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Chapter 34

The core had tried too much, too soon. But it needed to pursue this if its plan were to succeed.

There had to be a way: A way to calm Sage; a way to counteract the hostility of the El while keeping its interest; a way to keep Sage from leaking critical information, and to keep the El from tearing apart Sage's mind looking for it.

The last was the easiest. The core could control the flow of critical data, but it couldn't control Sage's emotional state. Not without help.

There were contacts that must be made, and quickly.

 

* * *

 

Martino watched in horror as the core pulled Sage from the connection with the alien and floated him to a position that the Secretary could only hope was one of safety. [What in God's name were you trying to do?] he hissed furiously. And what terrible error had he committed by trusting the core to do heaven-knew-what?

[I need,] the core answered in a distracted-sounding voice, [to talk with you.]

Martino shouted, [What do you think I've been trying—]

The core interrupted. [I need your help and I need it immediately.]

[You need . . .] Martino shook his head in astonishment. He was supposed to be the most powerful man in the United Americas. He had never felt so powerless. [What do you want? And why?]

[I need your authorization to reach several people. I need it urgently.]

 

* * *

 

The coordinator reacted swiftly to his agent's disbelief. [Your understanding is correct. She is to be sent to the rap-field center where the original intrusion occurred.] As he spoke, he was aware of a continuing flux of information in the console enclosure. He ignored most of it and focused on the situation at hand—the final stage in a series of defeats for the ComPol. [Instruct her to patch into the system. The rest will be handled for her.]

An orange glow flickered in the agent's eyes. [This was ordered by Secretary Martino?]

[With confirmation from the CEO,] the coordinator said. [The Company agrees with the feds on this one. Ours not to reason why.]

[Is she to be kept under guard?]

[Officially, no.]

[And unofficially?]

The coordinator hesitated. [You have your orders.]

 

* * *

 

The door shimmered, and a guard stood before her. "You're free to go. You can pick up your things at the desk."

Pali blinked, rising. "Free? Why?"

The guard shrugged. "You're to report at once to your department rapture-field room. A designer will be there to assist you."

"Assist me to what?"

The guard stared at her. "Assist you into rap. I am instructed to tell you that time is of the essence."

Pali took a deep breath and followed the guard out of the cell.

 

* * *

 

For Harybdartt, the last two waking periods had been his most lucid since his capture. He had at last seen the face of the enemy—at least, what he presumed was one of the Outsiders, a face inside a bubble helmet, a face with eyes and organs of respiration. He had no certain knowledge. There might be one race, or several. They might come in many forms. All he knew with certainty was that he had at last viewed something other than a creature of metal. Something that looked as different from those soulless killer-robots as the robots were from the Ell(ship)s, which at least knew living organic loyalty to the masters they served.

He felt little distinction in being the first to meet an Outsider in the flesh; it had been a matter of chance, and nothing more. Nevertheless, a certain knowledge was now his, and he adhered to the principle that any knowledge was potentially useful, as long as he continued to live.

He flexed against the restraining field. His strength was returning slowly. The field permitted slight movements, and by varying his muscular contractions he could effect a reasonable isometric exercise. But he longed to be free, to stretch, to run. To take up his duties.

Two of the suited aliens entered the chamber. He studied them as they moved about with their portable machines. Their helmets showed most of their heads: pale brown flesh partially covered with a stringy material, restless eyes, mouths that opened and closed fluidly. They looked weak, he thought. But their machines fought for them, and their machines were anything but weak.

The two gestured, and poked at Harybdartt with their instruments. They seemed aware that he was watching them, but they made no effort to communicate. Turning his head, he followed their movements. Their mouths began to move rapidly; their gestures became animated. They left the chamber in apparent haste, then became visible on the far side of a glass wall. They peered at him, looking expectant.

Harybdartt narrowed his inner focus. Was he about to experience some new form of interrogation—or perhaps a biological experiment? He examined the seal protecting his memory: the torhhatt. It remained secure. But he must be ready, if the examination became too precise, to go a step further . . . to seal, and to terminate, all memory.

It would require the sharpest possible focus.

He felt a tingle in the field, and his mind was touched again. Then something opened, a channel hollow and ringing, and a connection to something very far away . . .

 

* * *

 

"What's the hurry?" Ramo grumbled, following Mike, the federal agent, down the hallway. "Have you ever heard of trying to get blood out of a turnip?"

The corners of Mike's mouth twitched with a suggestion of a smile, but he didn't slow his pace. "Orders, Romano. Don't you know, we federal boys don't know how to think for ourselves, we just follow orders. That's how we do things in the government."

