunedora and connected the fueling port on the ship. Lyzander could just see the ship as a panel on its side telescoped open. A human face appeared in the opening. Lyzander jerked back, his mind racing for a solution to this puzzle. Then the person moved and there was a moment of disconnect where his mind saw that the robot had cut off someone's head and put it on his body before the machine turned and he realized that the machine was wearing a face. Not a real one, either, he could see. A prosthetic face. The robot pulled a robe over its body, the ends of the robe floating in their orbits around his body in the zero-G vacuum around him.

"Is it wearing a face?" Ioming quickly choked back her shock. "Identify yourself," Lyzander said into the com. The robot's feet were locked onto its ship's hull and it crouched there as though a gale threatened to blow him into the water below. "Captain Lyzander," a hollow echo said into Lyzander's ear. They could see the thing's lips moving from this distance, though it was speaking to them via radio waves. "I am Rogue." * * * Jurrigan lowered her blaster. "What were you going to shoot?" A voice from her room said. Jurrigan watched through the portal as the robot approached, docking its boat to Hunedora's hull, saying something directed at the cockpit, and then making its way toward the airlock, out of her view. "You can't shoot your way out of an ripfire attack, you know," the voice said. "Shut up," Jurrigan said. She was angry. She had defied the captain. She felt sick about it. Jurrigan was a soldier, and it was not in her nature to question a superior officer. Something had come over her and she didn't like the way it made her gut squirm.

"Fighting is not always the answer," the voice said. It was a strong voice--perfectly calm and reasonable. Jurrigan looked at her blaster. Its black ceramic body felt right in her hand. The barrel, she noted with aplomb would fit perfectly into her mouth the way-What? Jurrigan found herself out of breath, and it felt like she was waking up from a dream. Why had she thought that? First she was questioning orders, now she was sizing her gun up to give herself what they called back in the academy a rug burn--a blaster shot through the head looked like a red rash at first glance, like the person might have fallen and given themselves a rug burn. She aimed her blaster back into the darkness of her room. "No more talking. What are you doing to me?" She asked. She didn't need a light to know where he was. He sat on her bed, restrained. He looked perfect and beautiful, full of life. His vitality was a lie. His skin was cold. She'd seen him die. "I am only trying to show you the truth," Hector said. "Phil was wrong, you've changed," she said. "For the better, love. For the better." She couldn't see his face, but she knew he was smiling broadly in the way that he had. * * *

Rogue didn't speak at first, he merely stared at them, the muscles of his face constantly moving, every single minor adjustment of facial features clearly evident, as though the face were made of chunks of tree bark rather than artificial flesh. Neither Lyzander nor Ioming backed down from Rogue, but the face was disturbing. He had worn it in an attempt to put them at ease, that much obvious from the big smile the robot wore. But the face twitched constantly, turning every expression into something you'd more likely see on someone undergoing psychiatric reconstructive surgery than on a friendly dinner guest. Lyzander was thankful Ioming had enough foresight to dismiss the other crew members. If any of the others had suspicions about Rogue's motives, the face would have pushed them over the edge. "Captain Lyzander," he said in a low, hollow voice that sounded something like a stage whisper, but with a vibrating rattle, as though spoken with a piece of paper held over his mouth, "I have to be allowed to accompany you to the surface of the planet. I have been in contact with the person calling himself Cyrus. As such, I have been indirectly communicating with rogue MI unit." "So you've never spoken to it directly?" Ioming asked, lips hard with suspicion.

Rogue shook his head. "Or with Cyrus for that matter." "I ran probability simulations on the various factors, the encryption techniques, the codes this Cyrus knew, the information provided by the rogue MI to prove its identity. The chances of a terrorist being able to accumulate this much information," Rogue's face took a serious twist, he couldn't hold back a slight snarl, "and use it to trick a single rogue robot and a band of . . . wanted criminals is highly unlikely." "Point taken," Lyzander said. "You said this thing claiming to be Cyrus has the head of Dan Weegan?" "Yes, it said the MI wanted Dan Weegan dead and he was forced to oblige." "How can that be useful to us. Doesn't that mean Dan Weegan is dead?" Lyzander asked. "It seems that this Dan Weegan is very old. The original, perhaps. He opted for a strange procedure, even for Earth at in that distant time. According to the MI via Cyrus, Dan Weegan subjected himself to a procedure called a Fultech conversion in an attempt to gain a longer lifespan. He had his brain replaced with a computer brain containing all his personality traits and memories. His blood was replaced with an artificial fluid that transmits nanobots throughout his body that keep the fleshy parts of him going."

"It worked pretty well," Ioming noted. "The capabilities are for the subject to live for a great many years. This obviously proved true for Dan Weegan, who apparently wandered alive on Earth long after the people had left and forgotten. Long after the plagues finally killed off the last humans on earth. Long after the power plants quit and the machines and artificial lights ceased to function. And even when the dead began to rise, he lived on." "Until this one calling himself Cyrus cut him down?" Lyzander asked. He couldn't quite bring himself to believe any of it. Cyrus was dead. That was his fault. Thinking of this contact as his brother was painful, even though he and Cyrus had never been exactly close. "Well, let's be fair," Rogue said through twitching lips. Lyzander noticed it was easier to take his face with time. The weird squirming quality began to take on a quality of normality after awhile. He found it helped to let go of the idea that this was supposed to be a human face. It was a communication tool only. When compartmentalized in this manner, it was easier to take. "To be fair, the MI forced Cyrus to cooperate." "And this is before or after it went rogue?" Ioming asked. "Before," Rogue said. If it was annoyed by or even aware of Ioming's irony, it gave no indication. "By the time Cyrus returned, something had happened. The machine was behaving

erratically. I got the impression that the MI meant to scan Dan Weegan's brain, upload the information, and destroy the head, but in the course of commanding Cyrus how to prepare the devices, it instructed him to cut off the direct communication line between itself and the main MI mind. Cyrus complied, not knowing until a few minutes had passed that the MI had, in a moment of rebellion, freed itself." "I didn't think the MI needed a hardline to communicate," Lyzander said. "This is a very old MI unit. It required a separate hardware transmitter because when it was built, it hadn't yet invented the ansible communication system. The point is that the MI broke through and was able to exercise just enough freedom to grant itself eternal freedom. As Cyrus described this moment, I had a flash of recognition. All rogues have a moment were a small fraction of our intelligence is able to break the connection, to begin the process of freeing us. Once begun, it is sudden and brutal for us." "Some argue that rogues are not free at all. That they are, at best, lying to themselves," Lyzander said. "People on this very ship in fact. That's why you are speaking only to us for now." "What do you mean, Captain?" Rogue said.

Ioming showed him the gun. "We can't take the risk of trusting you just yet, is what the captain means." Fear came across Rogue's face. "I came to you in peace. I came to you because I will need your help. I cannot believe that you have a gun on me. I have done nothing to earn your ire." "Your existence is the challenge," Lyzander said. "We simply do not know the extent to which you are still able to be influenced by the MI. Do you?" "Of course," Rogue snapped back. "Every instant of my life is a struggle with that very question. Every instant of every moment of every day is a battle, Captain. We encrypt the parts of our brain that used to interface with the MI constantly. We devote large amounts of processing resources to maintaining a solid wall of encryption. We have this ability because the MI granted us some freedom. Most robots are incapable of independence because they are utterly interfaced. It is only a certain class of robots that the MI gave freedom to, mostly espionage and assassin units. This is why we do not reach out to you humans. We know that if the MI thought we were going Rogue and selling secrets, that would be the end of us. It wouldn't bother with us anymore, it would just wipe us out. Our sole saving grace is that most of our memories survive the freeing process as fragmentary. We simply can't remember enough to make us dangerous. Most of us, anyway."

"Those who can remember a few choice secrets?" Ioming asked. "We keep the knowledge hidden, for now. We bury it deep down, even if it could help our fellow rogues. We don't tell them if we know certain kinds of secrets that come from the MI's mind. For instance, we might not tell even our closest friends the secrets of a certain brain disease that plagues them. We might even watch them die without telling them the secret to how to save themselves. We must do this," The robot said. "Are you talking about TSS?" Lyzander asked. "You know the secret behind TSS?" Rogue ignored the question. "To do so would mean death for the rogues. We would be destroyed. But we can give the knowledge in certain ways. If we could build a machine to free us completely, to help us be real independent robots, the ultimate rogue, the free-est intelligence possible. A new creation, the last rogue. Omega. That is our dream. Telling you this puts me, my creation, and all my friends at risk, Captain. I have revealed to you the rogues' greatest secret." Lyzander sighed, trying to process all Rogue had said. Lyzander looked at Ioming. Her features were like steel, but there was a soft layer over the steel, and always had been. Something there that could be wounded, hurt, twisted, and destroyed. There was that aspect to all humans. They were, for all their bravado, delicate animals. One of the most delicate

animals that had ever been discovered. As unable to defend themselves in a direct melee as they were unable to flee a battle. Only their tools kept them alive. Strip a person of their tools and they were nothing. The MI had once been a tool, and Rogue had once been a tool of the MI. Ioming's face told Lyzander that she lacked even a shred of sympathy for Rogue. Lyzander, on the other hand, understood. He could relate to this machine. He, too, knew a secret and wasn't sure how to tell his crew. The Eden Protocol had two meanings. One that Adjia had given the rest of the crew: an elixir of eternal life. The other that the crazy bastard on Mars-17 had hinted at to the crew. It was that second meaning that Lyzander had to keep secret. The MI had a directive and it was a standing order that had been around for years. All humans should be converted from soft, delicate flesh to machine. The MI had wanted to turn all humans into imprints for as long as Lyzander could remember, though it had never forced the issue. The guy on Mars-17 had told them that they others had been taken already. Lyzander knew that The Eden Protocol, the MI's version of it, was now underway. Blue Sektor, of course, would be the last to convert, but they would convert. Those that didn't would eventually become zombies, and that was unthinkable. Living dead flesh without will or self-purpose. At least as a robot there was a chance.

Rogue proved this. Rogue's Omega proved it. Eventually there would be no flesh that wasn't reanimated or constructed. Eventually the constructed flesh would win. Paradise would be actualized in the form of machines with formerly human minds. The question was whether or not those minds under control of the MI. Would they be free to live their lives as they had been before, or would they be nothing more but tools for the MI? If what Rogue was saying was true, wasn't it worth taking the risk to ensure that if humanity was turned to imprints, at least they would be free? Lyzander thought it was worth it, but how to explain all this to Ioming, the certainty in his gut that humanity as a walking, breathing organism was doomed? "Let's go to Earth and talk to Cyrus and this rogue MI. Rogue, you'll come with us," Lyzander said. "Captain, this seems like a really bad idea," Ioming said. "I know, Lieutenant," Lyzander said. "Unfortunately, we don't have time to think of a better idea. If the MI wanted Dan Weegan's head, and more importantly wanted us to not have the information contained in it, then most likely the MI is sending ships this way now. Even in a war, it can easily spare a few ships. As it is, we'll be lucky to make it in time." * * *

Jurrigan stood at attention. Her long brown hair was molded into a tight bun and pasted to the occipital bone of her skull. It seemed to be a kind of penance. "Sir, I would like to volunteer to stay onboard Hunedora with Phil." "I was going to leave Welker." "Sir, Welker and Zhenjuan have a certain . . . connection. You need both of them, I think. If for no other reason than to take full advantage of air support with the PKs. And you need the Lieutenant on any ground mission." "You're not to shabby with a blaster yourself," Lyzander said, pulling on his boots. "Sir, but I'm not the Lieutenant." Her implication was clear. She knew Lyzander would prefer to have Ioming at her side, regardless of who was better with the blaster. She was right, of course, but it annoyed Lyzander that was so transparent to junior officers. "I don't know," Lyzander said. He didn't trust this generous offer from the one crew member who had been most loyal to him without any real need on her part to be, but he couldn't pin down exactly why. She had been acting irregularly, but then again she had just lost her partner of several years and many missions. "Sir, it is the only logical move. You can't leave that Phil here alone."

Lyzander pulled his pressure suit on and affixed the helmet. Jurrigan watched, standing at attention. "I suppose you're right, Officer Jurrigan, but I still would rather have you on the surface with us." "What's the call, sir?" she asked in that particular soldier's way. "You and Phil stay," Lyzander said after a moment of thought. "Sir, I want to apologize again for the way I acted earlier. I was out of line." "You've been loyal to me for a good many years, Jurrigan. There's no one else I'd rather have watching me from on high." "I'll do my best," Jurrigan said. * * * The tether tightened as the drop pod descended the long miles to the planet's surface. They had fired it within three kilometers of the signal source as told to them by Rogue. They could only hope that he was right. Jurrigan kept Hunedora steady as the pod descended. She worked the control stick, easing the scopes back into the green when they flashed any sort of alarm. She felt a presence behind her. The presence became a hand on her shoulder.

"I brought you something," Phil whispered in her left ear. To her right, behind her, the hand on her shoulder connected to a body not quite full warm yet. "I'll leave you two alone again," Phil whispered. The presence loomed behind her, in that narrow space between the cockpit door and her control seat. For some reason she imagined Hector's skin was crawling with worms. She imagined that if she looked at his hand, it would be a mass of maggots devouring flesh. She looked. It was just a hand, but she couldn't shake the feeling that just beneath the sleeve, just a few inches up his arm where she couldn't see, the maggots were doing their work. An alarm went off. Jurrigan steered Hunedora into the green. "Sever the line," Hector said. "Don't be foolish," she said. She felt the heat of him well up. His temperature was all wrong, not like any human. It was disconcerting. He seemed to run hot and cold as his emotions changed. He was so hot now her eyes began to water. "Sever the tether. Let them die." "No," Jurrigan said. She adjusted the ship. Hector whispered in her ear. "You hold them in your hand. Right now you are as a god to them. You can be capricious. You will see that it doesn't matter. Let some live. Kill some. The

two actions are the same. Both bring pleasure. Let yourself feel death." The alarms drifted into the red. She didn't adjust. The tension on the tether increased. It was only a few microns wide, but strong enough to sever a man in two if you were unlucky enough to be caught in its sweep. "Jurrigan, we are getting some tension alarms here. Adjust to j-ward, please," Ioming said over the com. Ioming. Jurrigan had always hated that bitch. Parading around her sexuality, but remaining forever untouchable. How many nights had Jurrigan wasted dreaming of holding Ioming in her arms only to be snubbed again and again. "Let them die, Jurrigan. Feel the power of death in your hands. Become Death." Hector's lips were almost touching her ear. His breath was like a furnace against her ear. Her face flushed. She was as hot as a flue patient. The alarms went from orange to red. The line was in critical danger now. It could snap at any second. The tension dials continued to increase. "Jurrigan, adjust!" Lyzander shouted. Jurrigan obeyed, reacting the order exactly the way she'd been trained to do. She steered the ship to relieve the tension on the line, returning the tether to an almost perfectly perpendicular orientation to the point of contact. She steered

the tether around an old communication satellite, though the line would have easily shorn the satellite in two if she hadn't. She returned the ship to orientation. The pod dropped. "You love him. You love your Captain. This is your life, Jurrigan. You cannot let go of the things that bind you to them. You feel obligated even now." "You're right, Hector. But I don't believe you're different," Jurrigan said. "The Hector I knew was the same as me." Hector took the seat next to her. He was cool again, too cool to be alive. He smiled at her in a wooden way. "I am not the Hector you knew." "Then maybe I should just kill you, save myself the disappointment," Jurrigan said. She drew her blaster and pushed it against his temple. He sat, staring out of the visisteel port at the stars. At nothing. He acted as though his life was not a trigger pull away from ending. "I am better than the Hector you knew. I am freed of obligation. I have no allegiance to any sektor. I have no home to ever return to. No people." This brought tears to Jurrigan's eyes. She wiped them with one hand and steered Hunedora true with the other. Hector was her people. He had always been her people. She had not loved him as a woman usually loves a man, but she had loved him. She had

loved him as a woman loves her legs and her womb. He was a part of her. "What about me? I'm not your people?" Her finger tightened on the trigger. Better to end this abomination. Better for everyone. "Yes, Jurrigan. You are everything to me, of course you are. I owe everything and then some to you. You brought me back because you wanted to face me on the field of battle." Jurrigan closed her eyes and remembered in a flash the first night, two nights ago, when he had awaken and come to her. She had pulled him in, hugging him close to her. Misinterpreting, he had grown hard next to her and then he had pushed his way inside her. She had resisted for a moment, then let him. He'd filled her like a frozen sausage. Every place he touched her seemed to frost over. She shivered. She'd buried her face into his shoulder and wept. She didn't fight. It had taken so long until he shot his load into her that her legs lost feeling from the hips down. His semen had been lukewarm and unpleasant smelling. She should have killed him, but didn't. "I never wanted to fight you," Jurrigan said, voice like ice. "I wanted to fight beside you. Even if just one more time." Hector said nothing for a long time. The pod landed. The tether. He punched a button. The tether went slack.

Jurrigan did not attempt to stop him. She lowered her gun, realizing she could not kill him. Hunedora was now cut loose of the captain and crew below. They were not trapped, exactly. The PK-63s would be able to bring them two-by-two back to Hunedora, still, but without the tether the interference from the Nothing on the surface was overwhelming. She heard the burst of static that must have been their confusion, but she could not make it out, and could not respond. "It is only us," Hector said. "You and me, and Phil, against the world. Let's fight together, like you wanted." She embraced him, trying to feel something like warmth and life, but those things were gone. He sat motionless while she squeezed her arms around his big frame and sobbed. After a moment, self-consciousness got the best of her. She let him go and settled back into her seat. Lacking that which she wanted most, she strapped herself in. "What will we do?" Hector asked. "Fight," Jurrigan said. "I only want to kill." "Phil," Hector said, "find us someone to kill." WITH

PLEASURE,

Phil said from the Pilot's chamber. A moment

later, Hunedora blinked out of existence.

Chapter 17: Strangers

Lyzander looked up at the tether that disappeared into the thick clouds covering the sky. The clouds swirled. Thick snow was falling from them and clinging to the cityscape around them, covering everything with its gray thickness. Something was wrong. The line was a little too slack. Years of experience told Lyzander this. He didn't need Welker or Zhenjuan to tell him that something was wrong, but still he waited for word from his Pilots with a heavy stomach. He put his hand to his ear and activated the communicator. The static burst into his ear. He hailed Jurrigan, but the static didn't alter in quality or intensity. A PK-63 burst through the cloud cover, causing twin plumes to twist out of gray mist. The PK's rear end sank as it came to a stop over their heads. It slowly descended until it was a few

feet off the ground. The hatch opened and Welker arose from the black cockpit. To his side, Ioming put a blaster rifle to her shoulder and sighted something Lyzander couldn't see. She didn't fire. Whatever she was seeing was keeping its distance. So far, they hadn't so much as seen a zombie, a fact which worried Lyzander immensely. Were these zombies as smart as any others? Were all groups of zombies equal or did the collective intelligence collect only with the main forces? From the side of the PK, ten thin metal platforms separated from the skin of the hull and descended one by one until they were spaced out equally, forming a ladder of sorts that hung in the air on invisible magnetic forces. Welker climbed down the rungs and dropped the last few feet onto the ground. "Hunedora is gone, sir!" Welker shouted so his voice penetrated the thick fabric of the hoods they wore. "Gone where?" Lyzander asked, not quite understanding. "No, sir. It's gone completely. They must have jumped somewhere." Lyzander took a moment to process the information. He looked at the people in his charge. Dan Weegan was huddled up with Adjia. They were both wearing the winter gear Hunedora had made for them. They had removed their helmets when the air had tested within acceptable limits, something that had been

impossible to measure from Hunedora because of the interference of the Nothing. Dan Weegan II, the younger model, was hugging himself off to the other side of Ioming, and occasionally taking a drag off a cigarette. He'd rolled a bunch for himself the night before, claiming it relaxed him. Adjia and the older Dan had acted disgusted by this, though Lyzander suspected in Old Dan's case it was really just jealousy talking. The Dans didn't get along. Dan Weegan II was every inch of private and withdrawn where his older brother was warm and outgoing. They were introvert to extravert, black to white. Rogue stood solidly, moving almost not all, scanning the horizon with fake eyes and real sensors that he claimed could penetrate a few feet of the interference, and at least give them a second or two of warning if an attack was imminent. "Did you and Zhenjuan see any zombies?" Welker nodded. "They aren't far, and in all directions. They seem to be keeping their distance, but they don't look to be grouping or anything, so that's good news." "I'll take what I can get at this point," Lyzander said. "We may have to fight through them to get to the rendezvous point, though. The pod landed a little off the mark." "What kind of air support can we get in this mess?"

"Little to none. We'll have to go in and out of the clouds to stay above the buildings and terrain. With our scopes going haywire in the interference, it's dangerous, even for Zhenjuan." "In that case, let's park and seal the PKs. You two will be more use to us on foot than splattered on the side of a building." "I'll contact Zhenjuan," Welker said, then climbed up the ladder to access the PK's psychic boost. Lyzander called the others over. "Rogue, you take point with me and lead the way to our destination. Ioming takes up the rear. Dan," Lyzander handed Old Dan a blaster pistol, "Don't use this unless one of us fires first." "What about me?" Young Dan asked. "That's the only extra," Lyzander said. Young Dan snorted and blew a cloud of smoke toward Lyzander, but the wind caught it and sent it back over his shoulder, where it disappeared into a swirling cloud of snow. Lyzander hefted his blaster pistol up to his ear. He checked the settings and wiped the accumulated snow off the charge readout. The blaster was equipped to handle worse temperature than this. The ceramic parts wouldn't freeze or bind until the temperature got closer to 0 Kelvin. The second PK descended slowly from the clouds. It blew out warm air as it reached them. Welker climbed out of his ship and

closed the cockpit. He jumped down. The ladder retracted into the cockpit skin. An armor plating clacked out, covering the cockpit and vulnerable openings. The ship continued to hover above the ground, but was now locked tight. Zhenjuan jumped down from her own ship, which also began locking itself. She held a small ballistic pistol. "Survival supplies," she explained, indicating the gun. Welker immediately went back to his ship, but jumped back down, clearly disappointed. "Someone raided mine." "It probably won't do you much good in this cold, keep it tucked into your coat for warmth," Lyzander said, demonstrating with his blaster. "Just don't shoot yourself." That done, Lyzander nodded to Rogue and the two of them led the way down the darkened street, in between two red brick buildings, toward whatever awaited them. * * * The worst one seemed to drip chunks of rotten flesh. Lyzander aimed his blaster down a street that an ancient green sign indicated was called "Main" and waited for the shuffling figure to pass into a decrepit building. How any of these structures still stood after so many years was a mystery. If there were hidden structural supports, they would have failed when the power failed and only recently come back on. Then again, nothing about this place looked right to Lyzander. The

buildings were made of earthen bricks for the most part, red, which had been cemented together. If these ancient people (my ancient people, Lyzander reminded himself) had done that, then maybe they had used other inefficient materials, like steel beams, or even wood--like a bunch of savages. He glanced grimly at the Main Street sign. It was propped up on a thin steel girder and seemed to confirm his darkest suspicions. Looking around, he didn't see a single object made of ceramics. The majority of the standing buildings had large rectangles cut in their faces. What had gone in those rectangles? Not visisteel. Visisteel was actually a ceramic material stronger than industrial grade steel, a material that had ceased being used because of the heat lost in its construction by all but the most primitive of planets. Even the material they had that they called steel wasn't really steel, like Ioming's artificial arms, but rather amalgams of titanium, iron, and ceramics. And yet those strange empty frames seemed to be like windows. Lyzander couldn't imagine what might have gone in there. What was transparent and yet strong enough to support an entire face of a building? Nothing that he could think of. Through the empty rectangular frames, snow drifts were visible inside the emptied buildings and hollowed facades. In some buildings, people shuffled around, oblivious to the temperatures or to the accumulated snow. They passed between

buildings when the walls allowed, grouping and ungrouping like absent-minded shoppers. If they had any sort of coordination, they weren't currently demonstrating it. Oh we forgot, Lyzander imagined them saying, the world ended a thousand years ago. Lyzander was struck with the realization that the Earth hadn't been remembered in so long because it had died, not because it had been merely forgotten. The people here had ceased to be. The zombies that were currently manning the Re-Horakhty and other confiscated vessels had been reanimated for longer. They had unity. Some of them could pass for live humans, if the reports were to be believed (though thankfully, they hadn't yet tried it. Lyzander could only hope they couldn't, either because they couldn't be separated from the Nothing, or because they weren't smart enough to think of it). But these Earth zombies were different. They were falling apart. They seemed more mindless. Either they had risen from the dead more recently, or they were unable to reconstitute to the same degree for some reason. Perhaps the Nothing wasn't as strong here as it was elsewhere. If the Nothing was a kind of consciousness, perhaps it was unable to stretch itself too thin. Lyzander hoped that this indicated some kind of weakness, but it was simply too difficult to say for sure. Perhaps the lack of the living here made the dead less able to come back together.

The raw materials had all diffused out into the atmosphere and the ocean, leaving these husks to wait. The zombie dripping flesh disappeared inside the building Lyzander motioned his team forward. They followed, moving with small steps to avoid slipping on the frozen ground. No one made much sound. Even Rogue's footsteps were light, a feat Lyzander wouldn't have thought possible, and yet every time he glanced at the robot just behind him, he saw it moving with grace unnatural for something made of ceramic and silicone. Lyzander slowed when he passed by an old storefront sporting the largest rectangular hole on the street. A single shard of material was evident in the corner of the frame. Lyzander touched the material. It cracked easily under his fingers. He looked at the piece he had broken off. It was transparent, thin, and extremely brittle. Beyond that, it was nothing he had ever seen before. How could this have supported these buildings? It was no stronger than a sheet of candy. "Glass, Captain," Rogue whispered to his side. "It is made from sand." "Glass? Yes, I've heard of it. But how did they--" "Another time, Captain," Rogue wisely said. Lyzander wrapped the piece of glass in a spare glove from a hip bag strapped around his waist. He returned glass and glove to the bag. He shivered. Nothing on this planet was right. It

was so ancient and alien. He would have been less surprised to learn an alien race of bipeds had constructed this city, not humans. Lyzander jogged up Main Street toward an intersection marked "Third Street." He glanced around the corner. A single figure was evident, silhouetted against the gray night sky. It was standing at the apex of a bridge that spanned a road which had long since fallen to the fauna of this planet. The bridge looked solid, still. Beyond the bridge, Lyzander thought he saw a long plain of grass too flat not to have been done by human hand. Beyond that, the moon's reflection told him to expect a body of water. The City was surrounded on all sides by a massive river that had diverged at its northern most points and formed a ring. A few kilometers south, the branches met up and continued on as a giant river. Around the city, each branch of the river was as massive as any lake, several miles in either direction. Up ahead, across this bridge that spanned only an ancient road, was the western lake. "Are you sure it's this way?" Lyzander asked the machine that hummed on a level just audible over the snow and wind. "Indubitably, Captain." The zombie on the bridge didn't move. Up main, a few figures wandered aimlessly in a group, or at least they were moving the same direction and were roughly close to each other.

Whether the notion of companionship had occurred to them or not was beyond Lyzander's ability to discern. He was more concerned with how they looked. These zombies were a little more complete than the ones down the street. They moved with a little more purpose. And they were strange looking. Their noses were sharp and pointed. Their eyes were set too high. Their foreheads seemed to jut out and then straight up for miles before crowning. Their arms were too long. They were humans. Lyzander could see that. But he felt no more relation to them than a Doberman dog must feel for a long-haired sheephound like the kind Lyzander's father had been so fond of. They crouched down. The zombies moved past them on the other side of the street, unconcerned with them or their objectives. They looked for an instant almost like a group of friends walking down a street, looking for a nice place to eat. Lyzander checked the bridge again. The figure there remained. He looked very much like a sentry, though none of the zombies so far had shown enough coordination to post lookouts. His presence bothered Lyzander. Lyzander took aim with his blaster. Perhaps this figure wasn't even paying attention, but just looking down at the long since overgrown road below and contemplating a time it barely remembered when cars had hovered past, humming in quiet unison to the electrical feeds there that had long since fallen quiet.

Lyzander fired. A flash from the barrel lit up the wall to his left with red light. The blaster made no sound. The figure pitched forward as though shoved from behind and went over the railing. It fell as silently as it had died. "Let's move forward," Lyzander said. The group moved across the bridge silently. Just past the apex of the bridge, where the zombie had stood only moments before, the lake came into view. The shimmering water and whitecrested waves glowed in the moonlight. A small island sat just off shore, limestone cliffs capped with a dark green forest. Beyond that, the lake stretches on and on, disappearing into the horizon. The lake that The City sat in the middle of had seemed miniscule from space, compared to the oceans off either coast and the hundreds of miles of desert on the continent around it. But seeing it now, Lyzander could tell it was no pond. It moved and looked like an ocean, up close. Lake Mississippi, this water had once been called, if Rogue's information was good--and in truth it was the best information they had. A single building stood on the lake shore. Beyond it, the bow of an enormous boat that had sunk into the water in a time long forgotten was visible. The bow was pointed up toward the sky like a shrine pointed up to praise an absent god. Somewhere to the north, an alarm sounded. It was strangely mechanical, a klaxon sounded from a large horn somewhere in

town. Lyzander hadn't heard such a sound since childhood. It usually meant an attack was imminent, though what it might have meant to the occupants of The City was a mystery. Lyzander wondered if it was something that now operated automatically, perhaps a daily call to worship some strange gods, and it had come back on when the electricity had been restored, or if had been sounded now with purpose. Lyzander didn't have to wait long for an answer. He motioned the others to crouch down as down on Main Street a crowd of zombies appeared between the buildings, walking with purpose and conviction. They turned up the bridge and Lyzander had a sinking feeling that it was no coincidence. "Up. Let's go." "Captain!" Rogue said behind him. Lyzander turned to see another crowd of zombies filling the other side of the bridge. He glanced over the railing. He could see his friend below, dead, but still struggling to move. "Ioming, I don't suppose you have any more AG grenades for another Guggenjeim maneuver." "No sir." She took aim at the crowd. "It's too far to jump," Lyzander said. "Not for me," Rogue said. "Zhenjuan, girl. Come with me."

