Hunted, page 36
“Unlike us,” Tobit muttered.
“Don’t pout,” Sam told him. “The average Technocracy citizen is simply less capable than humans once were. The Admiralty has statistics to prove it; four hundred years ago, when the navy began testing recruits, they scored much higher in almost every area. All nine indices of intelligence…psychological maturity…emotional stability…you name it. Homo sapiens as a species has gone into decline, and nobody knows why. Maybe our pampered lifestyles. Maybe too many people with inferior genes, surviving and having children. Maybe some environmental factor was present on Old Earth but not where we live now. Navy researchers are quietly trying to figure out what’s gone wrong, but the diminishment is undeniable, especially on Technocracy core worlds. Four centuries ago, idiots like Prope on Jacaranda wouldn’t have been allowed to command a rowboat; now she’s the best captain the navy can find. Isn’t that appalling?”
Samantha paused for us to comment…but she didn’t wait too long. Sam loved making speeches, especially to a captive audience. “So what to do? The civilian governments are gutiess incompetents; they lost control of the fleet ages ago, and don’t even realize it. As long as there’s no interruption in imports of Divian champagne, they don’t give a damn what the navy does. Same with most of the navy itself. Captain Prope is the rule, not the exception.”
“Not in the Explorer Corps,” Festina answered. Her voice was quiet, but tough as iron.
“I wouldn’t know,” Samantha replied with a breezy wave of her hand. “Explorers have nothing to do with anything. All I’m sure of is the Technocracy suffers a major shortage of brainpower. It’s time for new management to take the situation in hand.”
“Meaning you,” I said.
She smiled. “Old Japanese proverb: Who will do the harsh things? Those who can.”
Kaisho growled. “In defense of my ancestors, they were talking about shouldering difficult responsibilities. Not acting like a bitch because you can get away with it.”
“I know what they meant,” Sam said, “and I mean the same thing. People in the Technocracy are no longer able to govern themselves. Someone more gifted has to take charge. So my father and I intend to create the best leaders humanity has ever seen.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Festina replied in a bored tone. “Super-kids, able to fabricate pheromones, linked into a communal mind, blah, blah, blah. Sounds like a VR game I played when I was six.”
Sam couldn’t keep her eyes from widening in surprise; I think she truly believed no one was smart enough to see through her plan. But Festina was still talking. “Let’s get back to the present, can we? You have the armies, we have the hostage. What are we going to do?”
“Why should I care about your hostage?” Sam asked. “If he’s stupid enough to get himself caught…”
“Um,” I said, “I think you have a soft spot for stupid people, Sam. Especially ones you brought up yourself. You raised this clone from a baby, didn’t you? He was born just before the war started. So the instant I left Troyen, you got a baby Edward substitute; and you had the fun of playing mother to me all over again, just like when we were kids.”
Sam stared at me. “Did you think of that all by yourself, Edward?”
“Yes. I’ve also thought of who this guy actually is. He was produced on Troyen, twenty-one years ago, which means he couldn’t have been cloned from Dad—by then, Dad was way too non-sentient to leave New Earth. So where did the DNA come from? Either from me or from you: we’ve both got Dad’s DNA too. Except Festina says it’s not healthy to clone a clone; it’s better to go the old sperm and ovum route. Am I right, Sam?”
“Edward,” she said, “I’ve never seen you like this.”
“No, you haven’t,” I agreed. “But I’m right, aren’t I? This man is our son: you and me together. Gashwan could have got the sperm from me when I was delirious from Coughing Jaundice. You donated the egg, and the fertilized result was planted into a surrogate…but he’s still our child, isn’t he, Sam, even if he was put together in a test tube.”
My sister’s eyes had turned glittering sharp. “Brother dear, when did you get so smart?”
About the same time you made me a father, I almost answered. But I didn’t say anything out loud. I was too busy mulling over the effects of hive-queen venom.
What happened when a gende changed into a queen? She got stronger, she got bigger…and she got smarter. Gashwan might have dumbed down my original DNA, but the venom mutated me, just like venom mutates a Mandasar girl. For all I know, Gashwan may have deliberately designed my brain to kick into high gear when it got hit with venom—just to make things interesting.
