Furious Gulf (6 page)

“Huh? But it’s, it’s
beautiful.
”

Killeen grinned. “Suresay—to us. Maybe it was nothing special to people from the Great Times.”

Toby looked skeptical and Killeen waved at the screens, where wonders unfolded. “Look, once people retreated from their Chandeliers,
they went down to live on planets again. Things got rough. We stopped building big, and settled for what we could protect
from mechs. The Family of Families spread out among the stars, looking for safe places to hide.”

“That was the Hunker Down, right?”

“The beginning of it. They figured to hide out on planets. Thought mechs wouldn’t have much use for them.”

“Because mechs live best in space?”

Killeen grimaced wryly. “So they thought. On Snowglade and Trump, we first built the Grand Arcologies— cities like little
Chandeliers, but smaller because of the gravity. The damn mechs smashed them. Our tech stuff got worse and we built the Low
Arcologies. Still pretty damn big places, mind you. I saw the ruins of one.”

“You told me. Big as a mountain.”

“Well, maybe a little smaller. Too big for the mechs, though. They got through our defenses and flattened the little arcologies,
too, eventually.”

The ancient anger in Killeen’s voice made Toby say in sympathy, “So we built the Citadels. Kept going.”

“Yeasay—and kept ’em well hid, so we thought. Had to live by raidin’ off the new mech manufacturing complexes. Then the mech
city-minds sent rat-catchers to blast each Family’s Citadel. Rooting people out, casting them to the winds. Till only Citadel
Bishop was left. Then came our turn—remember?”

Toby recalled with reluctance their flight from Citadel Bishop. He had been just a boy, confused, scared. Fire and smoke and
death. His mother, killed by the mechs with merciful, cold swiftness.

He shook himself: “Look, Cermo said to report to you.”

Killeen nodded silently. Toby could tell that he, too, had trouble shaking off the dark past. Killeen abruptly turned and
sat behind his broad, uncluttered desk. “I think you’ve been getting out of hand.”

“Oh, the sail-snake thing? Look, it wasn’t my idea.”

“You should not get Quath stirred up. She is unpredictable.”

“Quath carried me out there. There was nothing I could do.”

“You could’ve signaled us, told us what was going on.”

Toby shrugged. “I didn’t think of that.”

“When you get in trouble, consult your Aspects.”

“Didn’t think of that either.”

“You’re carrying a lot of experience in those Aspects. Let them help you.”

“They nag me a lot.”

Killeen smiled. “That goes with the deal. They don’t get to do anything except talk, remember. Imagine what that’s like.”

“I’d rather not,” Toby said, uneasy at how this conversation was turning.

“You’ve got to get used to working with them. Fluid. So you reach for them automatically, like scratching yourself.”

“They don’t ride so easy yet,” Toby admitted uncomfortably.

Killeen gazed steadily at him for a long moment that widened between them. “How . . . how is she?”

So it had finally come out. Again.

“The same . . . of course.”

Killeen’s lost love, Shibo. The woman who had come into Killeen’s life after Toby’s mother died, a woman Toby had come to
accept as nearly a replacement mother. The once-vibrant Shibo now existed only as an Aspect carried in Toby.

She had been killed on Trump, cut down by enemy fire. In a trap set by His Supremacy, a mech-human hybrid. Toby and Killeen
had managed to get her back to
Argo
. In the recording room the ship’s instruments had spoken of potassium levels and neurological amalgams and digital matching
matrices, terms nobody in Family Bishop understood. Or their Aspects.

The ancient instruments had saved as much as they could of Shibo, reading the neural beds of her mind, the shape of a unique
consciousness. Making a recording. Then squeezing it into a chip that slid easily into a human spinal reader. Together with
cell samples from her body, for long-term Family genetic records, Toby’s Shibo Aspect was all that remained of her.

Normally an Aspect lay dormant until the trauma of death passed, often for a Family generation. But the Family needed Shibo’s
skills, judgment, and lore. Killeen could not have carried her Aspect, of course; that would invite emotional disaster in
their Cap’n, violating every Family precept.

