The Xenocide Mission Page 18

  Now for the next stage. In a way it was . . . satisfying. To have all ambiguity removed, all alternative options rendered non-viable by a Rustie with a conscience and his liberal human sidekick.

  Bakan went into her cabin, took her aide, turned it on. She called up a certain file, a certain program. Told it to execute.

  ‘She’s a forceful lady,’ Sand Strong said. He and Gilmore had shucked the observers and now they walked slowly back to the flight deck.

  ‘She works for the Confederation,’ Gilmore said bitterly. And I let myself forget it. Won’t do that again.

  ‘True. And I must thank you, Mr Gilmore.’

  ‘Thank me?’

  ‘You didn’t try to force my decision-making. You respected my seniority. I have to confess I’m insecure in this position – it was never what I expected.’

  Gilmore forced a chuckle. ‘Tell me about it.’ Yes, Sand Strong had eventually come up with the decision Gilmore had wanted, but still the temptation to intervene and make absolutely sure it was the right decision had been strong. But the whole point of the Commonwealth was that humans and First Breed acted together. In a disagreement between a human and a Rustie of equal rank, the human won – Gilmore hadn’t been happy with that proviso in the Navy Regs but the Rusties themselves had insisted. But to have a single Rustie commanding humans, even making decisions they didn’t like – not at all a Rustie concept, guided as they were by group consensus – was something else. In fact, those five minutes on the hangar deck had been the test and proof of the whole Commonwealth concept. Gilmore was glad.

  And he wasn’t going to spoil it all by praising Sand Strong out loud. It would be too much like a master praising an apprentice.

  ‘Stand by for a general announcement.’

  Man and Rustie stopped in their tracks.

  ‘I gave no such instruction,’ Sand Strong said in surprise.

  ‘First Breed of the Commonwealth vessel Pathfinder, this is March Sage Savour.’

  The voice rang out throughout the ship, in the bland tones of an early-model translator unit. Underlying it, Gilmore could hear the original speech in the Roving’s common language, sounding like someone constantly clearing his throat.

  March Sage Savour’s image had appeared on every display down the passageway. The head was larger, the muzzle blunter than a Rustie but the common ancestry was obvious. Gilmore had last seen the One Who Commands four years ago, and even then the creature had been decrepit. Now the rust-like skin flakes were worn almost smooth with age, the skin underneath looking dully polished.

  March Sage Savour had the undivided attention of every being on board Pathfinder.

  ‘I speak to all loyal First Breed on this vessel. You know that the First Breed/Human Commonwealth was not our original plan for the future of the Roving. If you are listening to this then the flaws of the Commonwealth have become evident.

  ‘The xenocides of Sample World Four now have the means to leave their solar system and to advance upon the Roving. Through their inaction, the humans would allow this to happen. There is a device on board that can prevent this. It is called Device Ultimate. For the sake of the Roving and our prides, it must be used now, before it is too late.’

  Sand Strong wasn’t doing anything other than listen, and Gilmore couldn’t expect more. He snatched at his aide. ‘Flight deck! What the hell is happening? Where’s it coming from?’

  ‘Tap on the internal comms system, sir.’ The human speaker at the other end sounded almost panicked; Gilmore could see him desperately working at his desk, trying to override the override. ‘We can’t block it.’

  ‘Keep trying.’ Gilmore broke contact and listened to the message.

  ‘The human Rhukaya Bakan has the details of Device Ultimate. All First Breed who are loyal to their planet and their prides must turn to her. Disregard the instructions of the Commonwealth; the Commonwealth has failed you. Take the ship and deploy Device Ultimate.

  ‘For all our sakes, do it now.’

  Thirteen

  Day Eighteen: 20 June 2153

  ’Bloody hell.’ Gilmore shook his head to clear it. March Sage Savour’s announcement left an echoing silence around the ship. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine, and yes, I still support the Commonwealth.’ Sand Strong took off suddenly down the passage. ‘But I am not the one you should be worrying about,’ he called.

  ‘Oh, God.’ Gilmore took off after Sand Strong.