However it happened, the venom gradually stopped me from being stupid. It was scary and hard to admit…but it was the truth. I’d stopped being stupid. Nobody could tell the difference while I was all sick and poisoned, but by the night Sam killed Verity…”
Yet again I remembered kneeling in Verity’s chambers, smelling the blood on the floor, knowing it was fake…me seeing in a flash of insight that everything had been a setup, and that my sister was a horrible murdering butcher. I understood it all; I even understood that I must have got smarter, because the old Edward would never have figured out any of the awful stuff that had happened. The old Edward had been slow but happy, with a kind, beautiful sister who never did bad things to people.
It hurt to be smart. Understanding what really happened in the world just made you sick to your stomach.
So I turned that part of me off: just put it to sleep. I don’t know how I did it—you couldn’t call it a conscious decision—but something in my head had become so clever, it knew how to hide away my excess intelligence so I wouldn’t have to suffer. I packed up the memories too…just forgot them all. Like a completely separate person I didn’t want to be.
For twenty years, I went back to dumb old Edward. I might have stayed dumb forever…except I got dosed with a new shot of venom. That woke something inside of me—the seeds of memories, plus that separate person I’d set aside so long ago. Who was the spirit that kept possessing me? The spirit was me too: the brainy part of me, who saw I needed to be smart again. Bit by bit, Smart Me worked to join back up with Slow Me. I couldn’t tell if the process was finished, but accepting my responsibility as king had sure closed a lot of the gap.
There were still a lot of questions to answer…like why the clever half of my brain had smashed the Sperm-tail anchor and marooned us all on Troyen. Why trap us in a war zone? What kind of scheme had it worked out with Prope? Was Smart Me so keen on a showdown with Sam that it cut off our only escape route, leaving us no choice but to play this out to the end?
No way to tell. A lot of my brainy half’s thoughts were still out of touch. Nothing to do but keep going and hope I was suddenly smart enough to deal with whatever happened.
But I didn’t say any of this out loud. The last thing I wanted was Sam taking me seriously. Let her keep underestimating me, the way she always had. That might give me a tactical advantage.
In the back of my mind, some old-Edward part of my soul felt a twinge of sadness: how I was already scheming, using deceit to get the better of my own sister. The stakes were too high to do anything else…but I knew why, twenty years ago, I’d decided I didn’t want to be smart.
Sam waited a few more moments for me to say something. When I kept my mouth shut, she sighed. “Well, brother, it seems I’ve exhausted your supply of banter. Anyone else want to join the conversation? How about you with the knife—Festina Ramos, right? My father told me you were coming to cause trouble. Do you really think I care whether you slit that man’s throat?”
“Yes,” Festina said in a steely voice. “He’s your son. And your father. And your brother too, for all intents and purposes—he looks the same as your beloved Edward. Quite a trinity in just one package.” She slid the scalpel lightly across Mr. Clear Chest’s neck, like she was giving him a dry shave. “And just one carotid artery. Which could very easily get nicked.” Festina lifted her head and stared straight at the projected image of Sam’s face. “Don’t consider this an idle threat. It won’t be the first throat I’ve cut.”
Plebon and Tobit drew in their breaths sharply. Whatever Festina was talking about, both of them must know the story…and their reactions were enough to convince everybody else Festina wasn’t lying.
“All right,” Sam said. “You have a knife to my father-brother-son’s throat. I can match that.”
Suddenly, the vidscreen vanished. In its place, the glass wall went clear and a bright light came on inside the cube— giving us our first view of what the cube really contained.
Samantha was there, wearing her dress golds—the showiest uniform a navy diplomat owns.
To Sam’s left, a gentle perched in front of a control console, monitoring the cube’s flight computer.
And to Sam’s right was a beautiful queen I recognized as Innocence. All grown-up now, bright glossy yellow, shining with strength.
Samantha held a gun to Innocence’s head.
44
TAKING THE CUBE
Dade was the first to move. He grabbed the stun-pistol out of Tobit’s holster and fired at Samantha in the cube.
