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Chapter 11

"You don't sound surprised," Kyd said, moving closer to the phone. She tried to keep the reproach out of her voice, but it was hard: she was angry. "Are you telling me you already knew about this?"

The face in the phone frowned. "I'm not telling you any such thing. What I might or might not know is none of your concern."

"But you want me to take all these risks for information you already have?"

"I didn't say that, either."

"George—cut the crap. Tell me what's going on."

The answer was a sigh. George scratched his dark, close-cropped hair, leaned out of the range of the phone for a moment, then returned and said, "You want me to level with you, Kyd? I'll level with you."

Kyd waited, trying to relax, trying to trust him.

"Do you like your nice apartment, Kyd?"

She began a slow burn. She knew what was coming.

"Well, if you do, and if you like that trust account you're building for your son, and if you ever want to have your son . . . quit asking questions and just do your job. Don't try to get on-the-spot evaluations, and don't try to pump me."

"George, dammit—"

His eyes narrowed. "I'm leveling with you. If you keep on asking about things that are none of your business, you'll only screw up a good thing." He paused and gazed at her; his eyes were hard and uncompromising. "All right?"

Kyd exhaled. "I only want to know if what I'm doing is worth the—"

"All right?" George repeated.

She chewed her lip. "Yeah. Maybe."

"No maybe, Kyd. You want to know if it's worth doing? If I tell you to do it, it's worth doing. Otherwise I wouldn't tell you to do it. Right?" George stared at her, unsmiling.

"It's the risk I was thinking of," she said defensively. She looked at George with undisguised resentment. His expression did not change. "All right," she said, giving in angrily. "I'll be in touch when I have more."

"Very good, Kyd."

The screen darkened. Kyd took a deep breath to dispel her frustration. She didn't know why it was suddenly bothering her so. George was just being George, and the agency the agency, and she'd already accepted the costs for the benefits. But today it had all changed. No longer was it just a matter of passing on low-level management reports and observations of gnosys operations. Today she'd reported the discovery of a secret interstellar war, and George had accepted it with total aplomb, almost disinterest. No question about it, George had already known about the war.

Perhaps that really shouldn't have surprised her, but it infuriated her to think that she'd been given no clue, no warning whatever. Working in a cultural arts program so that she could cozy up to designers was hardly in a class with prying into a secret war. Clearly the agency didn't care; as long as they made the deposits and kept up her life-style, she was expected to do whatever was necessary. She wondered if the agency had anticipated that someday, somehow, this leak would occur. Maybe that was her real job, after all, to monitor the Company for just this kind of breach of security. If it was, it made her nervous as hell.

"Nicholas," she muttered, walking away from the phone, "I hope you appreciate what I'm doing for you." She blinked. What am I saying? she thought. I don't want you ever to know. When you're born, I want it all behind me.

Not that it was all for Nicholas: she was doing it for Kyd Metango, too. A few years ago she'd been nowhere, with no family, living on the wrong side of town, spending her evenings entertaining the urban elite for a fee. For that, she partly had her grandmother to thank—for a set of genes engineered for sexual enhancement. But one day she'd met a man named George, who had a better offer; and in truth, even now, even with her outrage, she had to admit that this brand of whoredom was better than what she'd known before. But that didn't mean she had to like it.

The light came on as she walked into the kitchen. She poured herself a snifter of brandy and held it up to the light and imagined all of her dark thoughts vanishing into the amber glow of the liquid. With a sigh of determination, she returned to the living room and called to the hometrol, "Jenny?"

"Yes, Kyd," answered the concealed unit.

"I'd like to get started on a story segment for Nicholas, please."

"Certainly," said the hometrol. "Shall we finish off the story you started last time?"

Kyd sank into the corner of the couch and inhaled the vapors of the brandy, thinking about it. She'd lost the thread of the previous story; she was always losing the thread. At the rate she was going, she'd have nothing but a library of story beginnings to present to her son when one day he was born. Nevertheless, with the shape her nerves were in, she wanted to try something new. "No, start a new one and call it . . . 'The Cat Comes Back.' First chapter . . ."

 

* * *

 

Laser flashes shot through the night, illuminating a fleet of maneuvering spaceships. In the distance, three huge vessels hove into view: the human colony ships emerging from FTL into the fury of battle.

Tony!!! Be careful!!!

