Playing God (44 page)

A second shadow fell onto the dome and hurried in the opposite direction of the first.

“I think it's from Commander Keale.” Lareet raced for the tunnel.

Back in the command center, the duty-sisters scrambled around madly, trying not to disturb the terminal parts on their white sheets.

“What is it?” barked Umat.

“Machines, Dayisen Umat,” said one of the Trindt Imn. “Most of the cameras still aren't working, so we have no count of how many, but you can see here …” She gestured to one of the table screens. Lareet bent over it with her sister.

A silver box with crab-claws and insect legs landed on the hull near the shuttle run. It began to pick a dainty path between the ship's pipes and other protrusions. A sister landed next to it and fell into step right behind.

“Where are they coming from?” Lareet felt her ears quiver.

“We don't know.” The Trindt Imn threw up her hands. “The cameras—”

“I know, I know.” Lareet waved her to silence. She flicked an ear toward Umat, who already had the speaker box in her hands. She flicked the switches to override all ongoing communications.

“This is the Dayisen Rual Umat to all sisters. Strange machines are landing on our hull. If anyone sees them where you are, report immediately.”

The speaker box crackled. “This is Trindt Prusht Kvet. There are strange
jobbers
in the hangar bay, and they're opening the hangar doors.”

“You, you, you, you.” Lareet pointed at whoever did not look like they had been coding. “With me.”

They trotted in a quick-time march down to the hangar's overlook. Trindt Kvet was there with four soldiers. The hangar doors had come open just far enough for the insectlike
jobbers
to scurry inside. They scampered between the waiting shuttles. One of them all but tripped over one of the ship's maintenance jobbers that had its arms in an open panel. The new
jobber
extended a limb to the busy machine and touched it. They stood motionless for a moment. Then, the newcomer pulled its limb back and hurried on. The old
jobber
swung into motion, its diligent hands now ripping the wires out of their sockets and letting them dangle free.

“Mother Night,” breathed Lareet. She scanned the keyboard in front of her and found the intercom button.
“Jobber!”
she called down into the hangar bay. “Stop!”

The
jobber
continued its methodical destruction. She tried again in English, in French, and in Cantonese. The machine did not even flinch.

“Speaker!” One of the duty-sisters handed her the boxy unit. “Somebody get those doors shut and stop that thing!” Two sisters vanished down the corridor.

Lareet flipped the switches for the bridge. “Dayisen Umat,” she said into the speaker. “The new
jobbers
are corrupting the old ones into reversing their purpose from maintenance to destruction. We need to get the squads out into the ship. Any
jobber
that does not respond to orders must be destroyed.”

“Understood, Dayisen Lareet. Take whoever you have with you and start a patrol of your quarter. We'll coordinate from here.”

“Understood, Dayisen Umat.” Lareet shut the power down and looked at the cluster of soldiers around her. “We have a new enemy, Sisters.”

It was the strangest battle Lareet ever fought. She patrolled the corridors with her soldiers, alert to every sound. Whenever they found a
jobber,
they shouted at it harshly. If it didn't answer, they fed on it, breaking it to bits.

The little enemies were fast, though, and got into everything, including the water recyclers, the air vents, and the main foodstore. But finally, after ten hours, Umat sent a runner from the command center. The ship appeared to be clear of the strangers.

Lareet congratulated her sisters. They embraced and laughed and started composing rude poetry about the metal monsters as they trooped back to their city.

But Lareet couldn't help turning an ear back in the direction they'd come from.
That was a good move, Commander Keale. Make us destroy our own best allies. How many maintenance machines do we have left after this? A very good move.

What will you do next?

Lynn climbed down the shuttle's ladder into the echoing white hangar deck of Dedelphi Base 1. Cabal and Arron followed close behind her.

“Lynn!”

Lynn turned. The next thing she knew, she was enveloped by David's arms. Unable to speak, she held on to him, drinking in his warmth and his presence.

Oh, God, you're here, you're all right!
She knew the same thoughts rang through his mind.

At last, David pulled away. “What happened?” His careful fingers touched her bandaged face.

