Needle, page 12
“Why lie?” the Sakuran asked. “Why come to us now, with lies? We have not forgotten who you are or how you marooned us here. So do not insult us with lies. Speak the truth. Say outright that you have come at last to finish us. Volo warned you would.”
As this speech ended, the Scholar’s violet-gray eyes met Clemantine’s. She saw her own wariness mirrored in his gaze.
In his customary voice, he told her, “I believe ‘Volo’ to be a name.”
She nodded. Probably, Volo was the name of a person, though it could as easily be the name of a predictive program, a religious text, a machine intelligence, a post-human entity—or something other.
The Scholar added, “It seems the wrecked great ship was deliberately sabotaged, as we have theorized.”
“Yes.” And clearly the wreck and its history still defined these people. Her first task, then, was to establish her true identity.
“Let’s try again,” she told the Scholar.
He nodded, and then watched her closely as she explained, “We are not who you imagine. We are not those who did this to you.”
The Scholar’s lips did not move and Clemantine did not hear her translated voice, but the Sakuran did.
“No?” he barked out in challenge. “But you are their children’s children.”
“No. We are not them. We are strangers to you, and to this system. We don’t know of whom you speak or what happened to you. So far, we know very little of this system. We have only just come here from a far star. We meant no offense when we sent the scout-bots ahead of us to explore the forest. We did not know anyone lived here. But now that we do know, we ask your permission to approach your home and visit you face to face. We have come a long way. And for a long time we did not know if we would find any survivors among the star systems caught up in the cataclysm that swept this region. Now that we have found you, we hope there will be peace and friendship between us.”
“Fine words, but contradicted by the evidence. We have seen this vessel of yours before. We have observed it many times when you sent it to spy on us. And you speak as one of us, still with the accent of Ju-Sakura. If you have truly come seeking peace, then first admit the truth of your dark history.”
Clemantine gritted her ghost teeth, frustrated at the error she had made. The Scholar’s translation was too skilled. She should have instructed him to leave a stranger’s accent in her simulated voice—but it was too late now.
She forged on. To counter her accuser, she mirrored him, reflecting a hint of his suspicion as she spoke in a sterner voice.
“The truth is, I do not yet speak your language. It’s a simulated voice you’re hearing, a translation provided by an electronic intelligence. By your appearance, we guessed Ju-Sakura to be your origin. We strove to imitate the spoken language of that system, even though our data is millennia old. It’s strange to me that after such a span of time you still speak with the same ancient accent.”
She left it at that, and awaited a response, all the while eyeing the three Sakurans. The woman had holstered her laser. She and her blue-scaled companion remained within the trees, watching Vermilion as he moved his hand through a lightning-fast series of gestures. But Vermilion did not seem to be gesturing at the other two. His gaze remained fixed on the chameleon ship.
“Can you read anything of these hand signs?” Clemantine asked the Scholar.
“No. They do not match any of the signaling languages in the library. But note the headband he wears.”
“Yes, it looks like camera lenses are embedded in it—but why? Why not use his atrium to capture what he sees?”
“Ah, he speaks,” the Scholar said. Then he shifted his voice, threading it with cold suspicion as he again imitated the Sakuran. “And what of your vessel? What is the clever explanation you have for that?”
Clemantine’s lip curled in irritation, though she understood the strategy. Casting his people as victims, Vermilion strove to play on the guilt of the supposed oppressors—a desperate ploy that suggested he had no other defense.
But she was no enemy, just an outsider rightfully offended at his words. Let him understand that, and understand too that while she would meet him as an equal, she would not beg for his friendship.
“That vessel you are looking at?” she asked him. “It’s not ours, and we know it’s not yours. We’ve seen many others like it. They belong to someone, or something, within this system. Someone we would like to get to know. This particular ship met us. It led our scout ship here. We have to believe it meant for us to find you. Why?”
At this, Vermilion signed frantically, his fingers curling, stabbing, and flashing in front of the lenses on his headband in a ferocity of communication at odds with the uncertain tone of his spoken voice as he sought confirmation. “I don’t know if I’ve understood you right. You say they led you here?”
Clemantine drew a hand across her throat, to stop the Scholar translating. “Who is actually speaking?” she asked him. “I had thought it was Vermilion, but if so, he’s carrying on two very different conversations at once.”
“Shall I inquire?” the Scholar asked.
“Yes. Translate this.” In a cold, suspicious voice she demanded to know, “Who am I speaking to?”
Only after Vermilion executed several sharp gestures did the speaker respond. He said, “My name is Taddeus Li Kubba.” The aggression had gone from his voice. He sounded even more uncertain now, worried maybe, that he’d played this encounter all wrong. “And your name?”
“My name is Clemantine. Is that you, Taddeus Li Kubba, there at the edge of the forest?”
Now the Scholar worked a puzzled note into his translation. “Clemantine. Maybe I have misunderstood your question? That is Aurelius Shenen, outside the trees. Okinowa Laikun and Kev Atatashi are with him. I am speaking to you from within our people’s warren. It is, of course, impossible to speak aloud when outside. Or is this different for you?”
