Marque of Caine Page 14

  Putting these axioms into practice, Caine cruised close enough to get the most distant bot’s attention. When Irzhresht’s sensor array confirmed that the bot was pursuing and so, was drawing away from the others, Alnduul swept into its blind spot and took out its sensor cluster.

  Ten minutes after the human and Dornaani had taken cover behind the overgrown port authority complex, they stood before it, the plaza behind littered with casualties both biological and mechanical. Riordan breathed deeply, smelled a rank sourness, recognized it as the product of multiple tides of fear-sweat that had soaked him since he had bailed out of Olsloov less than two hours ago. He looked over at Alnduul. “Tell me that whatever comes next is the easy part. Please.”

  Alnduul’s outer eyelids closed and then opened very slowly, usually a sign of sympathy or sorrow. “Yes. What comes next is easier. But arguably, less pleasant.”

  Caine frowned. “What? Why?”

  Alnduul might have sighed…right before the world faded into gray nothingness.

  Chapter Seventeen

  MARCH 2124

  SECOND-FIVE, ZHAL PRIME (BD +71 482 A)

  Riordan awoke with a start. He was in his quarters. Alnduul was standing close to the room’s iris valve, his eyes as somber as they had been in the dream…

  No, not a dream. It had been too complete, too much like life itself in every detail…

  Irzhresht appeared from behind Caine, skirting his cocoon couch on her way to the exit, a control circlet in her hands. Except this circlet was more like the lower half of a helmet, much wider and thicker than the one he had used on Zhal Prime Second-Five. Or, what I thought was Second-Five.

  The iris valve dilated at Irzhresht’s approach, contracted into a seamless disk behind her.

  Riordan glanced at Alnduul. “That wasn’t a dream.”

  Alnduul’s outer eyelids cycled in slow motion. “That is correct.”

  “Then what the hell was it?”

  “A simulation.”

  Riordan shook his head. “I’ve trained in sim chambers. You always know it’s not real. You can feel the sense suit and the 3-D helmet, feel how the sensagel changes temperature, increases or decreases pressure on your body. It’s all external. That”—he pointed at the featureless portal through which Irzhresht had carried the heavy half-helmet—“was internal. Direct manipulation of my mind.”

  “Yes.”

  Riordan waited, but the Dornaani did not expand upon his reply. “That’s all you have to say? ‘Yes’?”

  The Dornaani looked as though he’d rather be on another planet.

  “Alnduul, if I wasn’t here to retrieve Elena, I’d demand you take me back to human space immediately. I’d rather face assassins than the possibility of having my mind hijacked every time I go to sleep. But since leaving isn’t an option, you’re going to tell me how and why you did this. If you don’t, our friendship—and my support of the Dornaani and Custodians—is over.”

  Alnduul did something he had never done before: he looked away. “Threats are not necessary, Caine Riordan. I had hoped to express my deepest apologies before we began this conversation in earnest. But for you to truly understand the power of virtuality, it was essential that you experienced it without warning.”

  “Wrong. Nothing is more essential than freedom of choice. Or don’t the Dornaani believe that individuals have the right to self-determination?”

  “We do, Caine Riordan. But even in the most enlightened of your states, there are circumstances under which those rights may be abridged, albeit as briefly and mildly as possible.”

  Caine rolled up out of the couch. “Cut the excuses, Alnduul. You didn’t even bother to seek my consent.”

  “It was a violation. I have apologized. I shall do so again, if that will help.”

  Riordan considered the exosapient’s tone. “But if you had the chance to do it again, you’d do the same thing.”

  The Dornaani closed his eyes. “Yes. Because your safety is paramount.”

  Caine studied Alnduul’s posture. One of the few nearly universal constants among the body language of the five known species was that a forward slouch like Alnduul’s signaled dejection. Maybe he really was trying to help me. “So how does surprising me with this sim ensure my safety?” And Alnduul, you’d better have a damn convincing reason.

  The Dornaani’s reply was slow, the way one sibling would reveal something damning about another. “In the last five centuries, virtuality has become widespread within the Collective.” Alnduul swiveled his large eyes back to meet Caine’s. “As a result, many of my species are no longer reliable. Or forthright.”