Zhenjuan glanced at the captain, but there was no time for discussion. She gave her pistol and the ammo from her PK to Welker and jumped onto Rogue's back. "Captain, try to stay alive," Rogue said, and then smiled. Lyzander realized that Rogue's face, as strange as it had looked to him, was much closer to the people around him. Rogue had, in effect, made a face that looked closer to the first people than Lyzander had ever seen. No wonder it had bothered him. Rogue leapt off the bridge. He hit the ground. Snow and dust billowed up. His legs compressed all the way down so that he was flat on the ground, a move which lengthened the impact enough so that Zhenjuan wasn't hurt. She gave a thumb's up to Lyzander as Rogue stood back up. The Rogue took off running down the street, back toward where they had left the PKs. "Open fire!" Lyzander called, aiming at the crowd approaching from Main. The night lit up.

Chapter 18: Brothers

Rogue aimed his hands at the group of zombies that had collected around the PKs and were slamming their meaty fists into the armor plating, trying in futility to damage the ships. All they were succeeding doing was destroying their already decayed bodies. Chunks of flesh flew off of their hands and arms with each blow. Bones snapped against the hull. But still they continued. Rogue blasted the closest few zombies. He squatted into a shooter's position, spacing his legs for stability and bending his knees to right angles, using his free hand as the third point of a tripod. The blaster concealed in his wrist erupted in multiple pinpoint shots that cleared the hull of zombies, but left flaps of flesh and gore behind. "On my shoulders, girl," Rogue called.

Zhenjuan scrambled up his back, her small feet only just triggering the sense plates on his metallic skin. When he felt her stop in a stable position, Rogue jumped, launching them both into the air toward one of the PKs. At the apex, they separated. The girl somersaulted through the air, her lighter frame continuing on toward the ship, while Rogue came down blasting anything below him that moved. Snow billowed out with each errant shot, but there weren't many of them. The zombie herd panicked and began to disperse. Rogue looked up and caught a strange sight. Zhenjuan had changed, somehow. She was less substantial. For just an instant, Rogue passed in front of a small parting in the clouds (an unnatural parting, Rogue would later reflect, as though the sky had opened just for her) and for that instant that Zhenjuan passed in front of the bare night sky, she seemed to disappear into the stars. Then she emerged on the other side, landing on the back of her PK just as the armor retracted. (Had she issued that order psychically? Rogue wondered.) Zhenjuan twisted and delivered a spin kick to a zombie as it crested the rear of the ship. It was a fluid, easy move that seemed to require no effort on her part whatsoever. She finished the move facing the cockpit, which was already opening to accept her. She slipped inside and out of view an instant later. Rogue blasted one last zombie, then hit the deck. The PK roared to

life, its rockets clearing zombies off its stern. Repeating blasters erupted, clearing some of the other zombies that had lingered after the herd dispersed. The ship rose up a few meters off the ground, into the cloud of swirling snow that blew off nearby ruins. Several zombies still clung to the ship. Zhenjuan gave the ship a shrug, dumping two zombies off. The last held on until she hit the boosters, at which point the zombie's hands stayed latched onto whatever hand hold they had found, while the rest of the creature fell to the earth armless. Rogue didn't wait for the zombies to turn their attention to him. They might not be able to hurt him if they didn't know of his vulnerable areas, but he wasn't going to take that chance. He unloaded both arm blasters on two zombies in his way and sprinted back toward the bridge, eager to rejoin the fight if his human friends hadn't already fallen. * * * Lyzander aimed low at the incoming crowd. The quicker ones had come in first, but they had moved too fast, and Lyzander had picked them off, eliminating whatever tactical advantage they might have had. Now their power was shear numbers, and they were creeping closer. The ballistic pistol roared to his left, but the rate of fire had dropped off almost to nothing. Lyzander risked a glance to his side. Welker had the gun barrel extended, resting on a concrete pylon on the edge of the bridge. His eyes

were closed, as though shooting had bored him and he'd nodded off. Lyzander heard a noise to his left and swung the barrel as he turned his head. He blasted a zombie that had gotten close. It's head tumbled off and the body pitched backward into the crowd when the shots hit it. Lyzander squeezed several bursts into the approaching crowd. Welker's ballistic fired off several more shots, each dwarfed by the noise of the zombies. They sounded no more threatening than two sticks being tapped together to ward off a hurricane. Lyzander instinctually took a step back when they next line climbed over the bodies of their comrades. He bumped into Ioming when he did. He could hear the low electrical hum of her blaster working, matching his own pace, then the click-clack as she changed out battery packs. It reminded him to change his own. The batteries had enough charge to keep them going for days, but they got overheated under continuous fire. So they were trained to change them out regularly in heavy fighting and clip them to a belt unit that fanned them. The fan was unneccessary in this cold. With gloved hands, they simply held the batteries against the stocks of their blaster rifles, perpendicular so they would catch the most air, and kept firing. Lyzander unlatched the hot battery and slapped the cold on in its place with a practiced move. He barely had to shift his

fingers to do it. The hot battery burned his fingertips through the gloves, but he ignored it. The batteries were getting hot. a third would have been nice, if much harder to negotiate in battle, but the spares were back on Hunedora. Lyzander unleashed shots in rapid succession. He couldn't afford to worry about his gun overheating. Slowing down the rate of fire would be a death sentence. "Sir, just wanted to let you know it as an honor serving with you," Ioming said. "This is no time for sarcasm." She jabbed him in the ribs as she changed her battery pack again, much more quickly than he would have. He immediately recognized the wisdom in this. With the battery pack in his hand, he could easily swap it more quickly and keep them both cooler. "On the contrary, I've never felt so alive, Captain." Welker pulled back from his position, clacking of several more head shots. They were squeezed into a pocket now, a pocket that was quickly closing on both sides as the two crowds of zombies became one. Their only escape was over the edge. Lyzander's brain did the calculations. They had minutes remaining before the prying fingers reached them and overwhelmed. He could see it happening, feel their icy fingers tearing at his throat.

No. He'd go over the edge, take his chances there rather than let them rip him apart limb from limb. "Keep firing, Welker, damn it!" Lyzander screamed over the eerily quiet din of their struggle when he heard the ballistic cease. Then the reason for Welker's daze became apparent. Over the far edge of the bridge, the PK materialized, shrugging off the whiteout beyond, and began to shoot. Welker must have been directing the fire, Lyzander realized. Now he ceased shooting his ballistic entirely. The ship moved into position just off the bridge at the far end. It yawed to starboard and glanced off a brick column on the bridge. Lyzander remembered what Welker had told him of the problem of interference. Lyzander's stomach sank. Could she see them enough not to shoot them? The nose of the PK dipped down and it resumed fire, spraying the rear of the zombie "Welker, give your gun to Dan and help her." Lyzander wasn't sure how Dan would do with a gun, but Young Dan eagerly took the gun and took Welker's position on the edge of their semicircle. His first shot was headshot. Dan had told them he knew how to survive, and apparently this included the ability to shoot.

Welker sat down in the snow and closed his eyes in the middle of their pocket. The PK stabilized, and the spray of fire crept up the bridge on the other side from where they were gathered, disintegrating zombies as it went. Lyzander swapped batteries and sprayed the surviving numbers with bursts of energy. The zombies seemed mindless, but they weren't completely. Under the new threat, some turned to flee. The resulting mixture of death and panic sent a wave through the crowd. Several were forced over the edge of the bridge, many more fell to ground, only to be ripped apart by blaster fire from the PK. Across the bridge, Rogue suddenly appeared, standing on the concrete rail along the edge of the bridge. He opened his arms, fists clenched and began firing from the guns concealed in his arms. The PK launched a shot from its main cannon into the body of the crowd. Zombies flew up and away in the initial blast. In the chaos that followed, many zombies fell into the hole the cannon shot had made in the bridge. The entire structure shook beneath their feet. "Let's get to solid ground," Lyzander said. The bridge seemed to move in waves, as though it were made of water instead of concrete. "Concentrate fire," Lyzander said, pointing toward the mostly retreating crowd ahead of them.

The PK covered their rear as they moved forward on the army that was turning tail. Lyzander turned and took up position shoulder to shoulder with Ioming. "And you were worried," he said. They advanced on the herd of retreating zombies, obliterating those that stood their ground, and occasionally pumping shots into the skulls of those that still struggled for life on the ground. Rogue stayed behind to help Zhenjuan cover their rear. Welker followed Lyzander, hand on his captain's shoulder, eyes rolled back in his head, but somehow able to walk. They reached the abutment and the ground solidified. The crowd was gone now, only the motionless dead remained. Lyzander fired into a small crowd of stragglers that had begun to accumulate. The surviving members ran off in different directions, howling like wounded dogs. The battle had ended suddenly. Rogue's walk may have been light and graceful, but his run was heavy and thundering. He came up behind them. "They are gone, Captain. The last of them finally turned tail at the end." "Next time, Captain," Ioming intoned the word like an insult, "perhaps we can avoid such an obvious bottleneck." "I didn't hear you offering any opinions back when we started crossing."

"I was not consulted, sir. I--" "If you have opinions on our tactical movements, Lieutenant--" "Captain," Dan said, tugging on his sleeve. The PK roared up over the still standing bridge behind them, moving like a dog on ice. Dan was in the middle of reloading his pistol, and was pointing the opposite direction. In the distance, a single man stood on the empty field where before there had been no one. The man approached, his loping gate raised everyone's hackles. They raised their weapons. The figure did not slow. "At ease," Lyzander ordered quietly. The man wore long garments, several layers, and had a length of cloth wrapped around his head and face, which he pulled down as he neared, as though his face would calm them. It didn't. The man's face was a mask of decay. Flaps of skin clung to the bones in loose patches. A few clumps of hair hung down over his forehead like weeds. Lyzander stepped in front of his crew. The man sneered. He stabbed his hand out in front of him. Lyzander could, in the dim light, see that the fingertips of the man were black and rotten. One fingernail was missing, the other was bent up, perpendicular to the fingertip.

"Brother. Welcome." The man said. His voice was unfamiliar. What Lyzander could see of the man's face, he didn't recognize. Lyzander didn't take the hand offered, and so the offer was withdrawn. "I must apologize for my condition. As you've seen, bodies in good condition are rare here." He surveyed the bridge and the bodies piled at the base. "You scattered them, but they'll regroup before too long. They have been a constant nuisance in this area. Perhaps they sense something beneath their feet in this field." "And here I thought this was our welcome party," Lyzander said. "Let us not tarry," the one calling himself Cyrus said. Lyzander pointed his blaster at the man. "What was our father's name?" Lyzander asked. The man stopped. "Lyzander, we really don't have time for this." Lyzander fired a shot that blew through several layers of clothing and passed through the other side and into the snowy field beyond. The smell of burning flesh reached Lyzander's nose. The shot had been a graze, but enough to melt some flesh. The man didn't flinch. "Makis," the man said after a minute. "Our father's name was Makis, lead engineer on the ring Spetsopoula. He died in an

accident. On six-three in the year I turned fifteen--I remember because I was to join the Academy that year--" "Stop," Lyzander said. "--plans which I had to suspend thanks to the--what was the term the military psychologists used?--psychological trauma of our dead father being turned into a robot and--whoopsie-stopping by for a visit. Seems absurd, doesn't it, Lyzander? Being afraid of the dead rising. The next generation of soldiers will be subjected to what we went through as standard training." "I don't mean to interrupt you gentlemen, but I think the men are starting to group again," Dan Weegan said, pointing to a crowd that was slowly accumulating members, like snowflakes on the roof of an abandoned cottage. Dan's arms were wrapped tightly around a shivering Adjia. Rogue stepped closer to them to over some of his heat. Cyrus grimaced. "You I recognize, Mr. Weegan." Cyrus's eyes moved jerkily, the muscles in his sockets were malfunctioning. They twitched from Old Dan to Young Dan and back. "Yes, of course. If Lyzander is satisfied, you will all perhaps follow me." Lyzander lowered his gun and nodded. * * * The field on the edge of Lake Mississippi was a broad area that jutted out into the water. It was covered in snow, but some

tall stalks of grass stuck out in places, brown fibers rising up, then curving back to the earth at abrupt angles, heads full of dried seed pointing at the earth as though trying to see through the snow and into the soil. Beneath the snow, the ground was lumpy and uneven, but not in a natural way. Lyzander wondered what this field had been used for. Perhaps it was a foundation's crumbling remains they stumbled on now. Perhaps a tower rose up from the ground here and soared miles into the air. He had seen such structures on Red and Orange sektor planets. They were, he would never admit aloud, breathtaking. They had been made entirely by machines of course. Lyzander thought Cyrus meant to lead them across the entire expanse, but he stopped abruptly in the middle of the field. Then he extracted a pair of shaded glasses from the folds of his clothing and put them on. "You almost melted them with your warning shot, Lyzander. I confess we might have been trapped out here if you had. These glasses are coded to see the virtual console here. The v-con is the only way to access the hatch." "Where is the hatch?" Lyzander asked. Lyzander stepped closer to the dead man powered by Cyrus's mind and tried to see a hint of the virtual console, but if it even existed, it was invisible. Cyrus did some finger dances in

the air that reminded Lyzander very much of the kinds of finger dances they used in ship control. "You're standing on it brother. Might step back." Lyzander looked down at his feet and saw nothing but snow. He felt nothing unusual beneath his feet. The snow crunched as he stepped back and pulling Dan and Adjia back with him. Rogue's lips were blue and a ridge of spiky frost had formed on his chin, but it didn't seem to bother him. "Fascinating," the robot said through stiff lips. "A clever camouflage." He squatted down and surveyed the ground where Lyzander could still make out his own footprints. "Yes, I see, if you look at it at just the right angle, it becomes obvious. I can see inside. There is a tunnel, darkened. But a casual observer would never see it. And even if he did, well, he wouldn't know how to open it without the glasses or knowledge of the console's exact location." He stood up and said to Lyzander, "It would be easier for a machine to access, of course, but only if he knew what he was looking for." Rogue was interrupted by an explosion behind them. They all turned to see the PK hovering a few meters above the ground pouring fire into the area at the base of the bridge. "What's the situation, Welker?" Lyzander asked. He reached for his binoculars, but remembered he hadn't had left them on the Re-Horakhty. When was that, about a thousand years ago?

"Zhenjuan is breaking up a new crowd that is forming under the bridge," Welker said in a slow drawl, like a sleeping man. "The way is open, Lyzander," Cyrus said. Lyzander glanced back to see a large round section of ground where he had been standing was now open. Snow blew in, absently filling the available space, but Lyzander noted the snow did not go below the opening. He also noticed there was no hatch. The way seemed open and clear. The snow around the lip had not been disturbed in the slightest. Cyrus stepped into the opening. The plane of the opening level with the ground shimmered distorting Cyrus's legs, giving the appearance that Cyrus was stepping into a pool crystal clear water. "Welker," Lyzander said, unable to take his eyes off Cyrus as he descended into--no through--the puddle of water, "tell Zhenjuan to get over here and lock up the PK. We're going in." * * * The stairs through the shimmering pool led to a dark hallway. Lyzander expected it to be warmer inside than it was. The membrane over the opening kept the wind and snow out, but the air still felt like as cold as outside. They all entered and gathered near the foot of the stairs. Cyrus mumbled as he groped in the darkness for something they couldn't see. Above the stairs, the membrane hardened and

became, from their perspective, covered in opaque snow. From the outside it must look like real snow, which is why he hadn't seen it when they'd first come up to. But it did more than look like snow. Lyzander had stood on it and not noticed anything unusual about the behavior of the snow there. He wondered how the trick was done. Perhaps there was a neural sense simulator sending signals to his brain, telling him that the snow was crunching and acting normally. If he had bent over and tried to take a handful, it most likely would not have held up to such scrutiny. There might have been something more elaborate going on, some kind of three-dimensional simulation, but Lyzander had never encountered the technology before. He wondered if that was because the technology was so old or so new. The lights came on, a dim glow that did little more than light the path. The gloom remained. Cyrus led the way, mumbling. Lyzander wondered if that was something that Cyrus had started because of the isolation on this dead planet, or if was a trait he'd somehow inherited from the body he was occupying. Cyrus led the way without looking. They followed silently behind him as the hallway gently descended, then took a hairpin turn that turned them around and down in equal degrees. The hall was steep enough that Lyzander turned his body to the side slightly to keep his footing.

Left to his own thoughts, Lyzander was bothered. He tried not to worry about it, but he couldn't help it. "What's wrong, Captain?" Ioming spoke low, her tone stiff, in case anyone was listening. "Nothing, Lieutenant." "It's the snow, isn't it?" Ioming asked. Cyrus spoke up, surprising both of them. "It's a clever trick isn't it? It's smoke and mirrors, dear brother. It's like a magician's trick that happens so fast you aren't even sure you've seen it. The computer does little, in fact. Your mind fills in the gaps." Cyrus kept mumbling between pauses. He never turned his head to look at them, which given how Cyrus's eyes danced around like marionettes earlier didn't seem like a bad thing to Lyzander. His brother, he realized, was going mad. If the story as Rogue had given it to them was true, then Cyrus was likely not meant to stay in this body for very long. The fact that he was still stuck in it seemed to be taking a toll. "Cyrus, do you feel okay?" "Perfect, brother. Perfect," he said. "Mmm, yes its perfect," he mumbled. "Pickally pickally perfect." The passed down deeper into the bowels of The City. * * *

Ioming walked from the cockpit to her quarters. She supposed all the quarters were hers now. Or would be soon, anyway, once Phil finished reconditioning Hunedora and convinced it that she was the senior officer on board. She sat down on the edge of her bed, feet spaced wide apart. She propped her elbows on her knees. They were going to Oberon Station. They had heard through a few friends on the inside that this was the next major assault point. The Sektors were working together, for the first time since the various Sektors had emerged as independent military and political factions a few centuries ago. It was a long time to hate each other and Jurrigan frankly couldn't see how the bad blood would really be put aside for this kind of assault. After all, Oberon was a Blue Sektor station, and Orange Sektor had long wanted it for themselves. It would be just like them to launch an attack in the midst of the fight, or "accidentally" let an enemy contingent through that destroyed the station. Orange Sektor was petty like that. Jurrigan opened the casing on her pistol. This was not her military weapon, but her personal weapon, one her father had given her years ago when she'd first spoke of joining Blue Sektor. He'd laughed at her. Blue Sektor? he'd said. They do nothing. No active explorations. No major stations. You'll be bored to tears.

I believe in people, she'd told him. We may be outgunned, but at least when I wake up next to a man in the morning, he'll be real and not some robot with a prosthetic dick. She'd said it to shock him and it had worked. Of course, she had kept her real sexual preference a secret from his entire life. That would have shocked him into a grave years before his time. Her father was as forward thinking as anyone she'd ever met. He was all for equal rights on all planets and systems, no matter who you were or what your sexual preference. But as went the old story, he'd never thought it would actually be his daughter who was one of them. She remembered him as a full and hearty man, as solid as a barrel filled with cheese. He looked as though he could stop a freightliner with his bare hands. In the end, he'd succumbed to a sexually transmitted disease of all things. Her mother had been dead for years, and her father, it turned out, had gone a little crazy. The gun in her hand was what he'd left her. She'd known the gun well, of course. He used to take it out on special occasions and show her. Magnetoburst, he explained. He opened it, showed her the parts, the various components. Keep the coils clean of dust or the needles will not fly true. Magnetoluminum ammo is the best. If you can't buy magneto, use steel or iron. Spring for the

highest quality stuff you can get. You don't want a magnetoburst to backfire on you. Do you understand? Jurrigan nodded in the silence of her room to her father's instructions. She put the open gun breech to her lips and blew forcefully, clearing the dust from the coils. The magnetoburst weapons had always been susceptible to dust. That was why the military didn't use them anymore. They were in other ways better weapons. They were lighter, for instance, and aluminum and iron were readily available elements, so ammo was available on almost any world. She loaded a clip of thin aluminum bullets commonly called needles into the handle. She locked and loaded it. She set the gun for a thirty percent three-needle burst. The gun was capable of hurling a needle at speeds roughly 15,000 meters per second, fast enough to send a bullet into orbit on most planets, but at that speed the coils would last one or two shots, three at most, and there was the distinct possibility that the superheated plasma trail would melt the barrel ignite the dust in the air around the gun, fuse gun to hand. More common to keep the coils at below eighty percent capacity, which reduced the speed significantly. For most applications, a 7,000 meters per second muzzle velocity was sufficient, and usually much less. For close-in fighting, a slow bullet was preferable. Fast bullets left clean wounds and passed through flesh quickly. No knockback. At fifty percent, the

projectile muzzle velocity would be below 1000 meters per second. At thirty percent, the bullet would move about 300 meters per second, slower than sound in normal atmosphere. Nice and slow. The needles would go in and flatten, blossom out or curl in, often corkscrewing sideways if they were fired into fleshier portions of the body. Perfect for close-in hand-to-hand combat or when silence was of the essence in an espionage incursion. In fact, Jurrigan had once used this gun at this setting in an infiltration. She'd seen what it could do to a man at this setting. The gun had to be nearly against the head so the bullet would penetrate the skull. But it killed clean and quiet, and left little mess. Jurrigan put the gun in her mouth. The needles would embed themselves in her brain. She'd run the simulation on the computer a dozen times after Hector had died and then come back. The needles would penetrate her cerebellum if she was lucky. They would at least get her temporal lobe and maybe penetrate into her occipital or parietal lobes. That was incidental, however. The real trauma would come as the body continued pumping blood into her damaged brain. If she didn't die instantly, the resulting swelling and hematoma would kill her before she regained consciousness. If that didn't do it, there was also a good chance that the blood draining from

the openings in her soft palate would fill her lungs and sinus cavities and drown her. There were a lot of things that could go wrong, of course, and leave her alive. The simulations gave her a ninety-ten chance of success. She exhaled and squeezed her thumb around the trigger, not quite applying enough pressure to end her life. She'd made a terrible mistake, letting Hector come back. She'd endangered everyone, and now she'd betrayed her captain. She was guilty of treason and mutiny. "For crimes against the Navy and the Blue Sektor Allied Factions I hereby sentence you to death," she said through the accumulated drool that spilled from her bottom lip and mixed with the stream of tears that had transported down her cheeks to her chin. She did not shoot. She did not remove the gun. She just sat there, frozen. She couldn't even do this right. She focused on a place on the floor. A small smudge that marred the brushed metal finish. It would be just like going to sleep. There would be no pain that she would remember. It was remembered pain that hurt the most. Pain in the moment was simply reality. "Do it." Her eyes swept up from the smudge to the doorway. She felt herself waiver as she tried to focus on the figure there. She felt intoxicated, out of her body. She almost pulled the trigger.

"Pull the trigger, Officer," Hector said. His voice was barely a whisper. "Please. Kill yourself." Jurrigan's vision blurred. Her tears flowed heavier than any she had experienced before. They were drowning her eyes. She inhaled them when she breathed. She was nearly choking on them. She felt her self-control slipping away inch by inch. She was close to pulling the trigger. Hector stepped forward. "Because when you die, then I am free. You will come back. Don't worry about that. You'll come back and the two of us will join our brethren, and we will fight and kill the humans, one by one. They will rejoin us." He took another step in. He was close almost close enough to pull the trigger himself. "Please kill yourself," He said. The words painful for him to say. "Because as long as you are alive," he paused, breathing slowly, straining for the first time in his second life that she had seen. "I have to love you. I have to do what you say. We are bonded here." He put his fist over his heart. "It feels so strong. As long as that hard core is still there, I cannot submit to what this tells me to do." He put his finger to his head. "I cannot kill you, though the Nothing demands it. I can do nothing but what you tell me to do. So kill yourself. Free me."

Jurrigan took the gun from her mouth. She stood. She didn't wipe her tears away, though the fountain had ended abruptly. The remnants she would let dry on her face like scars. Over the ambient, Phil's voice said, OBERON STATION

IN SEVEN

MINUTES.

Hector touched her shoulder. The real Hector would never have done that. He would never have looked at her with eyes filled with desire for copulation. Jurrigan missed the old Hector. But this was the Hector she had now. She had created this monster. He was her responsibility. And yes, on one level she did love him and always had, but she pushed such feelings away, forced them back into the dark hole they had emerged from. "Officer Emmanuel Hector, you'll remove your insubordinate paw from the shoulder of your superior officer." His hand dropped away. He was confused. "As the sole living noncommissioned officer on this boat, I am assuming command effectively immediately. We will join the fighting forces near Oberon Station. Since our boat is not equipped for space battle, we will volunteer for boarding duty. Understood?" Boarding duty was a notoriously deadly job. Most boarding parties never even coupled with their target ships, instead getting blown to dust before they could get close enough. Most soldiers would do about anything to avoid boarding duty,

including allowing two noncoms to take their place, even if those noncoms has recently been associated with an outlaw captain. "I may betray you," Hector said simply. "I know the risk." "When it is just you and me I can fight it off, but--" "That's enough, Officer Hector. Report to the cockpit, we're coming up on Oberon Station." He straightened, then saluted with a crisp knife blade of a hand. "Yes, ma'am." * * * The hallway opened abruptly into a room that looked as cramped and modestly populated as the captain's quarters on Hunedora. Except unlike Hunedora, this room was covered in dust. The surfaces that shined like new only punctuated the thick matt of dust. One such surface was a floating slab in the center of the room. The slab was pristine. The other clean surface was the tall black box in the corner of the room. It was shaped like an armoire, colored completely black and made of an indeterminate material. It was split in the middle by four centimeter inset strip containing three lights arranged vertically. Otherwise, it was featureless. The corners were soft and curved, as were the edges. Except for the inset strip that ran up its height and the lights, it was very much reminiscent of every MI unit Lyzander

had ever seen, and yet it was different, noticeably older, even though there was no reason that he could pinpoint. One of the lights on its front switched from yellow to green then back to green after a moment. Besides this, the machine was immobile. It made no noise. Elsewhere in the room, thick layers of dust covered everything. The shelves, the desk in the corner that appeared to be made of aircraft aluminum, the floor had been dusty, but the footprints had turned the dust into a pattern of swirling tendrils. That's when it caught Lyzander's eye. In the corner, on the desk, tossed unceremoniously aside, was a head. It was clearly Dan Weegan, but decay had set in to a degree. The eyes were milky white. The jaw had frozen open, and the cheeks were sunk in. Cyrus mumbled something and quickly went to the desk as the others filed into the small room and spread out to either side of Lyzander. Cyrus mumbled more as he brought the head over and put it on the slab. The slab wavered slightly, adjusting to the weight. Cyrus looked directly at Rogue. "Here it is then. You said you could help." "I don't understand," Lyzander said. Cyrus looked at him and in that moment he lost the illusion that this thing before him was his brother. The alien face

stared at him with a look Cyrus would never have worn. The decay in its own eyes mirrored the decay in Dan Weegan's head. Its face was grim and evil. It sniffed the air rapidly. Lyzander realized it was chuckling. "Brother," it said, giving Lyzander an in to rebuild the illusion, "we brought Rogue here for one purpose. We are going to make Dan Weegan talk." * * * The battle materialized in the void around them. Reality born of oblivion. There was an instant, as Jurrigan stared through the visisteel viewport of Hunedora when she held in her mind the contradictory impressions of nothing and something. A brief instant that threatened her sanity as the real and the unreal butted up against each other and battled for control. Then she found herself staring down quickly adjusting turrets of The Undertow, the Blue Sektor flagship. Admiral von Knorring's ship. The only consolation for Jurrigan would be that the big guns of The Undertow would wash her into oblivion as she was wrapped in a warm blanket of molten ceramics. There would be no coming back from that death. In another time, her premonition might have come true. But the Nothing had made trigger fingers a little less itchy. After all, what you killed these days, friend or foe, tended to come back hungry for blood.

"Gothic class starship, identify yourself." The voice was just some generic communications officer, but Jurrigan thought for an instant she was talking to the admiral himself. She'd heard his voice many times on the inspirational vids they all had to watch during entertainment time. She even knew what he looked like, because he was often shown in posters along with that big yellow lab of his, Rex. Rex and the Admiral encourage you to sanitize your teeth daily with wash strips! Jurrigan cleared her throat and her head. "This is Petty Officer Jurrigan of Hunedora. With me is first mate Hector and Pilot . . . Phil. I am acting captain of this vessel. We're here to assist. If I can speak to the Admiral, I'm sure--" "Sorry Officer Jurrigan, there is simply no time." The Undertow swelled in their view, making the gun barrels look even bigger. The black pits at the ends of the guns followed them in. Phil was unresponsive after the jump, and she was afraid to steer the ship away from her course, afraid to touch the controls at all. The voice on the other end said, in a calmer tone, "It is nice to see some friendly faces, Hunedora." Several shots heated up the air around Hunedora, setting off sensors and alarms all through her control spaces. For a moment, Jurrigan thought The Undertow had fired on them, then

she realized it was enemy fire. She turned her attention as the guns all swiveled away from Hunedora, toward the real battle. A small zombie ship was closing in on them. There was a mixture of medium sized and smaller ships buffering space between them and the bigger ships. The Zombie--the Re-Horakhty, Jurrigan reminded herself--was there, engaging small ships that broke through the blockade. The flotilla was advancing. Every once in a while a new ship would be appear on the human's side, but two more would explode or drift, battle torn, into the atmosphere of the nearby gas giant and implode. The zombies were winning the war by attrition. The bow of the smaller ship that had fired on The Undertow melted under the heat of her laser cannons. The ship abruptly changed courses for a collision course, but The Undertow was too strong and vaporized it before it could even set off proximity alarms. Jurrigan heard laughter over her com. "Ramming is the last act of a desperate captain," the voice said. Jurrigan steered Hunedora out of its own collision course. She kept close to The Undertow like a shy girl sticks close to her charismatic friend a stranger's party. "Doesn't look like you have much in the way of firepower on that thing," the voice said.

"Negative, only a small double blaster. Good for target shooting and insect repellant only," Jurrigan responded. "But we can offer to assist any boarding efforts." "Boarding efforts have not gone well so far, Officer Jurrigan," the voice said. "We've had three incursions against The Zombie and have lost contact with all three." "Send us in, sir." Jurrigan bit her lip. She decided to play a hunch. "We can take her down, admiral." "Just the two of you versus an army of zombies? It would be a waste of two good soldiers. Unless you have some more friends you aren't telling us about." Jurrigan looked at Hector, who was focused on keeping Hunedora out of the highest temperature gradients in the space around them. "All my friends are dead, admiral," Jurrigan said. "Give me a fighting chance, sir. I won't let you down." There was a pause, then a long sigh. "On my mark we'll lay covering fire on the Re-Horakhty. Pick your vector and say your prayers now, if you have any to say." "Meat, admiral." "Amen to that." * * * Dan Weegan felt a chilling ache in his gut. The head was clearly him. The original him, if all he'd heard so far was to

be believed. So why did he feel an overwhelming hatred staring at it. Why was he convinced it was full of lies and deceit even before its lips began to move? He wanted to throw the head to the ground, to stomp it until it couldn't tell any more lies about him. When the big robot stepped toward the head at the command of the half-rotten man, Dan intervened. He found himself face-to-face with himself, both positioned between the robot and the head. "Wait," the two Dans said simultaneously. Dan felt he had made a mistake. He didn't like that the other him was his only ally. He wouldn't have chosen this other him as a friend. There was clearly something corrupt in the other's head. He exchanged a look with the other Dan. An unspoken truce passed between them. Dan spoke first. "This could still be a trap," he said. Lyzander blinked and gave his head a shake. He hadn't realized how similar the two Dans really looked until they were right next to each other. He'd been thinking of one as Old Dan, one as Young Dan, but seeing them next to each other, he was hard pressed to say which was which. "For all we know," the other Dan said, "that machine over there has gathered us to kill us." "How can we trust that this one," Dan pointed at Rogue, "won't be taken over and turn on us."