  Gilmore had discovered, five years ago on the Roving Mission, that a single, solitary Rustie could be as independent and intransigent as it liked. One Rustie on its own was a challenge to command. But the more Rusties you put together, the easier it became; body language, pheromones and basic loyalty to the pride meant that an idea could sweep through a group of Rusties and its collective mind almost at once. And the Senior was guided by the pride’s consensus.

  Sand Strong, alone with Gilmore, had been in no danger of being taken in by March Sage Savour’s announcement. But it might be a different matter wherever there were groups of Rusties gathered together. The drive compartment, the hangar deck . . . the flight deck.

  They turned the last corner to the flight deck hatch at the same time as Rhukaya Bakan stepped out of the lift. She turned towards them with a sweet smile and opened her mouth to speak.

  ‘Get back to your cabin, you seditious bitch, or you’ll be arrested for inciting mutiny!’ Gilmore bellowed.

  The look of surprise was one very small triumph – and it didn’t escape Gilmore’s notice that she hadn’t denied the charge – before he and Sand Strong were on the flight deck.

  They walked into a gabble of raised voices, angry gestures and the strong smell of agitated Rustie. The Rusties on watch swarmed in confusion, seeking counsel from the humans who were meant to be leading them. They saw their Senior come in and rushed towards him.

  ‘What do we do?’

  ‘We thought . . .’

  ‘We heard . . .’

  ‘The One Who Commands says we must . . .’

  Several weren’t even bothering with their translators. This was too important.

  ‘Quiet!’ The clamour died down and some of the Rusties stood with their heads lowered, in subservient pose. But the rest were taut, tense, ready for action, and they looked to Sand Strong for their guidance. The Rustie walked over to the command desk and one of his graspers pressed a control. His announcement rang throughout the ship and the translators automatically turned it into something the humans could understand. ‘All First Breed on board will please report, now, to the Commune Place. There are no exceptions.’

  Then, to Gilmore: ‘I’ll do what I can.’ Louder: ‘Lieutenant Nguyen, you have the ship.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir.’

  The Rusties filed out, leaving the humans looking at one another in confusion.

  ‘Mr Gilmore?’ Nguyen was a young woman but probably the most senior of Pathfinder’s command crew left fit after the crash. ‘I’d, um, appreciate your analysis of the situation, sir.’

  ‘First step, get the software officer to make sure no-one else can tap into the ship’s systems like that,’ Gilmore said. ‘Carry on with repairs. And get a visual and audio tap on the Commune Place.’

  ‘That’s private!’ Nguyen was shocked.

  ‘Well, call me old fashioned, but I like to know about important decisions that affect me. You asked for my analysis, you got it.’

  She looked uncertain for a moment, but then gave the orders. ‘Do you think Sand Strong can swing them?’

  ‘He doesn’t have to swing them, just hold them.’ Gilmore crossed to the nearest display where a security camera was giving a bird’s eye view of the Commune Place. A large, circular room with drinking and feeding troughs, but most of all with space for the First Breed to be with one another, bond as a pride, feel as one. And make decisions. The ship’s Rusties were already filing in.

  ‘March Sage Savour’s speech was mouthtalk only. Not fulltalk,’ he said. Fulltal
k was what Rusties used to communicate face to face: body language, words and pheromones mixed together. Remove any component and the result was a lot less compelling. ‘Sand Strong’s been a Pride Senior for some time, and his clan was the first to declare support for Arm Wild. He believes in the Commonwealth.’

  It wasn’t like a debate or any public meeting of humans. The First Breed in the Commune Place just seemed to mingle and mill around. A human eye couldn’t see any order or pattern in it. Gilmore ordered a computer analysis on what was going on, the gist of the conversation.

  Premise 1: the Ones Who Command willingly abdicated their position.

  Counter-premise 1: the Ones Who Command gave their authority to the humans, not to the Commonwealth.

  Premise 2: we were made to serve the Ones Who Command.

  Counter-premise 2: see premise 1.

  Premise 3: the XCs may be able to operate the step-through generator . . .