Nothing happened. Not to Sam, at least. I felt a tingle as the stunner’s hypersonics bounced off the cube and echoed back…but the effect was so thinned out by the time it returned to the parapet, none of us got knocked for a loop. Nothing more than a scritchy pins-and-needles sensation that passed in a heartbeat.
Grimacing with disgust, Tobit plucked the pistol from Dade’s hand and set the gun down on the parapet wall.
“Thanks,” Samantha told Dade. “You just demonstrated you can’t touch me.” She gave a nasty smile. “Just so everybody knows, Innocence here is the last Mandasar queen in the universe. If she dies, there’ll never be another. You can’t make a new queen without a full year of an old queen’s venom.”
I called, “Are you all right, Innocence?”
“Quite well, Little Father,” she replied in a cold, clear voice. “Do what’s right—don’t worry about me.”
“She’s always saying noble things,” Sam laughed, using her free hand to pat Innocence on the shell. “So irrationally heroic. It’s a pity I didn’t find her till last year; if I’d taken her under my wing when she was a girl, I might have brought her round to my way of thinking.”
“You flatter yourself,” Innocence said drily.
“I like flattery,” Samantha replied, “and I’m good at it I rather like your defiance too. If you start getting subtle, then I’ll worry.”
Sam glanced my way. “Innocence has only been with me a few months, but she’s been a tremendous help. My troops fight so devotedly when they think they’re working for Verity’s rightful successor. Of course, I’ve had to make sure the girl doesn’t talk to anyone. Usually I keep her drugged unconscious…with little servomotors to make her body move, and a hidden speaker so my own words come out of her mouth. It’s not a bad system if you keep the room dark, and I’ve passed the word poor Innocence can’t stand bright lights. A result of chemical torture at the hands of an outlaw queen.”
“If Innocence is so valuable,” Festina said, “you don’t dare shoot her.”
“She’s useful,” Sam agreed, “but keeping her alive is a risk. Always the chance she might escape, or tell the wrong people how I’ve been using her. The sooner I kill her, the safer I’ll be. And why not do it now, when I can blame it on human provocateurs? I’ll put your fingerprints all over the gun, then blackmail the fleet for a few million: ‘Pay up or I’ll tell everyone the last queen was killed by an admiral.’“
“The council wouldn’t care,” Festina laughed. “They’d shout from the rooftops, MAD DOG RAMOS SHOWS HER TRUE SELF. As for the navy accepting responsibility for anyone but me…you’re looking at expendable Explorers, a woman controlled by alien parasites, and a man who’s never been right in die head. Look up deniability in your favorite dictionary, and you’ll see our pictures.”
As she spoke, Festina got to her feet, lifting the unconscious man with her. She kept her scalpel to his throat by locking her knife arm under his chin. Then she hiked her other hand under his armpit, around his chest, and heaved straight up. Even though she was plenty strong, it was still an awkward maneuver; I could imagine my sister watching and wondering if there was a chance of killing Festina during those moments, while she was struggling and slightly off-balance with the man’s weight.
I worried about the same thing myself. It seemed crazy for Festina to take such a risk, hoisting the man up…and for what? To make it easier for Sam to see the knife blade glinting in the starlight?
Then my eye was caught by another tiny glint: a faint reflection, some star shining on the voice control for the clone’s Laughing Larries. Sometime in the past few minutes, Festina must have slipped the controller out of her belt pouch without any of us noticing; when she stood, she’d left it lying on parapet’s stone floor.
Now, while everyone’s gaze focused up on her hands, and the scalpel, and the exposed throat, her foot nudged forward a bit and sent the controller sliding toward me.
Um.
I didn’t have a clue what she wanted me to do…and she couldn’t tell me. Maybe she didn’t have a plan at all—just hoped the king would dream up something.
Um, um, um. I had to force myself not to chew my knuckle or Sam would know I was trying to think hard.
Um. Um. Okay. I had an idea.