Lynn rested her forehead against his shoulder. “A lot,” she confessed. “I'm going to need a new cheek, and a new camera.”

He wrapped his arms around her again. “We'll take care of you.”

It took a moment, but the intensity of seeing each other began to fade. Lynn remembered they were in public and realized that even by their lax standards this was a massive display, and noticed that the entire shuttle crew was flowing around them. The same thoughts must have reached David, because he did not resist as she pulled back to a more polite distance. It was then Lynn saw Trace and R.J. standing nearby. Not even perpetually polite Trace pretended to ignore the scene.

“Welcome back,” said R.J. blandly. “We've missed you. You would not believe the admin backup we've got.”

“I'm sure,” replied Lynn, matching his dry tone. Tired as she was, hurt as she was, she could not miss the tension singing between the two of them. They were both standing stiffly, as if every fiber in them had been tightened to the breaking point. “What's going on?”

“In a half hour, the seniors and veeps are having a meeting,” Trace said. “There's going to be a vote on a pullout. Everyone's gone out of their minds.” The set of Trace's jaw showed how little she thought of
that.
“They want you there. C16.”

“Good,” said Lynn, meaning it. “I want to be there.”

“Lynn,” David said softly. “Don't make me say ‘You are not going anywhere until I've looked at you.’ ”

She shook her head, briefly, because the motion made things hurt worse. “Never. But I need to be at that meeting.”

“Then we'll get you there.” David took Lynn's left arm and walked her down the familiar summer-lit corridors, with their gardens and statues, until they reached the white, sterile infirmary. The med-techs on duty took one look at her and started forward, but David waved them back.

Lynn hopped up on the table. David extended a privacy screen and whistled for the instrument jobber. With careful fingers he peeled away layers of bandage and flaking tempskin. His face dropped immediately into professional mode. “Talk to me, Lynn. Tell me what happened.” His voice shook gently, although his hands remained perfectly steady.

She told him. He layered her wounds with anesthetics, antifungals, and vat grown T cells. He covered it all over with patches to keep her skin from growing until they could take care of the muscle damage. The only time they both faltered was when he had to clean and clear her eye socket He laid another patch over the empty hollow. Finally, he strapped support braces around her knee and ankle.

Just call me Dr. Ragdoll.

When he was finished, he pulled a clean cotton kaftan out of one of the jobbers.

She slipped it over her shoulders. “I'm sorry, David, I have to go. We'll talk after the meeting.”

“I almost killed them all.”

Lynn said nothing. David turned around. His bands shook visibly.

They had you. I didn't know if you were dead or alive. They were taking over the ship. I could have let loose the plague samples we had. I was going to. I wanted to.”

“David.” He leaned close, and she wrapped her arms around him. “It's going to be all right. There is a way out of this.”

He pulled back just a little. “Lynn, what are you going to do?”

“What you were going to do aboard the
Ur,
David. Just what I have to.” She kissed him gently, and, as fast as she was able, limped out of the infirmary.

Without her implant to help her remember her route, Lynn had to ask tine Base AI for directions three times before she found her way to conference room C16. As she paused in the threshold, the door opened to let her in.

The room was jammed. All the chairs around the conference table were filled with seniors and uppers, except for one next to Veep Brador that Lynn really hoped was for her. Veep Brador, unshaven and wide-eyed, sat at the table's head. Yet more people stood around the walls, balancing portables on their hands, or murmuring to their implants.

Everyone watched her as she threaded her way between people and chairs to the seat next to Brador.

“I am glad you could join us, Dr. Nussbaumer,” said Brador evenly.

So am I, believe me.
“Thank you, Vice President Brador.”

Brador turned to the entire assembly. Lynn recognized about two dozen of the faces there. The rest were strangers. Their names had probably been stored in her implant.

“I would like to officially open this meeting,” Brador said. “Please be aware that these proceedings are open for remote viewing. Room voice, begin recording.” He paused briefly to give the cameras time to switch on, then launched into a very canned opening. “We are all aware of the immediate crisis on the planet Dedelph—”

“Crisis?” snorted one of the people standing against the wall. “It's a world war, not a crisis.”