The Scholar raised an eyebrow. “Interesting.” He gestured at his mouth and nose. “And certainly true, given their physiology.”
True in a way. The kisheer did not just cover the lower half of the face, it entered the mouth and nose, making it impossible to speak directly. But their atriums would allow them to generate speech without involving the airways . . .
Clemantine cocked her head. “Are you suggesting they don’t have atriums?” It was an outlandish idea.
The Scholar shrugged. “This seems to be what Taddeus Li Kubba is suggesting, and it would explain why they use a sign language.”
Yes, it would. But what strange beliefs did these people hold, that would lead them to forego an atrium?
“Here is an interesting detail,” the Scholar said as he posted magnified profile images of all three Sakurans. “Note this feature.” An arrow appeared on the image of Aurelius, pointing to a blurred white line that ran from his headband to the upper edge of his kisheer, just above where his ear would be. “Perhaps this line is an external link between the headband and a listening device.” Arrows popped up on the other two profiles. “The feature is common to all three individuals.”
Bizarre, if true.
“Are you still there, Clemantine?” Taddeus Li Kubba inquired.
“I’m here.”
“Will you tell me where you are?” he asked almost plaintively. “We know you are close. There is no light-speed delay, but we have not seen another vessel.”
It wasn’t surprising that they hadn’t noticed Pytheas. The outrider was dark and distant, and they had surely been distracted by the chameleon ship. Though it was dark now, it had been illuminated as it approached.
“I’m going to show them Pytheas,” Clemantine decided.
“They might still have defensive capabilities,” the Scholar cautioned.
“I don’t think so. But even if so, they’re starting to believe us—and Pytheas is proof that we truly are strangers to any conflict here.”
She ordered Pytheas to generate a display of hull lights. Moments later, the outrider lit up with rainbow lines that ran the length of its hull and defined its shape.
“Do you see it now?” Clemantine asked Taddeus Li Kubba. “That is our scout ship. It is a robotic scout ship, lying 3.1 kilometers off your position. We are not physically present there. I speak to you now as an electronic entity.”
No more hand signs from Aurelius. He had gone still, staring across the gulf at Pytheas’s pretty display.
Taddeus spoke cautiously, “You have another ship, then? A great ship?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“We are at some distance. A slow approach.”
“You will come though?” A question asked with quiet desperation.
“Would we be welcome if we did?”
“Yes! I beg you, forgive my rough beginning. We are from Ju-Sakura. Our ancestors left there thousands of years ago—an incredible span of time, mostly lost to cold sleep. We were mistaken in you. I promise now you will find a warm welcome here—though not, I think, in the inner system.”
“Those you despise, is that where they reside?”
He hesitated, and it was as if the carrier wave that connected them hummed with fear and doubt. When he spoke again, he did not answer her question, saying instead, “Please come. When you are here, face to face, we will tell you of our history and answer all your questions.”
The Scholar eyed Clemantine. In his own voice, he said, “My guess is that information is the only thing these people have to trade. They will withhold their history, hoping to lure you in.”
Chapter
19
When Taddeus Li Kubba’s invitation was heard in Dragon’s amphitheater, it induced cheers and a round of applause—though not from Urban.
Turning to Clemantine, he said, “I don’t like this.”
She arched an eyebrow. “I agree there’s little to like about these people. They’re fearful, suspicious, violent, and defensive . . . but then so were we, that time a strange starship brought outsiders to Deception Well.”
Urban slid down in his seat. He’d been a child during that incident, but he had no problem remembering it. “That was different. And it wasn’t all strangers on that ship. We had to defend ourselves.”
“Agreed. But these Sakurans thought they knew us too—as a familiar enemy. Given that, was their first reaction really so different from our own?”
He had to concede that it was not.
“We can get past this,” Clemantine insisted. “We can get to a better place. And there’s so much we can learn from them. They may have witnessed the rise of the Hallowed Vasties—or the end of it all.”
“Sooth. You’re right. I know.”
Centuries had passed since Urban had conceived this expedition, but his goals remained the same. He had resolved to journey from the edge of human civilization to its source, exploring an inverted frontier of broken civilizations and transformed worlds, piecing together the history of what had happened in the Hallowed Vasties—and standing witness to what was happening now.
These people were part of that.
“All right,” he said, standing up. “This is where we begin.”
He walked down to the front of the amphitheater. Vytet watched him, and moved aside as he stepped onto the dais. An expectant silence settled over the gathering.
Urban scanned the faces and caught the questioning eyes of Naresh, Shoran’s eager gaze, Jolly in his excitement, the Cryptologist looking doubtful, Kona’s measured stare, and Pasha, bright-eyed with ever-present mistrust.
He said, “For reasons I have not yet grasped, the entity at the heart of this system showed us the way to these Sakurans. We never would have found them on our own—and maybe that would have been better. There is a dark history here and I don’t trust it.”
He raised a palm to silence an onslaught of objections. “Even so, I recognize there is much to learn here—these Sakurans might be the only human settlement surviving in this system. And there’s a lot we can offer them. So this is what I propose. Instead of continuing to follow Pytheas, I will take Dragon slowly sunward. But we’ll select a small team to visit these people. They’ll take the lander, spend a day, or a few hours—long enough to understand the situation and the history. Then we reassess.”