  “Because they spend time in some virtual playground? How does that—?”

  “Beware of drawing hasty parallels, Caine Riordan.” Alnduul’s mouth quavered. “The social effects of your interactive entertainments are not analogous to those of virtuality. Think back upon your experience of it and you will implicitly understand the distinction.”

  Riordan didn’t even get as far as a single reflective thought. The obvious answer pushed it aside: I never suspected it was an illusion. And it was exciting. There was always either a danger to overcome or a novelty to explore. If I hadn’t been shit-scared half of the time, it would have been one hell of a ride. Caine nodded. “So the Dornaani are spending way too much time in virtuality.” He saw where that could lead. “Detachment? Diminished empathy? Decreased social skills and instincts?”

  Alnduul stiffly imitated a human shake of his head. “It goes much further than that. But at least you now have the necessary context to understand what causes much of the disaffection you may encounter in the Collective: the seduction of constant sensory gratification.” His fingers drooped. “Ironically, the version you experienced has the least fidelity of any form of virtuality.”

  Riordan blinked. “But…it was seamless.”

  “Was it? Think back carefully. Initially, you probably felt that your vision was blurred. You may also recall that olfactory sensations were less acute than normal. Taste is even more affected.”

  Riordan nodded slowly. “But you chose a scenario in which I didn’t have much reason to focus on smell or taste, and which left me no time to notice that they weren’t as keen as usual.”

  Alnduul raised both index fingers slowly. “All so that I might now ask this one question: would you enjoy entering virtuality again?” His two fingers became rigid. “Do not answer according to what you think, but what you feel.”

  Riordan shrugged. “If going back was my own choice? Then, yes.”

  “Despite the dangers?”

  Riordan shrugged. “There are no dangers if you know it isn’t real.” Even as he said it, Caine felt the deeper implications of Alnduul’s warning rising around him.

  The Dornaani’s inner eyelids nictated once. “Perpetual excitement without risk is a powerful stimulant. An opiate, even.” He looked away again. “Only by feeling the seductive appeal of virtuality yourself could I be certain that you would then understand and heed this warning: the Collective’s high ideals are not always manifested in deed. Accordingly, be prepared to act as your own advocate in all matters.”

  Riordan realized that his shoulders had slumped almost as much as Alnduul’s. Although Dornaani motivations were enigmatic and their engagement uncertain, humanity had reposed a basic sense of security in the support of the Collective. But now, Caine realized, he had the dubious honor of being the first to discover just how mistaken and misplaced that confidence might be.

  Still, before the topic slipped away, there were important questions to be asked. “So, the technologies we used on Zhal Prime Second-Five: are they real or not?”

  “Many are.” Alnduul gestured for Riordan to follow him through the iris valve. “Others were probably real at one time, but have been lost to us. However, the most extraordinary accomplishments—such as the drift-butte and the gravity thrusters—are objects of legend, myths arising from misperception or whimsy.”

  Riordan felt
a shade of disappointment flit past. The real world seemed a shabbier, less exciting place if there weren’t floating mountains or antigravity backpacks to be found somewhere. “And Second-Five itself? Was that real?”

  Alnduul led them toward the bridge. “The satellite’s actual environment is less congenial to both our biologies. To correct that, its density in the simulation was doubled, thereby increasing its gravity to sixty percent of Earth’s. In consequence, it retained most of its free oxygen. We also adjusted the star so that it experienced fewer flares, resulting in less atmospheric erosion.”

  As they entered the bridge, Alnduul gestured toward the largest hologram. The actual planet-moon system was displayed there in arresting detail. “In actuality, Second-Five has little more than point four gravity. The crucially thinner atmosphere requires a compressor mask. The fauna are significantly smaller and less energetic. Your own catalogues correctly identify the star’s spectral type and magnitude as M1.5 V. The ambient light tends to be dull and reddish, and the vegetation is neither so colorful nor so pervasive.”