"Yah, right." Old dull-witted Mike, Ramo thought—the guy who'd beaten him at spiel-dice nine times out of ten. They passed the room where he was usually questioned and turned down another corridor. Mike stopped at a closed door and raised his ID bracelet to the lock. The door shimmered clear, and they walked through.

Ramo's eyes widened. It was a fully equipped rap-field room staffed by military personnel. A single field was sparkling emerald-green, ready for use. Ramo glanced at Mike, who was grinning slyly. "You want me to go in there?" Mike nodded. "What for?" The agent shrugged. "Whose orders?"

Mike's eyes twinkled. "Secretary Martino's, I'm told."

"Secretary Martino. Ah. The Secretary Martino?"

"I only know of one."

"Ah." Ramo looked around, and swallowed hard. "O-kaaay," he said. "Let's go."

 

* * *

 

When the pain stopped, Sage was in darkness, gasping. He could scarcely remember what had happened, except that there had been a terrible danger . . .

A voice: [DeWeiler—can you hear me? Are you there, DeWeiler?]

It was like nails on a blackboard, but worse. This was not his place, why was he here? He'd followed Tony into the construction yard; he hadn't wanted to, he was only what—four? five?—and Tony much older . . . and there voices shouting, at him, angry voices, frightening him; he was already scared witless, clinging to the I-beam where he couldn't move, he just couldn't move even though they were hollering and hollering . . . that only made it worse, until an eternity later, someone pried his hands away from his terrible perch and lifted him; and later he found out how close he came, how near they were to releasing a flood tide of concrete . . .

There were voices calling still, and he shivered and tried to pull away from the sound . . .

And he'd cried for hours, beyond punishment or solace; and Tony'd cried, too, but somehow Tony had gotten over it.

He tried to move to a place where no one could trouble him, where no one could reach into his mind . . .

[SAGE.]

. . . and twist and dissect each fiber of thought. He tried to pull the darkness in around him like a blanket, to sleep, to escape the nightmare . . .

[SAGE.]

He stopped moving and listened. What was that?

[SAGE, BE STILL. BE CALM.]

Calm, what kind of talk was that? Be calm, when at any moment it could return, and there was no defense, no defense at all . . .

The voice softened. [The danger has passed.] It was the core's voice. The core was his friend . . . he was remembering now, remembering where he was . . . returning.

[Sage, you are unharmed. You are safe. You are still in the rapture-field where you were.]

Still . . . of course. But what was he doing here? He'd been staring at . . . the Horsehead Nebula and the Ell outpost, and then one particular El, and then—

He remembered. He wanted to forget, but the core would not let him. [It is vital that you speak to me. Answer me, Sage.]

There was movement around him in the darkness. [I can't see,] he said. [Why can't I see?]

There was a sigh of relief as the core shifted something, and light returned, and he saw the matrix of the gnostic system surrounding him, and somewhere on the periphery was Secretary Martino of the United Americas, waiting for something to happen; and off in one corner was a small rectangular image that he knew he didn't want to look at. He looked anyway. It was a view of the captured fighter and the enemy base—and the alien, the one named Lingrhetta, still in the glow of the fighter's rapture-field.

Sage trembled, but he sensed the core watching, sensed its reassurance.

He looked away.

[Sage?]

[Yeah?]

The core's voice was that of the elderly schoolteacher. [I need your help, Sage. I need you to stick it out, to see this through with me.]

[Sure you do. Why me? Why not the Secretary? He's the one who knows all about the war.]

[Because, Sage. Because I chose you. Because I thought you were the best.]

[But I don't know anything!] And I'm scared, damn it.

[You know enough to know what is right. You know the system. And the last time I needed you, you did what had to be done. I need that sort of help again.]

Sage was silent. He was aware of the Secretary looking on from a distance. [What does he think about this?]

[The Secretary has agreed, for the moment. He has little choice, you know. This job was entrusted to me, and he is more frightened of taking it back than he is of anything I might do.]

[Oh.]

[Sage?] Another voice—a familiar voice; a warm, female voice, comforting like his mother's, but younger. Who was it? [Sage, remember the fleet. And your brother.]

It took him another moment. Then his heart leaped. [Pali?]

The matrix shimmered and a face appeared, a face filled with joy. [Sage!] Pali cried. [Yes, I'm here! Are you all right?]

His heart pounded. [Yes, I'm fine! My God, I—] He broke off. How could he possibly explain?

[Sage, what's going on? Did you call for me?]