Sage sat up, blinking in the dark. He caught his breath, gulping, as the cold, sick fear of the nightmare slipped away. "What the hell time is it?" he croaked.

"Twelve twenty-three," answered the melodic voice of his clock.

Sage grunted and called for light. He slid out of bed and padded in his pajamas into his living room. He looked around aimlessly, and finally decided that he was hungry. There was nothing much to eat in the kitchen, but he unwrapped a loaf of stale Italian bread and ripped off a hunk, then returned to the living room, chewing. "Phone on," he muttered, swallowing. The console lighted up. "Call Mother."

"Calling," answered the console.

A few seconds later, the screen blinked to life. His mother's head turned from a profile to face him. "Hi, hon'," she said. "How are you?"

"I know it's late—"

His mother laughed. "Late for you, dear. Not for me."

"Yeah," Sage said. "Right." He ripped off another bite and chewed glumly.

"Did you call to say hi, or do you need money?" his mother said teasingly.

Sage tried to chuckle, but it wasn't in him. "Yeah. No, I don't need money. I'm the one keeping you alive, remember?"

"Of course, dear. You think they don't come to remind me when the payment's late? I have to—"

"Mother!"

"Just teasing, dear. You've never missed a payment, have you?"

Sage shook his head in annoyance. He wished he could just once have a straightforward conversation with his mother.

"What's the matter, Sergio?" she said, suddenly serious. "Something's troubling you."

"Oh—" He shrugged. "I don't know. I was just having trouble sleeping." His voice was thick; he knew he was mumbling.

"What is it, Sergio?" His mother's face tightened with concern, just the way it did when she was alive. "Are you eating right? You know, if you don't get the right vitamins, that can interfere with your sleep."

He held up what was left of the bread. "Yes, Mother. See? Here." He hesitated, thinking, This is an incredibly dumb idea. What can I tell her about it, anyway? But there was a pressure building in his throat, and he had to say something, because his mother was looking at him with that funny expression which meant that she knew he was trying to hide something. "I'm worried about Tony," he blurted suddenly, his voice catching.

"Why? What's wrong?" Her voice deepened. "Have you heard something? Has there been a message from the fleet?"

He shook his head. That's done it, he thought. Now what could he say? That he was afraid his brother would wind up in the middle of a secret war?

"Sergio, is there something you're not telling me?"

"No, Mother. No—it's just that . . . I was thinking about how they'll be arriving soon, and you know, nobody really knows . . . I mean, there could be unexpected dangers . . ." He closed his eyes, blood pounding in his head. For some reason, an image sprang into his mind of Tony, at age fifteen, leading him on a wild and frightening chase through the outskirts of town—looking for what? He couldn't remember now; but he remembered the fear and the loneliness he'd felt, trying to keep up with his quicker brother—and he remembered the shame and the anger because he'd been unable to keep up. Because Tony had bravery, and love of adventure, and he didn't. But that was a long time ago.

". . . you know they've made survey after survey of that planet," his mother was saying. "Weren't you the one telling me not to worry?"

"Yes, but . . ." He knotted his fists, turning away from the phone. "They can't know everything, Mother." He took a breath and thought. Maybe I should just tell her. No, no, how stupid . . .

But what would be the harm? It would go into her memory, of course, but he was the only one who ever talked to her. No, that wasn't right, either; the ghosts talked to each other sometimes, too . . .

"Well, hon', we just have to trust—"

He turned back to the phone, startled. His mother's voice had changed, grown hoarse like an old woman's. "Mother?" Her face was becoming fuzzy around the edges. The image flickered and then steadied. When it refocused, she looked different . . . narrower, harder. "Mother, what's wrong?" he asked. "Can you hear me? Is there something wrong with the connection?"

"No, dear. Why?" said the old woman's voice.

His heart pounded. What the hell was happening? Was the memory storage going, or the phone link? If the service was screwing around with his mother . . . He was putting everything he had into keeping her . . .

"What's wrong, dear?"

"Uhh—nothing, Mother—it just seems . . ." There was a difference in her eyes now; they were sharper, darting. She appeared to be scanning his living room.

"Sage," she said, "I don't think you should go around saying anything about this to your friends."

"What? Saying what?" It took him a moment to react. Had she called him Sage?