  Riordan watched the small satellite make its way around the large central planet, experienced a sense of cognitive dissonance so strong that it felt like vertigo. Looking closely, he saw every disappointing detail that Alnduul had described—and yet, he could still see the Komodo torpedoes charging him, could still hear the swoop of the snake-gliders…

  Alnduul spoke from his elbow. “Virtuality claims the authority of our senses. For any species that still depends upon those senses for survival, nothing can leave a deeper imprint.”

  Riordan nodded, tore his eyes away from the sad little holographic world, resolved to mentally bury the pseudo-experiences beneath its forlorn surface. In the same instant, he wondered how long it would take before even a highly sophisticated and orderly mind began to confuse actual and virtual events, sensations, experiences.

  Alnduul’s voice was no longer at his shoulder. “We have just now completed refueling at the orbital tankage facility.” Riordan turned, discovered the Dornaani considering the slowly rotating stellar holosphere. He pointed into it; a glowing reproduction of his fingertip began tracing a path from the bottom of the three-dee plot to the center. “From here, we shall shift through Pi Ursa Majoris, then lay over briefly at BD +66 582. After that, we have but one more system, LP 38-98, between us and the regional capital at BD +80 238.”

  “And that’s where I’ll find Elena?”

  “I believe so.”

  Riordan didn’t even try to keep his voice level: “You believe so? What the hell kind of answer is that?”

  Alnduul’s fingers spread until they pointed away from his body in all directions. “We Custodians were compelled to relinquish her care to the Collective’s experts. They were deemed more likely to restore her to a condition that would permit surgery. They declined to send updates.”

  Caine closed his eyes. “Every time I ask you a question about Elena, it seems I get further away from her.”

  Alnduul’s head lowered slightly. “I am sorry, Caine Riordan. I wish it was not so.” He sat, raised a finger toward the only other crewmember on the bridge. “Lock in our vector for out-shift. Commence preacceleration. Full thrust.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  APRIL 2124

  ROOAIOO’Q, BD +66 582

  The second planet out from BD +66 582, a K5 main sequence star, actually had a name: Rooaioo’q. Somewhat larger than Earth, but not quite as dense, it had both slightly lower gravity and a slightly thicker atmosphere. Located toward the outer edge of the star’s habitable zone, the increased greenhouse effect nicely balanced the somewhat weaker insolation. At least that’s how Alnduul translated the data streams scrolling next to the holographic representation of the world.

  Riordan squinted at it. “The image looks kind of, well, smudged.”

  Alnduul’s mouth twisted slightly. “You may soon judge for yourself if the holographic representation is inaccurate. We shall make planetfall within the hour.”

  Shortly after boarding an almost featureless shuttle, Riordan voiced disappointment at the lack of cockpit windows. Irzhresht turned her attention away from the helm long enough to wave a hand at the nose of the craft. Two previously undetectable panels slid aside, revealing a commanding view of the planet.

  Rooaioo’q was a patternless, crowded collage of green landmasses and blue seas, the details of which, even in this view, were slightly blurred by the dense atmosphere and constantly forming, dissipating, and regathering clouds. Beyond the ink-black terminator line, two moons, one about the size of Luna, one about half as large, kept orbital pace with the world.

  Riordan studied the tangled white whorls of storms strewn across its surface. “With two moons and so much coastline, there must be a lot of flooding. Bizarre tidal patterns, too.”

  The third Dornaani aboard, Ssaodralth—a mere apprentice at thirty-five years—pointed to the satellites. “You are correct. However, without those moons, Rooaioo’q would barely support life. If at all.” Seeing that Riordan’s comprehension was not immediate, he added, “The satellites’ combined gravity is a counterforce to the pull of the star, which is closer than your sun is to Earth. Otherwise, Rooaioo’q would almost certainly be tidally locked.”

  Riordan nodded, watched the outline of the planet become larger and less curved as they descended toward it.

  * * *

  As soon as the shuttle’s engines shut down, Riordan undid the seat’s straps, scanned the interior for a filter mask.

  Alnduul shook his head. “You will not need it.”