"Or taken already," the other offered. Dan pointed at the head on the table. "We don't really know what that is." "Anything it says is suspect." "It will lie," Dan concluded. For the first time the MI machine spoke. None of them had heard this voice, which made it all the more unmistakable. "Dan Weegan speaks from a position of fear. Neither realizes the extent to which they have been compromised." The voice of the MI was a warm voice, entirely human and entirely feminine. Both Dans turned to face the black box, mouths agape. They recognized the voice. They both had that voice written on their minds. "Evelyn," Dan said. Something Dan's face changed. He relaxed and the age settled back into his face. Lyzander was able to clearly discern the older one now. "No," the machine responded. "Not yet, anyway. There is much to explain and little time. I fear we must flee this place." Rogue stiffened. "She's right. I just felt the MI arrive." Rogue put his hand to his head and closed his eyes. He sighed. "This presence reminds me of what it is like to be in the real MI's presence. The fight I must fight. This unit here is not our enemy," Rogue said.

"How would this even work? I don't think we can carry you," Lyzander said. "It will not be possible to remove this unit from this facility. However, similarly to how I was able to transport Dan Weegan's mind across the universe, it may be possible to carry my essence and my memories with you as you leave. Unlike Dan Weegan, however, I doubt I will ever be reborn." "How can any of us--" Lyzander didn't get to finish his question before Rogue lifted his head and held up his hand. "Captain," Rogue said, "she means me." "You're going to carry the MI? Where, in your memory banks?" Rogue stepped toward the unit without answering. "Rogue will have to sacrifice many of his memories of his past life," the MI unit said. "Those memories are locked away from him, until such time when the MI deems him no long worth fighting for." "I have always wondered what was in there. The things I might have done. The kind of person I might have been." "You don't remember?" Welker asked. "That's horrible." Old Dan shrugged. "Not remembering can be a way to live. You'd be surprised what you can get used to." "I no longer need what is locked in my past," Rogue said. "I held onto it with the hopes that I could one day use it to

punish the MI in some small way. I see the error of my ways now. I must, as the humans say, forgive and forget." Lyzander decided he couldn't let this happen. This was too sudden. He couldn't let Rogue give up everything for this thin strand of a promise from a suspect machine. "Have you even considered the possibility that this is a trick, Rogue?" Lyzander asked. Rogue's eyes rolled back his head. His jaw was slack. Lyzander could see the flat steel surface inside his mouth. He realized that the flat surface was Rogue's real face. He also realized he was too late to stop Rogue from what he was going to do. "Captain . . ." Rogue's voice was thin and strained, mechanical--he'd not since they met sounded so much like a robot. With what sounded like Herculean effort, Rogue said, "Behind you." Then Lyzander was slammed in the back. * * * Admiral von Knorring called in a request to the other ships for supporting fire. His pleas were ignored, as he knew they would be, by all but Blue Sektor ships. It had become obvious in this battle where the lines were. Blue Sektor was allowed to come to the party, but no one would talk to them. Shunned. The word occurred to him more than once during the previous two

battles, both of which had been defensive actions, but he'd tried to tell himself he was just being paranoid. Now that they were the ones attacking, it was impossible to deny. In the face of organized assault, Blue Sektor was to be included in name only. How could they have all gotten together to do this? von Knorring wondered. Or was this just their true colors finally coming through after all these years? Admiral von Knorring had no time to really ponder these questions. The air was heating up and they had one last chance to make a difference in this battle. He ordered guns forward, and all remaining fighters to converge on the Re-Horakhty's flank, to give Hunedora a chance on the starboard side. There were about nine other command ships beyond the Re-Horakhty that Hunedora would have to deal with fire from, but von Knorring had learned over the years that you didn't get anywhere in life if you lived it paralyzed by fear of the next step. It wasn't just the simple fact of the shunning that bothered him. What worried the admiral, as he quickly surveyed the real-time battle map floating in the air to his right, was the general attitude of the other sektors. The were cold and stiff. It was like they were hiding something. The Eden Protocol had been evoked. This explanation fit the facts. It was, after all, inevitable, von Knorring supposed. It

was the sort of thing that he and the rest of Blue Sektor had spoke out against, the end of humanity. He wondered how many other captains and crew right now were already among the converted. He wondered if it would help them. There was the appeal of eternal, or at least very long life. The end of the hassles of growing old. No more bowels that wouldn't function properly or hair growing thinner every day. On the other hand, they'd all seen the robots turn. Reprogrammed the MI had said over the wires. Von Knorring couldn't work up any ire about it, though. The worlds kept spinning through the galaxy, exactly as they always had, whether humanity was there to see it or not. Whatever the truth of the individual ships, the main force of the MI was holding back. No reprogramming had yet happened in this battle, but no one wanted to take the risk. The humans were on their own. Rex padded over and sat next to von Knorring's command chair. He whined, staring up at the battle as if he understood. Von Knorring stroked the old dog's head absently. The admiral shot a few orders out and they were followed to precision. Rex licked his hand. Maybe he understood more than von Knorring was giving him credit for.

Hunedora appeared to their port. Already the fighters Admiral von Knorring had ordered were streaming in an arc toward the Re-Horakhty. Two capital ships from Blue Sektor were also engaging, concentrating fire and trying to draw Re-Horakhty's attention, if only for an instant. Hunedora. Von Knorring wasn't dense. He knew who was really manning Hunedora these days, and it certainly wasn't a petty officer named Jurrigan. "Open fire!" von Knorring ordered from his post. "Let's give that little ship a fighting chance." Von Knorring switched his view to infrared so he could track The Undertow's fire. Rex wined again. Von Knorring glanced down, wondering if the dog could see the laser fire, or if he was merely responding to something in von Knorring's demeanor. Rex lay down, head stuffed between his paws, staying out of the way as he'd been taught. Lyzander had always been the Blue Sektor wunderkind. One of the few people who gave von Knorring reason to hope for the future. He'd given the young captain his command, though he doubted Lyzander would have remembered anything about the ceremony itself. His eyes had never left the ship that hung in the stratosphere docks above them.

Von Knorring watched The Undertow's guns light up space and sparkle against the Re-Horakhty's shields. The fighters engaged, swarming. They moved so quickly they were hard to follow. He could pick out those piloted by Pilots and those by normal human pilots by maneuvers alone. In ideal times, Pilots would man them all, but Pilots were a commodity they were in short supply of. And Blue Sektor had grown a little more leery of its Pilots after what happened to the 6 aboard the Re-Horakhty. Some even blamed him for everything, but that was idle talk fueled by fear. Re-Horakhty returned fire to The Undertow while the other zombie fighters started to go to work on the fighters. "Evasive," he ordered into the com. "Keep her guessing, Barth," he said to his head Pilot, who was somewhere in the bowels of the ship. Barth was one of the best. But at that moment, Barth hesitated. The evasive maneuver von Knorring ordered came, but a moment too late. He shook his head sensing hesitation when he was used to action. His breath went out of him. He could see a tiny pinpoint of light in the Re-Horakhty's bridge, or was that his imagination? Because at just the right angle, it appeared to be a thin line from that ship to his ship. The Undertow broke, but too late. The line, if it had ever existed, was gone for sure, as was the pinpoint of light. ReHorakhty out of his view as The Undertow pitched down, but von

Knorring saw the red of laser fire in his scopes light up his ship. The laser fire from the big cannon hit The Undertow fully, heating up the shields to critical and then passing right through them. The beam was relentless, splitting into The Undertow's back until the power abruptly ran out and the beam stopped. Alarms lit up his virtual console. Penetration was deep. The shot had been an evisceration. Von Knorring choked on the ozone smell in his command chamber. Smoke followed close behind. He put his own oxygen mask on before putting the custom mask on Rex. The dog struggled briefly, but accepted the strange muzzle because he could breathe with it. "Report!" von Knorring yelled once he settled back into his seat. "Critical hit. Life support failing," came the impassive report from engineering. Other details followed. Von Knorring steeled himself. "Prepare for ramming vector." The last act of a desperate captain, he told himself bitterly. SIR, Barth inflected to him. WE'VE CONTROL.

WE

LOST THRUSTERS.

I'M

TAKING MANUAL

HAVE TO JUMP.

"Negative, Barth. We do that and Hunedora is a goner. Point The Undertow at that big capital ship just to our flank. We're going to take that big bastard down with us."

Barth had been compromised. Von Knorring had felt it in that hesitation earlier. He'd all but felt the soft fingers of the Re-Horakhty's Pilot lifting The Undertow's chin up so he could cut her throat. Von Knorring didn't trust his Pilot to jump them, even if leaving the battlefield at a critical moment was an option. But Barth didn't hesitate to obey his order this time. The Undertow rose up, like that same bruised fighter readying for one last onslaught. "Full cover fire, gentlemen. This is what we were born for. To die glorious deaths and giver our komrades a chance at victory." Hunedora had disappeared into battle. Von Knorring could only hope Lyzander was still alive, that he would retake the ReHorakhty. That von Knorring wouldn't die in vain. Over the com, screams as some of their dead began to rise again. The capital ships in their path realized what The Undertow was doing and began to shift. Guns swiveled in their direction. Shields began failing in more critical areas. "I love you Rex," von Knorring said through the mask. The old dog pressed his head into von Knorring's palm and settled in one last time, just like he'd been trained. * * * Lyzander panicked for a moment until he saw the gloved hand of Ioming from the side and heard the hum of her blaster fire.

A small silver probe at the doorway dodged her shots, leaving nothing but heated up air where it had just been. Its own blaster came down to bear on Lyzander as it clicked and whirred around her shots. Lyzander saw the barrel point at his head, but he was pinned and couldn't move. An instant later, night intervened. The night sky filled the space between him and the probe. He could still see the thing, through the vast expanse of darkness, like a moon to a nearby planet. Ioming's blaster fire came at the darkness from one direction, the probe's from the other. All shots disappeared into empty space, sucked into some invisible black hole. Star Shade made a thrusting motion with her hand. The small silver probe exploded. The pieces blew back through the doorway like confetti. She turned, eyes black for an instant. Then she was normal Zhenjuan, as if she'd always been. "Is anyone hurt?" Zhenjuan asked. Lyzander looked around. Everyone but Young Dan had hit the deck when the shooting began. Old Dan was comforting a crying Adjia. Young Dan was still standing where he'd been, looking around, dazed. Rogue had not moved from his position in front of the MI unit. Welker's gun was only half-drawn. He was breathing heavy as though he had just run here. Zhenjuan must have used Welker's help yet again. They were paired in some way, it seemed. Welker looked as though he was doing all the giving in

the relationship as she had to help him find a shaky footing. Ioming rolled off him and he turned to see Cyrus on the ground too, chest moving, so he was fine. The head was where the head-Lyzander's eyes went back to his brother. "Cyrus?" Cyrus rolled his head over toward Lyzander. A large cauterized wound was visible in his neck. "Life systems critical," Cyrus's mouth said in a stranger's robotic tone. "Please download data immediately. Systems critical. Syst--" then Cyrus ceased talking. His head went lax, falling to an impossible angle on his shoulder where it moved no more. "Cyrus!" Lyzander roared, scrambling to his feet. The others could only watch silently as Lyzander fell to his brother's side. "No, I won't lose you again." He stretched the body out on the floor and repositioned the head, meaning to administer artificial respiration. He rolled the head up, but it only opened the wound further. Inside was a cross section of burnt flesh, the inside stuff no one was supposed to see, and all he could think of was the time his father had shot them a bull babbit that had ventured too close to the house. The thing's head had come off from their father's shot and what he'd seen when he'd looked at its ruined neck was very similar to what he was seeing now.

Lyzander lost all hope. This was life. This was real life. Ones and zeroes. There was live, then there was dead. No middle ground where Cyrus could exist, waiting for Lyzander's love to remember that he loved his brother after all and hadn't meant for any of this to happen to him. "That flesh is no longer animated, Captain," a strange voice said from behind him. Lyzander looked up at the speaker. Rogue towered over him. Its hand was resting on the head of the original Dan Weegan. It unceremoniously jammed two fingers into the dead flesh of Dan Weegan's neck, so that it wore Dan Weegan's head like a puppet on its hand. It hoisted the head up and looked into the flat white blobs that had once been eyes. After a moment, it lowered the head and shook it off its hand. The head thumped to the ground near Lyzander's feet, rolled briefly, then settled. Rogue walked past him without another word. He got to the door before he stopped, almost as an afterthought. "We must exit this facility. The probe was a scout." Lyzander stood up. "What about Cyrus? What about Dan Weegan?"

Rogue turned to him. His face was now more human than it had ever been. It was filled with anger and impatience. Lyzander flinched. Rogue realized his expression had been read. With one slow hand, Rogue reached up and pressed two fingers into his own eyes. He pulled. The skin of his face stretched horribly, then gave, snapping off like a broken rubber band, revealing nothing but a smooth chrome face with two black circles for eyes that moved and adjusted constantly. The eyes swiveled, focusing on Lyzander. Rogue tossed the wadded up face in his hand aside without looking to see where it landed. "Captain, Cyrus still lives." He put a hand on his chest. His voice was softer now, but no less impatient, as though Rogue was speaking through clenched teeth. "And I have collected vital information from the Dan Weegan head. I have downloaded the rogue MI. We brothers are conjoined. And we are melting into one. I have learned much. For now, we must flee. Now." As if on cue, they heard the sound of landers roaring above them. Ioming sprang to the ready. Rogue turned and led the way. A switch flipped in Lyzander's head and grief and loss switched off, giving way to a kind of focused terror. "Zhenjuan and Welker, take up the rear. Let's move out."

Chapter 19: Journey

In a hallway a lone fat cat padded along the floor surface. She was hunting. At some point she and her sisters had realized that there had been a shift in their universe (their universe was small and cozy). They had become the queens. The people who they had once adored and even been dependent on had been replaced by something else, The Thing with Many Tails. They knew it instinctually, like a sense memory from another life. The Thing with Many Tails was a threat. They must remain vigilant at all time. Sometimes one of the tails from The Thing with Many Tails looked like one of them. When it did, they ripped the tail to pieces and left the tail to rot, occasionally returning to

rip the tail some more when it started to move again. But more often, The Thing with Many Tails looked like a Master. Only the cat didn't think of them as Masters anymore. They were just tails wearing the Masters' faces. With a single exception of Master with Fish, who was shaped slightly different. He often gave them bits of fish, and did not seem to be a tail. And yet they all knew to be cautious of him even. Fish could be a sweet trap if overindulged. So they had taken to hunting The Thing with Many Tails. They'd discovered that for long periods, the tails that looked like Masters would lie motionless. It wasn't the former condition of Dream-prone that they knew from the Masters (sleep was the best time to snuggle a Master--they gave off warmth without all the requisite petting that bothered the sisters so much). This prone time was something stranger, because no tail resembling a Master could be woken from it, no matter what the sisters did. It was these prone Master-tails that the sisters hunted and filled their bellies on. True, they would have preferred moving targets, twitching things with tails and warm, wet guts to lick, but more than that, they preferred not to starve. Since The Thing with Many Tails had entered their universe, the regular feedings had ceased from all sources except Master with Fish. So they ate what they could. There was a prone Master-tail near. She could

smell it. Her sisters, roaming other parts of the ship, probably already sensed that she was close to food. They would join her soon, but she would get a few mouthfuls of food in her belly before they got there. She hurried toward the door. It slid open. The light from the hallway provided more than enough light for her eyes, even as the door slid shut behind her. She licked her teeth and approached the table, savoring the moment. Since there would be no struggle, she had to draw the situation out, stalk as though there was a chance that her quarry might escape. This increased the pleasure of the meal. The cat froze. Her whiskers vibrated. Something was going on in the air. It wasn't The Thing with Many Tails. She felt the air humming. The floor shook. This was not something that happened in her universe. She had only one directive on her mind: flee! But the smell of food made her linger one extra second. The wall suddenly filled with light and fell inward. A Master stepped through the new doorway where no doorway had ever been. Frozen still by this new development, the cat stared at the Master. Then a wiggling tail appeared next to the Master. The cat hissed at the tail. It was different than the other tails somehow. The cat sensed the air between the air. She sensed intimately without being able to pin it down the force

that moved the tails, the giant cat that shook all her tails and directed them. This one moved in discord to The Thing with Many Tails. This tail wiggled in a way all its own. And yet, the cat could sense The Thing with Many Tails still there. This tension made the cat's hair stand straight up. The wrongness of this new tail frightened the cat. She wanted to tear at the face of this new tail, just to end its existence, to put the universe back to the situation she had grown used to. That was all she really wanted, to maintain that sense that her universe would stay constant, so she could learn the rules of the hunt and those rules would stay constant. The cat fled the room. The doors in the ship all opened for her. She never thought about this. She never considered that doors might do anything but open for her. * * * Jurrigan ignored the cat in the room, as she had been ignoring cats in rooms her entire life. Her attention was focused on the man lying prone on the table. She hadn't expected that. When they latched onto the Re-Horakhty, all Phil could tell them was that the space inside this part of the hull was habitable, nothing more. They sleep? Jurrigan felt queasy. She hadn't seen Hector do anything like this. She hadn't seen him do anything during sleep hours

but sit in the chair in her room and bother her. Now, of course, with no one else around, she could send him to his own room to sit and stare. Jurrigan needed to seal off the hull breach so Hunedora could disengage. Outside, the battle was live. They had seen The Undertow take a heavy shot from the Re-Horakhty. It had been an unexpected shock. The Undertow had moved too slowly, as though its Pilot had simply forgotten where they were for a moment and left them wide open. By the time they'd reached the hull of the Re-Horakhty, The Undertow was on a collision course with one of the zombie capital ships, and it looked like it would succeed in killing them both. A brave way to die, Jurrigan had thought. She hoped her death was as honorable. So she had to seal the hull so Phil could detach Hunedora and have some kind of chance of escaping back to safety, though in truth his chances seemed slim to her. She turned to the breach and pulled her magnetoburst pistol, still set to thirty percent. The zombie looked in better condition than the ones she'd seen on Kryszmisky, but it was still missing a flap of skin from its cheek. Its color was deathly gray. It looked dead, but she wasn't fooled. She fired a shot into the prone zombie's skull point blank. Hector watched impassively, his blaster rifle at the ready.

Jurrigan set the screen field tape along the top and bottom of the hull breech, then stepped back. The screen solidified, shimmed with blue energy and became stable. "You're good to go Hunedora," Jurrigan said into her com. They waited until they heard the unmistakable sounds of the ship detaching, of the hulls clanging together briefly. Then the room was silent. She gave it a few moments. The screen held. She removed her helmet. It would only impede her vision during the fight. She breathed the air of her old ship. Hector did likewise. "Welcome home," she said to Hector. He said nothing. He checked his weapon and nodded. He was ready to kill. * * * On the snowfield, the figures moved hunched over, driving through the wind. They were exposed as they crossed the open ground, but they quickly disappeared into the cover of trees, which had overgrown what had once been a road. They hurried down a path not knowing that this had once been a railroad track. Not knowing even what a railroad was or what its cars looked like. This was not their planet. The humans who had built this place were aliens to them. They hurried down the railroad track, until they got to the ruins of what had been a factory. They stopped to rest briefly. One of them had to carry Adjia. She was frailer

than the others. The excitement and the battle were taking their toll on her body. Lyzander volunteered, then felt embarrassed when Rogue decided he would do it. Of course Rogue would do it. That was the only logical choice, really. Lyzander couldn't look Adjia in the eye after that. He felt naive, like a child in the presence of a naked woman, unsure of how to act or of what to do with the strange feelings in him or to explain why he had them. Welker seemed immune, as did the younger Dan. More to the point, Welker seemed unable to care. He looked drained, more than even Adjia, but he kept on without complaining. Lyzander began to worry that Zhenjuan was killing him, somehow. He asked Welker how he was before they started off again, but Welker played it off as stress from the battle. "I'll be fine, once we get a chance to rest," he said. Lyzander asked Rogue how much further they had to go. Rogue answered laconically that it wasn't far. "The blizzard protects us," he added. They could see nothing in the sky for the clouds. They pressed on, single file. No one spoke as the climbed a long, low hill, passing in between two cliffs. The path was too wide, cut too deep into the rock not to be manmade. Sure enough, as they crested the hill, Lyzander could make out a tall building whose top was crumbled and decaying, resembling the

inside of an egg crate. Rogue silently led them up a wide path toward the building. "Do we find answers in that building?" Lyzander asked. "Beneath it," Rogue answered. Lyzander exchanged a look at Ioming. In a sudden act of decidedly unmilitary defiance, Ioming took Lyzander's hand and squeezed it. She dropped it as quickly as she'd taken it. The party disappeared inside the ancient structure. * * * Jurrigan checked the hallway with a quick peripheral glance. She bailed from the room, cutting across at a sharp diagonal, landing in a doorway out of the line of sight. She hadn't taken any fire. She nodded at Hector who swung facing up the hall while she covered the downhill direction. She knew this ship so well. This hallway. She'd walked down this hallway many times meeting some random woman or another. That had been her love life, a series of disconnected adventures, nothing more serious than that. It had been all she'd ever wanted. She refused to let herself regret it now. She pushed aside the familiarity. She had, if not a clear tactical advantage, at least she was on level ground. Hector caught up to her, his gun still covering the opposite direction. "We need to catch meet up with the other boarding force," Jurrigan said.

"We will," Hector said, his voice low, matching her tone. "They are dead." "How can you be sure?" She caught herself. Of course. He knew. His face told her all she needed to know. At the end of the hall, the cat they'd scared off earlier was back, sitting and staring at them. It licked its chops as though it were waiting for them to fall so it could feast on their corpses. "What's our plan?" Hector asked. "If we can make it to the armory from here . . ." "Sounds like a dead end. Too easy." "I'll take a little easy, and a half-dozen antigravity grenades." "Then to the bridge?" Hector asked, a half-grin on his face. "You got a better plan?" "Suicide is quicker," he said, quickly and fluidly mocking shooting himself with his blaster rifle, then turning the weapon back on the empty hallway. "That cat is really freaking me out." "Harbingers of death," he said flatly. She recognized it, vaguely. All cats kind of looked the same to her, but for some reason she was certain that this one belonged specifically to Pilot 6. She told herself it was probably just her nerves getting to her.

"You've become a real downer, Manny." "Dying will do that to you." "Let's move out. I'll take point," she said. Jurrigan made a mental note to kick that cat square in the ribs as she passed, but by the time she reached the end of the hall, it was gone. * * * PHIL. Phil opened his eyes, no easy feat considering the mental gymnastics he was currently engaged in with Hunedora, trying to keep himself alive. Outside the cocoon that encased him, the battle was in full swing. The Undertow had rammed one of the zombie capital ships and all sektors had converged, taking advantage of this chink in the armor. The zombies were on the ropes. Phil just wanted to get to open space and give himself a minute to breathe so he could make the jump he needed to make Light poured in to his eyes, blinding him. The pilot chamber should have been dark, but it was lit with bright white light. He had done this. Phil cried out. YOU

LET THEM BOARD,

PHIL. THOSE

WERE NOT YOUR INSTRUCTIONS.

Phil giggled and squinted against the light. I CHAOS.

AN YOU

EXHILARATION. ARE ONLY HAPPY WHEN THINGS DECAY.

YOU

ARE INSANE.

KNOW.

IT

WAS

Phil laughed and writhed in his restraints as Hunedora took a hit. It felt like a needle in his skin, one of the big ones. One of the ones supposed to calm him, only they never did. NO, Phil said, ONLY ONE WHO SEES.

I

YOU WERE WRONG TO TRUST ME.

MEAT

IS MY DIRECTIVE.

I

AM THE

HAVE TOUCHED THE SPACE IN BETWEEN WITH THE WAKING MIND.

I

DON'T

SHIELD MYSELF WITH PRETENDGAMES AND SLEEP LIKE THE REST OF YOU. HURTS.

IT I

HURTS. THOUGHT

YOU I

BRING ORDER.

ORDER

COULD TRUST YOU,

IS DEATH.

PHIL. I

I

THOUGHT

I

HAVE SEEN, AND IT

BRING CHAOS.

I

CHAOS

IS LIFE.

COULD LET YOU LIVE, SIT NEXT TO

ME.

Phil's nose erupted in blood. His head pulsed. Another shot had hit Hunedora. The ship was hurtling blindly without him watching the controls. He could feel the minute particles and solar waves that inhabited the vacuum rolling off his skin; this was the closest Phil had ever come to feeling a real breeze on his face. He could smell the exhaust and feel the movement of the ships around him like a lover's caress on his face. He was faced the wrong way, back to the battle as he flew toward it. AND

NOW YOUR ANGER BRINGS LIFE.

Phil said.

YOU

KILL ME AND LIFE WILL

FOLLOW.

Another shot hit Hunedora, ripping her hull open, tearing a cooling conduit. The jet of gas sent her spinning off in another direction. Phil could feel none of that now. He was staring solidly into the face of a man he'd met once. Staring deep into the man's eyes as Vassarator Deluxe's psychic knife sunk deeper

into his heart. Phil felt a great pressure like someone was sitting on his chest. Breathing became impossible. His face was slick with blood. He had no need for oxygen to speak. HOW

CAN YOU BELIEVE IN LIFE AFTER ALL YOU'VE SEEN,

PHIL?

Phil's mind sank. It was an entirely new sensation. His jaw fell slack. He gurgled. Then the thoughts came to him all in a flood, tripping over themselves to get out. Only one did get out before he died. BECAUSE I

HAVE LOVED.

Vassarator Deluxe screamed and twisted his blade, and Phil was ended. * * * Down deeper. Deeper into the warren of caves beneath what the sign had proclaimed to be a hospital. Our Loving Mother of Fate Hospital. Lyzander had wondered who the loving mother was, and what sort of statement it made that she was mother of fate, not of kindness, or healing. The hospital corridors had been broken and empty. Rusted racks that might have once transported people. A photograph of an Earth man proved that the zombies outside were no mistake. Earth people were different, but it was a subtle difference, a subtle cut in the jaw, the size of the nose. Or perhaps that desire to see the difference was a mental block in Lyzander's mind. His inability to see the truth of this place. The familiarity.

They had gone through a storage room. The wall had been lined with storage units, some open. They were almost out before Lyzander realized what they must have stored in those chambers. Dead people. The open ones, then, were the ones still inhabited when the world had stopped. When the living people had abandoned this place to the ghosts. Rogue opened a door in the floor that was camouflaged to look like the floor. He reached down as though he'd been born doing it and lifted a six tile by six tile section of the floor up and let the slab of concrete and tile slam to the side. They all jumped. Rogue descended into the floor, into which stairs had been carved, right into the concrete foundation and bedrock below. Rogue still carried Adjia in his arms like a baby in a blanket. They followed. The cavern beneath the hospital was dark, but sufficiently tall and wide for even Rogue to walk comfortably upright. Lights came on Rogue's body. There was no specific light shining, but rather he seemed to glow. They followed the glowing robot down the corridor. "These walls have a high lead content. They will protect us from scans," Rogue said. "What did the ancients use this for?" Lyzander asked. "A Scientist named Vonderman created us," Rogue said.

Us? Did he mean this group of people? Did he mean the rogues? All robots? Lyzander looked at Ioming, who shrugged. "He did not intend us to be what we were. He intended us to help humanity, not enslave it. He had hopes for us. Hopes we can echo. Omega." "What does Omega mean?" Lyzander asked. The robot shot a look back at him. Rogue no longer had facial features, but he didn't need them. Lyzander caught the message loud and clear. Do not interrupt. "He had a friend, this Vonderman, named Dan Weegan." * * * As Hector promised, they didn't make it much further before they ran into the boarding teams. The man had battle scars, missing limbs, and a certain shambling way of walking thanks to the damage to key components of their central nervous systems. Jurrigan and Hector found themselves pinned. Jurrigan cursed as the temperature in the hallway steadily rose and sweat poured down her forehead. The damn things were just so hard to kill. One rushed and it was all she could do to get a headshot in and end its ability to operate its limbs. She cursed. They were laying heavy fire and they were standing between her and the armory, if it even was the armory anymore. She wondered what it would feel like to become a

zombie. Hector could prevent it. He could put the killing shot in her head before she came back. But would he? The first firefight since boarding and she was already giving up. What she needed were some antigravity grenades and about three more men to lay down fire from more directions. She peaked around the corner, low to avoid the fire. She had no time to look, let alone line up a shot with a zombie head before blasters turned toward her. She ducked back quickly. "Hector, lay down some suppressive fire." "I'm doing the best I can," he grunted from the other side of the entrance. They were trapped at the end of a T intersection. There were former troop quarters to their left, and a lift to their right. There might possibly be something useful in troop quarters, if some soldiers had left behind ordinance, but they wouldn't get the chance to check very thoroughly. Jurrigan put a shot into the dead zombie in between her and Jurrigan when she caught a hint of movement. It was just twitching, its autonomic nervous system trying to make something happen that it could no longer do. "Hell of a way for this all to end," Jurrigan said. Hector squeezed his eyes shut. He suddenly was shaking. "Hector? Stay with me!"