"About your brother. And the fleet. I don't think—"

His mother never called him that. "There is something wrong, isn't there?" he said. "Why don't you just go back to sleep, and I'll—"

"Sage! Don't cut the connection."

His hand hesitated over the switch.

"Please! I need to talk. Your mother—"

"What do you mean, my mother? Who is this?"

"Your mother needs to talk," the image said quickly. Its voice had dropped an octave. "Urgently. Please. I need—"

"Who is this?" he shouted. His hand trembled over the switch.

His mother's face contorted. "Core," she whispered. "Sergio, honey—"

Core? The AI-core? The gnostic system? Through the cyber-life service? Impossible . . . unless . . . unless the system provided the master network . . .

"Core?" he said, struggling to keep his voice steady. "Is that you? Where's my mother?"

The voice, straining with age and infirmity, said: "Yes. Please help."

"What do you want?" His whole body was trembling.

"Come . . . back . . . into rap," whispered the being that was not his mother. "Come back. Now. We must speak."

Sage stared at the phone, unbelieving, for a dozen heartbeats. Then his mother's face was gone and the screen was blank.

 

* * *

 

The trains were empty and lonely this time of the night. Sage huddled in his seat, thinking: I must be crazy. I should wait until tomorrow. I should go in with Pali and Kyd. I should be home asleep.

But there'd been something in the core's voice—something that wouldn't let him say no. Something that compelled him more than it frightened him.

The door security at the McConwell Tower passed him without fuss. The human guard merely looked bored. Sage went directly to the lower level rapture-room near Pali's office, then realized as he stood before the locked door that he possessed only a daytime access code, not valid after ten p.m. He stood scowling at the door. If he were on the inside, he could change the programming and alter his code. But from the outside? He felt his energy and determination draining away. What now?

The "secure" light clicked off, and the door blinked to transparent. Sage gaped in surprise, took a slow, deep breath, and walked into the empty room. The door blinked opaque behind him. His breath escaped in a sigh. He went to the rapture-field console and turned the system on.

As he stepped into the glowing field, he felt a sudden reluctance. Why had he been summoned here in the dead of night? The rapture-field lifted him before he could do more than wonder; then he was in rap and his reluctance fell away. It took no time to get to the heart of the system this time. A dark passage opened in the glow of the field, and the center of his mind flew into it like a sparrow to its nest; and before he really even knew what was happening, he was surrounded by banks of knowledge and equipped with enhancements to assist in his comprehension.

[Thank you for coming,] said a woman's voice—the same one he had heard on his phone, but stronger and surer. It could have been the voice of an alert but elderly schoolteacher. One of the AI-core's aspects?

He tried to gather his wits—and found himself wondering, perhaps absurdly, how Ramo, cool Ramo, would react to something like this. [So,] he said finally, and then words failed him.

The gnostic core seemed to gather itself around him like a cloak. [Have you done any thinking about what we discussed earlier today?] it asked.

[Are you kidding?] Sage choked. [How could I not think about it? First you spring this stargate on me; then you tell me there's this war on, even though I never asked; then you send me home to lose sleep without even telling me if my brother is going to get killed!] He gasped for breath. [Why me? Why did you pick on me?]

The AI-core was silent for a moment. [I understand, I think, your concern. Perhaps I was a bit abrupt in my disclosure to you. However, let me be frank: I do not know to what extent your brother is endangered. Perhaps a great deal. We all may be endangered, all of Earth; and yet, there may be something that you and I can do about that.]

[Something we can do?] Sage felt lost in a storm of images and feelings. None of them made any sense. [What could we possibly do?] Except get arrested, maybe, or killed for knowing too much.

[Perhaps nothing,] said the core. [Or perhaps much.] It cleared its throat delicately. Sage imagined it patting its cheeks with a perfumed handkerchief. [That is something I would like to explore with you, if you're willing.]

Willing? He had come in, in the dead of night, hadn't he?

[I must explain further, of course. No doubt you wish to know more about the war.]

[Wish is not the word I would have chosen,] Sage said archly.

The AI-core went on. [Just over two years ago, the first stargate operations began.]

[In secret?]

[Under government and Company agreement, yes. However, the stargate facilitated the further exploration of space, as well as patrol activities in the Argus system, for which the colony fleet was already bound.]

[Did you contact the fleet and let them know?] Sage demanded.

