A. Warren Merkey Read online

  “I have very little information on Admiral Khalanov.” Horss’s tone of voice softened almost to a normal conversational level. “Why are you doing this for him?”

  “We’re friends.”

  “Allies, you mean?”

  “And you suppose that admirals never trust each other and can never be friends.”

  “Well, neither of you is an active line officer, so maybe you’re different.”

  “We have a long history together.”

  Horss didn’t respond for a few moments as they walked across the African plain. The admiral received a message from Baby that Horss was researching her service record through his shiplink.

  “You were in the war,” he said.

  “Khalanov and I served together in the war.”

  ” You were killed.”

  “Both of us.”

  “You were lucky. Damn few ship casualties can be revived.”

  “We were not so lucky.”

  “You lost continuity?”

  “Yes.” She saw her reply in the affirmative was expected yet still disturbed him.

  “Then you don’t remember Khalanov from before the war.”

  “Neither of us remembers the other. We met afterward by chance. We’ve always tolerated each other. Khalanov can be difficult but I always seem to be able to keep our relationship pleasant.” She and Khalanov died manning a technical surveillance ship - a spy ship. They broke cover to warn their task force of a trap. Their small vessel was caught in the crossfire. The record wasn’t specific about why the Mnro Clinic volunteered to revive her and Khalanov. Nothing remained of her memories. She wasn’t happy that Horss asked such questions. She didn’t like to think about the answers.

  “Why did they try to revive you?” he asked, perhaps intuiting how he could aggravate her.

  “I don’t know. Because they could. It was a different era. And we were heroes.”

  ” You risk your life for Khalanov, stealing me from Etrhnk. Why are you here and not Khalanov?”

  “I wanted to get to know you.”

  “Why, Admiral?”

  “There is a special clause in the Galactic Hub Mission Charter. Khalanov is the Provisional Mission Commander. He’s only an engineer. I’ll replace him when we return to Headquarters.”

  “You?”

  “I.”

  “But you’re…”

  “An elderly admiral who’s spent too many years as the Chief of Navy Archives.” She didn’t appear elderly, of course. One retained as much vigor as possible to survive. It was a terrible way to live and the revulsion of it passed through her in its old and fetid familiarity.

  ” You were a line officer in the war…”

  “And I lost continuity and retain no useful experience of that time.”

  ” Yet, you challenge Admiral Etrhnk.”

  “Every admiral has his captains. It may as well be Etrhnk I steal from.”

  “And so we’re here,” Horss summarized, “following a mystery child on a planet forbidden to most people, including Navy personnel.”

  Subsection 002

  Samson waded across the wide, brown river. He climbed up the bank. He marched quickly across flat ground, pounding the butt of his spear in the tall grass with each pair of steps. He was happy he could walk so easily - no more cut on his foot. It was proof he didn’t imagine the Navy officers and their invisible ship.

  He glanced often upward as the space elevator loomed larger. He didn’t need the elevator now. This was merely a sightseeing trip. Perhaps his approach to the dangerous old structure would concern the Navy officers and make them follow him. He worried they would forget him. He hardly thought about the space elevator, his mind was so filled with wonder about the Navy. Was it true the Navy was so powerful, its officers so hard, that it ruled all the human races?

  A jumbled mass of broken slabs of concrete - the remains of elevated roadways - filled the spaces between the buildings, making it difficult for a small boy to traverse to the base of the space elevator. Samson stopped in the shade of a cantilevered piece of roadway. He emptied the contents of his pack on the ground and discovered items placed there by the admiral: food and water. He drank the cool water and chewed on a food bar. He looked at the tablet and saw more words on its display surface: “They’re following you.”

  “I don’t see them. How do you know?”

  “They conceal themselves.”

  “Why are you afraid of them hearing you?”

  “I can’t say. I just am.”

  “Why would you worry about them? Haven’t they already examined you?”

  “Questions, questions, questions!”

  “Answers, answers, answers!”

  Samson wondered what his parents would be like. How many times had he daydreamed of reunion with his parents? One of them was Asian and one was European, but which would be which? Just thinking about how much more possible the reunion was excited him. But why did they never come looking for him? How many times did he ask himself that question? The answer was now much nearer, and it worried him. It made him daydream about the admiral. She was real, unlike his parents. She would take care of him. He didn’t understand why she pushed him away, but he believed she cared about him.

  *

  “I hear his side of a conversation,” Horss commented. “He’s talking to his imaginary friend.” If the child was her creation, he thought, he was a work of art. He couldn’t imagine the planning and programming required for such a creature. Perhaps the AMI called Baby was an accomplice. Perhaps the child was an AMI. Even so, the task was too expensive and involved other entities that would compromise her security. Yet, who knew what resources she could call upon? She was the oldest admiral in the Navy. She had received the highest award for valor, at the cost of her life. Out of respect he wanted to hear what she could tell him about the Freedom and its mission, if only she would begin. He could set aside his anger and resentment. He could open his mind to rational argument. He could try to accept the fate she had forced upon him. It was a terminal assignment but it was a hell of a ship, and he might die knowing why space beyond the frontier had been denied humans for the last two centuries.