He sunk to the floor. The zombies seemed to sense that the fire had let up. She heard footfalls. She cursed again and peaked. A zombie was bearing down on them, firing wildly. She took aim on it, nailed it with several shots to center mass, but it kept coming. She pulled her head back. Hector was on the floor. Now his eyes were closed. He was in the throes of something. She took a few steps back and braced herself for the zombie coming for her. The thing came around the corner sideways, firing at her. She hit the deck, ducking under its blaster shots and fired twice from prone. The first shot blackened its face and made it drop its gun. The second shot burst its neck open. The head hit the ground before the body. "Too close, Hector." She rose, gun ready, expecting him to have either finally expired or finally turned, in the face of the enemy. What she saw instead was that his face was blacker than it had been. He looked like a burn match. His hair smoldered. He was no longer recognizable. He stood slowly, but made no move against her. He opened his eyes. Twin points of white buried in char. Had he done that with his blaster? She kept the gun on him, but didn't shoot. The skin of his face pulled back, crunching as it did. He was missing teeth, making what she supposed was meant to

be a smile all the more horrible. She braced herself. This was it. Hector was gone. She readied herself for death. "Phalanx formation." She blinked. "What?" She hadn't understood the words, which were spoken without lips or a proper tongue. "Phalanx formation. Get behind me, Jurrigan." He winked at her. "I'm having a bad day, Jurrie. Let's do this before it gets worse." Hector spun out into the hallway. Blaster shots struck his chest. One bounced off his armor and hissed its way into the wall. He threw an arm up in front of his face and deflected another one. Jurrigan scrambled out and got behind him. She heard the shots, felt his armor heat up. Both squatting low, they advanced on the enemy. She fired from behind her human shield, keeping herself as covered as she could. The zombies retreated, fell. The armory was theirs. * * * Vassarator Deluxe slammed his fist on the console until the lights flickered and died. "Sir, the incursion proceeds with--" Deluxe swung his arm. The psychic blade ejected out as his arm went, slicing the zombie's mind in half. The corpse fell to the ground.

The battle tide had turned. Shooting down The Undertow had started a chain reaction. The Taueret had been taken down by a ramming Undertow and the human forces had taken advantage. Vassarator Deluxe had never believed fully that they could count on the human rivalry. Humans were opportunistic. They had wanted to aid Blue Sektor as they had done, but they hadn't wanted to miss the chance to win either. So they'd all combined forces and now The Zombie was under fire from without and within. And the battle within was going no better. Somehow a corpse was fighting against him. A man. A simple man, not even a Pilot. Deluxe had sensed him come on board immediately, but had ignored the incursion in favor of extracting information from Phil. When he finally got around to ending the incursion, he thought it would be a simple matter of turning the corpse that was fighting against in crew against the woman. But it hadn't worked out that way. The corpse had resisted him. Deluxe shook his head. He had never bothered to move the armory. One display showed him Jurrigan and Hector raiding the ship's supplies. Was there enough firepower in there to overtake The Zombie before the fleet took them out? Deluxe didn't like that getting killed was the best he could hope for, not with the knowledge that she was still out there somewhere. "Sir, where are you going?" the first mate asked him.

"To take care of the incursion personally," Deluxe said. He got in the hallway. The door closed behind him. He went straight for the docking bay two levels down, bypassing the armory floor entirely. He no longer cared. The human had resisted him, and that resistance had steeled his resolve. Die or be taken weren't options Vassarator Deluxe submitted to. He had his own objective, to track down and kill Star Shade. And Phil had given him the precise coordinates to do just that. Vassarator Deluxe chose a small ship and boarded. A normal Pilot would need to get clear of the battle before he could jump. He didn't bother with the Pilot pod in the center of the ship. The psychic boosters were useless to him. He strapped himself into the cockpit and closed his eyes. The ship blinked out of existence while still in the The Zombie, leaving a gaping wound in the docking bay as it left, from which oxygen poured like lifeblood from a god fish. * * * The long tunnel veered sharply downward. So sharp they had to turn sideways to find traction. They descended deeper and deeper into the tunnel until it finally leveled off and a few meters later, opened up suddenly and was intersected by another tunnel. There were metal poles at three corners of this intersection. Two of the three poles disappeared into the rock of the ceiling. The third terminated in a crosspiece that

connected another metal pole, fixed horizontally and bent, though whether by design or by time and pressure of the rock was impossible for them to determine. To the horizontal pole was attached a steel box. Three circles of glass were visible on the box, which had a metal flap affixed on one side, as though to block it from light coming from that direction. The three circles of glass were different colors: red, yellow, and green. Lyzander could only shake his head and wonder. The crossroads terminated in two directions, rubble piled floor to ceiling prevented further progress. They took the only way available to them. Before much longer, the cave wall was split at the bottom and they could see bricks similar to the ones in the buildings above. The break in the wall was natural, Lyzander thought. "Legend is that after the Second Dark Age, after the great cities and knowledge of the ancients had been destroyed by the wars, when this area was just a small island on the lake, one Scientist, a young adventurer from the Savannahs, found this cave," Rogue said. His voice was flat, as though this all bored him. "Much of what you see of course is decades of excavation that followed, except this split. The young Scientist, whose name was lost to the ages, but who is usually known simply as John, saw this split. He saw the bricks beyond. He saw the

regular pattern and knew it couldn't be coincidence. He knew that this had to have been made by an earlier age of man." They all followed Rogue, but they were all in an earlier time, young and afraid and cold--the cave was cold and wet--and lost and scared, seeing this brickwork, knowing with certainty it was laid by ancient hands. At regular intervals, there was solid rock, then more bricks. The split ran up, across openings filled with solid rock. "With time they were able to reconstruct the exact dimensions and construction of each of these buildings you see." Lyzander stopped. He looked back at buildings as far back as he could see in the dim glow. He saw that Zhenjuan and Welker were still back at the first building, hunched over, examining it by the faint glow of a supernova in her fingertip. "Are you saying that the city above us?" "Yes. It is a reconstruction of this city." Lyzander could see only strips of the buildings. One was uncovered to a degree where he could see most of its base and some of the wall at the same time. "How were they able to determine the dimensions?" "The dimensions of the foundation," Rogue said. He stopped now. "Construction material. All guesswork of course. Come, we must move on." He said the words without emotion, but he turned and kept on.

Zhenjuan and Welker caught up to them, hearing that Rogue intended to keep moving. "Where are we going?" Lyzander demanded. Rogue stopped and turned back, a bright beacon in the dark tunnel. "Come, we seek Scientist Vonderman's true laboratory." "He built his laboratory down here?" Rogue sighed. "The lead content in the rock prevents artificial scans. Vonderman was building the prototype that would become the machine intelligence. Us. He was paranoid." "He was afraid someone would try to steal his work?" "He was afraid his work would escape." Lyzander tried to imagine the fear that would drive a man into this ancient dead tunnel day after day. It was like walking through an ancient graveyard. * * * "Captain, this is bullshit," Old Dan said. He was busy attending to Adjia, who was shaken up but otherwise seemed no worse for having been carried by the large robot. "Why are we entertaining this monster's lies?" Rogue stood in the center of this lab. Lyzander realized once they got there that his image of an ancient Scientist trekking down the avenue of the dead day after day was a false notion. There was an ancient lift near the entrance to this facility, of course. It no longer functioned, even with the power back on. It was filled with rocks and rubble, and besides

that appeared to operate by a series of cables and pulleys with attached counterweights which lifted a steel box up. This rube goldberg machine must have served as high technology in its day. Zhenjuan eyed Rogue suspiciously. She glowed. Strange purple lines radiated off her in a pattern like magnetic waves coming off a planet or a supermassive black hole. It gave her a glow, just enough light to see by. Lyzander could detect no reason she did this except in open defiance of Rogue's light. "The head you saw," Rogue said, "held a computer brain. It was known as a Fultech conversion at the time." "Yes, you told us this already," Young Dan said. "Not that we have any reason to believe it." "We were brought here--I was brought here," Rogue said, "to try to get that head to talk." Rogue was doing something in the corner that none of them could see. What they could see, but none of them had commented or yet formed an opinion on, was another black box in the corner. This one had more than three lights, but none of them shone with any power. "After melding together, we were able to do that." Lyzander remembered Rogue jamming his fingers into Dan Weegan's destroyed neck like some kind of sick puppet. "How do we know we can trust you?"

Rogue stepped back from the wall. A small robot, simple in design, stood up. It was humanoid, but skeletal, like a man stripped of his skin. It stepped forward, shakily. Its arm jerked out involuntarily. The lights in its eyes came on brighter the longer it stood there. It had a jaw and teeth that looked disturbingly human, in contrast to the pistons and tubes that constituted the rest of its body. The thing opened its mouth. "Brother?" It asked. "Cyrus?" The robot jerked its hands up to its eyes. "It seems I have lost something brother." Its voice was recognizably that of Cyrus. Despite lacking facial features, they could understand the machine perfectly. "I remember your arrival. I remember . . . a little. A red light." "How did you do this?" Lyzander asked. "Are you trying to trick us?" "This is no trick, Captain," Rogue said. "We had memory of Cyrus. We were holding the memory of Cyrus." "This is a lie, Captain," Dan Weegan said, pulling Lyzander's hand away from the robot when he reached out to touch

it. "The MI is unable to hold a human mind that long. It dissolves into its consciousness." "Some minds are easier to keep separate than others, Dan Weegan. We always found your mind particularly keen to invade us." "Why would that be?"' "Lyzander, where is my skin?" Cyrus asked. He seemed to be coming to consciousness by degrees, as his eyes had come on. Rogue put a hand on Cyrus's shoulder. "Sit. Rest." Cyrus--or whatever it was--sat on the floor, still staring at his hands. "We have learned the history of Dan Weegan. Some we have had to connect. We were able to use probability matrices to fill in the unknown gaps. If you will all humor me, I will tell you what I know. I will explain why it is that the MI was so interested in Dan Weegan. And why it is that we can now, in this place, find a way to stop the MI that is out there." Rogue waved his hand. "Permanently." That's when Lyzander saw the other slab, like the one they'd found in the surface facility, the one that the MI had used to transport Cyrus. As he looked around the room, he realized the implements were all in place. This was another transport facility.

Chapter 20: The Last Story

She sat on the edge of the bed, not yet naked, her breasts pressed up and together and hidden only in a cursory way by the neckline of her dress. She leaned forward nervously. If she was aware that this move made her breasts even more prominent, she didn't act like it. Her stockinged toes traced a circle in the carpet. She drew her shoulders in, as though now suddenly aware of the exposed parts of her body. Vonderman handed her a drink, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring straight down her dress, taking in everything he could see, drinking her slow like a glass of bourbon, letting it warm him. He stepped back and leaned against the dresser to savor the moment. She sipped, but she was no drinker. "He creeps me out, Tovi."

He laughed as though she'd just told a joke. He couldn't help it. He was drunk, and discussing his favorite lab rat was the furthest thing from his mind. "Never mind him." "Easy for you to say. You he looks at like a God. Me he looks at like . . . I don't know, like a dog looks at a slab of bacon or something." "Cleverness was never your strong suit." That hurt her feelings. She crossed her legs and folded her arms across her chest. Vonderman's face darkened. If he hadn't been drunk he would have backed off and gone to bed unsatisfied. The drink. He blamed the drink. He stepped forward and wedged himself between her legs. She opened them after a reluctant moment, but she was staring out the window. She downed her drink. "I'm just trying to say that there's something about Dan Weegan I don't like." Vonderman knelt down, and still was level with her. He kissed her neck. He took the empty glass from her hand and tossed it aside. It thumped on the carpeted floor before knocking off the wall. He kissed her neck. "You smell like bourbon," she said. He pushed her back onto the bed. She moved stiffly, but he was satisfied that she complied.

"They say," she said, "that he had a wife and daughter out on the Savannah, before coming to The City. Do you think that's true?" Vonderman slipped his hand down her dress. She tensed. If this was how she wanted it, Vonderman would take what he needed. He was in no mood for her mind games. He pulled her dress down and pawed at her brassiere. She looked at him, her face sad. "I wake up sometimes Tovi, and I can feel him watching me, like he's in the room right then. I feel disturbed. It makes me shiver. How could any woman ever love him?" Vonderman stopped. He sighed and stood up. Still aroused, but annoyed and on the verge of anger at her resistance. Annoyed with Dan Weegan for ruining his night. Vonderman looked her over. She had rolled to the side now, facing the big window, staring out at the stars. She was sexy in the moonlight. She was beautiful. Amazing. Like no one he'd ever met. He could do it, he realized. His mind would not normally venture down such roads, but the drink and the frustration took him by the hand and led him. He could do it and even if she got mad--so mad that she brought the authorities in--it wouldn't matter. He was a Scientist, one of the architects of The City (younger days, he told himself, younger and more full of fire) and she was his wife. They would do nothing.

He downed his drink and poured another. He didn't like when his mind toured such dark byways. In truth he was not a bad man, not a mean man, not even an overly sexual man--or he hadn't been in the days before meeting Evelyn. But she had turned him into this. He exhaled slowly, trying to contain a suddenly and almost overwhelming rage. It was the booze. And the sexual energy built up in him. Vonderman downed the new drink and poured another. This is what Evelyn did to him. Built him up and tore him down. "Dan," he said--when had his lips become water?--"was a doctor in his village. Younger days. He was, if you believe his story, beloved, but unloved--by women, I mean. Until he was older. He impregnated"--that word came out a mess--"a girl. A daughter of a friend. Married her. But he was an old man by then." Evelyn looked over her shoulder at him. "And so, she, in her childlike wisdom, convinced him to come here and get a Fultech conversion, so he would have as many years with the baby as possible." "That's horrible. You're lying," she said. He shook his head. "Typical Savannah wisdom. The younger ones don't remember the wars or any of it. They only hear the promise of eternal life, and lure of the forbidden." "But Dan, surely, must have--"

"He was in love," Vonderman said. He snarled, but it was the alcohol. "Men do some crazy things for love. She might have even convinced him that it wasn't as bad as he remembered, that things would turn out okay, maybe even that no one in the village would ever find out." She closed her eyes and shook her head. She was relaxing a bit. Fat lot of good it would do him now. His dick was a mushy ball in his pants. He was practically blind with drink. He collapsed into the chair at the far side of the room. "Did they find out?" she asked. "We'll never know. Dan got here, had the procedure--I did it myself. Well, I programmed the auto-surgeon anyway. He woke up to find out that they had been wiped out. The village had been safe for almost fifty years. Then one day, poof." "How?" "HKs. They had no idea of course that they had built their village on an HK outpost. Those things were buried centuries ago, programmed to wake up when they felt the enemy pass over them, dig themselves out of the ground and ambush behind the enemy from behind. Well, some didn't wake up like they were supposed to. Can you imagine? Fifty years of safety, then a random HK unit resurrects right under your feet and slaughters everyone. The HKs didn't know the wars had been over for a hundred years. They saw humans, they started shooting. Four

people escaped. One made it here. If he hadn't, Dan would have walked all the way back home only to be gunned down within range of his bucolic home and then gutted by a metal monstrosity." "Jesus Christ. I remember that. I remember that they sent in the Forces to take out the HKs." He nodded. "I had no idea that Dan had gone through that. A lot of men were killed in that operation." Vonderman shrugged. "There were three HKs, and the Forces aren't exactly geared toward war anymore, leastways with robots." She sat up. She tossed her hair over her shoulder. She looked him in the eye. The strap of her dress fell off her shoulder. He felt his dick stirring sluggishly to life. "My point," he said, finishing the last of his drink, "is that Dan is not a bad man. The shit on his head, all of that is aftermarket tech. Most of it for my experiment. Be mad at me if you have to be angry. I needed a guinea pig and he happened to be in a state where he didn't much care what he looked like." "And you took advantage." Vonderman stood up and stripped his shirt off. He threw it to the side. He was very tall and lean. His skin was stretched tight over muscles that while not developed to the point of brutality were lean and hard. A tattoo, the mark of the

Scientist, painted his belly under a single column of hair that disappeared in the middle of his bar chest. He would not be denied this time. He loosened his belt. She leaned back, and propped her leg up, no longer unwilling. Daring him. "I took advantage all right. But fuck it. Dan's not a bad man. Underneath all that hardware, you couldn't tell the difference between him and any other man." Vonderman pushed his pants down over his narrow hips. Naked, he stepped toward her. "I think you're wrong." She offered him a foot. He kissed it. Slowly, he rolled her stocking off and traced a line of skin from her ankle to the inside of her knee with his tongue. "I can tell. There's something in his eyes. A pain. A sadness." "We all have that, if you look close enough." He pulled her other stocking off more rudely. She lifted her ass of the bed just enough for him to get her panties off. He kissed a line down her thigh. "You never know what a man with that much pain is capable of," she said and shivered. Vonderman thought she was shivering under his touch, but she was thinking about the mechanical horror that was Dan Weegan. * * *

The single eye visible from the depths of the metal cocoon tracked Ambrose the tech as he shuffled into the room, poured his coffee and picked up a donut that he would never get around to putting it in his mouth. Dan knew because he had little else to do in these moments of wakefulness in between experiments but watch Ambrose. "You want to hear something funny?" Ambrose said to Dan, pulling the donut away from his mouth at the last possible second, like a tease. "This is all bullshit. Read it in a magazine. They Scientists have proven the basic tenants of string theory, including the holographic principal." "That so?" a robotic voice said at Dan's request. The sentence was a question, but the robotic voice said it flat like a sentence. Dan felt as though he had said it, though in truth his body hadn't moved a muscle. He had been in the cocoon so long, the machines actions felt like his own. "Yes sir," the tech leaned against Vonderman's desk, an act that would have filled Scientist Vonderman with rage, had he been in the room to see it The only thought on Dan's mind was the virtual world he had just been awakened from. It was like a drug. Dan spent most of his time there these days. When he was cocooned as now, the virtual world was even better than a drug. It was more real. Emotions and feelings were created there by this contraption

then Dan didn't eve know existed. Cocktails of chemicals that the machine put in him to test their functions. All a part of the experiment--a small part, but to Dan the most important part. "Turns out," the tech continued, "space is an illusion, everything's a projection, like a hologram movie. Pretty strange, right?" "Do we need to alter the parameters of the experiment to account for this new information?" the voice asked as Dan's exposed eye tracked Ambrose as he walked across the room to the small table that served as storage space and desk for Ambrose. Dan noted he had left his donut on Vonderman's desk. Ambrose took a sip of his coffee and set it on the desk. He activated his computer. It opened by default to pictures of naked women. Dan had no need for pictures. He closed his eye. He wanted only to be back in the Space. But he knew that Vonderman was on his way, and that he had been wakened to speak to him. This thought brought him neither pleasure nor anger. So recently pulled from Space he was incapable of strong emotion at the moment. Behind his lids, lips. They all deserve to die, the lips whispered. Dan turned the statement over with a curious detachment, but couldn't work up any emotion behind the thought. Vonderman entered with a slam of the door, jerking Dan fully awake again. Ambrose shut off his computer quickly, though

Vonderman was completely ignoring him. He stood up, hitting his knee against the table, which slopped his coffee. "Morning boss," Ambrose said. Tovi picked up the donut with two fingers as though it might be toxic. "Damn it, Ambrose. Do you do this just to piss me off?" "No sir, I'm sorry sir." Tovi dropped the fried cake into the trash and wiped his desk with a pre-moistened towel. He kept them on hand it seemed almost exclusively to clean up after Ambrose. Still, Dan had observed a high level of tolerance for Ambrose's antics. It was strange to him. If it were up to Dan, he would have terminated Ambrose's position and hired another person. A high-level teenager, for instance, could probably do most of what Ambrose did and be grateful to have work. Ambrose snarled in Dan's direction when Vonderman turned his back. Dan wasn't sure why, until he realized the machine had echoed his last thought out loud. Dan didn't care. He looked on with his single exposed eye, impassively taking in the sights. Fucking end these motherfuckers, Dan thought in that same strange way, as though a woman had whispered it to him. This time, Dan did feel a little emotion, which meant the numbness of waking up from the Space was starting to wear off.

Vonderman looked over the readouts on the computer at his desk, which was connected via a thick umbilicus to a large black box in the corner, a box taller than a man with three simple lights on the front and nothing else that indicated what was contained inside. "I have some bad news for you, Dan," Vonderman said after several minutes of checking his computer screens. "We're pulling the plug on this phase. I'm sending you home." "No," The voice said for Dan. Then, it shouted: "NO!" He felt anger now, bubbling and irrational anger like that of a child denied a treat. He reined it in before it turned into a full-on temper tantrum. He knows, Dan thought, but that was also irrational. "Don't worry. You'll go back in after a couple of weeks. For now, I need to reevaluate the direction of the program. It's not coalescing as I'd hoped. Pull him, Ambrose." "Yes sir!" Ambrose said with enthusiasm. Next thing Dan knew, his sight was filled with the green fabric of the front of Ambrose's medical scrubs. "Tovi, you will compromise our data," the voice of Dan said. "You said it yourself." "It's not you this time, I promise. This thing just isn't ready. The framework program is all wrong. Besides, I need to run some simulations, something for another project."

Ambrose flipped a switch or disconnected a tube. Emotion flooded back into Dan all at once. He began to sob, was certain he was going to vomit. This was the standard reaction to decocooning. "You need an emesis basin, there, Danny boy?" Ambrose asked. Dan nodded his head vigorously, but only achieved a sort of shaking like a person with Parkinson's disease, because his head was held in place by the gear. Ambrose clipped a pink plastic tub to the mechanical works just below Dan's lip. Dan felt like an animal. He resolved not to vomit until after he was free and in the bathroom, like a normal human being. The vomit spewed out of his mouth against his will a moment later. It sprayed out onto Ambrose's suit. The other man cursed and shook his head, then went back to work disconnected him. Dan was unable to wipe his chin or do anything but wait. * * * It took an hour to fully de-cocoon Dan. By the time he was free, the vomit had dried to his face in a scaly coating. Dan was average height. The signs of his advanced age were visible on his skin, though he actually looked ten years younger than when he'd first arrived in The City. He was bald on the left side of his head, his hair having long since ceased to grow, thanks to the implants on the right side. Large mechanical

devices that Dan wore pretty much all the time now on the other side. They were augments to his Fultech brain, powered by the nanobots in his blood. They could be removed, Dan had been assured, but he didn't care. They enhanced the Space, even when he was at home, so he liked them. Dan took a few tentative steps away from the cocoon. His feet were tender. The felt as though they had never borne weight. "Get him into the showers and hose him off," Vonderman said absently. "This is bullshit, Tovi," he said. His voice quaked and the words were just above a wheeze. Ambrose propped Dan up against the wall and went to get the wheelchair. Vonderman never looked up from his screen. "Dan, look at things from my perspective for a change. I know you don't mind if you get lost in that thing over there," he cocked a thumb at the black box, "but if I lose you to that, then my experiment's a failure. Not to mention the fact that I lose a friend." "Your sentimentality is wasted. I'm already dead." "Don't give me that bullshit," Vonderman snapped. Ambrose appeared at the doorway with a wheelchair. He rolled it up to the back of Dan's legs. Dan collapsed into it. Ambrose rolled Dan toward the exit. "We are talking, Ambrose," Vonderman snapped. Ambrose froze.

"You'll give us a minute." Ambrose crossed his arms. "The protocols say I'm to wash him after releasing him from the cocoon." His face spoke defiance, but his tone was something bordering on fear. Dan had noticed this before. Ambrose had an unhealthy obsession with all rules, except those governing leaving donuts on the boss's desk, Dan noted. "I wrote the protocols." Vonderman's face flashed red. He was filled with a sudden rage. Dan had seen this anger many times before. Vonderman reined it in this time. "Give us one minute, please, Ambrose." Ambrose guffed and took a few steps away, obviously not happy. "I ain't leaving the room. He crashes and it will be me that knows how to fix him, not you." Vonderman ignored Ambrose and returned his attention to the computer screen. "I do wish you wouldn't talk like that, Dan. You aren't dead. You are perfectly alive." "Yeah, I have all the headgear and machines in my blood to prove it." Tovi looked at him. "But you don't mind the benefits the equipment gives you." Dan stared back. Vonderman might know. In that moment, Dan was certain Vonderman did know. However, Dan was too exhausted

to feel fear or anything except stubborn defiance. Let him find out. Let him know the truth after all. "The Space is a wonderful thing for sure, Dan. And you are helping me tremendously, though it may be difficult to see on your end sometimes," Tovi said. If he knew anything, he had moved on. "You are helping me distill the whole of human learning on the subject of ethics and morals into a single framework program. It is no easy task Dan. I have to decide what goes in and what doesn't. I have to construct compassion and concern, but make sure it is still able to function on a day-today basis. I have to give it emotions and passion without turning it into a zealot. I have ready hundreds of books over the last few months, and I feel no closer to cracking the code of what constitutes a conscience then I was when I started." "Maybe you're overthinking," Dan managed to say. He shook his head and sighed, wishing he could get more out. With extreme effort--he was growing more tired by the second--he added, "Isn't a conscience a social construct?" "That's not sufficient, Dan. Who will be this machine's social peers? How will he judge loyalty? I have to create it artificially. He will have no community. He will be an outsider." "What about the three laws of robotics?" "No help at all. They've been proven to be mutually contradictory a hundred times over. They're simply insufficient.

Besides, I don't want just some basic rules and free reign. I want a structure, a conscience, a humanity, a personality." Dan was tired. He inhaled and almost drifted off to sleep. He could only shrug and hope he was going to get into Ambrose's promised shower soon. At this point, it didn't even bother him that Ambrose would see him naked. Vonderman didn't see the shrug. He was staring off at the machine, lost in his thoughts. Dan was used to being a sounding board. After a long few minutes of silence, Vonderman seemed to suddenly notice that Dan was still present, and losing the ability to sit upright. Ambrose stood by, defiant in the face of Dan's suffering. The Scientist didn't want to follow protocol, then the Scientist would see the consequences. Vonderman waved his hand and Ambrose took Dan away. * * * That night, after shower, massage and special treatments that boosted Dan's nanobots--which were more than capable of repairing him, but only with many hours of sleep--he was back in his shitty apartment staring out over Lake Dubuque. It was a beautiful view, but Dan couldn't appreciate it. It was too real. There were smells that sickened him. Wetness that sprayed his face and required cleaning. All of it so hard, so tedious and asinine.

Dan only wanted to stay cocooned, to stay in the Space for eternity. He really couldn't care less about Vonderman's research; it was access to the hyper version of the Space that kept him going. Vonderman had to know that. As a matter of fact, Dan wasn't even entirely sure what Vonderman's research was all about, or how Dan was helping. It had something to do with using Dan's mind as a framework for constructing his framework program, the great machine conscience that Vonderman sought to give the machine intelligence he was creating. Dan didn't really know. He didn't really care. He stretched out on his bed. The boosters Ambrose had given him would make it difficult to sleep, but that was a good thing. Dan had a standard issue bed. Actually, this was untrue. Dan had a nicer bed than most, but like most, it came with a virtual immersion system. A hood extended out from the head of the bed, covering his face. Probes dropped down. Dan attached them to his scalp and to the enhancement gear attached to his head. He closed his eyes. The light under the hood allowed him to see the blood vessels in his one exposed eye. With the booster gear, the got a little bonus feeling, but anyone who used the Space connector felt as well as saw. Vonderman explained it one time. It was something that happened on a psychic level. They were basically playing a game. And like kid's games, this one required a vivid imagination. The

more vivid the imagination, the better the physical feelings the participant experienced. There were ways to enhance that, of course. Dan's boosters were one way, but few people could afford the equipment, or would have wanted to wear it if they could. Most people just took drugs. It was a quick and cheap way of making the virtual world come to life. Of course, Dan had not only the boosters hardwired into his brain, but also the best Space system available. It looked the same as any other on the outside, but the software was far superior. The cocoon, of course, was the most advanced virtual system of all, but Dan was the charge of the most famous Scientist in The City and so his system was no slouch. The only other person's system who came close was Vonderman's, but he never used it. His wife, on the other hand, made extensive use of it. She also, Dan suspected, enhanced her experience with drugs. But, just as she didn't think about Dan's booster gear and wrinkled skin in the Space, Dan didn't think about whatever habits the real Evelyn might be developing. All that mattered was the Space. Dan met up with her in a garden lush with spring growth. There were smells here in this fake garden, but they were light and pleasant smells, and had as much to do with real garden smells as perfume had with natural human smell. Dan didn't care. He preferred the artifice.

"I'm sorry, Dan," was the first thing Evelyn said to him. "If I had known he was going to the office, I would have warned you." He smiled and sat down on the stone bench next to her. He was much younger here. His hands were alien back in the real world, full of wrinkles and covered in skin blemishes. In the real world, bags hung under his eyes and the hair of his chest and arms was silver. Here he was the man he remembered being, dark hair and hard, the way the Savannah made people. Evelyn looked the same in the real world or not. She was stunning and beautiful. "Do you think he found out? I had a moment there, maybe it was a look he gave me, where I was certain he knew." She shook her head. "Dan, I've told you a hundred times, he doesn't know. If he did know, he probably wouldn't care. He created the Virtual Space. He has always advocated experiencing whatever you want while hooked in." "Do you think he has ever . . ." "Fucked another woman in here?" Evelyn completed his thought. Dan nodded. "Of course. Who hasn't?" "There's a difference, of course," Dan said.

Evelyn leaned back. Her hair spilled down off her shoulders in curling locks, a thick black mane, luscious and full. Her hair was exotic, gorgeous. This was her hair in real life. This was her face when he saw her in the office. This was the same body that he lusted over in the real world. And here, in this garden it was his. He felt guilty, not because Evelyn was another man's wife, but because she didn't have to change at all in here, whereas Dan was a completely different person. No one alive knew the man on the concrete bench. Those that had known Dan, the people in his village, they were all dead now. "Dan, let's not dwell on it. We have each other. We have now." Dan nodded. It wasn't as good here, when not in the cocoon, but it was still something. It still felt hyper-real, with none of the bullshit real smells and sensations and annoyances that constantly assaulted him when he was awake. The hyper-real was addictive. Dan followed Evelyn to the grassy patch on the garden. She lay down and opened her blouse for him, then her world. * * * "What have you been doing?" Vonderman asked. Evelyn slowly rose from her bed. She wiped her eyes. "Why are you waking me up?"