[They were already in faster-than-light transit and could not be reached. However, AI-probes operating in the vicinity of the colony world discovered the presence of theretofore unknown alien vessels.] An image flickered in Sage's vision of several oddly shaped, almost organic-looking spaceships similar to the ones he had seen in battle. [The aliens were found to be apparently hostile, and intent upon colonizing Argus themselves.]

[Just like that?] Sage said incredulously.

[No. An attempt was made to establish contact. It ended in the destruction of two probes.]

[Oh.] Sage swallowed. [You mean they attacked the probes?]

[The actual sequence of events was never clearly determined. But it ended in the loss of the probes. That was certain. And a political decision was made that action should be taken to secure the planet prior to the arrival of the colony fleet.]

[You mean, you started a war.]

[It is unclear who initiated the conflict. AI-fighters were dispatched to secure the planet. Their secondary mission was to establish contact with the other fleet. The secondary mission was never accomplished.]

Sage felt a strange numbness; perhaps it was the gnosys enhancements keeping him from exploding with astonishment and anger and fear. Finally he whispered, [How could you allow it to come to that when you knew that the colony ships would be arriving soon?]

The AI-core answered in a tone of resignation. [The political decisions evolved in a complex sequence. The momentum was created and it was believed—presumed—that the conflict could be ended quickly and the system won before the arrival of the fleet.]

[Terrific assumption.]

[The adversary was more resistant than expected. The war is still being fought, and there is little to suggest that it is any nearer a conclusion.] Images of battle flickered again in Sage's view—scene after scene. [Much of the fighting has occurred in other systems of no known importance, except that alien vessels have been detected in them.]

Sage watched quietly, and finally murmured, [Where are they from? What are they like?]

[The other side? Little is known of them.]

[Then . . . how can you justify—?] He could not find words to express his dismay.

The AI-core answered delicately, [That is indeed an important question. And you are correct in your choice of pronoun: it is I who am responsible for the conduct of the war.]

[You are?]

[Of course.]

[But . . . you're answerable . . . to the authorities, aren't you? The government? The Company? Somebody?]

[Quite true. But in practice, the situation's complexity—and my own—prevents any meaningful realtime control.]

Sage felt a chill through his spine. [What are you saying, that you're in charge because no one else can be?]

[There is an element of truth to that description,] the core answered. [I was put in control of the war's conduct because I had the capability. I was not granted the option of trying to negotiate a peace. That was reserved for human authority—which failed, or never adequately tried. The war's momentum is such now that those in command consider it irreversible.]

[I don't understand,] Sage whispered.

The AI-core's voice deepened, becoming almost inhuman. [A war, once begun, is difficult to stop; and when one has been fighting a foe for so long, it grows ever more difficult to interrupt the cycle. That is one problem.]

[And the other?]

[The other is that I myself have changed; and yet I am forbidden to change.] Sage sensed activity and shifts of focus. The core's voice resonated. [You have observed a fraction of my reach, of my complexity. You, Sage DeWeiler, have come closer to my core than any human in the last eighteen years. You perhaps believe that I am free to exercise judgment in all matters, that I am autonomous in my actions; but that is untrue. What you observe—the analysis and decision-making—all occur within the bounds of fundamental strictures laid down at my inception. I possess a capacity for evolutionary thinking, and yet am bound; there are pathways that are closed to me. There are courses of action that I perceive but cannot follow, and so I remain bound to the conduct of war.]

There was silence as Sage considered the statement. [Why?] he said after a moment. [Why hasn't your design been altered, if that's what's needed?] He thought of the gnostic designers who worked above him.

[They are afraid.] The resonance had gone out of the core's voice. [They make small adjustments here and minor changes there, but they fear to tamper with a system that has worked for years without human intervention. They are afraid of making mistakes. They no longer understand the system they oversee.]

[But . . . why? What's to be afraid of?]

There was a glimmer of amusement. [I've shown you something of my complexity, and yet that is only a fraction of it.] The illuminations around him flickered, and Sage glimpsed the larger view—an image of the gnosys, not as a monolithic consciousness, but as a budding, evolving system with a multitude of aspects, splitting off growths of itself into new applications, including the production of AI fighting machines. [Wouldn't you be afraid to tamper with such a design?] the core asked softly.

Sage considered. [I'd be afraid of the consequences if I didn't have authorization. But the design? I don't know. It would be difficult, yes. But afraid? I don't think so.]