  “His presence is a great distraction.” The admiral stated the obvious. Samson was the greatest distraction Horss could imagine - greater than he could imagine. If the child was real he should not exist.

  “I am equally distracted,” Horss admitted. “A total mystery. An entire continent, supposedly empty of human life, and you land your yacht on top of a child! As you probably understand, Admiral, I have to worry about both the possibility that Samson is real and the possibility he is not real. If he’s real, we are responsible for his safety, and I have to learn why he exists. If he’s not real flesh and blood, then I have to wonder if he’s a device with a purpose I would not like. I would prefer to be arguing with you to withdraw the Request for Voluntary Reassignment.”

  Admiral Demba delayed responding. Horss could not read her image in his ocular terminal for any clue to her mood or thoughts, not that anyone could tell anything about what an admiral felt. Her voice was his only possible source of data. It was an exquisite voice. It seemed wrong that a Navy admiral should possess such a vocal instrument with what seemed like a great untapped potential. She kept her voice flat, her words colorless, and it created a tension in Horss, almost a yearning for the voice to be released from bondage, but he didn’t know what that would do to him.

  “I’ll not withdraw the Request,” the admiral finally said. “You know it’s too late for that. You will need to refuse the Request.”

  “You know I can’t refuse this Request for Voluntary Reassignment!” Horss was surprised the anger returned so quickly. He was always able to control his anger or abolish it. Anger never truly helped any situation. His lack of anger was a major reason why he did so well in the Navy Games. This was a unique and vexing situation but he should be able to remain reasonable. “It’s a damned dangerous mission and refusal would brand m
e a coward.” He forced calmness into his voice, if not into his mind.

  “You’re sure?” Samson asked. “I can’t see them. How can you see them? You’re talking now. Do you care if they hear you? They can probably hear every word I say. If they’re invisible they could be walking right behind me.”

  “They’re keeping their distance from you,” Milly’s disembodied voice replied, “but they are following you. The admiral doesn’t understand why you’re

  here. She’s suspicious of the situation. I don’t think they can hear me.”

  “You sound so different, Milly. Why am I here? And who are you, really?”

  “You were here to be found, Samson. I was only trying to help you, but it was difficult for me. You’re saved now. You’re healthy for the first time in a long time. You’ll have your life. My job, though poorly done, is finally done.”

  “Your job? You’re not my computer, are you, Milly? You’re somebody real, somewhere else.”

  “I’m not real, Sammy. I’m not anywhere. I have to go now. Please, be careful.”

  “Why do you have to go? Will you be back?”

  “Perhaps. But I don’t think so.”

  “Milly! Why?”

  “I endanger you. She will find you. Goodbye, Sammy!”

  Captain Horss was not handling the stress very well now, if she was interpreting the telemetry from his Class-1 uniform accurately. She had brought him here partly because of the chance that his personal security could have been compromised by the Navy Commander. She was not much experienced in personal security screening because Navy Archives was never of much importance to the power struggles among admirals. She hated to lose Jon Horss. She hated to lose the Freedom. But it was beginning to appear that she would lose both.

  “You’ve saved me from being an admiral, Admiral,” Horss said. “You’ve volunteered me for the Galactic Hub Mission. I would think you would be trying to sell me on the captain’s job. Is there something I don’t know about the mission, something that makes it different from what I think it is?”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “We’ve lost twelve Navy ships and more than three thousand civilian vessels at or beyond the frontiers of the Union, most of them toward the hub. The Freedom is not even armed and it’s about to take its turn to cross the frontier.”

  “That’s about all there is. Other than a big emphasis on stealth, there’s nothing to insure we won’t be joining the other lost ships. Were you planning on living forever, Jon?”

  “That’s something you ask a Marine. Yes, I was hoping to at least go through one full rejuvenation and see what the next life was like. Why are you going on the mission? You haven’t even had your one child yet. You don’t care about becoming a mother?”

  Horss’s question disturbed Admiral Demba as she realized she had never posed that question to herself. She didn’t have an answer. She saw herself living - existing - all these years since the war, and never once loving anyone or wanting to be loved. It was probably a brain damage the Mnro Clinic couldn’t repair. Yet… there was the ship, the Freedom, the decades of design and construction - it must have required real motivation, some kind of passion. But what was its purpose? It was as Horss said: it would sail into the unknown and never come back. Her mind dwelt severely on this point for several moments, causing her to stop walking. It began to hurt her mind as she struggled to make sense of this area of blindness in her memory. Then she remembered something and the pain eased.

  For many years after the Clinic had revived her she had fragments of thoughts and scenes that must have been memories of her previous life before she died. This was not something she forgot about; it was just a painful thing she avoided - the memory that she had long ago lost hope that she would ever have any coherent memories of her former life. However, something new seeped out, and she would have thought she imagined it except that it might explain vaguely why she caused the Freedom to be built. There was a short sequence of days not long after she had again graduated from the Naval Academy, days when she was unusually happy. She remembered being in almost a state of ecstasy. The period of joy ended without any details of its cause or content, but from that time onward, she knew she would build a ship, either a Navy ship or a private starship.