Toby had been the only crew member with an open spinal slot and the right personality constellations to accept Shibo immediately.
They had used her knowledge of ship’s systems innumerable times in the long voyage. Shibo had a knack for techno-craft. Even
better than the advice of the older Aspects from the Low Arcology Era.

But the toll on Killeen had been heavy. Another long silence passed between the two of them, until Toby felt like jumping
up and rushing out, away, free of the strain he had truly not wished to carry. “I . . .” Killeen hesitated. “Can I speak with
her?”

“I don’t think so, Dad.”

Killeen opened his mouth, then closed it so abruptly Toby could hear the teeth click. “I just wanted a few words.”

“I think it’s a bad idea.”

“Why?”

“You know how you get.”

“I just wanted a little—”

“Dad, you’ve got to let go of her.”

There was a desperate look in Killeen’s eyes. “I have. I have.”

“No, you haven’t. If you had, you wouldn’t ask.”

His father’s lips thinned until they were nearly white. Toby knew Killeen was holding in a lot, the pressures of leadership
on top of everything else. But he couldn’t give ground on this point.

He had, once. Killeen had hounded him to let his Shibo Aspect speak through his mouth, and he had. Once. Twice. Then again
and again, until Killeen wanted that contact, as miserably fleeting and thin as it was, every day.

“I suppose you’re some kind of expert?” Killeen asked curtly.

“On this, yes.”

“What’s your Family Counselor been telling you?”

“Just what I said. To not manifest Shibo for you.”

Killeen slammed his fist onto his desk top with a meaty smack. “And if I make it an
order
?”

“I can’t obey that kind of order.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Killeen’s lips twisted cruelly.

Toby took a deep breath and said as evenly as he could, “No you won’t. I’ll take it to a Family Gathering.”

Killeen’s face slowly lost its congested, tormented look. It went slack, pale, beaten—an expression Toby liked even less.

“You . . . you’d do that.” It was not a question.

“I’d have to.” His mouth was dry, sour. “If I manifested Shibo, it’d drive you nutso, same as before.”

“Just . . . just a little . . .” Killeen’s mouth trembled. His jaw worked with unspoken emotion. Toby hated watching tormented
devotion drive a man he loved to such humiliation. It was as though Killeen was addicted to some terrible drug, and could
never get it out of his system.

But he had to. And Toby had to help him. “No. No, Dad.”

“You could, just for a—”

“A little’s worse than a lot. You
know
that.”

Killeen stared across the bare table for a long time and then slowly nodded. “Yeasay . . . Worse than a lot.”

“Dad, I use Shibo’s talents every day. She knows the electronics of this ship, how systems interact—she was great. But that’s
not what you want from her. You loved Shibo the
woman
. She’s gone. What’s left is hollow, thin. Only an Aspect.”

Killeen’s cheeks were sunken, his eyes empty. “Not quite.”

“Huh?”

“The recording machines made a deep copy of her. That chip you’re carrying, it’s a Personality.”

“What?” Toby was stunned. A Personality was a full embodiment of the neural beds. It carried features of the original person
that went far beyond his or her skills and knowledge.

“I ordered that nobody tell you.” Killeen shrugged ruefully. “A boy your age can’t really handle a Personality.”

“But . . . but it
feels
like an Aspect.”

“I had them box in the Personality. At first it couldn’t express itself fully through you.”

“That’s . . . I never heard of . . .”

“It’s rare. For emergencies only.”

“But why?”

Killeen was getting some of his Cap’n face back. “Family policy is to save as much of a person as we can.”

“But there are limits. I mean, we don’t keep bodies, or, or . . .”

“I wanted it done.”

“
You
wanted it done. Great! What about
me
?”

“The blocks should hold for a while, then give way. Her full Personality will emerge in time.”

“But suppose something goes wrong? Suppose this Shibo Personality starts making trouble?”

Toby felt jittery apprehension. Even Aspects could sometimes gang up on their carrier. Attacking at a weak moment, they could
bring on an Aspect storm. Then the carrier person went into traumatic states, a form of induced mental illness. Once the Aspects
got control of a carrier, they could direct movement and speech, govern behavior. Sometimes Aspects could ride a person for
days, even years, without anyone else knowing.

