CHAPTER 12

Delight brightened in Maris’s mind as she contemplated a spectrum of dazzling possibilities. General Volitional Twelve, frozen in motion, hung on the flat threedee screen before her. She touched the keyboard and Twelve vanished.

Ubu stepped into the room. Complex muscles moved under his skin as he raised one arm to towel his shaggy hair. Laughing, Beautiful Maria jumped from the couch and flung herself at him.

He dropped the towel and caught her with all four arms. She wrapped her legs around him, pressed herself close. “We did it, shooter man,” she cackled.

He swung her through the room in a staggering circle. Bristle scraped her cheek. “Gotta check the pharmacy,” he said. “See what compounds we’ve got.”

“Later, shooter man.”

He drew back and looked at her. She could see his pulse beating in his throat, the pale, almost translucent lashes around his eyes. “Why later?”

She bent forward, nipped his lower lip with her teeth. “Celebrate first.”

He gave a laugh. “Yeah,” he said. “We’ve earned it.”

Ubu carried her downspin to his new compartment, past his old abandoned room. There was a light under the old compartment’s screen. Maria could hear her father’s broken voice raging. “Fuckers!” Pasco roared. “They promised! Fuckers!” There were sobs in his voice.

Ubu slowed. His grip on her turned hard. “We had it all arranged!” Pasco cried. “We were gonna do it!” Maria watched Ubu’s eyes go dull.

Pasco began to cry. Ubu walked out of earshot with stiff machine strides. Maria reached out, gently touched his hair. “That was long ago,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“What went wrong?” Pasco’s wail, fading with distance and years.

His face a mask, Ubu walked past his new compartment and stepped into Maria’s room. He reached behind with one arm to close the screen against Pasco’s indistinct cries. Maria dropped her bare feet to the floor, felt the furze of carpet against her soles. She kissed him lightly.

“Things are different now,” she said. “We’ve solved it. Got it licked.”

“Yes.” His face working. Trying to let something out.

“I wish he was here,” Ubu said.

“Me, too.”

“It was despair that killed him. Knowing he couldn’t change things.”

She pressed her cheek to his. Sadness fluttered in Maria’s heart like a torn curtain flying in a cold grey wind. “It’s time to stop mourning him, Ubu.” Trying to keep her voice kind.

“I wish I could.”

“The way he keeps coming in and out can’t be making it any easier.” She tugged gently on his hair and drew his head back so she could look at him. “I could try to glitch him out of the computers. He was a good programmer, but he can’t hide in there forever. Not from me.”

His eyes were stubborn. “I don’t know. He wanted to be what he is.”

“I could try to dump him in a file, keep him there. That way he wouldn’t keep surprising us. And if you wanted to see him, you could call him up.”

Ubu’s hands slid indecisively over her back. “I guess,” he said. “You could do that if you wanted to.”

Maria kissed him. “In my copious spare time.”

“Yeah.” His arms coiled around her. Her breath went out of her in a soft rush. She could feel tension ebbing slowly out of his body.

He looked at her. His eyes were grave. “Turn off all the holos,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “I will.”

*

This is all they desired?

Duplicate biochemical synthesis. Yes, Beloved.

Their capabilities must be almost nonexistent.

Yes, Beloved.

The humans are crude.

Beloved is wise.

We shall absorb them into Us and be the greater.

Glory to Beloved.

Tell them to delay. I wish to grow an analyzer in your compartment.

*

“I want to see them myself, shooter man.”

“Next time.” Ubu attached the first-aid kit to his chestpack. “Yeah.” She tied his hair back with a piece of elastic. “They’ll probably think I’m some kind of nonvolitional.”

Awkward in his vac suit, Ubu bent to scratch the cat that was padding slow figure-eights around his legs. “I wonder what they’d make of Maxim?”

“He’s not a nonvolitional, either.”

“Wouldn’t take them long to work that out.” Ubu stroked the white, uplifted head, then straightened and reached for his helmet. Chestpack readouts reflected in Maria’s dancing eyes. He sealed the helmet, stepped into the lock, gave a wave. The inner hatch slid shut. Suit system readouts and checklists scrolled across his inner faceplate. All green.

The outer hatch opened and he fired his maneuvering jets. Beloved’s ship lay like an insect, black chitin and curving mandibles, against the cool green of Maria the Fair. Excitement began to hum through Ubu’s nerves.

The air nozzle hissed somewhere under his chin. His heartbeat and respiration were very loud. Somewhere behind the sound, obscured beneath the surge of his blood, there began a distant complex throbbing, the percussion of Beloved rising in his mind. Beating time to his thoughts, making him ready. When Ubu cycled through and the inner hatch rattled upward, Beloved’s genuine pulse rose behind Ubu’s remembered rhythm, the two climbing together like a pair of twining vines. Ubu gave a laugh. Nothing was going to go wrong today.