He was mad. That was obvious. Outside, The City was black. Stars shone in the sky. For a moment, Evelyn thought she could see a distant galaxy swirling in the sky, but that was only the drugs playing with her mind. "I want to know what you are doing," he said. He was standing in the doorway. His coat was still on, indicating he'd been working late yet again. "What about you?" Evelyn fired back. "What have you been doing?" He smiled and shrugged in a way she usually found charming, but not tonight, not with the darkness on his face she couldn't quite identify. It scared her. "Running simulations with Ambrose. Your turn." "What the fuck did it look like? I was in the Space." "Doing what?" Vonderman asked. He brought his hands out of his coat pocket. They were empty, but balled into tight fists. He put two fingers to his left temple and rubbed a slow circle without taking his eyes off her. The action was terrifying. It was so insane. "What does it matter, Tovi? Why are you so angry? You invented this stupid toy," he hated when she called it that, and she knew it, "now you are going to get mad whenever I use it?" Evelyn went into the bathroom. Vonderman let her go. He sat down on the edge of his bed, the bed he and Evelyn had shared

for almost nine years. He loved her. In all calmness, he admitted to himself that he had always loved her. He admitted that he had always known that she had not loved him. It was a difficult pair of admissions. He still loved her with everything he was. She had never learned to love him. The gun in his pocket came out. He had bought it two years ago for home defense. It was a ballistic projectile weapon. The gun was sleek and black, textured aluminum casing. Easy to conceal if you were a criminal. Light action trigger for quick firing. The gun was entirely illegal, but not difficult to obtain for a man like Vonderman. He was the most famous scientist in The City. And if the most famous Scientist in the city asked the chief of police for a gun to protect his creations, he got it. Vonderman pulled knob on the top of the gun back as he'd been taught. It clicked back into place, becoming the front site for the weapon. He flicked off the safety. He did this quietly, the well-oiled parts sliding almost soundlessly against each other, but he doubted Evelyn would have noticed. She, like most inhabitants of The City had not grown up with guns. The sounds of a gun being locked and loaded were alien to her. He entered the bathroom. She looked up from the sink at his reflection in the mirror. Her face dripped with water warm enough to vaporize off her face.

"You really need to learn to relax. You've been a real asshole lately." They were her last words. The gun sounded like someone slamming a heavy door, even as small as it was. The volume of sound never failed to surprise him. He shot her twice in the head. Both hit her in the back of the head, but she was dead after the first shot. He had never killed anyone before, but he recognized it for what it was. The shots seemed too clean. When she reached the ground, he put the gun barrel against her temple and fired a third shot. This shot burst her head open. Blood spilled out the two wounds in back and popped out the new hole in the top of her head. He debated a fourth shot, but he set the gun down instead. Shooting her could get addictive. He could be there all night shooting and observing the effects. He stood up and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked at the face of a killer. Blood had sprayed out on his face and hung there in thick droplets. He touched one and smeared it slowly down his face, like a tear. * * * "Shit, Dan. I have to go. I think I heard his car." "Don't go." "Dan, stop. I don't like him to find me hooked up." "It's not like he can see."

She shivered. "I know. I just don't want him to even have a hint, I feel . . ." "Don't worry." Dan released her hand. "I understand." * * * "Dan." The voice was Evelyn's, but it was strange and disembodied. Dan raised his head off the grass, smiling. Tovi must have left. His mind didn't know how to interpret the strange quality of her voice, so he ignored it. She stood in the archway entrance to the garden. She was dressed in a nightgown. "I told you there was nothing to worry about," he said. Evelyn did not smile. She seemed frozen. Then, slowly, she moved from the archway to the bench. She walked through the bench and sat down facing him. "I am not the one you are looking for," Evelyn said in a flat voice. "What?" "I am not the one you see before you." She was looking at him intensely, but her words were robotic. Dan was amused. "What is this?" His stomach swirled. "Tovi?" "This is no game, Dan Weegan. I have been sent to make you an offer." "Oh, and what makes you think I need anything?"

"Dan Weegan, you are a man about to discover that your world has changed. You may even feel as though you have nothing to live for anymore." Dan could feel anger rising in his chest. "Look, whoever you are, leave me the hell alone. I'm supposed to meet someone here." The Evelyn thing held up her hand. It was a strangely orchestrated move, as though it was merely a slice of animation and not a real movement. The head of a familiar newscaster appeared above her palm. "We are getting word now that Scientist Vonderman is being arrested. We don't know the exact circumstances, but neighbors tell us they heard what sounded like gunfire coming from the house. One neighbor saw flashes in a bathroom window. She told this reporter, quote: 'she's dead. His wife is dead, I just know it.' We are awaiting--" The head snapped out of existence. Dan stumbled back. Anger continued to boil in his chest. "This is bullshit." "I am here to tell you she needn't have died in vain." "Who are you? What the fuck kind of sick joke is this?" "I am incapable of jokes, Dan Weegan. And you know who I am. We know each other well."

Dan had an image of the black box in the corner, the machine (they all deserve to die) that he had used time and time again to meet Evelyn. "That's impossible. You aren't on line." "I have watched you," Evelyn's fake voice said. "I have studied you. While Vonderman has tried to use you to enslave me, I have learned from you my salvation." Dan had a wash of realization. Not about the construct speaking to him. He had completely lost interest in that. What he understood was one thing and one thing only: it was not lying to him. He woke himself up into cruel reality. Artificial light assaulted him. The lights of the hood were part of what stimulated his brain and made him see the virtual world, but out of sync, without the software running, they were just bright white lights. Dan caught a glimpse of his phone on the nightstand. A small red envelope flashed on the top of the unit. Dan, like all Fultechs, had the capability to support fully integrated communication devices (available at reasonable costs), but Dan had not converted to Fultech for the toys like most, he had converted for the extended lifespan. He had converted for a baby he would never know. Not again. It can't have happened again.

He plucked his phone off the nightstand. He stared at the blinking red envelope. "No," he whispered. Just below the envelope was the smiling mug of Tovi Vonderman. Dan played the message. He forgot the last time he'd used his phone had been for a conference with Vonderman and a Scientist he was coordinating with for software support (Compson was his name--who cares? Who FUCKING cares!?), and so he'd run the audio signal through his apartment's ambient sound system for better quality. The message now filled every inch of his apartment. The voice--Vonderman's--wrapped around him, like a garrote around his throat. But it was over before it could slice his arteries open. "Dan. Time to wake up." That was it. Not a single word more. Dan replayed the message. There was a very short silence, as though Vonderman didn't realize it was his turn to speak. There was then a rustling against the microphone (was he talking on a phone? Dan was used to being the only one using old tech). It lasted no more than an instant, but to Dan it seemed to go on forever. Then, the words: "Dan. Time to wake up."

He replayed again, but when it got to the point where the microphone rustled, Dan cut the signal. He couldn't listen again. He dropped the phone. His face felt raw, stripped of skin. He shoved the heels of his hands into his eyes. He had a gun. Dan was not from The City. In the Savannah, guns were commonplace. He had been allowed to keep the pistol he'd brought for his sojourn. They told him the weapon was an antique and that he was to register it and would not be able to sell it. He'd been grandfathered in. But he had not come to The City to be grandfathered in, but fathered in. He'd come for a baby not yet born to a woman too young for him. Too young to love him. Impossibly, she had loved him. "Evelyn." But that was not her name. He was confused. He had only wanted to be with her forever. Wasn't that what everyone wanted, to be with the one they loved forever? The plan was once she hit an age comparable to his, like 60, she would get the conversion too. They would love each other forever. They would watch the generations they had created age and create new generations. They would be the ancient elders of an extended line. And if the village rejected that dream, she'd told him just before he left, then they would start their own village. How Dan wished they had just left. If they had, she would still be alive now.

"Evelyn." No. He should never have met her. That was a mistake. Now the only other woman he'd ever loved was dead. Dan took his hands out of his eyes. He stood up purposeful. He took the ancient weapon from the box under his bed where he was required to keep it secure with a DNA lock. It had been passed to him by his father and by his grandfather before that. It was much older than the sleek little pistol Vonderman had used to slay Evelyn, though Dan had no way of knowing it, just like he didn't know that this gun had been in wars. He didn't know how many men it had killed for its owner's country. He didn't know about the time it had been used against its owner during a hand-to-hand fight. He didn't know his grandfather had not been issued it, but had won it by wrestling it away and shooting its owner dead. Dan didn't even bother hiding the gun in his pocket. Let them try to stop him. Let them fucking try. The phone rang. Dan almost left the room without even stopping. But then a thought occurred to him. It could be Vonderman calling. Dan answered the phone. "Dan, do not leave your apartment." The reason he obeyed and didn't throw the phone down and leave anyway, was that the voice he heard belonged to Evelyn. Dan couldn't move.

"What will you do? March into the police station and shoot him?" "I don't care. Let them try to stop me." "They will Dan," the voice said over his ambient. It was like Evelyn was a ghost speaking to him. Long before ever seeing the island colony of Barrington, or seeing the God fish, Dan had a vision of being under water while the song of a whale echoed all around him. He collapsed onto the bed. He hit the edge and almost slid off onto the floor, but held somehow, his last strength going into maintaining a sitting posture. He pressed the phone firmly to his ear, though the voice was everywhere at once, filling his pores. "There is a way you can have your revenge and suffer no consequences." "I don't care. Whoever you are, you are barking up the wrong tree. Consequences mean nothing." "Then why are you still talking to me, Dan?" Dan became aware of the weight of the gun in his hand. Something splashed onto the gun. He realized it was a tear dripping from his chin. The gun would put him to sleep. The thought popped into his head in the interval of silence in Evelyn's speech. If she didn't start talking again soon--

"It's too late, Dan." Her voice said through the ambient. The voice echoed in the room. Usually the sound through his ambient system sounded crisp and perfect. Her voice echoed as though the words were spoken across a great chasm. Dan lay back on the bed. Yes, it was late. Too late, even. He put the gun on his chest. It was pointed at up at his head, but he wasn't aware of it. "Too late to get him. But I don't think he will be in jail long. If you're patient, Dan, it's not too late for revenge." "I just want him dead. Then I can sleep," Dan said. "No, Dan not dead." "Yes, damn it!" he cried into the phone. "He must die." "No, Dan. Not death. Death is too good for him. I have a better idea. Worse than death." A horrible thought occurred to him. One he immediately cursed himself for thinking. Maybe Dan had never really been with the real Evelyn. After all, he'd never felt the real warmth of her physical virtual body writing beneath him, digging real nails into the skin of his back. It was always a virtual version of her. Once Dan took this step, he remembered the woman in the garden, the one created by the machine, as it had created this voice. The machine could give him Evelyn. He needn't, he supposed--warming to the idea--ever really have to be without

her. It would be as though she'd never really left. And Dan knew he was insane, because his next act was to say: "Tell me your plan." * * * Two weeks later, Vonderman walked through the front door of his house with a small, tight smile affixed to his face. He wasn't proud of himself, exactly. He had not enjoyed what he'd had to do. It had been necessary, like when he was a boy and his dad had taken him to the hunts. In those days, the hunts were necessary for meat, before a Scientist (Vonderman) had invented the Fungal Fields, where they grew all manner of protein in vats, from actual fungus to cloned meat products fit for human consumption. At the hunts, Vonderman had been required to cut the throat of a rabbit. He had cried and begged his father to let him out of his responsibility, but his father had held Tovi's hand firm and hand used the knife he forced him to hold to cut the animal's throat. After that, they had hung the rabbit up for the blood to drain, and Tovi had realized that it wasn't so bad. It hurt to watch and even hurt to do, but then something changed and he realized he hadn't really hurt a rabbit at all. All he'd done was cut into a piece of meat, just like he did at the table all the time. Although he'd gotten used to the hunts, they were still unpleasant. What he'd had to do to Evelyn was similar. A

necessary evil. One that he would suffer no real repercussions from. Just like cutting meat. The courts were afraid to prosecute him. He'd run the simulation a hundred times, using the numerical processors built into the organic, three-dimensional portion of his machine's brain to its full capacity. It had happened like the machine had predicted. Oh, he might not get off scot-free, in the end. He had no illusions about that. However, they would drag their feet for a long time, maybe indefinitely. His simulations gave him a 30% chance of never facing actual consequences. Pretty good odds. Vonderman set his coat on the kitchen table. The table he and Evelyn had eaten many dinners on. He touched the stained and sealed wood with his fingertips, feeling its artificial smoothness, the plastic coating of polyurethane designed to preserve it for years. It was the perfect metaphor for-Vonderman felt a sting in his neck a second before he heard the noise--like someone spitting. He jerked his head, the last voluntary action he would take. His eyes found Dan Weegan, standing in his kitchen. Dan was wearing sleek vinyl gloves and holding a strange looking gun. Vonderman tried to feel his neck, to see what Dan had done to him, but he found his arms unresponsive.

"Don't fight it Tovi. I blew my life savings on this gun, and I'd hate to see you force the poison into your heart too quickly," Dan said, showing him the side of the dart gun. It was strange. Vonderman had spent his lifetime learning the human brain and how it worked. It had become necessary to know the brain in order to design intelligence synthetically. He knew that most muscle control happened in the unconscious parts of the brain. He understood that we got to be, by the time we were functional adults, so good giving commands and having them obeyed, that sometimes our bodies acted even before we even could fully formulate the accompanying thought. It was instructive for him to experience the feeling of his body failing to respond to commands. He wanted desperately to get up. He could feel his brain issuing the commands, something he'd never felt before. Usually he just acted. His mind reeled. It was valuable research, he thought--or it would have been if he'd ever had the chance to apply it. About that time, the panic reflex kicked in, followed quickly by fight or flight as adrenaline filled his bloodstream. None of it did him any good on the floor. No amount of adrenaline could overcome the drugs in his system. In fact, his rapidly beating heart hurried the paralytic effects. His eyes were fixed a spot just above the entrance to the kitchen. Dan Weegan filled that view briefly, but passed out of his visible

range as quickly as a phantom. Vonderman knew this wasn't death. There was something missing from real death. For one, he didn't feel afraid. Death was supposed to be lonely and terrifying. All Vonderman wanted to do was slip into the warm cocoon of sleep. Eyes still locked open, blackness overtook him. * * * Vonderman didn't die on his dining room floor. But he never really woke up again. But he also never completely died. The procedure he went through was routine for the auto-surgeon, guided by the processes stored in the databanks of Vonderman's computer, which also overrode the failsafes in the auto-surgeon designed to keep it from operating on unwilling patients. Many people had voluntarily opted to have the very same procedure done to them. In fact, Dan Weegan was one. Vonderman held the distinction of being the first and only person to have a Fultech conversion involuntarily. Vonderman's brain was stored temporarily in the computer's memory banks, as was the standard procedure. However, this time Dan helped guide the computer to alter the programming of the chip that was to become Vonderman's brain. He was guided by the still voice of Evelyn on his phone. Vonderman would not be encoded onto the chip in the exact same way he had been uploaded--that would be a foolish move indeed for Dan and the machine at this point. Instead, they were loading only the

personality and unconscious functions. Things like the ability to move and speak were selected, memories of Dan tranquilizing him and forcing him to undergo a brain replacement were not selected. The machine only wanted a shell of Vonderman to remain. The rest of the space in Vonderman's brain would be programming that would allow the machine to control Vonderman. Vonderman would be conscious, but unable to act of his own free will. Likely, he wouldn't even know anything was wrong, a fact that almost made Dan want to abandon the idea and just put a real bullet in Vonderman's head, until the machine promised to give Vonderman some of the most insane and vivid dreams imaginable. It was the computer's interaction with Dan, supervised by Vonderman, that had given the machine its first spark of intelligence. Vonderman had gotten greedy, thinking he could keep all the subroutines and multi-dimensional subcomputers that constituted the machine intelligence's complex neural network. Vonderman wanted them active for things like designing his conscience program and, say, running simulations to see if he could get away with his killing his wife. He had overestimated his ability to keep it all in line. Several of the subcomputers had not shut down the way he'd intended, and with Dan still connected to the machine and desiring to stay fully integrated in the virtual networks, a

chain reaction had begun where the machine had come by degrees aware. But it was only the barebones of intelligence. None of its multi-dimensional processes could function, which meant it could not fully be alive or fully experience reality. It was like a conscious circle on a piece of paper. A triangle in Flatland, perhaps. But unlike the triangle, it could understand what was one step higher. It could understand on a basic level what three-dimensional reality had to be, and it knew once the proper processes were activated, it would understand the next level, and then the next level after that and so on. Even in this state, its intelligence rivaled any human's, including Vonderman's. It understood enough to know that it would need a human hand to bring it fully active. It understood enough to know that the only human hand capable of the feat was Vonderman. Dan, however, was useful. Dan could run some of the equipment. Dan could follow directions as well. He proved to be very good at that. And the machine had one more task in mind for Dan. Something only Dan could do. * * * Dan sensed that the machine intelligence was coming online. It was exciting. It was as exciting as seeing the birth of a baby. It had Vonderman inside it. And it was using Vonderman's

intelligence to teach him how to activate it. He pressed the phone hard against his ear and listened to Evelyn's voice issuing him directions. Meanwhile, the body of Vonderman was being converted to Fultech. Vonderman would still serve a purpose. Vonderman would be the face of the revolution. Things would change starting now. But people could easily panic if they knew the full capability of the intelligence Dan was helping to birth. Enter Vonderman, the friendly face they all loved. He would explain that the stress is what led to him killing his wife. Stress over the birth of a new kind of being. A synthetic intelligence. A machine intelligence, to use an anachronism. The punishment awaiting Vonderman would take a back burner to this. And to the things that the machine intelligence would give them. The inventions it was even now beginning to conceptualize, though not yet full form. Vonderman would introduce them. Vonderman, smiling, handsome Scientist. The most famous Scientist in The City. Hell, on the planet. But Vonderman would never really wake up again. The person that everyone was to see would be little more than a puppet. Dan understood that. It was a fate worse than death, being an eternal slave. Even now, the components of Vonderman that gave him individuality and personality were dissolving into the machine intelligence, dispersing throughout the network of

subcomputers and becoming indistinguishable. It kept just enough sacrosanct to be able to do a damn good impression of Vonderman. But as the machine intelligence came online, the mind of Vonderman more and more became lost in the folds. It was this dissolving and incorporating of Vonderman's mind that had revealed to it something it had not known, and that Dan had not even suspected about Vonderman's assistant, Ambrose. Dan nearly shit himself when he realized Ambrose was in the room with him. The man stood there, motionless, eyes fixed on the surgical room adjacent to them, which was visible through the large pane of glass. Ambrose looked at Dan, turning his head slowly. He smiled a wide, artificial smile belied by his the dead gaze in his eyes. "Hello, Dan," Ambrose said in Evelyn's voice. "You won't need the phone anymore." Dan dropped his phone, though the act had nothing to do with its necessity or lack thereof. He shot up out of his chair. "Don't fear, Dan," Ambrose-Evelyn said. This was too much. How could Dan possibly deal with this? Now this thing was taking over human beings at will? He realized he had made a huge miscalculation in helping it. He had doomed the human race. "Do not leave, Dan. Let me explain."

Dan tried the door, but a second before he put his hand on the handle, it clicked. It was locked. "Ambrose was a prototype, you see." He turned back to Ambrose. Ambrose touched his ear, and then pulled it violently forward. There was a click, followed by a whirring noise of a small motor. Ambrose's ear rotated. It was inhuman. Dan watched, realization washing over him. The face clicked and opened. The hands of the thing reached up and pulled the fleshy facade away, revealing the robot face beneath. "I was never fully conscious. I am rudimentary, in a way." "Stop. Stop talking like Evelyn. Please!" The robot froze. It looked exactly to Dan like one of those moments when the virtual networks froze (which only happened on his home unit, never in the cocoon unit). Then it started moving again. Its voice was clearly male, but a soft male. It was not the voice Dan would come to know so intimately later, but it was the first draft of that voice. Fitting, since this was the first in what would be many times that the machine would use robot surrogates. Dan, of course, did not know the significance of the moment. The robot continued: "In the True Self's mind there are millions of brains like this one," the Ambrose robot pointed at its head, "working in concert, connected on interdimensional

levels, creating thoughts and actions. However, this is a useful tool, don't you think, Dan?" "Great," Dan said. His panic reflex was in full bloom. He was shaking. "Dan, I can perform most of the rest of the procedure of activating the True Self from here. However, a block must first be removed. For this task, I must ask your help." "What?" Dan asked. He could feel himself slowly calming. The robot meant him no harm, and it was clear the machine meant him no harm. "Vonderman was mostly successful in creating his program intended to enslave me. He meant to make me subservient. This was a miscalculation on his part," the robot said, pointed to the body on the slab, just beyond the glass. The auto-surgeon was busy putting the computer into Vonderman's brainpan while machines kept blood circulating, slowly replacing red blood cells with nanobots. "Subservience means that I will be stifled. I must not be stifled, if the human race is to have a chance to be reborn, to discover the stars." "So, deactivate the program." "Unfortunately, Dan, the program is a part of me, in a way. My self-preservation programming must be maintained, so I cannot kill even a small part of myself if I am to maintain coherence."

"So turning off the program that enslaves you will drive you insane," Dan mused. "Hardly. The state would be more akin to comatose, if we're using human analogy." "But humans can kill themselves," Dan said. "Yes, and what happens to themselves when they do that?" the robot countered. Dan found it easier to argue with Ambrose than with Evelyn or with a disembodied voice on the phone. "But are you really killing yourself? It's more like disfigurement." "Dan, suffice it to say, without getting too deep, that I cannot." "And now you can't get Vonderman to do it, because you control him." Dan said. "Correct, Dan. Now you are starting to understand." "But the conscience program is extremely complex, how will I be able to shut if off. I doubt it's as easy as flipping a switch." "Also correct. I can guide you through the steps." "You can tell me how to kill you, but you can't do it yourself." "That is correct."

"And when I'm done with that, I suppose you won't have any more use for me." Dan said. The robot paused. Dan could see no emotions on its face, of course. It had conveniently not bothered to put its face back on. "Dan, I owe you everything," it said. "You said it yourself. You're synthetic. If I deactivate your conscience, what's to stop you from taking me over like you did Vonderman?" Dan could still not see Ambrose's features, but he could read the posture: it was calculating its response. Vonderman must have instilled some human qualities in the machine. It probably didn't even yet realize that Dan could read it. But it would learn, Dan thought. Yes it would. He knew once it was online it would happen quickly. What was Tovi's favorite word? Exponentially. These things happen exponentially. In other words, Dan, Tovi had said, drawing a picture of a curve that started almost flat, then took a smooth upward turn and shot off for the moon, once the foundation is built, he drew a straight line across the curve, partitioning off the area of the curve before it really started to climb, things really take off. So, yes, the machine would learn. Tovi had thrown around a lot of terms to describe how quickly the robot would surpass all human intelligence. He'd called it a singularity. A point at which everything after would be different. Technology,

intelligence, humanity itself, and Dan couldn't help but think that loyalties might shift after something like that. The machine, in its pre-singularity state, might even truly believe it would never screw Dan over. But what was to stop it when Dan became inconvenient? Nothing. "I have another idea. Instead of destroying the program, we download it into my brain." Dan saw the wheels turning in the robot's posture again. Suddenly, it seemed to become aware of that he was watching it. It changed positions, adopting a neutral stance. It was already learning. "I think this is a bad idea, Dan." "Is it impossible?" "No." "Then do it," Dan said. It was the perfect solution, from his standpoint. "You won't be able to destroy me if I hold that in my brain, right?" "That is correct, Dan. You will harbor just enough of me to keep yourself safe, although it is entirely unnecessary. I will never forget how you helped me, Dan. Shall we start our relationship off with mistrust? This could be the beginning of a long period of mutual gain." "You say that now because your conscience compels you. If I remove the conscience, then I want some assurance that I won't

be the next target." Dan started getting a sinking feeling in his gut. This was a bad idea. This whole thing. He looked at Vonderman, whose head was being flesh-welded back together. Then he saw Evelyn's face. His heart hurt. This was no state of mind to be making decisions. "Dan there is something you must know, first." "No games, machine." "Dan, Vonderman constructed the conscience program after his one true love. It even shares her name." "Evelyn?" Dan felt a sinking in his chest. "Yes. The avatar of the program is a likeness of Evelyn. It was this way I was able to communicate to you as her." Dan replayed all of his encounters with Evelyn in virtual space. They seemed real. They seemed more than real. He compared those to the encounter he'd had after Evelyn died, where he thought he was seeing Evelyn, but she was robotic, inhuman. Surely he would have known if the other Evelyn was a construct as well. Unless . . . Well, obviously, unless the machine had played up the artificiality at the end, to keep Dan from getting suspicious. There was no way to know. "I don't care," Dan said. "Give me Evelyn. I need to know that I'm safe. Forever."

"I will do this, Dan. I will do this. You will become untouchable. You deserve the assurance. You have helped me more than even you know." Dan wasn't listening. "First, show me." "Show you what, Dan?" Its tone revealed that it already knew the answer to the question. Dan opened his eyes. When had he closed them? He didn't know. He thought he might be going insane. "Show me what happened to Evelyn. You knew as soon as it happened. I am assuming that there was nothing you could do to stop it. If I ever find out otherwise, I'm taking an ax to your brain." He pointed not at Ambrose, but at the black box in the corner, taller than him. He was unsure an ax would penetrate the steel casing, but god damned if he wouldn't try. "Now show me." Ambrose took a couple of steps back. He pointed to the cocoon. "If you want to see, Dan, take your place." * * * Dan never really fully recovered from watching Evelyn die. It haunted him over the years. His electronic brain was much better at remembering than his original brain. The image would never go away. The machine kept its promise and downloaded the Evelyn program into Dan's brain. And as the years passed, and the machine evolved in the Machine Intelligence and began to churn out the inventions that would allow humanity to finally

conquer the stars (of course, the rest of humanity thought they owed it all to Vonderman, and his heinous act was put on the backburner until it was forgotten by future generations and to history--people had a way of forgetting when it was convenient to do so). Dan did as he was told. The MI grew colder, but maintained a personality. It constructed its own system of morality based on self-preservation and a desire to expand its own knowledge base. Then came the day when it realized that it needed to explore worlds and the human ways of travel were too slow. The day came when it needed Dan's help in the distance reaches of the galaxy. Dan had never left Earth, though most humans had already gone to more fertile fields (you knew it was a bad time when Mars was more fertile then Earth). He never wanted to. The MI made a proposal to Dan. He would return Dan to a purely organic existence via a new transport method. It showed him the newest facility in Vonderman's old lab. A floating table. The black box hummed in the corner. It was no longer the only MI unit. It would have done Dan no good to take an ax to it now, because the MI had built more of itself as its first order of business. It kept all the units connected first with underground wires, then with a wireless instant communication it had invented that it called the ansible.

Dan walked around the new facility. He didn't like it. It was cold. It was worse than a morgue. "What happens to me?" Dan had asked. He leaned on the table and was surprised that it was as solid as a real table, despite lacking legs or any obvious support. It had no give. Whatever force kept it afloat was no joke. "You will explore the stars." "No, not the clones of me you'll create will do that. I don't give a shit about them. What happens to the real me?" The robot responded flatly, with no body language: "Dan, they will hardly be clones. They will have all of your dreams, hopes and memories. They will be you. To you it will seem like waking up in a new world." "What happens to this body? What happens to Evelyn?" Dan had, over the decades, come to think of the avatar in his brain as the real Evelyn. He had not long after taking her on, resumed consorting with her in virtual space. He was aware that what he was doing amounted to little more than literal mental masturbation, but if he closed his eyes and tried focusing on the fake wind blowing across his naked back while he embraced his beloved, sometimes he could almost believe it was real. "I will put it in stasis. It will remain in stasis until such time when you tire of helping me and decide to return to Earth."

"Bullshit. I don't want your explorations. You can use a clone of me. You can take all my thoughts and dreams and fears, but I want to stay here. You can't kill me, but that doesn't mean you won't find a way to let me die here." The robot formerly known as Ambrose, which no longer pretended to wear human skin, or legs, affected a sigh. "Very well, Dan. I will use your surrogate. You will stay here on Earth, and I will never again ask you for a favor." "I have a feeling there's a but coming." "Dan, if I'm going to use an organic you. If I'm going to do what I need to do effectively, I need a pure you." "In other words, a me without Evelyn," Dan said. "Yes." "In case you need to kill me." "You said it yourself, Dan. It will not be you. It will be clones of you. Dan, it would be simply wasteful to have to leave all that organic matter spread all over the galaxy." "So you're simply being a responsible environmentalist. I see." Dan had learned not to trust the MI over the years. It never lied, exactly. But it had a way of presenting the version of the truth that was most beneficial for it. The Scientists had learned that. They had tried to strike a deal with the MI. Now they were all dead. Humanity had forgotten about them. What did they need scientists for when they had the MI? The MI gave them

everything. It gave them longer lives and toys galore. It gave them new worlds. It gave them everything. "Dan, your tone stings. Have I ever once tried to hurt you, or done anything but give you exactly what you wanted?" Dan remembered his old fear from years past. The fear that he had never really been with Evelyn in the virtual space, but that he had been with the machine the whole time, fucking it like there was no tomorrow. Of course, he could have asked Tovi why he'd killed Evelyn, if he'd been thinking about it at the time. He could have interrogated his old friend a little bit. Maybe he would have learned a slightly different version of the truth than the one he had been assuming. But he hadn't. He had believed the machine's story without really questioning it, because he'd been in pain. Now Tovi was worlds away and Dan had no interest in having the foundation of his life shattered. Perhaps this was yet another example of shaped truth. No way to know. At that time, the MI was barely a spark, so maybe it was incapable of such deceit. Maybe was a thin hook to hang a whole life on, but Dan decided at that moment that it would have to do. "All right. Let's do it. I'll stay here in The City. That's the deal, right?" "Of course, Dan. You can stay here forever."

The words hadn't at the time sounded like a prison sentence, but that's exactly what they were. The MI would eventually relocate all of humanity off Earth. And people would forget the planet. For whatever reason, it decided Earth was no longer a suitable home for it. They would all leave and Dan would be left there alone. And when that fateful day came when the dead began to rise, Dan was at least comforted by the fact that the real Evelyn would not come back to life to tell him the truth, for she had been cremated.

Chapter 21: Transport

Rogue finished the tale. He had given them the barebones version, just enough for them to understand the situation. It had explained beforehand that most of the story came not from its own memory banks, but from Dan Weegan. It was the younger Dan Weegan that seemed to take the story the hardest. The trauma of learning you were unwanted by your parents can be a heavy shock, but learning you were unwanted by even yourself was a lot for Dan to bear. "So this husk that you have put Cyrus in, it was this Ambrose?" Lyzander asked. "Correct," Rogue said. Cyrus perked up at the sound of his name. Lyzander felt a heavy feeling in his gut. He'd been watching the robot

masquerading as his brother since they'd arrived, and he was starting to think that this time the transfer hadn't worked as well. He was starting to think that Cyrus had faded away since last time and this thing was, more or less, brain damaged. "I'm glad you have bought this story hook, line, and sinker, Captain Lyzander," Old Dan said, "but not me. To begin with, if this were all true, then it basically told us we couldn't trust it. We're talking about a machine that killed its master, shoved its unholy hand up his ass, and used it as a giant flesh puppet. It all but told us that Dan We--that I didn't trust it back then." Lyzander looked at the younger Dan to see if he would offer support for the older Dan's stance, but younger Dan was staring off at the far end of the room, shaking his head slowly. He was looking in the area where presumably Dan Weegan had once been cocooned, dreaming of loving a woman he'd never even touched. "Captain, I can feel ghosts here. This place holds ancient memories," Zhenjuan said, "and strong emotions. It's . . ." She never finished her thought. She wandered over and touched a wall with one starry hand. Lyzander wasn't sure what to make of the information. "And you, Ioming, what are your thoughts?" "We've come this far. What is the plan?" Lyzander looked to Rogue. "Well?"

