Tales of Chills and Thrills: The Mystery Thriller Horror Box Set (7 Mystery Thriller Horror Novels) (162 page)

Chapter 17

Brett could detect movement from the steady breeze, though he couldn’t tell by looking at the ocean far below. Sunlight glinted off the ever shifting swells and waves.

He and Ariel lounged in deck chairs. Above them floated the giant multi-chambered helium balloon of the dirigible. Ariel wore a loosely woven dress that protected her from the sun while letting cool air circulate.

She lifted her head and told him, “This is the most efficient means of travel ever invented.”

Brett considered. It wasn’t fast enough to be efficient in terms of time. Energy then? There was an engine pushing them forward, and sailing would have required no power at all.

“OK, I give up. How do you figure that?”

She replied, “We’re traveling for pleasure, and this form of transportation has the highest pleasure per hour, and pleasure per mile, of any I’ve tried.”

Brett nodded agreement. He had told his superiors he was taking time to practice with the Oceanian nannies, and it was true, but he wasn’t sure this trip optimized his hourly learning rate. On the other hand, he didn’t care.

For awhile the silence resumed. Then Ariel spoke in a drowsy murmur. “Are you still worried about having your individuality stolen somehow?”

Sometimes he was. He sent a daily diary of both what he learned and his ideas and thinking to Barr. The Colonel would follow the changes in his opinions, and look for anything suspicious.

Contrary fellow that Brett was, the act of continuous scrutiny made itself seem paranoid and silly.

He answered frivolously. “That was the other Brett. I was born when his soul got stolen. I’m gonna kick his ass if he tries to return, and these here nannies are going to help me. It’s like the night I was kidnapped and replaced by an exact duplicate with the same memories. I rigged a camera and alarm system in case he tried to sneak back and get rid of me.”

Brett’s other concerns seemed increasingly unlikely as well. Michael had nothing to gain by making a public fuss – least of all Ariel. Nothing of his private life had come up in negotiations so far, and what would be the point of saving it for a surprise?

Ariel laughed. “Good for you. So, no more fears and no regrets?”

Brett was feeling very relaxed now, not in the mood for worries, but some things he needed to talk about. “A couple of days ago I started wondering why I had been so scared of the nanny infusion beforehand when I knew so little about it. I became aware of some possible answers, Oceanian theories about psychological reasons for certain fears.”

Ariel nodded. “Exactly. You’re doing very well on verbal learning now, and you automatically become aware of whole new worlds of knowledge available on subjects you’ve just begun to think about.”

Brett continued, “It’s not like brainwashing, I’m aware that they’re all theories, and if I’m interested I need to research them.”

Ariel responded to his tone. “Since you need to say it’s not like brainwashing, you think it could be.”

Brett agreed. “Even with all I’ve learned about safeguards, multiple people who don’t know each other and have incentives to find errors in each others’ work, it could.”

Ariel waited for him to continue.

“What about errors everyone agrees on? History is full of societies which agree on ‘facts’ that are wrong.”

Ariel furrowed her brow in thought a moment before responding. “Most without nannies to directly transfer wrong ideas.”

She was right but also wrong. They hadn’t quite touched the core of what was bothering him.

“Ariel, what’s it like to be part of the overmind?”

She frowned, perhaps choosing her words. “It can be absorbing, but it’s not something that happens to you like getting eaten, it’s something that you do.”

“But you’re less aware of yourself as an individual while you participate?”

She nodded. “In some ways.”

“You have gaps in your memory?”

She held up a hand as if to slow him down. “Sure, but it’s not sinister or anything. The supermind uses all our knowledge, and some things have to be forgotten for privacy’s sake. I explained how the brain is stimulated to make chemicals that inhibit memory.”

Seeing Ariel before him, more human and alive than anyone he had ever known, was almost enough to dispel his fears. Yet what he had seen on Roundhouse was still seared into his brain. On the point of asking Ariel about it, he asked himself instead.

In a blimp above the ocean, he hovered far from any major data hubs. It took several seconds for any answers to pop into his brain. Some Oceanian historians did blame Oceanian technology for what had happened on Roundhouse. He would study them when his trip was ended. There would be yet another negotiating session after he got back, but he would work it in afterwards.