  And so on. A hashing and rehashing of the exact position as it now stood, no detail too boring or irrelevant to ignore. The Rusties on board Pathfinder were confused. None of them had particularly enjoyed being the servants of the Ones Who Command, none of them wanted to return to the old days . . . but they were unused to challenges to authority. They had accepted human authority in the Commonwealth because they had always expected to transfer their allegiance to someone – they had built up to it all their lives. But there was nothing to protect them from the re-emergence of the Ones Who Command.

  But Sand Strong was holding ground. He stood in the middle, surrounded by concentric circles of Rusties all facing inwards towards him. It was almost as if his authority flowed out from the centre of the crowd. The pride was deferring to him.

  The computer kept a running summary:

  Accept authority of Commonwealth: 48%

  Accept authority of Ones Who Command: 29%

  Still seeking assurance: 23%

  Given a simple show of hands, the computer analysis said Sand Strong would win. But Rusties didn’t go by shows of hands.

  Accept authority of Commonwealth: 54%

  Accept authority of Ones Who Command: 22%

  Still seeking assurance: 24%

  Gilmore held his breath . . .

  Accept authority of Commonwealth: 76%

  Accept authority of Ones Who Command: 11%

  Still seeking assurance: 13%

  . . . and let it out again. The numbers were changing before his eyes. Every new convert added was strength to the argument, became another good reason why a doubting Rustie should change its own mind, and add its own strength, and so on. Sand Strong was going to win, and once the mood changed, it would be a complete swing, exponential and unstoppable. The end came quickly in these things. Rhukaya Bakan, stick that in your—

  ‘Look!’ Nguyen said.

  Gilmore blinked, stared, yelled: ‘How the hell did that get there?’

  The software officer was going frantic, hands flying over his controls. ‘I don’t know sir, I’m sure it’s not in the system.’

  March Sage Savour had appeared in the middle of the Commune Place.

  It was a hologram, had to be, but it added bodytalk to the argument. It wasn’t March Sage Savour as he really was, surrounded by his life-support bubble with tubes and equipment plugged into him. The last of the Ones Who Command stood free and tall, lifesize and larger than the Rusties, dominating them not just by natural authority and stance but by sheer size as well. Everyone would have known it was a clever computing trick, but it worked.

  And it was talking.

  ‘—another way. The Commonwealth has failed you, but only in this instance. I do not ask you to turn against it, though you know it is not what we wanted. But I do say this. Defend your prides, your friends, your world. Deploy Device Ultimate. Avenge the First Breed who died on SkySpy...’

  ‘Got it!’ The software officer was triumphant only for a moment. ‘Um, it’s a local holo projector, sir, must be hidden somewhere in the Commune Place. And I can’t get at it remotely.’

  ‘—and after that, return to the Commonwealth with your heads held high. Return as heroes, and help the First Breed take their rightful place . . .’

  Gilmore set his aide to pick up the speech, and ran from the flight deck.

  Clever, clever, clever. Sand Strong had naturally reduced the argument to two positions: support the Commonwealth, or support the Ones Who Command. But March Sage Savour had introduced a third element: support me in this, then go back to the Commonwealth. This was a one-off emergency, it wouldn’t happen again, so . . .

  ‘Summary?’ he said to the aide. He had no idea what he would do when he got there but he had to move, do something. An impassioned, impromptu speech. Wave the holo projector under their noses, show them how they were being manipulated. Whatever it took.

  ‘Accept position of March Sage Savour: 44%,’ his aide said calmly. ‘Accept position of Sand Strong: 45%. Still undecided: 11%.’

  The lift was too slow; he was pounding down the companion ways.

  ‘Accept position of March Sage Savour: 72%. Accept position of Sand Strong: 26%. Still undecided: 2%.’

  No! The count was changing too quickly, he wasn’t moving fast enough. The door to the Commune Place was just ahead.

  ‘Accept position of March Sage Savour: 100%.’

  Gilmore skidded to a halt outside the Commune Place. ‘No!’ He thumped his hand, hard, into the bulkhead. Then he hammered on the door. ‘Sand Strong! Sand Strong, open up! You can’t do—’

  The door slid open. Sand Strong stood there, the apex of a wedge of First Breed.