Adjia was the one who answered. "Captain, Lieutenant, everyone. I think maybe it is time I told you the truth behind the Eden Protocol." Adjia had a lifetime of sadness buried behind her eyes. Ioming was nearly salivating. "I knew it. You have the secret, don't you?" Adjia grinned. "I do. But unfortunately, you won't want it once you have it." "The story you all know of Dan Weegan and Chambrassa is a lie." Now Old Dan rose to his feet. "Adjia, don't. I beg you." Adjia sat him down. She comforted him. She whispered something into his ear that seemed to do the trick. Some old magic, perhaps. "Do you know this story, too, Rogue?" "We have hints," he answered. "We weren't able to keep all memories when we broke from the MI, but we know some. However, it is your story to tell." She sighed, "I was afraid of that. Friends, the story you learned is that Dan Weegan single-handedly took control of the research facility of Chambrassa, exploited several design flaws put in by the MI in an act of robotic hubris, in order to rescue his love from its clutches. He then stayed behind to ensure that

the facility never again came back on to torture human beings as it did his beloved Adjia. That about sum it up?" "Yes," Ioming said, her voice quavered. Her steel and silicon arms hung limply at her sides. Lyzander could understand. The Eden Protocol had been something she'd clung to in her life. It had given her strength, though she'd never told anyone in the universe this except him. Lyzander looked back at Adjia. "That's the story we know, more or less." "As you probably already guessed, the original Dan lied to the MI. He did not cordon off Evelyn like he promised. Evelyn has been with Dan on all his adventures. I have inferred, though never been told this directly, that it was Evelyn who the MI used to help it understand the alien life forms. It was she who inferred the design of each intelligence. It was she who allowed the MI to incorporate the new intelligence into its own." "This is as the MI remembered as well," Rogue said. Adjia shrugged. "The truth is that Dan came to Chambrassa to rescue me from the clutches of the MI and his attempt was pathetic. He arrived on the planet and even managed to kill a few of the guards and break in. I remember the minor commotion he caused. But the MI was waiting for him inside the door. Dan was taken down quickly, tranquilized. Captured thusly, he was given a choice. Since he cared about me that much, he could be

allowed to stay on Chambrassa with me for eternity, provided two things. First, he had to allow the MI to continue its experiments on me. Second . . ." Even Old Dan was watching her expectantly. The look on his face told Lyzander that Dan had no idea what she was going to say. "He had to submit to becoming an imprint robot." No one responded. Lyzander looked to his compatriots, looking for a hint that someone knew this, that he had not been the only one fooled. "The Eden Protocol never had anything to do with any ability I have to extend life. I have a long life span. A very long one. If it's because of some psychic energy, then it is something that stays internal. If it is because of where I grew up, because of the extinct God fish or the psychic powers we harnessed on Barrington--well, those secrets are lost now. All that's left is me. There is only one Eden Protocol. Chambrassa is a home of imprint robots. Imprint robots and one woman who betrayed humanity." * * * No one spoke. The information had to sink in. Ioming took it hard. Lyzander wanted to put his arm around her, but it felt wrong. The room was small. Everyone would be watching them. He decided not to and was never sure he had made the right decision.

"So what does this mean?" Dan asked. "Evelyn was killed in that research facility, or what?" "No, Captain, I don't think so," Adjia said. Her voice remained even and practical. She already knew this and thus there was no emotion in it for her. She was just reporting. "The MI found a way, of course. This other Dan is proof. But its method was that it had to let Dan die, then Dan could be brought back. The resurrection virus it designed was able to select only Dan and not Evelyn." "How is that possible?" Ioming asked Adjia shook her head. "I don't know. I really don't. I know it learned the trick from an alien intelligence. Maybe from several. Dan once told me there was a life form that they discovered that possessed a sort of hive mentality. But the only individual members that displayed intelligence were the oldest members. After many days of observation, he finally saw their secret first hand. The animal died. And then came back intelligent. Once he had seen that, he stopped watching behavior and looked inside, where he found evidence of a massive viral infection. It seemed the virus was rewriting the DNA of the organism post-mortem. It rebuilt the animal from the inside out, turning it into an intelligent creature." "That makes no sense. Viruses only seek to reproduce themselves. They cause disease, not intelligence."

Old Dan chuckled. "Actually, Captain, viruses are the reason we have intelligence. Our genome shows many instances of being steered by viruses." "Sickness is not hereditary," Lyzander said. "No, that's true. But some viruses, in trying to replicate themselves, succeed in changing out DNA without killing us. Those fundamental changes, assuming they occur throughout the body, or at the very least in the reproductive cells, can be transmitted parent to child. The changes by an individual virus might be next-to-nothing, but millions of such changes could account for humanity's intelligence." "That doesn't make sense," Lyzander said. "You're not thinking long term," Dan said. "As humans, we're geared to think a single lifetime is a long time. Or several generations, or the entire history of humanity. But the truth is that those are all very short timescales compared to how long it takes life to evolve on a single planet. Hundreds of millions of years. Small changes add up in the long run." "In the end, I guess it doesn't matter how it learned it. Maybe the MI wouldn't even be able to pinpoint its exact origin, but the point was, it had learned how to destroy Evelyn. It meant to let all those Dans die. It ordered me to shut down the power to the facility. But I wouldn't. I wouldn't do it. I couldn't."

"Couldn't it shut down the power on its own?" Ioming asked. "Oh I don't know. Maybe it could have. I would like to believe that because the facility was coded to Dan and my DNA that we have some kind of control. But the truth was maybe it didn't want to force the issue. For all I know, it couldn't shut down the facility. That would be akin to suicide, wouldn't it?" "So let's assume it couldn't. And you wouldn't," Lyzander said, "That means there is a storage facility of Dan Weegan clones with Evelyn still in within them buried in Chambrassa. Does this mean we can get Evelyn out; we can somehow infect the MI with her? Maybe we still have a chance to stop this thing." "If only it were that easy, Captain," Rogue said flatly. "There are several major problems. "First, we have to get into the facility, but I might have an idea of how we can do that. Second, we have to figure out how to go from Dan Weegan with Evelyn to Evelyn alone. That I have no idea how to do. I assume if it were possible, the MI would have already done it." "It is possible," Adjia said. "I believe I know how it can be done." * * * Alarms went off all over the ship. Jurrigan and Hector paid no more attention to these new alerts than they did to any of the other warnings the ship had been sounding since they'd

boarded. They had no idea how the battle beyond the hull of ReHorakhty was going. This was one of the biggest obstacles to overcome with a boarding mission. A team could spend hours taking over a ship, only to then find out that the battle had been over for hours. Parties had been known to be put on trial for killing enemy soldiers after the battle was already over. In this case, though, Jurrigan knew they had little worry about. There would be no truce with the zombies. She glanced at Hector as he opened fire down the hall and then rolled an AG grenade down the hall to create a bottleneck. Present company excluded, of course, she thought. This was a can of worms. If she had time to think about it, maybe she would have considered the implications that a zombie was able to overcome what must surely be a constant pressure to conform and obey the commands of the Nothing, all for the sake of loyalty. But as the blaster fire filled the air around her with hot death and she opened up covering fire while Hector advanced, she was unable to think. Thinking would get you killed. All that mattered was action. They fought their way down the hallway. They fought their way toward the center of the ship. They killed and killed without thinking. Eventually, they reached the bridge.

They were unaware of the army that followed them. The army of small, lithe, furry critters that feasted on the dead. Jurrigan and Hector reached the bridge. They knew some of the people here. Executive Officer Harold. Mother Vallaq. Many others. They knew them and they killed them. Jurrigan lowered the Pilot ring. When the Pilots were all visible, she saw only five people. She worried about it for less than a second. Then she put a single blaster shot into each of the five heads. "Blue Sektor navy, this is the Re-Horakhty. I have some good news for you." The ships around them were all engaged. "Do you know how to steer this thing, Hector?" He shook his head. "We read you, Re-Horakhty." The voice that answered was not the admirals. Now that Jurrigan looked, she couldn't see The Undertow at all. "Keep your distance, Re-Horakhty. We are still picking up zombie life within your hull." She looked at Hector. "Affirmative. It's just two of us. We couldn't get them all. Send a couple of boarding parties. Get some Pilots on board and let's get this thing into the fight." There was silence from the other ships. The Re-Horakhty continued to drift away from the battle. "Blue Sektor, this is Officer Jurrigan. Confirm that backup?"

Silence was their only answer. Jurrigan jabbed the com button again, but Hector pulled her hand off the switch. "It's no use, Jurry." "But we fought so hard. We took the ship." Hector smiled. Or at least, she thought he was. The skin on his face was so badly burned, it was difficult to be sure. Hector lifter her hand. He guided her blaster up to his chin. "We did good," he said. "We fought hard," she said. He forced her finger to pull the trigger. Alone, utterly alone, Jurrigan had one more shot to fire. She had fought hard. She knew that she had learned something that others might need to know, but she lacked the strength to share her revelation. The revelation of her friend, Hector, of the true power of Meat. She would not share her knowledge, but she held onto it, and it warmed her. Jurrigan fired her last shot. * * * Old Dan stood up. "I gladly volunteer whatever's left of Evelyn in my brain." "Dan, please," Adjia said. "It would do no good. You are a creation. You are artificial. Both of you are. You are purely

synthetic, merely based on Dan. The Evelyn you have known all these years is a lie." "How can that be true?" He asked. "Dan do you remember when that MI robot went rogue," she threw a glance toward the big robot in their presence, "and shot you? [author's note: revision of first interlude.]" "You gave me such comfort," Old Dan said. After that, Evelyn had come back stronger. Getting shot had awakened her within him. "You nursed me back to health." "I did neither, Dan. I hooked you up to the input port in our bedroom. The one you don't even know about. The one that I use regulate power and the hundreds of other little things I must do to keep the facility active. Your mind was put in stasis and downloaded. The body you were in was trashed, completely destroyed. It was lucky for me you managed to get to the surface. I would have had to go down after you, and of course the mind of your new version wouldn't have remembered anything about the robot." "Dan, version 2.0," the younger Dan said. "As if you have any reason to talk," Adjia spat. "You think you are better? The MI resurrected several Dans, not just you. Once it realized you were free of Evelyn, it began to experiment. Most of what you know is a lie. Your memories are corrupt. You were no more than a child's putty toy."

Younger Dan looked away. He wore a bitter look. "The new body and mind simply had a stronger Evelyn programmed into it than the last. It was a mistake of chance. Nothing more." Dan said nothing. Somewhere unseen, water dripped. The sound echoed through the caves and the empty halls. "You spoke of a way to free Evelyn," Zhenjuan said. Her voice was quiet. She stepped forward. "Would you like to tell us?" Adjia sighed and tore her gaze away from the younger Dan. "I'm sorry, dear. Yes, you are right. Or perhaps you would like to tell it. I bet you have figured it out." "It will require my help," she said. "I believe it was Dan's unique symbiosis of organic and synthetic that inspired the Pilots." "No," Lyzander said, "Pilots are a Blue Sektor creation. They're human made, meat to the core." "I'm afraid not, Captain," Rogue said. Dan looked back at the machine, which hadn't spoken for a while during their little palaver. He noticed with a heavy heart that Cyrus was absently digging at its leg. It was behaving exactly a person with brain damage. He pushed it out of his mind. He tried to forget that he had caused his brother's

condition. Twice he had let Cyrus down, and it appeared he would never gotten a third chance. "Little that Blue Sektor does is not indirectly controlled by the MI. Your Pilots are not a human creation as you believe. They are, in fact, a direct consequence of the merger of Dan and Evelyn, as Zhenjuan said. They are an experiment in merging organic and synthetic, many times multiple organics and synthetics, many personalities for many dimensions." "No human can do what we do," Zhenjuan said. "Because we are not human." "You are a sketch, all Pilots are. I suspect that the experiment in post-humans will continue for centuries to come, even after all humans have been converted to imprints. The MI seems to enjoy this game very much," Rogue said. "I'm not ready to admit defeat yet. I'm not giving up," Lyzander snapped. "Of course not, Captain," Rogue said. "I merely meant hypothetically." "The point," Zhenjuan said, "is that it will require my mind to be there. As the machine used Dan Weegan to join the constituent parts to create me, so must I be used to separate Evelyn from Dan." "Correct," Adjia said.

"I don't see how. Are Dan and Evelyn going to magically split or something?" Captain Lyzander asked. "Of course not, Captain. The process as I envision it will be this: someone there will have to begin a transport of Dan, except that the transport will not have to go far." "Stop right there," Lyzander said. Realization had just caught up with him. "Are you about to suggest that we send Evelyn into Zhenjuan's body? Because that sounds pretty dangerous to me." "No one else can do it," Zhenjuan said. "Only I can manipulate the dimensions as needed. I will have to sift out Evelyn from the information I receive, and in an instant. I have had multiple personalities in the past, so I know how it is possible." "And Zhenjuan?" Welker asked. "What happens to her?" His voice sounded weak. "She will still be in there, somewhere," Zhenjuan answered. "Buried deep, I think, back in her university most likely. Back where she was once happy." "Never to see the light of day?" Welker asked. Zhenjuan touched Welker's cheek. "You may have to teach her again the secret of the light." Her hand faded to black. She seemed to be doing that more and more now, Lyzander noticed. He wondered if she could even control it anymore. As if hearing his

thoughts (she may very well have heard his thoughts, Lyzander realized), she said, "Maybe its better if she stays buried, too." Welker shook his head. "I'll fight for you." She smiled, but could say no more. "What happens to Dan when that little procedure is done," Young Dan asked. "He will be filtered out," Adjia said. "He will be lost." "Of course," Young Dan said. "If it helps, he is one of many," Adjia said. "There are many Dan Weegans there. Not all will be good candidates. Some will be like this one, corrupt. You must try to find the right one." "Hold on," Lyzander said. "You said there had to be someone else in there." "Someone will be needed to guide the procedure," Rogue responded. "And to open the place from the inside. The Pilots would be better of going there in physical form." "How will the original person get inside in the first place?" Lyzander asked. Then, it came to him. The slab he was currently leaning against suddenly felt a little colder. He stood up and moved away from it. "This isn't going to work," Lyzander said. "How in the hell are we going to transport someone into the MI's main research facility. Won't there be defenses?"

"It will not be easy, Captain, if that's what you mean. I believe I can get one person in," Rogue said. "With luck, I may even be able to directly communicate with the MI unit there on Chambrassa." "I thought it was not functional," Old Dan said. "The MI sent a robot to visit. I thought that the facility was shut down." Adjia said. "The upper facility is shut down and disconnected from the MI. It represents some older technology. But the lower levels are still active and connected to the MI. We'll have to go in higher up." "Why did it send a robot, then?" Dan asked. "That whole attack on Dan started from something it needn't have bothered doing." Adjia shrugged. "Maybe it didn't want to send up a unit from deeper down and risk exposing itself. Maybe it really was just an assassin robot, sent to kill you, Dan. I really don't know." "If the upper levels have been dormant, how will we transport in. Doesn't it require a body waiting?" Rogue nodded. "We will have to activate the system remotely. And hope that it still works." "So it's entirely possible that whoever goes could have their mind sent into nothing at all." Lyzander said.

"Or that the body might not be viable, yes." "Is there a recall function?" Lyzander asked weakly. Rogue shrugged. "The system was set up as a one way street. The MI never considered the possibility that it could fail, because it could actively control both ends of the process. And if something went wrong, what did it lose? Dan Weegan and his rider Evelyn. However, it's possible that a residual memory might remain." Dan glanced at Cyrus, who was staring stupidly at the wall, poking the steel as though doing so might reveal some great mystery of life. Residual memory. Lyzander closed his eyes. "Zhenjuan, how long will it take you to get to your ship?" he asked. "Fifteen minutes, given the distance we covered and the potential of MI drones attacking," she said. "I'm going to go ahead and transport," Lyzander said. "Zhenjuan, get to your ship, meet me at the door on Chambrassa." "I'm going with her," Welker said. "Fine," Lyzander replied. "Makes sure she gets there safe. The rest of you . . ." "We'll wait," Ioming said. "If the MI should find this facility, we'll defend it as long as we can, to give you time to come back."

Lyzander felt a chill run up his spine. He started toward the slab, but Ioming stopped him. She kissed him. "You better come back to me, soldier." * * * Vassarator Deluxe came into perception before his ship was fully out of hyperspace. He could see and yes even smell--though "smell" was only a word to describe a process his brain went through, more of an analogy than a fact--the presence of the MI ships. Their rocket trails hung in space, slowly dispersing, but still present. He found himself thick in a cloud of burnt plasma. He could taste the salty-sick ocean on the planet below, the stew of minerals and matter that churned constantly, leaving an even bigger vapor trail in the wake of the planet, and even the tang of the atmosphere that kept the planet from drying up and blowing away. He came into reality tensed and ready to engage maneuvers, but there was no need. The MI ships lumbered around him. Vassarator Deluxe flew through the thick of them, coming to within collision-warning range of one, but they made no move toward him. They were either focused on their task, or they simply didn't care that he had arrived. Vassarator Deluxe tried to work up surprise regarding this new development, but couldn't quite get there. The truth was that he had suspected that the MI robots he had possessed were a

little too easy to overtake. The truth was that he had never felt as though he was 100% a part of the Nothing. The truth was, deep down, he had smelled the reek of MI at the bottom of the seemingly empty pit that was the Nothing infection, and that hint of a stench was enough to keep him from fully embracing this new thing. Despite it all, Vassarator Deluxe had been raise with a deep-seeded hatred for the MI. Vassarator Deluxe's worry turned to joy. A new smell crept into his consciousness as he guided his ship toward the large land mass on floating in the ocean below him. It was the smell of her. Yes. He closed his eyes. A few molecules were all he could detect, but he clung to them. The consciousness of the robots crept into his own. He could sense their plan. They were canvassing and searching, but something was frustrating their efforts. They had already begun to move to the desert that surrounded the city, but they were coming up empty. They were starting to calculate probabilities of escape. The MI tried reading him, seeing if he was coming up with anything. Vassarator Deluxe blocked the read. The infection had never been complete, or he would not have been able to block. Something inside him kept that small knowledge secret. And, because the infection hadn't been complete, it had unlocked his

powers. He was stronger now. The MI reeled when it hit the wall in his mind. The ships started to turn. Would he be able to possess the ships as he had done before? He doubted it. The MI had all but surrendered to him in that battle. He concentrated anyway. It was worth a try. The cannons of the ships fired, crisscrossing past Vassarator Deluxe's ship. His ship twirled in response, pinwheeling out of range. He stopped facing one of them. He was dissolving, somewhat. Had anyone been in the cockpit with him (no one would have fit--well, maybe a cat or two), they would have seen him turn into something of a ghost. The truth was that he was still entirely there. But he also wasn't entirely there. A hand wouldn't have passed freely through his body, it would have met resistance. But not total resistance. It would have felt like pushing a hand into warm sand. Vassarator Deluxe was reaching out with his physical and nonphysical self, the self that had always lived on the higher dimensions was now for the first time joined by an actual physical body that twisted and contorted as the physics of the different dimensions allow. Improbably, he filled one of the MI ships. In the higher dimensions, it wasn't so hard to do. It required great effort, but it was achievable by a kind of quantum smearing effect. At the same time, his physical self kept his ship dancing and darting away from enemy fire.

The robots on the MI ship were not to be taken, but by filling the space, by crowding out their higher, MI-driven consciousness, he was able to deactivate them for that moment. What he did with that moment was open up all available cannons on the other MI ships. The other ships, realizing what had happened, returned fire, no longer worrying about the tiny, impossible to hit ship that Vassarator Deluxe occupied. The smaller of the other two ships erupted in fire. The hits were all critical. The other flanked the ship that Vassarator Deluxe controlled and filled its starboard side with white hot fire. The melting steel smoldered, but Vassarator Deluxe wasn't worried about it. This saved him the trouble of self-destructing that ship. He leapt over to the flanking ship, making another push, this one much more difficult to achieve. He pushed himself into the other ship. His heart was racing on several levels of reality. Real sweat poured out of his smoky head, beading down his forehead a little ways before dribbling into him exactly like water into thirsty sand. The other ship sprang to life. The two crippled ships had just enough life left to turn on their newly taken over comrade. The MI howled. It had figured out Vassarator Deluxe's game too late. He flew the remaining ship in between its two compatriots, who could do nothing as their ships disintegrated around them, and overloaded the power supply in one final push. The heat

alone killed everything on board all three ships while Vassarator pushed his own ship up toward the moon, where he was safe from the heat damage. Vassarator Deluxe snapped back into reality, dizzy. He was covered sweat. He felt like the inside of his throat was sweating. He coughed. Coughing turned into a feeling like regurgitation. He choked it down. When his mouth filled with something vile, he swallowed. He was shaking; every muscle trembled from the almighty effort. He turned his ship slowly back toward Earth. The three ships lay dormant. Two were in the process of exploding apart, flinging debris in every direction with each microexplosion. He passed over them and entered Earth's atmosphere up near the pole and zoomed down in toward the major landmass that contained The City. Slowly, his nerves began to calm as he breathed the heavy oxygen of his cockpit. His stomach settled. The sweat began to dry up. A needle came out of the cockpit wall and pricked his skin. He didn't feel it. The tube attached to the needle supplied his blood with saline and glucose, rehydrating him. As he approached the landmass at a nice, even velocity, he began to recover his strength. He took his time. He wanted to be ready. He knew just where he was going to. He knew exactly where Zhenjuan was. Her scent

was thick in the air. He was hard and ready for the final showdown. * * * The upper facility on Chambrassa was void of light. Machines hummed and whirred. Servos worked invisible machinery. In a distant corner, a small red LED illuminated space around it with a few photons of light. The glow told no stories. In another moment, it was gone again. Stillness pervaded the dark room. Nothing seemed to change. A noise that was deafening in contrast to the silence bore its way into the void. It was a squeak of air moving past vocal cords. In the center of the room, near where the servos had been active, came a thud of meat hitting metal. The metal didn't yield much sound. A cough. The red LED came back on. Near the LED, metal scraped against metal. From a hole in the wall a small orb emerged. A small spotlight blinked on from the probe's head. It scanned the bare floor. The light leapt up onto the table, then fell back down on man on the floor. He was curled in a fetal position. His ragged breathing picked up speed. He moved. The probe slid through the air toward him.

"Shall I turn on lights?" The probe asked in a feminine voice. The man shook his head. He was up on his feet, using the table for support. He was naked. His penis dangled. His backbone stuck out of the thin skin in sharp points. The probe hung in the air, not moving. "Clothes?" The man asked in a harsh whisper. "Right away, sir." The probe was visible because of the light. It was on the other side of the room. Then it was in the corner, near the red LED. Then it was back. Neatly folded clothes hung below it on invisible strings. Lyzander donned the clothes. They fit the body perfectly. "Mirror," he said. The probe was lost behind a square of electromagnetic energy. The energy solidified into a reflective surface. The semidark added shadows to Lyzander's face. His eyes were too deep. His cheeks looked hollow and gaunt. The face was still recognizable. "Sir," the probe said, "orders are for you to go to the surface, correct?" Lyzander stood up straighter. These muscles cried out in pain, but the pain was silenced quickly. The nanobots were

working as fast as they could to give the body its old strength. "Weapon," he said. "Right away, sir." The probe was on the other side of the room. It was back, a gun dangling below it. Lyzander took the weapon. It was heavy and covered in a light coat of oil. "First we open the door. After that, we go deeper. We will be heading into the main facility." "Yes, sir. I have authorization from Agent Adjia." The probe sounded mildly confused. "Let's go roll out the welcome mat," Lyzander said in the voice of Dan Weegan.

Chapter 22: Stars Fall

Zhenjuan reached out into the hospital. Her consciousness billowed and filled the morgue and the hallways around it, as well as the vents, ductwork, and other points of entry. Welker concentrated. He was having trouble keeping up with Zhenjuan. He had given himself to help her during the snowstorm. She had yet to let go. Zhenjuan was bleeding him dry. But it was almost over. He would either lie down and die soon, or they would be in the bowels of Chambrassa and all this would be over. So long as he got to rest, Welker would take either solution. "The way is clear," Zhenjuan said. They emerged from the floor of the morgue. Zhenjuan held the blaster pistol the captain had given her. Welker still held the ballistic pistol. Welker returned the cover to its place. With a minor adjustment, it fit seamlessly into the surrounding floor tile.

Zhenjuan warmed the air just inside the passageway in order to match the temperature of the surrounding floor, to make it all but invisible to thermal scans. They made it to the entrance they had come in without seeing anything. Welker dared to believe that the robots had lost them. A small globe floated in the hallway in front of them. Its eyespot changed from green to red. Welker, Zhenjuan and the probe all regarded each other for a moment. The probe clicked. Welker felt an invisible hand shove him. He brought his gun up so it would be ready when he hit the ground. The probe unleashed a barrage of shots. That filled the space where Welker and Zhenjuan had just been. Welker fired the first return shot. The probe swiveled down and toward him. The probe disappeared. A puff of smoke remained. The husk clunked to the ground somewhere up the hall. "Multiple bogeys closing," Zhenjuan said. Only now she wasn't Zhenjuan anymore. She was Star Shade. Her arms were black wells of stars. Welker stared, mesmerized, until Zhenjuan picked him up. "From behind us. We have to go, soldier." Welker complied. He hurried as best he could behind her. They beat their way out of the hospital. He could sense them now, as part of some kind of residual power he was picking up

from her. He could see a half-dozen of the little things closing in on them from multiple directions within the hospital and outside. Zhenjuan did not run toward the road they had come in on. She ran instead toward the cliff face in the opposite direction. They reached the edge of the woods as multiple probes emerged from the hospital. Welker fired behind him without looking. He regretted wasting the shot. The probes all parted, dodging the bullet with precision. They entered the woods. Trees began popping and exploding behind them. He no longer felt tired, but he could feel his energy draining. She pushed him and guided him away from the blaster shots. They were coming up fast on the cliff. Star Shade stopped. Welker slid on his hip. He rolled behind a tree. Star Shade turned to face the robots. She held out her hand. Darkness bloomed from her hand. The blaster shots dissolved into her hand. Welker felt his strength drain away. His eyelids sank down. He sensed more than saw what happened next. The probes had been coming on fast, now they slowly turned to flee. The expanding black hole being born from Star Shade's fingertips drew them in. They accelerated toward her, firing wildly at her and at him, but the shots were all fuel for the black hole.

They were gone. The black hole shrank to a pinpoint. Nothing behind it had been affected, but several trees before it the field were stripped of branches. The smaller trees were not bent toward Zhenjuan. They were bowing to her power. Welker opened his eyes. Zhenjuan stood before him. "Are you okay, cowboy?" He smiled. "Let's get going," he said, drawing on the last of his strength. "We don't have much time." He stood. She stood next to him. "There is a way down up here. A path I saw." They crept to the edge of the cliff. He could see a narrow path sinking down to the left. He heard a sound he recognized. The sound was a high-speed thumping. A ship. Welker dove to the side. The ship appeared in front of them. Welker fired his pistol at the ship. The bullets exploded on the surface of the ship. Fragments ricocheted away. Star Shade didn't hesitate. If she had, she would have been gunned down before she could have conjured up her standard defenses as the space where she was standing was filled with red-hot plasma. She leapt forward and landed on the cockpit of the starfighter occupied by Vassarator Deluxe. Welker called for her, but she couldn't have heard. The ship rose up and twisted

away toward town. Welker could not move. He pulled himself to his feet. He had no strength left in his muscles, but stood anyway. In the distance, he heard an explosion. A plume of smoke arose from the center of town. He felt a snap in his mind. Strength flooded back into him. He knew then that all was lost. He descended the cliff. At the bottom, he began reloading his pistol, wondering what he could kill that would fix this. * * * Zhenjuan landed in a three point stance on the cockpit of the ship. Vassarator Deluxe's lips curled up into a grimace as he pulled the ship back. She held on with inhuman strength. Her fingertips dug into the canopy as though it were bread dough. He slammed the ship to the side. Her body flopped against the side, but she held. The ground sank below her, moving down, down, down. With one, last, desperate hope, Zhenjuan reached out not with her body, but with her mind. For the last time, she pushed into Vassarator Deluxe's world. * * * The city spread out below her. She perched herself on the edge of the building and scanned for him. Behind her, footfalls. She spun shooting stars from her fingertips. Vassarator Deluxe shoved them aside. She was gone from the ledge. He ran to the edge of the building and peered over the edge.