The day was still beautiful, but Brett was no longer at peace.

Chapter 18

Brett finished his last bite of Sunflare fish. He resisted the impulse to order dessert, since the other three men had only ordered wine.

Brett now knew the name of this restaurant, the Aerie. It was the same place where he and Williams had met Ambassador Nocker and his assistant Ames shortly after arriving on Oceania, and for all subsequent negotiations. They had the best table in one of the best restaurants on the planet, and they didn’t even order food. Talk about conspicuous consumption. Sure there was plenty to talk about, but it got pretty repetitive, and Brett had decided to order lunch in fairness to the management.

The weather had cooled, and presumably the bird clinging to the outside of the screen was migrating from somewhere to somewhere else. Was it really Fall already? The Oceanian year was a tiny bit shorter than back home, but that would still mean they had been here almost six months. The time available to avert war was running out. In a sense they were literally where they had started. This was the same screened porch where negotiations had started. The seating might even be the same, with Brett next to his boss Williams and across from Ambassador Nocker and Ames.

Williams told Nocker and Ames, “We believe you. We just need more to take back to our government.”

The little bird was red with black markings on its head. It was worrying at the edge where two screens joined with its beak.

Nocker moistened his lips with wine before replying. “No other supermind was ever instrumental in a war crime. I can assure you the conditions were specific to Roundhouse.”

That unproven assurance wouldn’t do. Although there was only beer and wine on the table, the bird struggled tenaciously. Tired of futile talk, Brett stood up and said, “Excuse me while I stretch my legs.”

Ames said, “That’s a Drinking Bird. Careful not to let it in.”

Brett could see why it was called a Drinking Bird. The black patch around the eye and the black triangular shape on the head gave it a rakish appearance, almost as if it wore a piratical eye patch and hat.

Behind Brett, Williams pointed out, “If you understand what happened you should be able to tell us about it – and if you don’t, it’s difficult to see how you can be completely certain it won’t repeat.”

Brett agreed with the words though not the tone. Williams didn’t sound impatient, or even deliberately patient, but as if he were saying it for the first time. Williams’ phobia about close contact with the bearers of nanotechnology seemed to be in remission; it was as if the other three were experts in a precise mincing dance which Brett could not perform, a dance which was no longer sufficient, a dance for which there was no more time. Brett felt a kinship with the bird in front of him. They were both unsubtle, but direct, persistent, and determined.

“Don’t open the screen or the bird will come in,” Nocker advised, perhaps not having heard Ames’ previous caution to that effect.

Brett didn’t see that the little bird flying around could make negotiations any slower. Maybe it would shake things up. His main concern was that the bird might be bored to death.

Brett slid aside one of the screens and the bird flew in. It didn’t fly around aimlessly but headed directly for the rim of Brett’s mug and began drinking beer rapidly. Surprised, Brett returned to his seat.

Nocker addressed Brett with a tone which was distinctly cool. “I see you’ve learned about some of the descendents of Earth fauna which have evolved to fill specialized niches on Oceania.”

Brett nodded, but he knew little about them.

“Soon I’m sure you’ll learn something about our culture too. We’re not all Lifists, but the idea of not killing pointlessly is engrained deeply. Some even consider Drinking Birds lucky. Children who find killing them an amusing game are usually considered distasteful.”

Brett didn’t quite understand how this involved him. “What?”

Nocker replied in a tone of determined patience none of the diplomats had used earlier, as if explaining something Brett only pretended not to know. “Drinking Birds often subsist on partially fermented fruit that has fallen from the tree. Liquid alcohol goes through their system much faster. When the drunk and hyperactive bird manages to get out through the open screen, it will bash its brains out flying into various obstacles – unless it manages to get high enough to die from the fall.”

Brett had to strangle a feeling that Nocker, or life in general, was being unfair. The Oceanians could hardly be blamed for his own misconstrual of their advice. Apparently Nocker was able to read the sincerity of his dismay, because his voice was softer when he continued.

“My fault then for assuming you understood – though I don’t know quite why you let the bird in anyway. It’s too fast to catch, even flying unsteadily, so there’s nothing we can do now. They breed fast, and thousands die every year.”