To Ubu’s surprise, Twelve led him to a different chamber, a spherical room smaller than the first. From the far wall grew a nest of pale grey tethers, each thick around as Ubu’s thumb, that waved in the faint breeze like the dangling stingers of a jellyfish in a surging, invisible tide. Another object stood from the wall as if it had grown there, something that looked like a pink, partly opened flower. Twelve drifted across the room to the bloom of tethers, turned, faced Ubu. Some of the tethers moved over Twelve’s chest, held him gently in place. Twelve ignored them and picked at his radio with his stylus.

“This-individual will achieve fusion with Beloved. Respected Bossrider Ubu Roy, please place samples of your substances upon Beloved’s analysis organ, and I will relay Beloved’s conclusions.“

Analysis organ, Ubu thought. Right.

He jetted toward the flowerlike object, braked, hovered in front of it. The petals glistened with a shiny coating. Ubu opened the velcro flaps on the first-aid kit and reached for a vial. He glanced at Twelve and froze. One of the grey tethers had attached itself between Twelve’s shoulders, was pulsing as if somehow propelling fluid from Twelve to the cluster. A chill hand touched Ubu’s neck as he realized that the tether had penetrated Twelve’s skin. As the tether twisted, Ubu could see it raising Twelve’s dark grey skin as if it was rearranging Twelve’s spinal structure to suit itself.

Beloved’s rhythmic drumming altered slightly. Twelve’s eyes went unfocused, stared in different directions. A glob of drool drifted absently from Twelve’s mouth as the branchlike structures hung slack.

Sickness swam in Ubu’s belly. He looked away. The sound of the stylus tapping, transmitted faintly through his suit, brought his attention back. Twelve hung at the end of his tether, his eyes focused again, his attention apparently returned.

“This-individual has fused with Beloved. The respected bossrider is requested to offer his samples.”

Fused with Beloved. The nest of umbilici was Beloved, then, or a part of her. Ubu fought down nausea.

Ubu looked uncertainly at Twelve, then at the budlike object. He reached into the first-aid kit strapped to his chestpack and withdrew from it what, volume for volume, was probably the most valuable thing aboard Runaway.

The vial was tiny and Ubu had difficulty holding it in his gloved fingers. It contained a few ounces of Orange Seventeen, a complex neurohormone the function of which was to stimulate neuronic connections within the forebrain. A full course of treatment could raise intelligence between thirty and forty percent, but the hormone was difficult to synthesize, even more difficult to stabilize, and required continued small maintenance doses in order to maintain elasticity and efficiency within the new neural connections. Both Ubu and Beautiful Maria had taken the treatments, and their dwindling supply of the hormone was a treasured, irreplaceable possession.

Ubu activated the vial, touched its controls, readied a small dose. Twelve eddied in his peripheral vision. Carefully, Ubu reached out toward the budlike object.

The bud uncoiled and, with a silent, efficient movement, reached out for Ubu. Terror seized Ubu as he tried to leap back, succeeded only in thrashing in his suit.

Bile burned in Ubu’s throat. His heart thundered louder than Beloved’s drums. The budlike structure waited, glistening, its petals extended.

“Analysis organ” was an apt description, he realized: the thing was budlike only in form. It wasn’t even of vegetable matter.

The thing was made of flesh. It was alive.

Ubu gasped for air. His suit perceived his panicked state and increased the percentage of oxygen in his environment, preparing him for flight or battle. His mind swam.

Give Beloved what she wants, he thought. He tried to control the trembling in his hand as he pushed the vial forward. A petal offered itself like a wet pink tongue. Ubu touched the vial to the spongy surface and pressed the trigger. A minute amount of neurohormone was deposed on its surface.

The organ-flower silently withdrew into itself, the bud refolding. Ubu fought down his panic. With shaking fingers he managed to stuff the vial back into its pouch.

Slowly his pounding heart eased. Letters rolled across his faceplate as he heard Twelve’s tapping stylus.

“Polypeptide. 203 amino acids. Single chain.”

Ubu turned to see Twelve floating at the end of his elastic tether. The umbilicus had ceased to pulsate; Twelve’s eyes regarded him with cool disinterest. Ubu cleared his throat. Eddies of fear and disgust etched his words with acid.

“Is it the ever-glorious Beloved addressing me?”

“Beloved speaks to me,” Twelve reported. “I translate her words for you.”

Get this over with, Ubu thought. Then get out of here. “Does Beloved believe she can create this polypeptide?”

Twelve’s stylus did not hesitate. “In any quantity.”

It took a few moments for the significance of this answer to shoulder its way past Ubu’s ebbing haze of fear. In the end he could only repeat Twelve’s words. “In any quantity?”

“Given a sufficient source of hydrogen and nitrogen.”

Ubu gave a short, disbelieving laugh. “Right, then,” he said. “How long to make a tonne?”

“It will require Beloved forty to fifty hours to create the appropriate chemical assembler. Once the assembler is built, a single assembler can create a tonne of this polypeptide in approximately four to six hours.” There was a slight hesitation, then Twelve tapped his transmitter again. “This-individual apologizes for the imprecision of his answers. Beloved’s projections are uncertain as she cannot predict precisely whether her attention will be needed elsewhere.”

