The (fleet) whispered through transient in battle formation—a sizable (fleet), perhaps too sizable. In the home system and elsewhere, the forces were stretched thin, perhaps too thin. If the (fleet) was headed, not for a target but for a trap, then the Inner Circle's decision would be revealed not in its daring but in its folly.
There was no way to know except by going. And time was too short to send a long-range scout first. But to !!Ghint, it seemed a risk of grave proportions.
All crews were in full rehearsal, every watch, for what could be their hardest-fought battle or their fastest retreat. Soon they would emerge. And the Ell would know whether they had made the greatest breakthrough of the war, or the greatest blunder.
* * *
At Delta Station, two things were known with certainty. One, the GCS had interrogated the prisoner and kept the results to itself; two, it had redeployed the AI-fleet, sending reinforcements to Argus and keeping a large wing in the solar system, but virtually eliminating the roving hunter-killer fleets. What had been a strategy of attack seemed to have turned to one of defense.
To Commander Leon Fisher, this made no sense—unless the GCS had information that it was not sharing with him. Why were the strongest forces being redeployed in the solar system, rather than in systems where the enemy had been sighted? His superiors at WarOp seemed as befuddled as anyone, more concerned about who was in charge than about what was actually happening. It seemed there was as much a political war going on as a military one. But he knew who was in charge; it was the GCS. There wasn't a man or woman at WarOp who could take the place of the gnostic system and win, and that included him. He'd never fought an interstellar war before—none of them had—and it was clear that if the robot forces stopped fighting, Earth's ability to wage war would collapse.
So he did what he could to keep the manned forces ready. And he worried. And though not a religious man by nature, every once in a while he prayed.
* * *
The AI-core was brooding.
This was not, it was aware, a normal behavior. But with so much at stake, it was frustrated at having to wait for the others to recuperate biologically before resuming the conference. Frustrated! (What was happening to it that it should be subject to the feeling of frustration? And yet, time was fleeing!)
Glimpses from the mind of Lingrhetta had suggested that the Ell might indeed have gained locational data from the Fox; if true, then almost certainly a fleet was, or would be, en route. Whatever the core's hopes for peace, it could not leave the solar system undefended. It had been forced to choose between keeping its main strength at home and sending a strong force to the aid of the colony fleet. That Earth took priority was obvious; but it was not much to the core's liking.
Even more disturbing was the knowledge that its own blunder had brought it to this point. How could it have allowed such vital information to exist in the Fox? Was the oversight an accident or the result of a specific and undiscovered flaw within itself? And what other surprises might lie in store?
That was its main reason for brooding: too many unanswered questions, not about the war but about itself.
Perhaps now there was something else it ought to explore. The others would be ready when they were ready.
The core opened a channel it had used once before. A series of connections flickered—and from the senso of the Lie High Club came an explosion of sight and sound. It was late in the evening at the club, and the crowd's emotions were high. The dance-field was full, the band beating out a contrapuntal stat number, the feedback lustily alive; individual bursts of passion were popping through like percussion beats. The core touched and sampled, and felt the intoxication of the dance the way it imagined strong wine might feel. Perfect; this was perfect. If it worked at all, it should work here.
It was invigorating, this rush of sensation, this feeling of movement combined with the passions running through the senso. It tried at first to watch and interpret—but the music made the core want to move with the beat in its bones, to feel the lazy bobbing of someone on the edge of the senso, watching, to feel the insolent twisting and thrusting of someone closer, for whom dancing was as natural as breathing, to feel the rush of a dancer in the heat of passion. The core felt a growing urgency as it watched, a desire to join in. It realized that perhaps it could join in; but should it? Was it an indulgence, or could it learn something that might help later?
The core acted quickly. It took only moments to create an image, to convert it to holographic output, and to channel it to the senso-field. When the image coalesced in the senso, it began to move to the beat of the music; it began to dance.
But the feeling wasn't quite what the core had hoped. It was difficult to follow the beat precisely, to coordinate the movements of limbs, to make a body made of light flow with human rhythms, to make it look and feel believable. Either the feet didn't move quite right, or the feet and hips and shoulders each moved in time with the music, but not in sync with one another. It was odd; who would have thought it so difficult to reproduce the style of movement of the human body? It could duplicate the physical movements, but what of the joy? What of the spirit?