  ‘Thank you,’ Gilmore gasped. ‘Look, you have to—’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Sand Strong said. ‘I tried. We’ve decided. Mr Gilmore, I know you’re against this move. Please don’t impede us.’ He walked forward, followed by the rest of the pride. They pushed Gilmore back down the passageway and he fought to keep a place beside the Rustie Senior against the press of bodies.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Sand Strong, there’s no logic to this! You can wait for the rescue squadron and—’

  Two Rusties peeled off and pressed against Gilmore, forcing him back from their leader. Sand Strong kept walking down the passage, not even looking back.

  ‘We can have you restrained,’ said one of the Rusties. ‘We would rather not because you are a friend to the First Breed, but we can and we will if you interfere.’

  Gilmore glanced down the passage. Sand Strong had disappeared into the lift. He looked down at the two Rusties and held up his hands.

  ‘There’ll be no need,’ he said.

  ‘Thank you,’ they said. They turned away and left him standing.

  He leaned against the bulkhead, put his hands to his head. ‘Come on, come on, I can do this, I can do this . . .’ There was a roaring in his ears and he stood on the edge of an abyss deeper, more profound, more final even than when he had stood in the middle of the damaged zone and gazed out into space. This was it, he had failed, everything was going to be a disaster from now on.

  It was the familiarity of the feeling that saved him. It had been an old friend, once, before the Roving Mission, and had come close to ruining him on several occasions. But damn it, five years as commodore of the Commonwealth Navy had shown him he wasn’t a failure, there was a way to beat it. He knew that old friend and he knew how to thwart it. Just think . Think, and the way ahead would crystallize ahead of him. Out of the storm would come a sure, steady path that led to success. That magical word, success.

  Gilmore pulled his aide out, held it to his mouth . . . and paused. There was no doubt that Sand Strong was heading for the flight deck. He could call ahead, tell Nguyen to seal the bulkheads and not let anyone with more than two legs through . . .

  In other words, instruct a junior officer to bar the way of her seniors. No.

  ‘Get me Captain Perry,’ he said.

  ‘Captain Perry is engaged,’ said the aide. Gilmore winced, guessing who Captain Perry was enga
ged with. Sand Strong moved fast.

  ‘Get me Lieutenant what’s-her-name. McCallum.’

  Donna McCallum’s face appeared in the display. She looked surprised. ‘Mr Gilmore?’

  ‘Sand Strong wants to use Device Ultimate,’ Gilmore said without preliminary. Her eyes widened. ‘He’s probably giving Perry instructions right now?’

  She looked away, then back. ‘Yeah, Bill’s talking to someone on his aide.’

  ‘You know him better than me. Is he likely to go along with it?’

  ‘He doesn’t have to go along with anything. There are enough Rusties on board to work it without our help.’

  ‘But there’s a marine guard on it,’ Gilmore insisted. ‘Can you strengthen it? Bar access to anyone?’

  ‘We could. I doubt . . . hold on.’

  The view in the display blurred, then fixed on a skewed view across the hangar deck. It showed Perry from the waist down, approaching Donna. She had clipped her aide back to her belt but left it transmitting, sound and vision.

  ‘Lieutenant.’ Perry sounded as if he was sucking on a lemon. ‘We’ve been ordered to vacate this half of the hangar deck. We may keep to our bivouac area but we may not approach Device Ultimate or any of the landing boats. Pass the word.’

  ‘Bill.’ Donna’s voice was low, earnest. ‘They want to use that thing. You can’t let them . . .’

  Was there the slightest pause? Some indication, any indication of conflict in Perry’s thoughts? Gilmore could imagine the façade, the frozen expression, the stony stare of a man determined to obey instructions he didn’t agree with.

  ‘We can follow orders, Donna.’

  ‘That thing could murder billions of creatures! Don’t tell me those orders are legal!’

  No pause this time; Perry wasn’t going to take argument from a junior.

  ‘We’re not being ordered to do it, just not to interfere. Follow orders, Lieutenant McCallum.’

  ‘Aye aye, sir,’ Donna said sullenly. The display showed Perry’s legs turn and walk away; then there was another blur and Donna was back on. ‘Did you get that?’

  ‘I got it. What else is happening?’