The speaker leaned forward and Lynn recognized Vincent Berkley's lean, sharp face and angular body. His clothes fit loosely, but his elbows, shoulders, and knees still seemed about to poke holes in the fabric. Berkley was in charge of environmental micromodeling, so she hadn't had much to do with him, yet. But she knew about him from Trace and R.J., who spoke his name with a healthy mix of respect and wariness.

“I don't see what we're doing here.” Berkley stepped away from the wall. “The Confederation's fallen apart. Nobody's holding our contract. The social dynamic has turned into an unpredictably dangerous situation that Bioverse can't expect any of us to walk into.”

“Every contract has provisions for hazard duty,” tried Brador.

“Yes, but not suicide.” Berkley folded his arms. The cloth around his elbows strained to keep them covered. “We are citizens as wed as employees and we have a say in what the corp, and we, get to do with our lives.”

“They've already attacked us,” said a thin, pale woman with watery grey eyes whom Lynn couldn't put a name to. “They've already tried to kill us. We've had to pull out. We can't do our jobs. There's no one left to work with.”

Lynn glanced at Keale. He sat like a stone with his hands on the arms of his chair. If Brador had brought him there for moral support, it didn't look like he was getting it.

“I am not going to order my people into a situation that's going to get them killed,” said a short, broad man with his sleeves rolled up to expose burly forearms. “We can't let this situation continue.”

“No,” said Lynn quietly, “and we don't have to.”

Everyone's attention fastened on her.

“Don't we?” inquired Keale, mildly.

Lynn got to her feet. “We can stop the war. Wars. Give those who want to get themselves to safety a chance to leave.”

“If you have any suggestions as to how we can do that without unduly jeopardizing the Dedelphi or our citizens, Dr. Nussbaumer”—Brador spread his hands—“I'd love to hear them.”

“Disinformation.”

“What?” said Brador. Several others’ mouths began moving without sound, getting a definition for the archaic word from their various implants.

“Nothing is accomplished without knowledge. Lose your source of information …” Her voice shook. She stopped and took a deep breath. “Lose your source of information, and you lose your ability to plan, to strategize.

“Not even the Dedelphi fight without knowing whom to hit and where they are. We can use the communications network, our security teams, and our people to spread false reports about troop movements, numbers, who's been evacuated, and who's still here.”

Berkley raised his eyebrows. “She's suggesting we lie to our clients.”

“It's less deadly than letting them fight it out.” Lynn planted both hands on the table and let her one eye track the room.
Let them all get a good look at me. Let them see what's already happened. Let them think about how much further it can go.

“The Dedelphi have already tapped our communications network and broken our codes,” said Keale. “We can use that against them. Send out bogus confidential reports.”

Lynn resisted the temptation to stare at him. Was he coming in on her side? Or had she switched over to his? Lynn shoved that thought aside. “There are a large number of Great Families who want no part of this war. We can still relocate them. We can make it public that we will defend the ports and our transports, and if anyone wants to take their chances attacking them, well, they're taking their chances.”

“Lie, then threaten them,” murmured Berkley, scratching the back of his head. “I don't know how they do things where you come from, Dr. Nussbaumer …”

Lynn felt a rush of real anger. “Where I come from,” she said in a tight, controlled voice, “we don't abandon those we've promised to help.”

“Do you kid your own people instead?” asked the grey-eyed woman.

Lynn bit down on her first reply. “You ad seem to think we're helpless. We are not helpless. You, we, tame entire ecosystems. We steamroller whole planets when necessary. This war, these combatants, are a hostile ecosystem that needs taming. That's the job. The only question is how do we tame them?”

A rustle of cloth and voices drifted through the room. For the first time, Lynn felt something thaw slightly. Maybe people were thinking. Maybe.

“If we do this,” said Keale, “we have to move quickly. From what we've heard, a number of the Great Families are talking about teaching both the t'Therians and the Getesaph a lesson for their arrogance.”

Berkley held up one hand, making a “stop” gesture. “Assuming we could get the boards to listen to this, can you give me one reason why we should try to get it approved?”