  Now Fidelity Demba knew she was not who she thought she was.

  Samson squinted in the afternoon glare of equatorial sunlight. Another pile of rough debris stood in his way and he was getting tired. He found a place to sit and contemplate the situation. The broken concrete masses captured the heat of the sun and made an oven of his place in it. He drank from his water container. He decided it was time to turn around. Perhaps the Navy officers would take him back now. With a last glance upward at the looming elevator shafts and their massive base, he shouldered his pack and turned around.

  “Giving up?”

  “Milly?” He didn’t know whether to feel happy or worried. It sounded like Milly but it didn’t.

  “That’s my handle. Who’re you?”

  “I’m Samson. Don’t you remember me?” It wasn’t Milly, not the Milly he knew. Every word was expressed exactly as if a real person spoke. The bodiless voice also moved around him as it spoke.

  “How curious. I see you have the Navy in tow. It’s different this time. What do we do about the Navy? This will be interesting. They know you’re here, don’t they, Sammy?”

  “Their ship almost landed on me. They helped me but I have to stay away from them for awhile. Then they’ll take me with them. You aren’t Milly. Where is she?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about, child. Who was your Milly?”

  ” She was my teacher.”

  “Indeed? Here’s my first lesson: get your butt away from this place before something wicked this way comes.”

  What did the real Milly say? She will find you. Was that a warning of danger? Was this she? Samson picked his way around another pile of debris. He hurried to meet the Navy officers. A short distance back the way he came he encountered something he didn’t notice before. Among the jagged chunks of concrete were odd surfaces, missing edges, smooth depressions forming a path in the rubble. Where the path bridged a v-shaped depression a small object glowed in the sunlight. Samson descended the concrete V and paused as he straddled the bottom. He bent to look more closely at the colorful bit of rock or glass. It seemed almost alive, with intricate inner patterns that twinkled in the shadow of the V. He picked it up. He knew he had made a mistake. The object stuck to his fingers. He tried to remove the red stone but it was welded to his skin. He yelped with pain when he pulled hard to remove the thing. A sharp tingle in his fingers raced up his arm. He began to feel strange.

  “Milly?” He spoke slowly, trying to make his tongue and lips move.

  “Speaking.” He described what happened. “Too bad.” Milly didn’t sound very concerned.

  “What is it?” Samson felt a disturbance all over his body.

  “A piece of something scary. Try going back toward the Navy. Over to your left. See what happens.”

  Samson took a few steps and fell down, unable to keep his balance or control his legs. “It won’t let me! How can I get rid of it?”

  “Cut off your fingers.”

  “I can’t cut off my fingers!” Even as fear made him try to pull in deep breaths, something else slowed his reaction.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  “What can I do?”

  “Yell for help. Maybe the Navy will hear you.”

  “Help! HELP! HELP!” Samson called several more times, then lost his voice.

  “Cat got your tongue?” Milly asked. “You’re not where they think you are. With their longer legs and air-conditioned uniforms, they’ll be heading directly toward the elevator building. You’re off their course because you had to go around some big stuff. The Navy officers are trim and tough. They can find you if they really want to.”

  Samson tried to decide which direction to go but his mind seeme
d unfocused. He walked again in the direction Milly had said to try and his legs failed him again. Something made him stand back up and when he walked in a different direction he received a feeling of pleasure. He was following the strange path. He couldn’t walk very well and he stumbled often in the rough terrain of broken concrete. Every so often as he tried to move in a slightly different direction he suffered a numbing of his legs and a near paralysis that threatened to hurt him with another fall.

  Samson staggered toward a tunnel in a pile of concrete near the base of the pedestal building. He didn’t want to go into the tunnel but that was what the red stone wanted him to do. He curled his fingers into a fist and the stone transferred itself to the palm of his hand. He slapped the stone against the tunnel wall to try to shatter it. He collapsed from shock. When he regained his senses he saw the stone was undamaged. Samson entered the tunnel. Would the Navy officers be able to find him? His mind seemed dulled and he couldn’t think much about the consequences.

  “Is something wrong, Admiral?” Horss inquired, wondering at her silence and stillness.

  “I presume,” she answered slowly, “that you suspect something further is wrong. Yes. I’m wrong. If you have not already thought of it, Jon, I would warn you that your life is in danger, not just your career.”

  “Are you threatening me?” Horss felt the push and pull of his augments trying to prepare to control his body as he began to anticipate danger.

  “It was never my intention to harm you.” The admiral’s voice sounded earnest.

  “Who else is here to cause me harm?” Horss asked. He tried to analyze the image of the admiral as provided by the yacht’s tightbeam data link. He could only hope it was not a false image. Fidelity Demba seemed distracted, perhaps worried.

  ” It might be me. I don’t want to harm you. I don’t see how I can.”

  “What has happened, Admiral? Has something changed?”