Ubu’s mind swam. He gazed at Twelve in stunned comprehension. “The estimates will do very well,” he said. He reached blindly for the first-aid pack. “I have some other samples.”

“Proceed, reverend bossrider.” The analysis organ unfolded again. Ubu felt his nape prickle.

Ubu’s samples were all compounds in the public domain, all having been marketed for over the last ten standard years. Anyone could manufacture them. His second sample was a complex protein used to speed repair in contractile tissue, a medicine particularly useful in burn cases. Beloved could produce a tonne of it in less than an hour. The third sample was a synthetic messenger RNA used in genetic engineering. The stuff was frighteningly expensive: Ubu had only the residue left in the vial from Pasco’s assembly of Maria’s genes. Beloved had little difficulty with that one: her minutes per tonne were down to fourteen.

Ubu’s fourth sample was Blue Eighteen, a neurotransmitter that resulted in improved brain and nerve function, a more efficient and complex form of the stuff that Marco de Suarez was always firing up his nose. Supposedly there were businessmen in the Hiline companies who sat at their desks all day with Blue Eighteen going into their arms through a permanently implanted intravenous drip. The price, Ubu thought, was going to go down.

He placed the vial on Beloved’s extended pink tongue and pressed the trigger. The sampling bud retracted partway, then stopped. Its leaves trembled. Ubu looked up at Twelve. Suddenly Beloved’s drumbeat staggered to a halt.

Twelve’s body convulsed as if struck by lightning. The stylus went flying. His eyes popped from their corners, his mouth structures flailed wildly. He bent to the transmitter and, with great effort, painfully hammered out a message with a blunt finger. RUN BACK TO SHIP.

“What’s happening?” Ubu said. His words vanished in an onslaught of sound—Beloved’s drums were back, thundering a furious message so urgent that Ubu felt it as a kick in the chest. Twelve’s last vestige of control vanished. He flailed at the end of his tether, spittle flying from his mouth as he swiped at Ubu with his feet. Twelve’s eyes stared, pupils contracted to nothing. Ubu watched in stunned surprise as Twelve reared back with the transmitter and flung it with ail his strength. Ubu raised a pair of hands. The transmitter cracked painfully against a forearm and bounded away.

Run back to ship. Right.

Ubu fired directional jets and rocketed from the chamber. Twelve reached for him with clawed hands and feet as Ubu raced past. Ubu avoided him, shot through the doorway, smashed into the wall opposite the opening. He absorbed his momentum with his arms, bounced, fired his jets again. Hammerblow drumbeats crashed against his deafened senses. He arrested his motion before diving into the airlock and saw that the wall near the airlock, the resinous grey material that blocked the passageway, was coming down before a bruising onslaught of Beloved’s servants. Through the widening hole he caught a horrifying glimpse of creatures encased in armor like crabs—many arms, slitted furious eyes, weapons waving... something resembling a segmented tentacle shot from the cracking wall, reaching for him. There were barbs on the end, each glistening with a drop of liquid, poison or acid. The tentacle wasn’t long enough. Ubu powered into the airlock and bounced against the far wall. His teeth rattled with the impact. There was the sound of rapid gunfire from behind him, bullets whining off resinous walls.

Ubu looked desperately for lock controls and saw the circular fluorescent plate he’d seen earlier. He punched it repeatedly and, with a rattle, the inner hatch rolled down. Beloved’s drumming grew dimmer. Ubu could hear his trip-hammer heart layered over Beloved’s beats. Pumps began to throb.

A blow thudded into the hatch behind him, then a rain of blows. Beloved’s soldiers were trying to tear the barrier down as they had the blocked passage. Ubu screamed in fear and knew there was nothing he could do but drift in the airlock until the lock finished its cycle.

Sound faded as air emptied from the chamber. Ubu could hear nothing but his breathing and thundering heart. The hatch vibrated to blow after blow. Somehow the knowledge that the hatch’s demolition was proceeding in silence made it even more horrifying.

The outer hatch rolled open. Ubu fired himself through the opening, his jets jammed full on. He clawed at his helmet, found the microwave antenna, pointed it manually at Runaway. His words came at a near-shriek.

“Get up maneuvering power. We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Do we have a problem?” Maria’s voice was infuriatingly calm. Ubu wanted to hit something as rage boiled up inside him.

“We’re at war, damn it! As soon as I’m in the hatch, fire our ass out of here!”

“Roger, bossrider.” Comprehension of the emergency seemed to be dawning.

“Jesus Rice!” Ubu couldn’t tell whether his words were prompted by anger, terror, or a sudden onslaught of piety.

Runaway grew larger. Ubu didn’t want to decelerate for the hatch, had to force himself to grip the controls and fire the retros.

He wished Runaway had weapons aboard. The closest thing was a welding torch.

Runaway swallowed him. The outer hatch rolled down, and sudden gees kicked him hard.