Sam had started talking again. “You think the High Council has deniability? Wrong. You all came to Troyen in the Jacaranda…a ship known to run errands for Admiral Vincence. Dad will have a field day with that at the next council session. By the time he’s through, Vincence will be in disgrace, and the rest of the council will trip all over themselves to pay me hush money. But,” Sam said, her voice turning cold and hard, “that’s none of your concern—it’s time for ultimatums. Drop your weapons and lie facedown on the ground. If you surrender right away, I might be in such a good mood I’ll let you and Innocence live a while longer.”
Tobit actually laughed. “How stupid do you think we are?”
I told him, “You may not be stupid. But I am.”
Slowly, carefully, I lowered myself to the parapet’s stone floor. In the process, I palmed the remote control Festina had shoved my way. As I laid myself down on my stomach, the little voice-controlled gizmo ended up right under my mouth.
The others kept talking—arguing with Sam, wrangling over treachery-proof schemes to exchange Dad’s clone for Innocence—but I ignored them. I was too busy straightening out in my head where my three Larries were: one still up on the parapet, the other two way down near the ground. Sam wouldn’t be able to see the ones below her; not when she was paying so much attention to Festina and the others. I just had to picture where those two Larries were in relation to Sam’s glass cube…
Taking a deep breath, I whispered orders into the voice control right under my mouth. No way to tell if the Larries were obeying me—I couldn’t see them for the parapet wall, and anyway, my face was pressed tight to the stone beneath me. I couldn’t hear the Larries either, because I’d told them to run as quiedy as possible. All I could do was shift the lower two into what I thought was the right position, and tell the other one to get ready for a fancy maneuver.
Then: up, up, up.
I scrambled to my feet fast…and maybe my movement was enough to distract Sam from seeing die two gold cannonballs shooting up from ground level. They smashed the bottom of the glass cube with a thunderous crunch, both striking on the same side edge—like grabbing one side of a fish tank and yanking up with all your strength. The cube lurched and rolled, knocked over ninety degrees onto its side. For an instant, Sam and Innocence became a jumble of flailing arms, legs, and claws; then both dropped to the new bottom of the cube, Sam falling hard, Innocence falling harder.
Call it a two-story drop: a long way when you’re too surprised to twist into a good landing position.
The impact was enough to knock the wind out of both of them. I couldn’t see if Sam had held onto her gun, but it didn’t matter: a human could recover faster from that fall than an alien who weighed as much as an elephant. Innocence would survive—queens are tough—but she’d be in no shape to stop Sam from retrieving the gun and using it at point-blank range.
So I had to get inside the cube before that happened.
The two Larries that had smashed into the cube were out of the picture; one had hit so hard it embedded itself into the cracked glass, while the other was showering down onto the ground in a hail of broken pieces. That gave me one Larry left—the one waiting on the parapet walk, ready and raring to travel.
I ran and jumped, shouting into the remote control, “Go!”
Good thing I’d given instructions to the Larry before I threw myself on top of it—the moment I leapt on board, I was whirling so fast I could barely think. Scrabbling to hold on, I dug both hands into fléchette slits. Even then, I nearly spun off before we reached the upended cube; if the ride had been a single second longer, I wouldn’t have made it.
I hung on just long enough for the Larry to dump me in the middle of what was now the cube’s top surface. Too dizzy to move, I just lay on the glass while the Larry carried on with the orders I’d given: flying straight over my head and unleashing every last fl6chette in its magazines.
Back on the parapet, Festina shouted “Get down, get down!” But I’d told the Larry to make sure no shots got as far as the castle. Everything was aimed at the cube…with me lying in the middle, at the calm eye of the razor hurricane.
Remember how crossbow arrows hadn’t even scratched the glass surface? High-velocity steel fléchettes were a whole other story.
Thank heavens it wasn’t real glass; things got nasty enough with blunt chips of plastic flying in all directions. I wrapped my arms around my head as the Larry sliced a ragged ring around me—deeper and deeper into the cube’s wall, a circumference of shredded plastic, like a buzz saw cutting out a hole in a patch of ice…till I felt something shift under me and shouted, “Stop!” into the remote control.