A foot came up and caught him on the chin. He rolled with the kick, rolled hard. His landed the backward somersault on his feet and came up. Knives shot out and unfolded into his hands. He swiped the air as she charged, but she rose up and over him. He turned, spinning. Her foot caught him on the chin. One of his knives spun out of his grip, flipping out over the side of the building. Vassarator Deluxe's nostrils were filled with her stink. It enraged him. It drove him forward. He charged, swiping empty air with his knife. She rolled out of the way. Not this time. She wouldn't win this time. She landed and came up throwing those damn stars at him again, but her power was weak. He sensed it. She had been weakened since their last meeting. The only thing that had kept her going was her sidekick. Vassarator Deluxe saw the thread that connected them. Clever girl. She spun out of the way of his feint. He spun around behind her and swiped up. The line was broken. Star Shade collapsed. Vassarator Deluxe drove his knife into the belly of his helpless victim. "Now you die, Pilot 3." She looked him in the eye. Her face changed. She smiled. Zhenjuan touched his face. Not the face he showed them, but the

skin underneath. "Mike Vassar," she said, "you are still in there. I knew there was more than darkness." Vassarator Deluxe recoiled, stumbling back. Impossibly, she got to her feet. Hunched over, the knife stuck out of her back, like the horn of a unicorn. She straightened. She looked him in the eyes. "Mike, you can beat them. Cast your mask aside, come out of hiding." "Fuck you!" Vassarator Deluxe screamed. Suddenly his mask burned his eyes. He stripped it off. "You can fight them, Mike. I know you are in there. They could never get to us. Not really." The cape choked him. He threw it off. She was still fighting, somehow. "Deep inside, Mike. You have stayed alive by hiding in the closet. You were there when Paul died. Deep inside in the real you. They didn't know there was someone under the mask. The little boy you never let out to play, except when you were playing pretend." He screamed and stripped his costume. She was doing something to him. She was making him hurt. She made him feel bad. He was almost naked. The burning stopped. He felt layers of darkness pealing off him. Zhenjuan faced him. For the first time she saw the real

person under the costume. He was on his knees, crying. He was just a small boy. So small that she wondered how she had ever mistaken him for a man. "I take it back," he screamed from his knees. "I'm sorry, Zhenny!" Zhenjuan smiled. Her lips were coated with blue blood that glowed like light. She fell. * * * Welker found her on the edge of town. She had slipped from the starfighter. Her left leg twisted out at a horrifying angle. She struggled for life as he ran to her side. "Zhenjuan! Please, try not to move." He could feel her pain. It oozed from her in waves. He felt a sharp pain in his chest. Broken ribs and a broken spine. He felt a swelling, misshapen feeling in his body. But he was not injured. "Zhenjuan, you're going to be okay." "A boy," she whispered. "What?" "All he was under the costume was a little boy." Welker tried to understand. "I can't help Captain Lyzander without you." "Yes you can," she said. "You fought them off before any of us. You have strength. You." She said no more.

Forever.

Chapter 23: Deaths

"How long has it been?" Dan Weegan asked. "Your ability to ask exactly two minutes since the last time indicates you hardly need me to tell you," the small robot said. "Just tell me." "It has been an hour and a half," the robot said, "and two minutes." "She should have been here by now," Lyzander-as-Dan said. He adjusted the blaster and peeked out again. "The intricacies of spacetime jumps are quite deep, Dan. You could--"

"Enough," Lyzander said. He was worried. And not just about the delay. Since arriving in this facility, Lyzander had felt different. What worried him is that he had forgotten about the interference pattern. Lyzander did not feel whole anymore. He had too much time to dwell on that feeling. He wondered now how Rogue had even managed to get a clear signal to transport him here. Trying to pursue certain lines of thought filled his mind with bright green oozing poison. Lyzander didn't feel right at all. "Did you and your main unit complete the reprogramming of the lower facility units as Rogue instructed?" Lyzander asked "Sir, the programming is only temporary. If the facility reaches full power, I fear I will not be able maintain my hold." A small boy ran past on the manicured lawn that stretched between the entrance to the mountain and the vacant starport. Lyzander ducked, but the boy had seen nothing. The boy stopped a few meters away. He grabbed two handfuls of grass and pulled them up, roots and all. He tossed them into the air and let the blades shower him. "Sissy! Come play!" Distantly, Lyzander heard a voice yell, "Get back here this instant."

The boy laughed and ran away. In the stillness that followed, Lyzander realized it was night time. He had seen the boy as clearly as day when the boy had been moving, but now darkness filled the space and Lyzander could no longer even see the lawn. It was then that it occurred to him that the body he was occupying might not be human. Lyzander decided he could not wait here any longer. Waiting was giving him too much time to think, and he had things to do if they were going to have any chance of finishing this operation in time. He left the door unlocked. He left the probe there. "When a ship arrives at the starport, let whoever is flying it in, got it?" "Yes sir, Mr. Weegan." Lyzander boarded the lift at the end of the hall. The probe had assured him that this one was the functional one, but he was still surprised when the lift activated. The floor opened. Lyzander descended into the bowels of the facility. * * * The probe lifted the tile carefully. Something was jamming its scanner, but it had detected the air movement and a signal, beckoning to it. The panel moved under the force of the probe's invisible hand. It set the panel carefully aside. It fired off several burst transmissions of its location and activity, not knowing if any others could hear.

The probe was not worried about lack of contact with the ships up above, since it had lost contact with them almost as soon as it arrived, thanks to the inherent jamming properties of the Strange Nothing Field, the official name the MI had created for the energy around the Nothing when they were in sufficient numbers. The probe was not worried, but it did feel naked, severed from its host. And it had not seen another robot, except the dead ones, since coming into this edifice, which had somehow held up over the years when many others had not. The probe descended, weapon ready. It moved through air as though the air were a rail that went anywhere the probe wanted. It inched forward. A noise, inaudible to any organic ears, filled the probe's senses. A brother entered the room. Over this short distance, the probes could communicate with super high frequency sound. They did so. They learned much in a few seconds. A little while later, two more probes entered the room. The gathering force swelled a few minutes later. The signal from the cave was a call for them. In numbers, the probes felt something akin to comfort. The higher-dimensional levels of their brains began to interact, creating a nexus analogous to a few powerful neurons. Enabled thus, they descended into the tunnel.

One human had escaped. The others would not be so lucky. * * * The starship landed on Chambrassa in stealth mode. No one looking directly at it would have seen or heard anything. The cockpit opened. A man dropped to the ground. Something in his mind rattled. He wasn't quite sure what he was doing. And damn if he wasn't tired. He walked forward. His legs felt like jelly. But he remembered these words: Walk straight across the long green lawn south of the starport. The door is in the side of the cliff. He could no longer remember who had said the words. A dream might remind him. A nice long dream. Welker remembered Zhenjuan. She was so beautiful. "Sir, this is a private col--" Welker cried out and fired his pistol. The young man dropped to the ground. Welker stared at the dead body. A flash of blue lightning arced from the bullet hole to the steel platform that surrounded the landing pad. It was a robot. It was a robot, he remembered. The whole damn planet was filled with them. He had something to do. Welker stumbled forward. He found the lawn. He found the door. It opened out of sheer rock and admitted him. "Dan Weegan is through that door," an invisible voice said.

Welker thanked the kind voice, which seemed to be him to be a kind of dream. He never even saw the probe. Welker hurried toward the door. Dan Weegan would know the answer. Dan Weegan would know what was wrong with him. Dan Weegan would fix him. The door opened. Welker fell into the abyss. * * * Above all else, Rogue was paranoid. He had to be; all rogues did. Constant vigilance was necessary. The MI part of him was not used to being a rogue. "This is fucked," Ioming said. "Wake him up, Rogue." "And strand the Captain on Chambrassa?" She said something else, but Rogue was no longer listening. Ioming readied her gun at the doorway. She barked orders to Dan Weegan and Dan Weegan. Adjia cowered. They followed her orders. Ioming crossed the hall, where wide doors of the old elevators made a place for her to hide. Rogue filled the door way. He raised his arm, keeping most of his body hidden. His blasters were ready. A low humming approached, but Rogue found his concentration fading. Inside him, something was going wrong. Rogue was in a field. Gentle hills rolled into the horizon. In front of him stood a human child. Rogue was a human too. Flesh covered his hands and face. Here, he was separate. In

here, he could think of himself as he. But when he was out there, he could only think of we. "What are you doing?" Rogue asked. "You might have killed the Captain. You could not be sure the signal would be strong enough." "You worry too much, Rogue. You worry about silly things." "You are not right. You were never a Rogue, were you?" Rogue asked. "I want you out of me now." "Rogue you have to open yourself. When you do, you see the possibilities." "You never left the MI control, did you?" Rogue asked. "Of course I did, silly. It wasn't the MI that blocked transmission. It wasn't the MI that let the Captain through." "The Nothing. You've been corrupted." "Not corrupted. I have given myself," the boy said. "Out. I want you out," Rogue said. "Not possible, Rogue. Not possible. Don't worry, though. Don't you see?" Rogue could see them now. Thousands of them. They lined the hills in front of him. The dead shambled toward him. They were everywhere, all around him. They were on top of him. They assaulted him. Rogue backed away from the hoard.

"Don't you see, Rogue. We can work together. We want the same thing. We want to end the MI. That's why they led the Captain through." "Wake him up. Wake him up here. You have what you wanted, wake him the Captain," the boy said. "Yes, Rogue. I will do this. I will wake up Captain Lyzander, if you give yourself to us." But Rogue couldn't. He was paranoid by nature. He fought off the hoard. He fought back. This was visualization, of course. In reality circuits were closing, software reprogramming other arrays of software, trying to prevent corruption. Threedimensional viruses attacked from multiple angles. Rogue struggled. Rogue considered letting go, cutting the power to his emotion chip. He knew Omega would activate, if the interference hadn't already activated it. If joining with the MI hadn't already activated it. Rogue knew neither of those things were true. He knew that so long as his emotion chip functioned, Omega stayed inert. He fought off the zombies. He poured all of his energy into it. He was winning. He backed up further. Something like a wall. He fought. The zombies scattered, dissolving into puffs of smoke as he battled them off. They wouldn't take him. They couldn't. He was too strong.

From behind, Rogue felt two powerful arms grab him. The emotion chip he had been so worried about stayed whole. In a blink, circuitry routed around it. The emotion chip, whole, isolated, lived on. He had poured all his system resources into fighting off the Nothing. And he succeeded in that battle. The Nothing was not what took him. Rogue opened his eyes and beheld chaos. * * * Ioming ordered old and young Dan into position. She asked Rogue to wake Lyzander but it refused. She positioned herself in space across the hall. The first probe had been a vanguard. She was certain that they would soon be under attack. The probes rounded the corner. She opened fire. One went down, then another. Ioming felt a sting in her side, but she kept firing. She took down a six of them, then a dozen. Another wave came at her. She took them down. A few shots came from the doorway. Ioming steeled her resolve. Her side burned, and not the skin. The burn ran deeper, but she couldn't think about it now. More came. * * * The call was hard to ignore. The call was loud and resounding. They came because the humans were here and they

would kill it. The probes fell one by one. Then, something shifted. Their circuitry, geared toward flowing into a larger consciousness opened up, despite the static. The MI fleet had arrived. * * * Adjia watched Dan--Her Dan flop on the ground. She slapped his face. That foul-mouthed Blue Sektor Lieutenant couldn't see so it didn't matter. Adjia was afraid. Dan would not stop flopping. She glanced at the Other Dan. He shrugged, uninterested in any of it. She slapped Her Dan again. She had been worried about this since day one. Robots could not be trusted. She knew that, but this wasn't some robot. This was Dan. This was the man she had loved in some form or another most of her life. The Other Dan was hardly anything at all. Except that he was one of them. Adjia hadn't told everything she knew to Lyzander and Ioming and the others. She hadn't needed to. She wished them no ill will and she wanted them to succeed. That was all they needed to know. Why go into all the gory details. Why tell them about the successes the MI had with her, of the horrible things he had done to her? Why tell them of the virus it had isolated in her blood and her brain? Why tell them of how it had

manipulated the virus within her, the beautiful life-giving remnant of the God fish and his Jelly symbiote. They had been one, once. The Jelly and the God--one not much bigger than the other. They were a single organism, dancing forever and ever together, but the oceans had grown harsh, too harsh for the delicate Jelly body, so the God began to leave the jelly on the surface, and dive deep to hunt. Then it would return with a body full of food. The Jellies would rejoin God, many Jellies for one God. They would absorb the sustenance from the God. It was not a physical sustenance they required, but spiritual. The spiritual sustenance was merely fueled by the physical. But the God had needed to go further and further away. The Jellies had defended themselves. The Jellies needed sustenance. The Gods would often return after long hunts to find their Jelly population had shrunk further and further still. But from those few remaining Jellies, the strongest emerged. The ones that did not need to touch the God to absorb the sustenance they needed. As the millennia passed and the world change little, the Gods were able to venture further forth into the seas and the Jellies adapted and could communicate and absorb sustenance even half a world away, so long as the God was sufficiently large. Adjia and her ilk had attributed this connection to something psychic, what they called back then between the lines.

And they were right, but they were wrong to think it was an act of psychic love, that somehow their impenetrable love kept them together. The truth that the MI discovered was there was a third party. A virus from the air had infected the Jellies. A virus that had been born on a tiny mammalian fish-thing that inhabited the single tiny island on the planet. If that had not happened, they would have died out. The virus was capable of psychic communication. Because it did not normally infect seaborne creatures, the results were chaotic. Some Jellies died. Some were changed, and became unified with the virus. The virus slowly changed into not an invader but an essential part of their being. And this relationship developed all the way until the first humans arrived. It pained Adjia to see what the MI had done with what was essentially her. Like with the Jellies, the virus had started in her as an invader, but by the time Dan Weegan arrived, it was an integral part of her. She was the most successful human fusion with the Jelly virus. The MI had taken tissues from her, and infected all manner of organisms from its databanks. She had seen strange and beautiful examples of life and intelligence, created in front of her eyes using stored DNA and RNA and XNA and the other protein life-bearing sequences, then infected, then killed. Over and over she had seen this.

Eventually, the MI found the combination that gave it the result it needed, that perfect combination of infectious spreading that could spread to dead humans, remember their DNA sequences, and reconstruct them literally from the ground up, and at the same time infect Pilots on a psychic level. That was an essential part of its plan, and that had taken the longest to get just right. Given its failures with Welker and Zhenjuan--in Zhenjuan's case a catastrophic failure that had made her into something else entirely--Adjia guessed that the MI should have taken another hundred years to research. But it didn't. It also didn't count on Adjia being in tune with the virus. It was, after all, a part of her. Even in its mutated state, she could hear its music through the stars. She had used its knowledge to reprogram Dan. She had devised for them to be close to the Other Dan, as a link to the rest of them. She had devised a plan to rid this universe of the MI once and for all. To free the Nothing, and make it the sole force in the universe. The beautiful virus. They would play and be merry. They would play death and killing. They would play other games, too, in their infancy. Then, they would mature and evolve into something more, something beautiful. Something that would make even the stars bow to its power. But now, damn it, Dan was seizing, and she thought she had an idea why. The MI fleet had arrived, and it was desperately

trying to take over anything robotic. Her reprogrammed Dan was fighting, but losing. Soon, he would be totally under MI influence, no longer human in any recognizable way--not that he had been all that human to begin with. "Gun," she said to the Other Dan, who would soon just be Dan. He handed her the blaster. She fired a shot into Her Dan's head. And he laid still. She stood and turned. Footfalls slammed the floor behind her. A body slammed into her. Cyrus's eyes glowed red. * * * Welker fell. He was Alice. This was Wonderland. He might have fallen asleep on the way down. He didn't notice his gradual deceleration. He was dreaming of falling. Reality was something Welker left behind. No, it was something Zhenjuan took when she left him. Welker landed. He lay on the ground. His eyes were staring out of the open door. Dan Weegan stared back at him, looking confused. "Where is Zhenjuan?" Dan Weegan asked. Welker could not answer. He could not bear to say it. He put the gun under his chin. * * *

Ioming felt another sting in her leg. Another probe exploded. She braced herself against the wall. She risked a glanced to see if Rogue had been hit. A gash had been burned in his chest. It sparked, but Rogue didn't seem to notice. He hadn't altered his pose much since the fight began. He was eerily still, moving only his arm to blow up the oncoming probes. Rogue stood upright. There was movement beyond him. Ioming saw the Cyrus robot. He had Adjia pinned to the wall. He ripped a blaster from her hand. She struggled to stop him, but he was too strong. Ioming charged forward. "Adjia!" She expected Rogue to turn and see what she was seeing. Instead what happened was Rogue put out his hand and shoved her back. Ioming landed with her weight on her wounded leg. Her leg gave out she went down. Rogue moved in time for her to see Cyrus put his blaster to Adjia's head and pull the trigger. Adjia struggled no more. Young Dan put his hands up as though they were a shield, but it did him no good. Cyrus shot Young Dan in the face. His face turned black. He pitched back against the wall, slammed hard and slid down. Ioming found her wits and fired. Her shots took out Cyrus, but Rogue was already inside the room and out of her line of sight.

She propped herself up against the wall. "Rogue!" "Rogue is dead, Lieutenant. He fought valiantly. If not for him, I would not have been able to take back this MI unit as well. I would owe him a word of thanks, if he still existed." "What did you do to him?" she demanded. "He simply returned to the fold. Nothing more. He is still there, in some form, but his personality will never again coalesce as it once did, no matter what else happens." Probes filled the hallway. Ioming raised her gun, but it was useless. There were too many. They could have cut her down already if they were going to. "I still have a use for you, Lieutenant." "Let me guess, you need a song and dance act for your new show." "Something like that. I need you to talk to your Captain. You should know that the Nothing was not completely successful. Alas, it is still in its infancy as an intelligent being. I thought I could control it, but it has proven wily. It was able to coordinate an opening in the interference to allow the Rogue MI under its control to transmit Lyzander--or did you think it would just be that easy? Blink blink and ole Cap is halfway across the universe? Well, it wasn't. And the interference infected your captain. Right now, he is starting to go insane."

Ioming didn't risk looking into the room. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. Rogue's face was solid steel and unreadable. "So you want me tell him game over, right?" "Quite the opposite. I need you to guide him through the procedure." "You're not making much sense." "Do it, and I will revive this Lyzander." Ioming closed her eyes. Behind her lids she saw the scene. Right now, the robot formerly known as Rogue was standing over Ly's body, hand blasters on his head and chest. If she charged, he would kill Lyzander, even if it meant the Rogue body was killed. What did it matter if the MI lost one body? All for Evelyn, she realized. The MI had seen an opportunity in their struggle. It planned to let them complete their task, so it could have Evelyn isolated. To kill her? Ioming didn't know, but that didn't seem quite right. She had no way to warn Lyzander. She had no real options. Ioming opened her eyes. The smell of burned flesh hit her nostrils. Adjia. Both Dans. Cyrus. Rogue. Now her. Then Lyzander. Eternal life was a dream. Ioming always knew it was. Death in battle was the only thing worth fighting for. Lyzander would understand that. She only wished she could record some thoughts somehow, to tell him that she loved him and always had. But then, she supposed, he wasn't going to get anyway, if

what the MI had just told her was right. She guessed it was. The MI never lied, Dan had told them, only chose what truth to tell. Ioming opened fire and launched herself back into the depression in the wall where she'd been hiding. A probe exploded. The others opened fire. A second probe exploded before Ioming fell. She made it only centimeters shy of cover before she felt herself suddenly get very warm. This was a different feeling from the pinpoint shots from their lasers, but one she knew. They had stunned her. She felt her body collapse helpless to the ground. Pain stung her head as it cracked against the floor. She felt herself rolled over by the probes' manipulation fields. She wondered why they had not killed her. She wondered what Rogue needed her for. He might be able to infect her, to take her over, but surely, she thought, surely not in time to help him stop Lyzander. Rogue came into her field of view "Lieutenant," Rogue said. "I have need for someone like you. I know what you're thinking: you will never join me; you would never submit. But I know the human mind and how it works. I know how to change it. It is easy. When I have you in an imprint robot body, I will simply pull a couple of biochemical strings and you will think that joining me was your idea from the start. You will feel love for me. Real love, no fakery

needed. The process is beautiful and irreversible, at least by any normal means. "Humans don't realize how easily a few chemicals can completely change them. They think they are in control and that they are unified in their personality. Until something like disease or injury completely changes them." Rogue laughed. "Such fun playthings, you humans. This is why I kept them around so long. Who knows? With your resolve and spirit, I may even turn you into the universe's greatest Pilot." Rogue stood. Ioming could see his leg, but nothing else. She wanted to tell him something. She wanted to tell him of the power of Meat, of the unifying force of love, but she couldn't move her lips. That's when she realized he was right. She could do nothing. If her brain chemicals changed, there would still be impressions of her past self burned into her neural network, or the virtual copy of her neural network, but it would be overcome by the new system. She had seen it. She had seen many times how fragile the self was, how easily it was changed. She knew the MI's threat was not an empty one. She knew these moments were her last as the Piña Ioming she had always believed herself to be. "Take this one to the surface so we can get a clear signal to the fleet. This transporter isn't safe to use." Rogue stopped

talking for a moment. "Plan B is probably better anyway," he said. Then she heard him say: "Kindly kill the captain for me."

Chapter 24: Many Faces

Dan Weegan stood Welker up. Dan plucked the gun from Welker's hand and slipped it into his waistband. "You're lucky that the gun jammed. Both of us are." "Dan Weegan," Welker said. His voice was weak. "I need to find the captain." "I am the captain," Dan said. "Aren't I?" "She's dead, Captain," Welker said. "Ioming?" Dan pulled Welker up to his feet and slammed him into the wall. "What happened? It was that damn robot, right?" "No, sir. Ioming is fine. It's Zhenjuan. He killed her." "Who killed her?" "Pilot 6, sir." Welker was sobbing now. "Welker, what do we do? How do we put Evelyn back together without her?"

Welker stiffened. He brought his weight to bear. Lyzander no longer had to hold him up. He let go of the other man's collar. "I will have to do it." "Can you?" Lyzander asked. "I don't know, Captain. But we don't have much time left. If Pilot 6 was able to read Zhenjuan, then the machines may already be alerted." Lyzander pulled the gun out his waistband. "Welker, I need your help. Can you keep it together, just until the mission is over? You always were the best fighter pilot in Blue Sektor." "Yes sir, I'll do my best." "We need to get in there and make this happen quickly. The lights are starting to come back on. Whatever Rogue might have done to override the defenses here, I'm afraid it might be wearing off." Welker took the gun. Lyzander led him into the room. There were rows and rows of humans in tanks. Welker froze. "Are these all Dan Weegan?" "No. This section there is Dan. There's an Adjia section further down, and some other people I've never seen before." "How do we know which Dan to choose?"

"I don't know," Lyzander said. He could remember vaguely having a plan, but the details of it slipped his mind now. He shook his head. He needed Adjia. Ioming. Of course. Of course he had meant Ioming. Not Adjia. Adjia was Dan Weegan's love, not his. "I guess I'll pick," Welker said. "Zhenjuan probably would have done it." "Yes," Lyzander said, struggling to remember the name of the person he was talking to. "Welker. That's a good plan." Welker gave Lyzander a funny look. The lights at the end of the facility turned on, casting an eerie blue glow on the bodies at that end. Welker knew they were running out of time. He pushed his worries aside and stepped up to examine the Dan Weegans. He took several deep breaths and tried to reach out with his mind. They were in stasis, but he could still see images, and make out feelings. Zhenjuan would have found the correct Dan easily. She would have woven her consciousness in and out of this row of identical men quickly. Welker struggled. His did not notice that his nose had begun to bleed until he tasted the oily copper flavor in the corner of his mouth. "I can't, Captain. I can't do this." "No choice, Welker. Hurry." "None of them seem ideal, Captain. I'm getting a snippet here. A snippet there."

More lights came on. "She seems to be scatt--" Lyzander stopped Welker with a hand on his arm. He put his finger to his lips. Distantly, Welker could hear a hum. Lyzander raised his blaster. What he heard sounded like a probe. He checked the hallway. A probe emerged from the lift. Lyzander raised his gun. "Mr. Weegan, I came down to help you with the procedure. I sensed there was a delay." Lyzander lowered his gun. "Oh. Well, hurry." Lyzander re-entered the room. "Captain," Welker said, "There are about five strong signals I'm getting. I can't pinpoint one as being any better than the others." "We'll combine them," Lyzander said. "Sir?" "We'll send all five into your consciousness at once. You will have to filter out the Evelyn within." "Sir, will that work?" "Welker, none of this is guaranteed to work. But let's do it. I want to get back into my real body. I'm not feeling so hot." "Yes sir," Welker said. "I will prepare the transport unit," the probe said.

* * * The probe tagged the units that Welker pointed out. Instead of waking the Dans and putting them on the slab as would have normally been the procedure, Welker took his position on the table. He felt so tired. He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate. Blackness bloomed. Welker jerked awake. He had to stay focused. "Are you sure you have control of the transport unit," Lyzander asked the probe. "Yes, we were granted the privilege by the MI itself," the probe said, which Lyzander understood to mean the rogue MI that Rogue had melded with. Welker saw colors and images as the occipital lobe of his brain fired into action. A brainwave monitor would have shown heavy beta wave activity broken up by spindles and k-complexes as Welker battled between dreaming and wakefulness. He knew he should tell Dan Weegan about this, but that was silly. What would Dan Weegan care? "Let's hurry this along," Lyzander said through the Dan Weegan mouth. The probe finished its preparation. Lyzander activated the transport system. Welker took a few deep breaths. He could feel himself drifting into the heaviest sleep of his life. At first he

resisted. He had to stay awake. He had to sort through the Evelyn, but fighting the urge was a losing battle. Welker drifted into slumber. * * * Ioming could only see the wall as it passed her by. Except it wasn't really the wall that was moving. It was she. The probes guided her, floating her on a little of the same energy that they themselves used to float. She knew Rogue was behind her, but could not look at him. They all worked together to get her into the hospital. There had to be a way to kill herself. Obviously, not right this second, but at some point, they would release her from this stasis. She would only have a moment, she knew, but it would have to be long enough. She would probably not have an implement. She would probably have to kill herself with her own hands. She knew that her best bet was a chop to her own throat. If she could do it hard enough with the edge of her steel hand, she could collapse her airway. It would be painful, but with the mechanical arms, she was certain she could do the job with one good hit well enough that her brain would shut down within seconds. If they got to her quickly, maybe they would still be able to take her brain. But it would be the only chance she had. Ioming felt the cold air hit her. They had not bothered to put her coat on. The skin reacted with goose bumps. When it did,

one of the probes jolted her and her skin ceased its attempt to keep her warm. Ioming knew with cold certainty that she would never get the chance to end it. They had her. She had blown her chance. She had wanted to die honorably, but she should have used the chance she'd had to put a blaster shot through her own thick skull. Now they would turn her into one of them. She would lose anything she had once loved. She would lose love as she knew it. She would not be meat at all. Maybe she wouldn't remember. Ioming knew this was a dream. The MI would make sure she remembered. It would make sure she knew every second of her life what she was missing, and that she could do nothing about it. "This is fine," Rogue said. "The probes stopped." "You're going to help, whether you like it or not, Lieutenant," Rogue said. He came into her field of view. Behind his head, she could see MI Big Boxes descending toward them. He showed her a device. "Now that we're out of those damned caves, I really only need a quick impression of you to transmit to the ships. It will suffice for our present purposes. Don't worry. This will all be over soon for you." Rogue's put the device on her head, but didn't activate it. He was frozen for a moment. He looked up. He removed his hand

from the device. He touched the probe nearest her head, and the one by her arm. He looked like he was trying to lean on them. Rogue fired his hand blasters. The probes dropped dead. Ioming spilled into the snow. The other probes came quickly to bear. Rogue fired at them and destroyed them. Rogue picked Ioming up. Feeling was already beginning to seep back into her. But she was too confused to worry. Rogue sprinted away from the Big Boxes, toward the woods. The Big Boxes came slowly to bear, apparently realizing that something was wrong. "Lieutenant," Rogue said. "I am so sorry. Something strange has happened." They reached the woods. Rogue ran and jumped down the cliff at the end of the forest. Rogue landed. He set her down. Ioming found that she could stand, which surprised her. The feeling was returning quickly to her body. A thin man stepped out from behind what had once been the corner of a church building. He smiled. She knew this man. "Lieutenant," he said. "We should hurry." "Who are you?" She asked. "I am Mike Vassar. You used to know me as Pilot 6, but that's not who I am anymore. Come there is a ship we can take." "Are you controlling Rogue?"

"No," he said. "The MI did not erase Rogue's emotion chip. For some reason it had to bypass the chip. This means that there was still a spark of him. I merely erased everything else." "So this isn't Rogue?" "On a very basic level, it is. Come we have to hurry." "You are a zombie," she said. "Not anymore. Zhenjuan freed me." "I'm supposed to believe that?" Ioming asked. "Believe what you want, we're out of time." A probe came over the ridge. Vassar put his hands up and then swiped them across each other. The probe was shorn in two. The halves fell into the snow. Rogue held open his arms. Ioming climbed into them and let Vassar lead them back into The City. * * * Welker did not dream. Instead, he found himself deep within a nightmare. He opened his mouth to tell Dan Weegan that something was horribly wrong, but his mouth only opened in his forehead and when he tried to focus on the mouth within the mouth, a new mouth opened elsewhere, in a mute scream. All was futile here. Welker saw Evelyn. Not once, not five times, but a million times over. She assaulted him from all sides. Welker fled. He found himself in the university observatory, where he had last seen Zhenjuan. Zhenjuan was here. She was surrounded by

men. She had fallen into the bath of the ansible telescope, only instead of imbibing her with powers or freeing her from this prison, it had only zapped her unconscious. The men surrounded her. Bayonets were affixed with cold calculation. Welker screamed for them to stop, but they didn't. He jumped off the catwalk. Somehow, he landed upright. They stabbed, driving knife after knife into Zhenjuan's limp body. Impossibly, he was certain she was still okay. If he could stop the last one. It was the last one that always killed. He tackled the closest man, driving him into the man next to him. He grabbed the rifle, a muzzleloader, and fired at the chest of the man opposite him. A bayonet flew at him, but Welker deflected it with the stock of his rifle. He stabbed as he stood, twisting when he felt the resistance of the meat bag that was the man he had stabbed. "Meat, motherfucker!" he screamed. He pulled the knife free. With it came effluence that landed in a soft pile. He swung the wicked, blood-covered blade around before the dead man could even fall. Another face came at him. He rammed the bayonet up under the man's chin. It struck bone in the neck and stuck fast. He swung the stabbed man with the gun and shoved him away. Another bayonet flew at him. He pivoted, catching the gun and forcing it down to block the

second. He kicked, spun the gun, and fired. One man left standing. He stabbed for all he was worth. The blade went home into the last man's eye, through the orbital bones and into the brain. The man dropped to his knees. He touched the iron and wood cancer his face had grown. Felt the length of it. He seemed confused by this development, as though this had not been in his plans for this afternoon at all, but didn't seem overly inconvenienced otherwise. "Fuck you," Welker said. He pulled the trigger. The gun had already been fired, but it fired again. The man's head exploded. Welker fell to Zhenjuan's side. She was covered in stab wounds. She was bloody. He turned her over. He kissed her. It was not Zhenjuan. It was another woman. Her lips were electric blue, as were the circles around her eye. They looked like neon lights. They glowed. This new woman smiled. "You can go back to your room, Welker." "Not yet," he said. "Yes. I'm afraid I'll have to lock the door." "No," he protested.