Brett couldn’t explain why this so dismayed him. Yet Nocker seemed to understand. “In that case there is one last resort. Close the screen if you will, the bird is already drunk.”

Brett complied. Nocker pulled a flexible cap out of his pocket. Neither of the Oceanians wore them so as to put their negotiating partners at ease. A few moments later several waiters and busboys rushed in. One actually had a net almost suited to the task at hand, others made do with colanders or bread baskets. The Drinking Bird flew fast and erratically, bumping its head as predicted, but there wasn’t enough space for it to build up too much speed. Even so it would have been uncatchable if not for the fact that the pursuit was crowded into such a small space.

A curly haired busboy triumphantly imprisoned it in a breadbasket, which he slid face down on the table with a little dish of water underneath so the bird didn’t dehydrate while sobering up.

Brett remarked with astonishment, “The service is excellent here.”

Before leading the others out, the taller waiter told Brett, “It’s our pleasure to serve you.”

Nocker said, “The ‘Aerie’ is playing a key role in the history of our world by hosting the negotiations where we convince you there is nothing to fear from our technology, and that your economy in fact benefits indirectly from it. Even capturing the little bird is a privilege for them, though you needn’t feel obliged to let any more in today.”

Brett took a deep breath, uncertain what to dispute first. It was Williams who spoke. “Perhaps we could view these discussions as a forum where each side discovers it can make concessions which formerly seemed unpalatable.”

Unfortunately there weren’t many concessions the Federalist Worlds could afford to make, given what was at risk.

Nocker sounded almost conciliatory. “Some Lifists believe each of us has an animal self somewhere in the world. Perhaps the Drinking Bird is yours. They can migrate long distances, sometimes individually rather than in flocks. Intrepid, wouldn’t you say?”

A waiter silently placed another mug of beer in front of Brett. Brett drank and wondered at this unexpected recognition of his finer qualities.

Nocker continued, “Sometimes they mate for life, sometimes not.”

Brett was glad the mug hid much of his face, although presumably Nocker wasn’t alluding to his personal life. Surely Oceanian gossip columnists and their equivalents had forgotten him by now.

“They are infinitely more than birds that fly out of the stratosphere, involve themselves in things they don’t understand, and leave a mess on the table.”

Brett almost choked on his beer. Unfortunately the bird had just made a mess on the tablecloth. Brett tried to think of a witty reply to puncture Nocker with. “I think it’s most unchivalrous of you to engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent.”

Not original, but self deprecatory humor was better than nothing.

Nocker smiled an acknowledgement and continued. “Perhaps I’ve misconstrued your, um, direct manner of speech. I’m aware you’ve found the courage to do something the vast majority of your compatriots would not have, and I do believe it will ultimately help us greatly.”

The words sounded good, but Brett’s infusion could hardly make them more willing to drop the technology. So Nocker must still be hoping the Federalist Worlds would become reconciled to it. Brett refused to become distracted.

“That’s me, dumb but brave,” he said amiably. “You know, every assumption I’ve made about this planet since I’ve been here has been wrong. I’m going to prospect for uranium by studying geological surveys, and when I’m sure I’ve found the perfect place, mine somewhere else. Now to me it seems obvious that if you could prove there was no danger of the tragic events on Roundhouse being repeated elsewhere, you would do so at all costs.”

Brett saw the anger on Nocker’s face, and headed off a distracting argument by saying immediately, “So everything that seems obvious to me always turns out to be wrong. You have the proof. You can’t or won’t give it. Does anyone in the Federalist Worlds have this evidence as well?”

Although he was watching Nocker, out of the corner of his eye he saw Ames hesitate a moment then nod his head a fraction of an inch. It had to be coincidence.

Brett asked, “Better yet, do you think anyone with my task force might know anything about it?”

This time there was no mistake, Ames hesitated a moment, either uncertain of the answer or hesitating to give it, then nodded his head a fraction. Could it be the Oceanian delegation was at cross purposes?

So someone knew …and hadn’t told! Brett needed to phrase his next question carefully. Much was on the line.

“Just hypothetically, if –”

Nocker interrupted. “I think you know we can’t answer these questions. I need to have a conference with my associate.”

The bastard had guessed his colleague was cooperating. Damn.