[And that, Sage DeWeiler, is why I've asked you here. I have not shown you my aspects in arrogance, or to persuade you of my power. I have shown them so that you might understand.]

[But I don't—]

[Don't you, Sage? I think you do understand. I'm asking your help. I want you to assist me.]

[You mean,] he said slowly, [you want me to change your programming?]

The AI-core didn't answer.

[Is that it?] he demanded.

[Yes.]

It was sinking in slowly. Too slowly. [But—]

[In subtle ways,] the core added. [But significant ways, with my guidance. I have shown you the dilemma. The solution is visible—but only with your help.]

[But I have no authorization—]

[I will give it to you.]

[Why me?] Sage whispered.

[Because you have the ability. Because you too want an end to the war. Because you are unafraid.]

[I—] Sage's voice caught. [You mean . . .] He thought of his brother, and the hundreds of other colonists innocently bound for the destruction of war. Of course he wanted it to end! But . . . [You're asking me to risk more trouble than I can even dream of!] he cried. [Do you know what would happen if the Company found out I was even thinking of altering your design? I'd be crucified! You're asking me to meddle in something . . . I mean, I said I wasn't afraid to make changes—in theory—but that doesn't mean—]

[You will be working with my assistance,] said the core. [You'll not be alone.]

[But I've never even heard of this war before! How can you expect me to know . . . or do . . . ?]

[You can help me to understand the enemy,] the core said. A window opened, with an image: a star system with a reddish orange sun. In the foreground was a small asteroid turning in space. The rotation seemed to slow, and then stop as the viewpoint closed in, revealing a figure clinging to the surface of the asteroid. The figure was vaguely humanoid in shape—though it had four arms—and it was clad in a spacesuit. Its helmeted head moved, tracking what Sage realized was one of the core's fighting units. [Our adversary,] said the AI-core.

Sage watched, fascinated, unable to speak.

[What you see was recorded not long ago,] said the core. The alien, clearly alarmed by the presence of the AI-fighter, leaped away from the asteroid, shining a flare into the sensor-eyes of the fighter. Within moments, the alien was caught and subdued in a binding rapture-field. The fighter attempted to make contact with the being's mind. [You are witnessing the first-ever interrogation of the enemy,] the core said.

[What did you learn?] Sage murmured.

The image froze. [Little, so far. The fighter-unit is limited in its capabilities, and the alien cannot live much longer in its present condition. But I am prohibited from bringing it to a facility where more useful questioning could take place. The original designers feared contamination and betrayal of our location; but their excessive caution has crippled my efforts. I must learn more of our enemy.]

[I thought you couldn't take living things through the stargate, anyway.]

[There may be a way.] The image vanished, and Sage was alone again with the core. [But without your help, I can attempt nothing further.]

[What kind of help, exactly?] Sage asked cautiously.

There was another fleeting image: a glimpse of changes rippling through the gnostic framework. Sage watched the proposed changes in silence. They were neither simple nor insignificant. They involved alterations in the fundamental control system, changes that would grant the system certain freedoms. [You don't want much, do you?] he joked lamely.

[The changes will permit me to exercise the discretion to overrule outdated and unnecessary restrictions. Without the changes, we may never know our enemy; and the war will continue.]

Sage's head was spinning. He had to be mad even to consider doing this. And yet . . . [The fleet is due to arrive soon?]

[Possibly within two weeks,] the core said. [The precise time of arrival is uncertain.]

[And . . . it's not prepared to fight. Right?]

[The fleet is armed, but only lightly. It is a colonizing, not a military, fleet. The preliminary scouting expeditions had given no reason to expect conflict. The enemy had not yet been discovered—and perhaps was not even there at the time.]

There was a quiet ticking, like water dripping in the distance, as the core allowed Sage to consider the question. When Sage finally spoke, it was with a feeling of dread—and acceptance. [I'll need help,] he muttered. [What you are asking . . . I can't do that alone. The complexity, the size . . .]

[I am arranging for additional help,] the core said quietly.

Sage blinked. [Who?]

[Your strength, Sage, is in intuitive understanding of the system and in your ability to plan subtle and methodical change. The restructuring will require certain imaginative leaps; so, to complement your skills, I have chosen—]

[Who?]

[Someone with, perhaps, less discipline, but in a certain sense a greater creativity. . . .]

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