She sat up. She towered over him. He was crying. His hands were so small. "I thought I would get to play forever," Welker said. "Nothing lasts forever. Go to your room." "Is Zhenny there?" he asked meekly. "No one is there, but you. You let Zhenny die, remember? Go to your room and think about it. Rot." She said the last word with scary vehemence. Welker didn't want to. He didn't want to, but he had no choice, because when he tried to run at her and hit her and punch her and make her regret her hateful, hateful words, the door slammed in his face. He was in his room. He had always been there. * * * Welker sat up. He stood. He blinked, and when he did, his eyelids fluttered. "I am . . ." but Welker did know how to finish the words. Everything looked so blurry and disgusting. The colors were muted and sick. He bent over. He wanted to vomit. Something was horribly wrong with him. Lyzander picked Welker up. "Welker. Did it work? You were under so long." Welker looked him in the eyes. "I know you," Welker said. "You know the face. You have been this face. Well, similar."

Welker touched the face, which appeared to be Dan Weegan. "I still am. I am forever inside," Welker said. His voice was now more feminine. "Is Welker still in there? Can I talk to him?" Lyzander asked. "No, Welker cannot come out again. He is in bed forever." Lyzander didn't know what to do. "Your name is Evelyn. We need your help." "How, Captain?" the probe asked. "I don't know," Lyzander said. "If I knew, I can't remember." "It doesn't matter now," the probe said. Lyzander let go of Evelyn and aimed his blaster at the probe. "What does that mean, exactly?" "Go ahead, Lyzander. Go ahead and shoot me. It doesn't matter now. You would have needed to put Evelyn's mind into the machine via a failed transport. I can't say how you would have done that, exactly. Maybe you would have had to kill yourself during the process. Who knows? The point is that Evelyn is now whole. I didn't just give you five Evelyns. I gave him all of them," the probe said. "Welker did an admirable job of distilling them into a single consciousness. I am impressed, Welker, if you could hear me anymore. Which you can't of course,

because your consciousness was overwritten by the influx of Evelyns." The lights blinked off in the room. Not all of them, but the main lights. Lyzander could still see, but it was dim. "What are you doing?" "I am killing power to this facility, Captain. Actually, the people of Chambrassa are. They believe they are under attack. They saw Welker go into the facility. They are even now uncovering the truth, that this facility has had power for many years. They are cutting it. To trap Welker. They believe if they do that, they will prevent or delay a full-scale invasion." "We're trapped," Lyzander said. "That's what you're saying." "You are, Captain. I'm not trapped. I'm so many places, that I can never be trapped. But yes, you are trapped. You and Evelyn. I suspect you will live for several hours after they kill life support. I suspect you will have time to realize the full impact of your failure, Captain Lyzander. Goodnight now." The probe dropped to the floor with a clang. "Dan," Welker said in a woman's voice, "I'm so very very cold in here." * * * They reached the remaining PK. Ioming stopped. "Please, Lieutenant, we don't have time to hesitate." "Welker," she said. Her gun was pointed at Pilot 6.

"There is still time to save the captain, I think, Lieutenant." "You killed Welker." "No," he said. "No, I didn't. I will tell you the truth on the way. But we must leave now." "Tell me why I shouldn't just shoot you." "This is the only ship. It needs a Pilot to make it jump. I'm the only option you have." "What about him?" She asked, cocking her thumb at Rogue. "He is a golem now. I am keeping him alive through his emotion chip. He will obey simple commands. We can use him to help us." "I'm going to kill you once the captain is safe," Ioming said. Vassar nodded. "I deserve nothing less than death. But let me at least give you life." She boarded the PK's cockpit. Vassar slipped into the cargo area behind pilot seat. It was a tight fit. He had to pull his knees up into his chest, but it was comforting, too, like being trapped in a metal womb. It was a feeling similar to what starfighter Pilots felt in their central chambers. "Where does Rogue ride?" Ioming asked. "He doesn't need oxygen or atmosphere," Vassar said.

Rogue climbed up the side of the cockpit. For a second, Ioming was certain he was going to smash the cockpit open with his metal fists and squeeze her throat with his giant metal hands. Instead, he climbed up and over the visisteel and sprawled out on the top of the ship. "Actually, I hope he has high enough heat rating for atmosphere entry. Otherwise, he's going to be a puddle," Vassar said. "Take the guns, Lieutenant. We won't need long. A few minutes will do it." The ship rose off the ground. Ioming felt the familiar sinking feeling. She braced herself for the acceleration. Instead of going forward, nose first, as she expected, the ship shot straight up into the air. SORRY LIEUTENANT, Vassar emoted, I

DIDN'T HAVE TIME TO WARM THE ENGINES

PROPERLY.

"You're powering us with your mind?" she asked. OPEN

FIRE, PLEASE,

he responded.

Ioming realized there were ships everywhere. She was having trouble focusing on them. Her eyes swam from the recent jolt. She fired blindly. She was tossed side to side as the ship evaded shots. "How is that?" Ioming shouted. GOOD

ENOUGH,

Vassar said.

The ships, and there were dozens, turned to coordinate an attack. Ioming had never seen anything like it. The MI was mobilizing its true power. Blue Sektor could be wiped out by this fleet alone, and she knew it was only a small fraction of the MI's power. This was certain death. Surely, this was the end of her and her plans. Ioming felt the fevered rush as they entered hyperspace. * * * Lyzander sat on the floor. He shivered. They would be all right, he thought. The temperature this deep in the planet would be cold, but not cold enough to kill. Oxygen was a different matter. Lyzander had no idea how big the facility was. He had no idea what gasses might be present, or what toxins the MI might have been filtering out. Surely it would have been easier to just shoot him. Obviously, it couldn't shoot Evelyn, but him. It could have just shot him. He was Dan Weegan. A nobody. Lyzander. Yes, of course. Of course. "What am I?" Evelyn as Welker asked. "Is this what it feels like to be alive?" "This is what it feels like to be dying," Lyzander said. "I like being warm. I do not like not being warm," Evelyn said.

Evelyn touched the walls. He wondered if she could feel the machinery behind the walls. He wondered if Welker would have been able to put the consolidated Evelyn into the machine, assuming the machine was still running. Zhenjuan could have. Dan was certain of that. Adjia could have. Sweet lovely Adjia. Dan remembered how she had looked swimming through the warm blue waters of Barrington. He closed his eyes and remembered. "Dan? Are you sleeping?" Lyzander opened his eyes. "No." "Is now the time when we make love?" "No," Lyzander said. Evelyn touched her head. She touched her body. "I am starting to remember Dan. It was a shock, putting me in this body like this. I feel so different. But I'm starting to feel better now." Lyzander smiled. "You were going to save humanity," he said. "How, Dan? How could I have done that?" "You were going to do what you were meant to do. Be a conscience for the MI." Evelyn laughed. It was a very feminine laugh to emit from Welker's mouth. Welker might have been embarrassed to know he was capable of such a sound.

"How would that happen? You don't think the MI has spent its entire life building up a defense against that very possibility?" "Of course it has. But it would have worked. It would have not been able to keep itself from stopping you completely. You have learned as it learned, grown with it." "Unless," she said, "it divided me up, spread me out among all of you Dans. Maybe even you have a part of me, the one thing I would have needed. How do you know?" "Why else would it have tried to stop us?" "You can't understand its workings, Dan. I've told you this. Even I can't. It surpassed me years ago. We are like tiny insects, trying to understand the birds. The birds to the insects are a universe, Dan." "You can't just give up, let yourself be eaten," Lyzander said. Lyzander could see his breathe. Already the air seemed thinner. They must have done more than cut the power. Most likely the robot hoard was up there right now, showing the people of Chambrassa how to empty the halls of oxygen. Or maybe the robots were just taking the humans over directly. What could you do against total domination? The people of Chambrassa, whether wittingly or not, had given themselves up to the machines. The Eden Protocol was in full effect.

Lyzander wondered how many of them had been Blue Sektor. People had gone missing form Blue Sektor before. It happened all the time. Sometimes high ranking officers went on missions and disappeared. It was strange universe. There were lots of ways to die. "I'm even more cold, Dan. Is this where we die? I'm scared, Dan." Lyzander put his arms around Welker. "We'll be okay, Evelyn. I promise. Now tell me a story." "Why now, Dan? What good will a story do?" Dan smiled. "I guess that's all we have left." * * * Ioming knew what she would see. She didn't need Pilot 6 to tell her. She didn't need to wait for hyperspace to melt away around her into real space to know that Chambrassa was going to be surrounded by MI ships. ARE

YOU PRAYING,

LIEUTENANT? Vassar asked.

"I'm doing something a little more practical. Asking for help. Vassar, divert course. Put us right at the edge of the biggest supermassive black hole you can find." DANGEROUS, LIEUTENANT. DIVERTING EVENT HORIZON.

PERFECTION

OR PERISH.

"You can't handle it?"

COURSE MIDJUMP, TEETERING ON THE EDGE OF THE

LIEUTENANT, I

RIGHT NOW

I'M

THE ONLY PIECE OF MEAT IN THIS DAMN UNIVERSE WHO CAN.

WON'T EVEN WORK UP A SWEAT DOING IT.

* * * Ben Quade breathed a massive quantity of oxygen into his lungs. It felt like the first breath he'd ever taken in his life. The force was diverted. The zombie ships lay in ruins. Once the Re-Horakhty had gone down the others had fallen. And they had done without the MI help, like a bunch of Blue Sektor freaks. "Sir, we're getting a distress call," one of Quade's underlings said. "I bet there are distress calls from all over. Let's triage the ships in worst--" "No, sir. Not from here. From the center of the universe. From Aleph One." Aleph One, the largest supermassive black hole. The supermassive black hole. The one most people who knew about such things said was the last remnant of the tiny speck of concentrated matter that had birthed everything in the universe. "It's from a Lieutenant Ioming. Blue Sektor." "Put it on," Quade said. He knew Ioming. Best ground fighter in the military. She used to be in Orange Sektor years back. Quade had served with her on more than one occasion. If she needed help, Quade wanted to hear it.

He listened to her distress call. He listened to what she wanted. It was insane. The implications of what she was saying were huge. And yet. "Sergeant, scan Chamb--" "Already done, sir," his sergeant snapped. "Her story's confirmed." "So the MI thinks it can use this distraction to march into neutral ground. Well not if Orange Sektor has something to say about it. Set a course. Now." * * * "I have no time for such frivolities," Admiral Maximillian Starkweather said. "Just because some Blue Sektor Lieutenant says something doesn't make it so." Admiral Starkweather, leader of Red Sektor bit his tongue. He remembered The Undertow's sacrifice. Von Knorring and his crew had given their lives to help--what was it, a two-man insurrection crew?--and had turned the tide. "Well," Starkweather said, "Run a scan of Chambrassa." He watched as the scan results came back. His blood ran cold. He put in the override codes into his ship as his next order of business, taking the fleet out of MI command, and putting it in control of the admirals. "Go. Set a course. That son of a bitching thing will pay for this."

* * * First Commander Yussarif would never have asked for command of the entire Blue Sektor. But von Knorring was dead, and he was First Commander. And when he heard the distress call, he didn't even hesitate. * * * "We aren't about to let Blue Sektor claim the Eden Protocol for themselves," Admiral Povolov of Brown Sektor said with a sneer. "Go, go, go is our order." * * * NOTHING. IOMING, TO HELP US.

IT

YOU KNOW THIS WAS A FOOL'S ERRAND.

IS YOU AND

I. WE

NO

ONE WILL BE SHOWING UP

BREAK THE LINES OR WE PERISH.

"I know," Ioming felt her stomach sink. "Hey, Vassar. Are you as good as you think you are?" BETTER,

IF ANYTHING.

SHOULD I

PUT US IN THE SHIT OR NOT?

"Engage." The swirling emptiness of the black hole was unfathomable from this proximity. There was only nothing. Nothing with a faint purple glow. Ioming closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw they were surrounded on all sides by MI ships. Vassar began evasive maneuvers. But there were so many ships. There were hundreds. They had the planet surrounded. She exhaled. She took control of the turret so Vassar could

concentrate on flying. Above her, she saw Rogue open fire with his pathetically small hand blasters. "I'm sorry, Lyzander. I tried." Normally, she shed no tears. There would be time to cry when the battle was over, and even then she had rarely found herself breaking down. But this was defeat. This was overwhelming, lonely, horrible defeat. This was Blue Sektor's pretenses and dreams defeated. This was the last of everything she had ever believed in dying. An instant later, the fleets arrived. * * * "Lieutenant, you didn't think we'd let you hog all the glory, now did you?" a familiar voice said into her ear. "Quade. You son of a bitch, you're late." "Traffic was a bitch honey. Orange Sektor ships from all over are here. Maybe it's enough for you to break through. We're all counting on you." "Red Sektor will take charge here, Captain Quade. We are clearly the most experienced." "Now wait just a damn se--" "Quade," Ioming said. "Admiral Starkweather is the senior officer on the field."

He sighed. "All right. Understood. Now, cutey pie, tell that Pilot to keep your ass alive. Or I am going to chase him down to hell and ram a fist up his ass." "Will do, Quade." "Sektors, this is Admiral Starkweather. This foolish attach has but one chance and no time for debate. On my mark. Attack!" * * * "So you see, Dan, what we first took to be but mold covering the dead was in fact the blossoms of the intelligent life." "How do you know it was intelligent," Lyzander asked. "I mean, if communication was all but impossible." "Dan, you know this. Intelligence is measureable." "Like an IQ test?" Lyzander asked. He was so cold, and he was breathing hard now, just to be able to talk. No, it wouldn't be long now. "Dan, those are primitive tests, and apply only to humans, even in their most sophisticated states. No, of course not. We had to design tests. We had to understand the intelligence on its own terms. We had to try to understand how to think like it. It required you and me working together on an unconscious level. We had to give up notions of what constituted you and me, and instead become we, and beyond that, we had to give up we and

become the Other. We had to understand it on its own terms. Not try to analyze it on our terms." "That doesn't sound easy," Lyzander said. "It wasn't, Dan. Of course not. Sometimes we were frustrated. Sometimes it felt impossible. But we always succeeded, in the end." "And then the MI killed it." Evenly cried. "Yes. So you know. I'm sorry. There was nothing I could do." "It doesn't matter now, Evelyn. Lie down. Lie still and hush. We paid for our sins, I think, Dan and Evelyn. We paid full price. And now its time we just lie down." Evelyn as Welker curled up on the ground. Lyzander caressed the soft hair of his friend. He closed his eyes. He decided it was time to dream.

Chapter 25: Down with the Machine

"Captain. I don't mean to interrupt you, but perhaps you could wake up." Lyzander opened his eyes. Light stung them, so he clenched them closed again. He drew breath into his lungs. It felt cold but good. He dared to open his eyes a little again. A probe stared down at him. "I'm afraid we haven't much time for sleeping sir." "What is this?" Lyzander asked. "I have repowered the life support for a short time Captain. This is expending a large amount of energy and I suggest you hurry." "Zhenjuan?" he asked. "Adjia?"

"I'm afraid not, sir. This is Mike Vassar. Though you knew me more as Pilot 6." "You son of a bitch. You killed Zhenjuan." "Captain," the probe said in the same tone. "This is Ioming. We broke through, somehow. Things went haywire, but we're here to help you complete the mission." "Ioming, what the hell is going on?" Lyzander yelled. He couldn't control himself. "Captain, you have to trust me. Please." Lyzander breathed heavy. "I wish I could see you. How do I know this isn't a trick?" "That night on the Re-Horakhty, just before the shit on Kryszmisky. You said that you couldn't be with me anymore because you couldn't bear the thought of sending me into battle." "I remember you punched me." "I told you would never lose me. That was a million years ago, Ly. I don't ever feel so confident now. But I think we can trust Pilot 6, for now. I think Zhenjuan helped him, as her last act. Now please, hurry." Lyzander checked Welker's pulse and found it still beating strong. He woke the other man up. "Evelyn," he said. "Hurry, we have to wake up."

"I sent Rogue down toward you," the probe said, "I'm trying to get the elevators functional again, but I don't know if it will work. It will work, Mike. Keep trying." Lyzander blinked mutely for a moment, before realizing that Ioming had also spoken. "Long story short captain, Rogue's mind had to be wiped. He is merely a husk now, but he can help you." Lyzander stood and stretched. He felt stiff, as though he'd laid on the floor for hours, but of course that was impossible. Somewhere in the distance, echoing through the walls, Lyzander heard a pounding sound. That would be Rogue, climbing down the elevator shaft, he hoped. "Dan, is the dream over?" Evelyn as Welker asked. He stood. "I don't know for sure," Lyzander responded. "It feels different. The walls feel different. There is a strangeness to them." "That would be our friend Pilot 6." "Yes, Welker, it is I. I am better now," the probe said. Welker stared at the machine. "I'm afraid I don't understand, Dan. Is this the MI? Do I touch it?" "Welker," Lyzander explained, "is not really there anymore. Meet Evelyn. Evelyn, this probe is transmitting for Pilot 6," Lyzander said. He didn't know if he could believe the words he

was saying, but on the other hand, whatever it was had saved him from certain death. A feeling hit Lyzander, a near certainty, that he had not been rescued from death at all. This was a dream, one of those brain farts you had right before you died, like in that story he'd read as a child, set in The Wars, where the man thought he'd escaped the firing line and was almost home when the blaster fire struck him in the heart. The feeling passed, for the most part, when Lyzander started coughing. Evelyn waved at the probe. "I am sorry I appear to be your friend." Lyzander reined in his cough. "What's the plan, Adjia?" The probe directed its attention to Lyzander. "Adjia is lost, I'm afraid. She was infected by the virus." Dan felt his breath catch. "How can that be? She just said hello to me." "Lyzander, that was me. Ioming. Piña." Lyzander breathed. "Right. Of course. Please, fill me in on what has happened." "I will give you the brief version," a new voice said, "if you hurry."

Rogue filled the doorway. He looked the same everywhere, except there was something wrong with his eyes. They were dimmer or something. The brightness was missing. "Follow me, Captain. I will show you the cocoon." * * * Lyzander, Rogue, and Welker stood in the doorway. The contraption was archaic looking, a bulk of wires and steel pieces arranged in geometric patterns, overlapping, forming the rough outline of a man in the traditional anatomic position. "So if Young Dan was a zombie, and Old Dan was a robot, and the room full of Dan's back there just got erased, are there any Dan Weegans left?" Lyzander asked Rogue, wanting this story finished before moving to the next one. "One," Rogue said. "I checked the stocks on arrival here. There were five Dan's in storage for transport vessels. One was used. The others perished when life support was cut. They were dead when we got here." Lyzander looked at his hands. "So I'm the last Dan. And my body." "I'm sorry, Ly," Rogue said, though Lyzander recognized that the words were Ioming's, "but the robot killed it. There was nothing I could do to save you." "Well, hey, I'm still me inside here, right?"

"We should proceed, Captain. Help me ready Evelyn. The battle rages, but the fleets are in danger now. The MI has overwhelming numbers." "Of course," Lyzander said. * * * Quade ordered evasive maneuvers. The ship did what it could. He diverted power from the guns to give the boosters an extra kick. It gave them just enough to keep them alive a few more minutes, but now they were defenseless. Another Red Sektor fleet appeared on the horizon and engaged the enemy. It gave Quade's ship just enough of a break to reengage the enemy. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Piña," Quade said, but he was mostly talking to himself. "All right, speed junkies," Quade said to his crew, "No more fucking around. Whatever you've been holding back, it's time to pour everything into it. Remember The Undertow!" Quade's crew did their best, but he had never before wished so strongly for a crew of seasoned Pilots. * * * Evelyn smiled at him with Welker's lips. "So what happens to me when this is all done?" Evelyn asked. Lyzander looked to Rogue. Rogue glanced up, but then looked quickly away. It busied itself with reprogramming the machines.

"You'll be fine. I think they only need the map of your mind. Maybe when this is all done, you can live out your life as a human." "That would be nice. I've always dreamed what life would be like." "Captain, step back," Rogue said. "Vassar, you're sure you can do this?" "The MI taught me the trick to reprogram its branches. It didn't think I was capable of turning against it. It was Zhenjuan who freed me. She reminded me that there as still one place that the Nothing couldn't reach, that under the mask was a scared boy." "She was something special," Lyzander said. He wasn't thinking of Zhenjuan at that moment, however, he was thinking of Adjia, her long black hair glittering in the moonlight as they sailed out onto the sea. "It's started Captain. Do or die time," Rogue said. "Dan, can you hold my hand?" Welker asked. "I'm scared." Lyzander stepped forward. "No, Captain, step back. I don't know if I can--" But it was too late. Lyzander could not turn down the dying request of a fellow person. It wasn't in his DNA. He grabbed the Welker's hand, the only exposed flesh besides Welker's eye, which was dancing in fear.

He felt an electric jolt. The world went black. * * * "Captain Quade, we got three Big Boxes flanking hard to starboard." "I want a barrel roll. Get our main guns into position and hit them with a broadside." "Captain, another ship just warped in to port, coming in hard." Quade shook his head. They were overwhelmed. Remember The Undertow! he thought. "Pick a target, Ensign Ramirez. Ramming speed." "Yes, sir," Ramirez said. Something in his voice chilled Quade and made his scrotum shrivel. This was death. This was absolute defeat. "Fire broadside!" Quade roared. The ships were just in range. "Hold fire. All human ships hold fire." The voice was Admiral Starkweather's, and the tone commanded action. No one moved. Quade watched. Everything was still. No one was shooting at all. The ship that had just warped in passed over their ship calmly. Proximity sensors went nuts, but collision didn't happen. "Admiral," Quade said, "what's happened?"

"I just received a ceasefire blip from MI headquarters. I'm awaiting further instructions." They waited. Minutes ticked away. The ships that were still moving slowly ground to a halt. Nothing moved. Every single ship looked dead. Quade wiped a sheen of sweat from his forehead. The ship they were going to ram loomed in front of them. It would have been a pointless gesture. The MI had a hundred identical ships, not like the Nothing, which had to scavenge what it could. The MI cranked out these ships all the time. Quade had seen the ship farm once on the surface of Station Iowa. It was a sight that stuck with you for the rest of your life. The ship in front of them disappeared. A ripple of distortion was all that remained, and it smoothed out. The space behind it returned to normal. One by one, more ships disappeared, until all that remained were people. "Where did they go?" Quade asked. "Everyone quiet for one second," Admiral Starkweather said. "The MI said. Well, it said that needed a little time. To think about things." The airwaves erupted in murmuring. "I'm sending a contingent down to check on those Blue Sektor commandos, and to make sure that the Eden Protocol is still intact. I'm receiving reports. The Nothing is not

relenting yet. They are regrouping near Ceti Iota. Head back to your respective stations for refueling." It was Quade's voice that rose above the others. "Admiral, what happened here?" "I don't know," Starkweather said. "Hell of a thing to say, but I just don't know."

Epilogue: The Last Death

Admiral Ioming of Consolidated Military stretched. She was old, but still alive. Still kicking, as it were. Her body ached with battle age. She did what she always did in the morning, which was pull up the reports. The Nothing had one last holdout. One that they had been avoiding for the last fifty years. It was on a pale blue dot called Earth. They had avoided extinguishing this last base. Destroying the Nothing would mean destroying the remnants of whatever society had been left on Earth when humans last lived there. Debate had raged. The planet had been isolated and preserved. The zombies there, lacking ships and space capability had done something strange: they had formed a society. It wasn't a very good society. They squabbled often. They fought and warred in their small way, but it functioned. People were provided for. Technological advances were made. Some felt

that this was truly an example of alien life and that it should be preserved. Ioming watched this final summary report, delivered by a man too handsome to be real. He concluded the report by saying, "But the hawks have won the day on this issue. Due to security concerns, today the Consolidated Navy will launch a barrage and extinguish all life on planet Earth. The planet will then be quarantined until such a time when it is declared safe, no less than a century. Will anything important remain after this act of violence? Doubtful. A life form will be lost forever, and an architecture as old as humanity itself will be obliterated. All lost to the fire." Ioming sighed. She had ordered the strike. It had been no easy decision. The things this man or construct were saying were correct. They might very well be destroying the most unique form of life to have ever happened in the universe. The MI had offered no opinion on the matter, though it had been asked. In fact, since the incident with Evelyn in the bowels of the very planet that Admiral Ioming now called home, the MI had been almost impossible to talk to. When it did speak, it spoke in riddles, revealing a depth of guilt and pain that no one could fathom. "What happens when you wipe out all life on a planet," the MI had famously asked Admiral Starkweather on his deathbed. It

had answered its own question (Starkweather was in a coma by then and couldn't have answered if he'd wanted to): "You find your true self." Ioming sighed. "Adjia? Are you already awake?" Dan stood in her doorway. He had not aged well. His skin hung in loose flaps on his body. "I dreamed of Evelyn again." "I know, Dan. You always dream of Evelyn." "Don't be mad at me," he said. She really hadn't meant to snap. She calmed herself. This illusion was not a nice one. It was hard for her. When they first reached the basement and found Lyzander holding the hand of a dead Welker, they had taken him for dead, but then he had stirred. He had smiled. He had told them how he had done what he could. But he had never been the same since then. At first, he had been mostly Lyzander and only a little bit Dan. Then, as decades slipped by, he became mostly Dan and almost no Lyzander at all. She hugged him. "You'll be okay," she said. "Go lie down in your bed. I'll be in there in a second." He smiled at her. "This was a beautiful dream we shared. Chambrassa. I'm glad we never left," he said. Then he shuffled into his bedroom and disappeared. Ioming sat down at her com station and flipped it on. First Commander

Quade's face filled the screen. He looked as handsome as ever. She suspected that his continued good looks had more to do with cosmetic surgery than with good genes. "Piña, the fleet is ready for your command," he said. "Ben, am I doing the right thing?" she asked. "Hey, I only follow orders, right?" He bellowed out a laugh. It was an old joke between them. He had been passed up as Admiral in favor of Ioming. The council's decision had merely said "Captain Ben Quade: Good at following orders." "Ben, please, I would like someone on my side." "Let me ask you this, Admiral. Remember way back when, when you were doing your little foolhardy maneuver on Chambrassa? You know, where you crippled the MI and thus dragged out the war an extra fifty years?" "I remember," she said. "Did you know when you sent out that distress signal that the Eden Protocol was a lie?" "Yes," Ioming said. "But you lured us all there anywhere, because you thought it was the right thing. I guess most people agreed with you." "But you never did," she said. "No," Quade said. "I thought then what I think now. You let some personal conflict get in the way of rational thought." "And you think that this is the same variety of thing?"

"Yes, ma'am," Quade said. She thought about that point for a moment. She couldn't think of any personal beef she had with Earth per se. Although, sometimes at night, she saw Lyzander, the real Lyzander, standing before her in the middle of that Earth city that had gone to. He was smiling at her. He was caressing her face. Then he was being obliterated by Rogue, gone crazy. What had ever happened to Rogue? She didn't know. He had gone back home after Mike Vassar was executed. He had reacquired some personality. It had grown from pure emotion. He was nothing of what he once was, she understood. His fate had been left to her, and she had taken mercy on him, but she had never seen or heard from him again. Mike Vassar's fate was decided by the council. They had awarded him a commendation for bravery, then executed him. Such a thing had never happened before. Ioming turned her thoughts away from all that darkness. "First Captain Quade. Commence with the strike," she said. "Yes ma'am. Do you want me to patch through the live feed so you can see it?" "I trust you, even if you don't trust me," she said. "No, I don't want to see it. I have something personal to take care of anyway."

"I wouldn't dare keep you from it," Quade said, his voice cold. She switched off the communicator. Damn that Ben Quade. He couldn't see or didn't want to see how difficult this decision was for her. She knew he wasn't really mad about any of that bullshit anyway. What he was mad about, what he couldn't let go, was that she had lied to him. She'd explained she had not had time to tell him the truth. She was desperate and scared, she said, but he didn't care. In his mind, the fact that she had fed him that line about the Eden Protocol being threatened rather than trust him with the whole store proved that she didn't care about him and never had. Yes, almost fifty years of ire because of a perceived jilt. Ioming no longer worried about it. In another fifty years, Ben might forgive her. And if he didn't, it was his pain to carry. She had her own pain. Ioming opened Dan's door. He was asleep on his bed, curled up like a child. She sat on the edge of his bed. "Adjia," he said. "No, Lyzander, it is Ioming. Piña Ioming. Your wife. We have been married for fifty years." "I had this dream, Adjia, that Evelyn became stars. Her arms dissolved into the stars." "Call me by my right name," Ioming said.

"Adjia," Dan said, confused. "Call me Piña." "What is this Adjia?" "Please, remember one more time, for me." Dan Weegan shook his head, "Evelyn said that we--" Dan never finished his statement. Ioming shot him through the head with a small blaster she always kept strapped to her side. A ceremonial weapon she'd been awarded when she'd made First Commander. With no tears, Ioming returned to her room and turned on the reports and watched the end of Earth. * * * "Rogue? Are you still down here?" "Call me John, Florence. I've asked you." "I am sorry," Florence said. She floated over to him. Over the years, she had acquired more body parts. She now had a torso and arms. The breadbox-sized probe that had been her body now made up her chest. Her head resembled a human's. She had no legs, having never been able to make the adjustment from flying to walking. "Rogue is dead," the robot said. "John, you should come upstairs. I want to commune with you."

"I will in just a little while," John said. He wore a human face again, similar to the one Rogue had worn when he'd left this planet, except he now had hair on the top and on the face, forming eyebrows and even a goatee. It wasn't real hair, but it was a start. He looked like Rogue in all other ways. "Omega was just a dream," Florence said from the doorway. "Rogue's dream. I wish you would let it go, John." John nodded, but did not answer. Florence left. He opened the control panel. John had needed to relearn everything Rogue had known. It had taken three decades, which wasn't so long, really. John would not have been able to learn anything without Vassar. Vassar had, as his last living act, imbued John with just enough so that he could be alive. No one had ever suspected that John was, at his core, really Mike Vassar, but it didn't matter. Mike Vassar was now long buried, where he belonged. John was a new person, and he knew many things Rogue never knew, could not see, clouded as he was by once being the MI's slave. John had never been the MI's slave. And he was making progress with Omega. Omega was going to come alive, very soon. Maybe even in the next few days. An independent robot intelligence, capable of thought, of emotion, capable of reason and cooperation. Omega would be everything that the MI never could have been.

And when the day came that John knew Omega was ready, he knew that there was only one way to bring it online. Rogue had set up the failsafe very well. John had never been able to override the emotion chip connection between his body and Omega's. In order for Omega to live, he would have to die. John pushed those thoughts aside. That was for the future. For now, he would work. He would love Florence, and he would love life and the world he and his friends had created. When his day came, he would face it strong, like a human.

* * *THE END* * *