Other dancers were beginning to notice it now, taking the figure to be a part of the programmed senso. One dancer and then another strutted in front of the core's image and mugged at it. The core felt their laughter rippling through the field, and their disdain. It struggled to improve the coordination of its movements, but it was not just a question of efficiency; it was something more. Perhaps with enough effort, it could find the solutions it needed . . . but right now there was not enough time.
The core admitted defeat and switched off its presence, but it did not abandon the senso. It continued watching, and felt the energy of the dancers—and tried to think how best to share it. There had to be a way.
* * *
The first contact was from eleven hundred light-years away, a ripple through the linkage that was still open to the Fox, a ripple that told the core that someone had reentered the rapture-field, still glowing like a halo from the captured unit. It was Lingrhetta.
[Greetings,] the core signified.
The El's response was muted. It allowed a node of curiosity to show itself. [Clarification desired,] it said finally. [Explain previous meeting. Explain motive.] The El hovered in the field, not quite opening its thoughts for the core to see.
The core hesitated. Should it try to explain? [The motive was understanding. I perceived that you desired it as we did.]
[That answer is inconsistent with prior Human behavior,] Lingrhetta responded. [Explain.]
[To show is to explain. However, you should know: differences among Humans make consistency an unlikely goal.]
The El was silent, perhaps not understanding. The core readied a channel within itself, which it hoped would give the El understanding. [If you would know your opponent,] the core said, [then you must know of Human passion.]
[We would . . . know our Human opponents,] Lingrhetta answered stiffly.
[Then join with me,] said the core.
It started with only music at first, softly, from the Lie High Club—a post-break reggae number, full of deep bass rhythms. Gradually it brought that to a fuller volume as it dissolved the rap-field matrix into an image of dancers moving in the senso. It expanded the image to fill the field, then added the senso feedback. It was late, at the Lie High Club, but the spirit was still present, if subdued. The dancers floated with a lazy kind of energy, a late-night drift, soft and mellow.
The El's reaction was difficult to judge. It seemed startled. There was, for an instant, a protective closure of its thoughts, followed by renewed interest. [This is . . . what?] Lingrhetta said.
The core was slow in answering. It had trouble finding words for the translation. [It is dance,] the core said, pronouncing the final word in English. [It is . . . one expression of the Human spirit.]
[Dants,] repeated the El. Its attention flickered through the field, focusing on one Human dancer, then another. It reached out with its thought to probe the dancers. The core quickly froze the circuit, until Lingrhetta withdrew—reluctantly, it seemed.
[Observe. Listen. Feel. But do not interfere,] the core said. [Shall I bring Harybdartt to see?] It noted on another channel that its captive was alert. Lingrhetta assented, and the core opened the connection. While the two Ell exchanged thoughts in animated flashes, the core, with another of its aspects, went looking for its Human collaborators.
* * *
Ramo and Sage returned at almost the same moment. Sage was stunned into silence by what greeted them, but Ramo yelped with delight. [I knew it, I just knew it!] he crowed.
[Knew what?] Sage asked, mystified.
[The dance!] Ramo shouted. [The core brought me here to dance!]
Sage held his tongue, thinking that anything was possible. What an odd collage of images: dancers at a club, plus two Ell—seemingly fascinated by the sight—and Ramo shouting for joy.
[Core!] Ramo said. [This is good, very good!]
[You approve?] asked the core.
[Sure, I approve. Sure.] Sage could almost see Ramo rubbing his hands together as he added, [But how about going one better? How about showing some real dance?]
The core sounded puzzled. [Is this not real?]
[Oh sure, it's real,] said Ramo. [But not real. You understand the distinction. If you want real, you have to go where people are really into it, you know, because they love it—not just because it's something to do at night and they think maybe they can pick up a little action on the side.]
[I welcome your suggestions,] the core said. [But do you not frequent the Lie High Club?]
[Oh, yeah, sure,] Ramo said. [It's handy and sometimes, with the right band and the right crowd, it's actually good. But just now, frankly, it's sounding a little tired, if you know what I mean.] He contemplated the two Ell. [If you want to show these guys some real quality, let me suggest a private group I happen to be familiar with.]
Oh no, Sage thought.
[If it's a place accessible to my connections,] the core said.
[Oh, sure it is,] Ramo said. [In fact, I think you know the place . . .]