And a Personality was stronger than an Aspect . . .

“I took precautions. Her Personality is tied down with interlocking protections.”

“Still, Dad, if it ever—”

“This is
Shibo
we’re talking about here!” He slammed the desk again. “She wouldn’t turn on you, and you know that. She loved you like a
son.”

“This thing I’m carrying, it’s a
version
of Shibo. Complete with death trauma.”

Killeen blinked. “What do you mean?”

Toby fidgeted awkwardly. “Death changes people.” For a moment he almost laughed out loud at the absurdity of this.
Death changes people.
But were they people at all anymore? Or just damaged, altered recordings?

Another stretching silence between them. Then Killeen said stiffly, “I should have told you before.”

So his father was putting on his Cap’n self, covering his feelings with a uniform. Toby saw that this last statement was as
close as he was going to get to an apology.

Toby made a half-shrug, his mind still a swirl of conflicting feelings. “I’d just have worried about it.”

“So I thought, too. Son, I’m . . . I’m sorry about asking you to manifest her. I know it’s wrong.”

“Okay, Dad.”

“Sorry. So sorry.”

Toby got up, still flustered. His father came around the desk and embraced him. Neither of them were best at expressing things
through words, and for a long time they simply clung to each other, arms carrying messages that voices could not.

T
oby watched the Chandelier expand before their flyer, already huge and ominous, and yet still coming, swelling, filling all
of space. Its pale immensities stretched in all directions, offering glittering flanks and towers, grand portals and jutting
spires, soaring perspectives leading the eye away into dizzying depths.

—People made
this
?—he sent on the comm line.

Killeen answered grimly,—We were once far greater.—

The Cap’n was in the same flyer. Since they had talked, his father seemed to want to have Toby nearby whenever possible. Cermo
piloted, since this was the Command flyer. It was not lost to Toby that assigning him here effectively put him on ice, kept
him from “stirring around,” as Cermo had described his excursion with Quath. On the other hand, this flyer would be in on
the most interesting discoveries.

The ramparts and great flanks of the Chandelier began to betray their age as the Family flyers coasted nearer. The massive
sheets that seemed to have a ceramic hardness now showed pits, black scars, big rimmed craters. About Galactic Center a hail
of incoming debris constantly circled. Even tiny flakes, zooming in at several hundred kilometers per second, could dig deep
holes.

Toby watched the peppered face gain detail as they came nearer. He had the same problem, blotches that robbed dignity, but
supposedly his would clear up in time. A teenage problem. It was as though age brought a cosmic acne here, he mused, that
would never go away. But did that mean no one lived here now?

They were close. He could sense an edgy impatience on the comm line. The crew sent their all-clears in clipped tones. Nobody
detected the slightest signal coming from the Chandelier itself.

He used his blocked-in Shibo Personality to help integrate the calls. It was pleasant, having a kind of interior servant who
could listen to one transmission while Toby paid attention to another.

Quath could do that, all by herself, Toby knew. The alien’s mind was organized differently, so that it processed incoming
information in parallel. Quath said that she had “subminds.” They did their assigned jobs, kind of the way Toby could gnaw
an apple and read a book at the same time. But Quath’s subminds stored it all and could feed it back.

So Quath would have been perfect for this job—only she wouldn’t come along.
the big alien had sent.

Killeen had explained that this Chandelier was not in any sense Family Bishop’s home, since it was incredibly ancient. Still
Quath wouldn’t budge. She sent something about “intimate observances” and would say no more.

Toby’s Shibo Personality emerged, a tickling presence.

All flyers are in optimal position, the 3D scan shows. No unexplained electromagnetic emissions. The Chandelier appears dead.

Toby was used to Shibo giving him straight, impersonal stuff. She had been a good friend while alive, but her Personality
was reserved. She had not mentioned his conversation with Killeen, either. He said to her in his mind, “Say, do you think
this is a good idea?”

Not particularly. Mechs probably expect such a magnificent site to be visited now and then. And mechs plan far ahead.

“What would you do?”

Send in one person. Less risk.