Tarnya stood. “We need to do more than that. These people are clearly refugees, trapped here by the sabotage of their great ship and in need of our help. They don’t even have atriums!”
Shoran said, “The entity must know of their plight. Why hasn’t it helped them?”
“I wonder if they know of the entity?” the Cryptologist asked, her eyes narrowed in pitiless speculation. “They would be of some value if they do.”
Kona’s booming voice silenced the spreading commentary. “I agree with the proposed strategy. An advance team should be able to quickly assess the situation, gather answers to our questions, and determine the aid we might render, if aid is needed. But I don’t see that much can be gained by lingering here. Our focus in this system lies sunward.”
Jolly leaned forward in his front-row seat. His eyes sought Urban’s. “I want to go,” he said. “I want to be part of the advance team of Dragoneers.”
Urban froze, stunned at this request, every fiber of his being resisting the proposal. Send Jolly out among an unknown and evidently desperate people? No. It wasn’t worth the risk.
Like Urban, Jolly remained endowed with silver. If lost, this version of him, this avatar, could not be replaced as it was, but only in a version that lacked the silver.
But Urban said nothing, just looked away. He would talk to Jolly later, alone.
Riffan popped up from his seat in the back row. “You’re not planning this as another one-way expedition, are you? The, uh, Dragoneers who go will be able to use the lander to return home, right?”
Urban cracked a cynical smile. He and Riffan had together made a one-way expedition to the Rock, where they’d found Lezuri. Riffan still wrestled with guilt over the unknown fate of his lost avatar. “Termination is always an option,” he told Riffan. “But if the encounter goes well, the lander will return all Dragoneers to Dragon.”
“Very good!” Riffan said with a pleased smile. “In that case, I also volunteer.”
Many others spoke up then, eager voices volunteering to go: Shoran, Clemantine, Alhimbra, Mikael, Tarnya . . . half the ship’s company—even the Cryptologist.
“I don’t think more than five should go,” Kona said.
Urban agreed. He looked across the rows. Caught Clemantine’s gaze. *You truly want to go?
A smile, a nod.
Once more he addressed the gathering. “Clemantine will lead the advance team. She’ll decide who goes.”
But as he stepped down from the dais, he added privately, *I don’t want Jolly to go.
*And you? she asked as she strode down to meet him. *You don’t want to go?
A slight shake of his head. His current avatar was irreplaceable too and he did not want to risk it. Not for this. Not when greater possibilities lay ahead.
With a shrug, Clemantine took over the dais. “Those of you interested in a place on this advance team, send me your names. There is no one here who is not qualified to go. So I’ll leave it to the Mathematician to select four at random from the volunteers.”
Urban moved to the side of the amphitheater. On the display screen, the ongoing video slid to one side, making room for a list of names: thirty-one in all, with Jolly’s name at the top.
*Leave Jolly out of it, he urged Clemantine. *Make your selections within the range of two to thirty-one.
*That’s not fair, she countered. *He volunteered, and he can take the chance with everyone else.
*He’s not like everyone else.
*Even so, you don’t get to make the choice for him.
Urban gritted his teeth, quietly furious. But she had made up her mind. He’d given her the authority, and further argument would get him nowhere.
“The Mathematician will now make the first selection,” Clemantine said.
Urban looked at the list of names. Tension knotted around his heart. Then the tension broke as Riffan’s name lit up. Urban laughed aloud—while the company groaned and objections erupted:
“Riffan always gets picked!”
“Riffan always goes first!”
“He went to the Rock.”
“He was first at Verilotus!”
“Riffan has always been lucky,” Clemantine agreed. “Next.”
Shoran’s name highlighted this time. She whooped, while a deep sigh washed across the company.
“And the third team member,” Clemantine said.
Abby’s name stood out.
“No!” someone shouted. Urban craned his neck, identifying Zahn-Mei, one of Abby’s parents. “Abby is too young. No experience.”
Urban bristled. While it was true Abby had just twenty or so years of life experience, that didn’t mean she was too young. Urban had been just a little older that first time he’d left Deception Well. But he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. Because Abby was standing up, facing her mother with an angry glare.
The two of them looked a lot alike. Abby had Zahn-Mei’s deep blue eyes and shining black hair, but unlike her mother, her hair was long and loose and she always dressed in shades of gray and violet.
“None of us have ever experienced this situation before,” Abby said. “And Clemantine said we’re all qualified. I put my name in, I was selected, and now I’m going.”
It was the boldest speech Urban had ever heard from her.
“Please select the final team member,” Clemantine instructed the Mathematician.
Jolly’s name lit up. The kid whooped louder than Shoran, while Abby laughed in delight. “We get to go together!”
Urban leaned forward, grimacing in disbelief, on the verge of calling out in protest like Zahn-Mei—but he caught himself. Jolly wanted this, and with Abby going, no amount of persuasion would change his mind. Probably, it would only trigger resentment. And anyway, it would be hypocritical to object. Like anyone else, Jolly had a right to make his own stupid decisions. God knows Urban had made plenty in his lifetime.