  Riordan stared. “Another world where humans can just walk around in shirtsleeves?”

  Alnduul shrugged. “Perhaps that is not so surprising as the fact that all five known races breathe the same air.” As if to underscore his point, Alnduul waved at the iris valve. As it opened, a musky scent entered along with a warm, moist breeze. Riordan’s brain chased after subtle olfactory hints of ginger, lilies, and wet moss, but none of them were exact matches.

  Irzhresht touched her control circlet lightly. “You may debark, Alnduul. The area has been cleared.”

  “Cleared?” Riordan looked from Irzhresht to Alnduul. “Cleared of what?”

  “Cleared of younglings,” Alnduul explained as he rose to exit the shuttle.

  “Why?”

  “So they will not see you.”

  Riordan waited until the iris valve was contracting behind them. “Is there some particular reason why Dornaani chil—uh, ‘younglings’ shouldn’t encounter humans?”

  “It is not a general prohibition. It only applies to this planet.”

  “And what’s different about this planet?”

  A new voice answered from the thicket they were approaching. “That is a brief question with a lengthy answer, human.”

  Caine started, but Alnduul padded forward rapidly, his mouth so twisted that it was almost upside down. A broad smile? Beaming?

  “Thlunroolt,” Alnduul said in an unusually loud tone. He put his elbows against his waist, rotated his arms outward, spread his fingers so that his hands looked like four-rayed stars. “Enlightenment unto you.”

  A much older Dornaani emerged from the underbrush, returning the gesture. Although not presenting the shriveled grape appearance of the only venerable Dornaani Riordan had ever met—Third Arbiter Glayaazh at Convocation—this male’s body was more worn, more bowed. Wearing a control circlet and leaning upon a walking stick, his face was no longer smooth, and his arms and torso were festooned with patches and adorned by a fading fractal pattern of tattoos.

  Riordan realized that the elderly Dornaani was staring back at him, eyes wide. Both hands atop his walking stick, he leaned toward Alnduul. “Does the human speak?”

  Riordan tucked his elbows against his ribs, pushed his hands and forearms to either side, splayed his fingers as wide as he could. “Enlightenment unto you, honored Thlunroolt.”

  The older Dornaani’s gills popped open with a faint hiss; both
inner and outer eyelids nictated sharply. He returned the gesture, still leaning toward Alnduul. “So, it does speak. But how did it learn that archaic honorific? Tell me it was not you, Alnduul.” He made a slight burbling noise. “I presume it also has a name?”

  Alnduul’s eyelids cycled sluggishly. Caine struggled to remember the human equivalent. A shrug? No, more like rolling one’s eyes. “Yes, Thlunroolt. The human has a name. Caine Riordan. He is my friend.”

  Thlunroolt’s gills puffed silently out from both sides of his thin neck. “You name him so?” He stared at Riordan. “You are one of the humans who attended Convocation.”

  “I am, hono—Thlunroolt.”

  The old Dornaani’s eyes remained fixed upon his own. “This human is a friend, you say? Well, it, er, he seems to learn quickly. At least when it comes to abandoning recidivistic titles such as ‘honored.’ I suppose that is promising. I also suppose it is incumbent upon me to offer you refreshment. Come along.” He turned, indicated an almost invisible trail that led into a copse of what looked like tree-sized goldenrod, except that their flowers were purple and crimson.

  Alnduul made to follow, halted when he noticed that Riordan was not moving. “A question?”

  “Many, actually. But for now, just one.”

  “Yes?”

  “Thlunroolt was expecting us, or at least you, wasn’t he?”

  “He was.”

  “Then why is his behavior so…eccentric?”

  Alnduul’s eyes half closed. “Thlunroolt is unique. Let us follow him.”

  * * *

  Thlunroolt ushered them into what looked like a cottager’s house built around a sweat lodge. Except instead of a central fire pit, there was a large pool from which vapor rose lazily. Alnduul sat on its edge. Riordan followed his example, crouching in order to do so; the ceiling was only a meter and a half high. “I see your dedication to the old ways is complete,” Alnduul murmured.