[Me? No, I—]

[Well, then, the system did.] Pali laughed, and it was the sound of cool water in a desert. Anyway, here I am. What are you doing? What is all of this?]

[Well . . . I . . . I mean . . .] Words failed him again, but he realized suddenly that he felt a little less lonely and a little less frightened.

The core spoke again. [There's someone else I'd like you both to meet.]

Another rectangular window appeared in the field, beside the one showing Lingrhetta and the Ell base. In this window was the face of another El, without spacesuit or helmet. The creature had an angular, bony countenance with protruding brows over pupilless eyes, and a complexly structured, rigid-lipped mouth. There was nothing resembling a nose; but under the chin, two vertical slits seemed to inflate and deflate, revealing a feathery internal structure like gills.

Sage squinted uneasily. He sensed Pali absorbing the view with surprising calm. All right, he thought, I can be calm, too. I can be calm. [Core—] he said hoarsely. [Who is that?]

[Its name is Harybdartt. It is our guest, the only El we have ever taken in battle.]

Sage squinted harder.

At first, neither El showed any awareness of the other. Then Sage sensed a shift, and he felt Lingrhetta's thoughts brush past, puzzled, but not about him, thank God; and there was a stirring from the second El . . . and if there had been astonishment at the first contact between Human and El, it was nothing compared to the sudden joining of two Ell brought together by their enemy. The Ell burst into an animated exchange, gibberish to Sage. Was the core following it? he wondered, and was rewarded by a glimpse of the core scanning, building on its translation subsystems, securing snatches of understanding when it could. Despite himself, Sage listened in fascination.

A loud voice broke into his concentration. [Would somebody please tell me what's going on here?]

Startled, Sage looked away from the Ell. [Pali? Is that—?]

[I think so,] Pali said. [Ramo?]

Beside Pali, the field dissolved to a surprised human face. [Hey!] Ramo cried. [Sage? That you? Pali! Where are you guys? They've got me in a room here with a bunch of uniforms. I have no idea where . . .]

Sage felt himself grinning. Heaven knew why, but he was actually happy to see Ramo. Could he possibly have been that lonely?

Ramo turned. [Holy shit—what's that?] He pointed at the two aliens, who still seemed unaware of their Human audience.

[Ell,] Sage said.

[What?]

[Ell.]

[Oh, I see. Thanks for making that clear.] Ramo's eyes rolled as he turned back to Sage. [Where did you go, anyway? Silver told me you—]

[Ramo!] Sage interrupted. [Can that wait?] He pointed. The two aliens had paused in their conversation to stare at the Humans.

[Whoa!] Ramo said nervously. [Introductions, anyone?]

Sage smiled to himself. So Ramo too could be unsettled. Somehow that made him feel better.

The core named the two Ell.

Ramo rolled the names on his tongue for a moment before saying, [Harry and Lin. I can remember that.]

There was no time for a reply; the core was still altering the field. There was a stirring like a breeze; and without warning, the Humans' thoughts merged with the Ell's. Sage's breath caught. But if he was expecting an assault like the last one, it didn't come. The Ell's inner voices swirled at the surface of his mind; there was a puzzling disjointedness.

[You are Sage?]

[What is this creature?]

[You represent your Outsider race?]

[Its name is Sage?]

[I . . . what Outsiders? . . . We're the Human race.]

[What is its purpose here?]

[Human race—(incomprehensible)—Outsiders to us.]

[Representing its race?]

[Not exactly,] Sage said. What was wrong here? The aliens were out of sync, talking past one another. The core showed him: Harybdartt's thoughts were coming at lightspeed from Delta Station, with a signal lag—while Lingrhetta's, via stargate, were nearly instantaneous from eleven hundred light-years away. He repeated his answer: [I'm not exactly a representative.]

[Then—?]

[What do you want of—(incomprehensible)—?]

Ramo was cawing nervously. [Sage, representing the human race?]

[Shut up, Ramo. Listen, Haryb—Harry. And—Lin.] The two aliens peered at him with unreadable expressions. He sensed in the murky swirl of their thoughts a new perplexity. [Look, we have a bit of a lag problem here, so let's take it slowly.] Whatever it is we're doing. [Also . . . I'd appreciate your not ripping my brain open again.]

There was a wave of impatience from the Ell.

He took a breath. The core flashed him an image of what it wanted. What? How could he ask for that? Wait a minute . . .

The core's voice suddenly filled the matrix. [I brought you all here for . . . something that is difficult to explain. Perhaps, after all, it would be better just to show you.]

The matrix shifted . . .

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