* * *
Yes, the core thought. It knew the place, and the people. It had once considered closing them down, but had decided, after all, that competition, at least in small doses, might not be a bad thing. At worst, they were a nuisance; at best, they were a kind of laboratory, learning things from which the core itself could benefit later. But to contact them now, for the sake of their music and their dance—which the core had thought unsophisticated (no levitation field, no preprogrammed senso) and little more than a cover for their other activities . . . ?
Well, it decided, if Ramo said theirs was the real dance . . . it had trusted Ramo this far. But first there was a code that would have to be broken.
* * *
It was Odesta who first realized what was happening. There were only a few people dancing; it was late, most everyone had gone home, including the musicians, and the rest were just dabbling around on one of the network feeds. Egret was drifting lazily in the center of the floor when the coils of luminous smoke surrounding him suddenly vanished and a three-dimensional grid blinked on, filling the room with crisscrossed hair-fine blue lines.
Startled, Egret swung toward Odesta. "Yo, Desty—you should give a little warning before you do that!"
Odesta, who was just as startled, didn't answer. She and Silver had been fine-tuning a new security protocol, and her mind was very much on the subject of tricky interfaces with the gnostic network. "Damn it all," she muttered, knowing instinctively that this was a system interrupt, and probably all of their work was wasted. "Can they have cracked it already?"
The grid rippled, and she was astonished to hear a familiar voice boom into the room: "FOLKS, CAN YOU HEAR ME? IT'S RAMO!"
"Ramo, buddy!" shouted Egret.
The voice softened a little. "Yo, Egret! Desty! All of you! Listen, I have a favor to ask."
"Where are you?" Egret yelled. "Show your face!"
"What? Oh, sure." There was some distortion in the grid, and then a large Ramo's face popped into view, in the far upper corner of the room, grinning down at them like the Cheshire cat. "HOW'S THIS?"
"Ho-ho!" Egret said, prancing around, craning his neck.
Enough! Odesta strode to the center of the room. "Where are you, Ramo? And what the hell are you doing?"
Ramo chuckled. "That's a little hard to explain, actually. I'm at the head of the system. Sage is here, too. Say hi, Sage."
"Hiya," said Sage's thin voice.
"Hey, Sage!" yelled Egret.
"What the hell—?" Silverfish said, walking out of the kitchen. "I got a message on the screen telling me to come upstairs." He suddenly saw Ramo's face, and his jaw dropped. "You mean it was from him?"
"Apparently so," said Odesta. She cocked her head. "What's up, Ramo? You said something about a favor?"
"Right," Ramo said. "Actually, you could call it an invitation. I was wondering if you could gather some people together—some good musicians, some dancers—and put on a sort of impromptu jamdam for a very special audience."
Odesta exchanged incredulous glances with Silver. "At this hour? Are you crazy? Who's the special audience?"
"Well . . ." The giant Ramo's face frowned. "I can't exactly tell you who the audience is, is the thing. But I can assure you that it's for a good cause, one you'd believe in. It's not just me asking, it's the whole system."
"The system?"
"Right. It's for . . . friends in high places. It would be seen, and appreciated by . . . some people very far away. It's possible that they might even join in."
Odesta turned helplessly to Silver.
Egret snapped his fingers. "Easily done, man. Easily done. We can get some people back in here quick enough. And weren't Lip and Eddie jamming down at the North End, Desty? We could tie them back in."
Odesta sighed. "Egret . . ." He had just advertised a test link they had done earlier, quite illicitly.
Egret's blunder was not lost on Silver, but he seemed unfazed. "I'd say," he said deliberately, "that since the system's gone to all the trouble of coming into our home to ask us, we could do it a favor, eh?" He gazed at Odesta, who hesitated before nodding to the inevitable.
"You'll do it?" Ramo said brightly.
"Sure. But how about tomorrow?" Silver said, looking up at him. "It's awfully late . . . but if you can wait, we'll put something really good together for you tomorrow. We already have some people coming."
Ramo looked disconsolate. "Tonight would be better."
"Hey!" Silver chided. "You want quality, or not? Besides . . . if we do it up right, it just might be fun. This is a real network appearance, you say?"
"Oh, it's a network, all right. Like you wouldn't believe."
Silver saluted him. "You're on, then! Whom do we call when we're ready?"
Ramo said cheerfully, "We'll call you."