CHAPTER 19

“Stand by for two gees.” Adrenaline drove through Ubu’s veins like a ferrous charge through a mass driver. His words were almost a scream. He tracked his couch to the pilot’s station, hit the heavy-acceleration alarm. The positioning software had already given him a heading for Maria the Fair; that was all he needed. Any necessary course corrections could be added later. Ubu triggered the reaction drive.

Acceleration slammed him in the kidneys. The command cage shrieked as it swung on its gimbals. Struts quaked and moaned. Runaway was lightly loaded and velocity built quickly. More positioning data came in, giving the planet’s course and velocity.

“My fault,” Maria said. Her voice was stricken.

“Not now.” Ubu’s rage was a hot magnesium light scorching his mind. Two hands tapped separate keyboards as he simultaneously fed the computer a course correction and sent his greetings to Beloved. A third hand worked on the nav board, trying to get an idea of where Abrazo’s signal was coming from.

Gravity piled weights on Ubu’s chest. He fought it, struggled to keep his arms raised to the keyboards. He could feel gravity peeling his lids back from his eyes.

LUXURIANT AND EXPANSIVE GREETINGS, BOSSRIDER UBU ROY. Beloved’s reply. WE HAVE BEEN SPEAKING TO OTHER HUMANS.

Ubu’s eyes flickered to another display. Runaway’s sensors had spotted Abrazo’s plasma jet, plotted its course and trajectory. Abrazo was three days out from Maria the Fair at its current single-gee acceleration. Thanks to Maria and the new Lahore, Runaway would rendezvous with Beloved’s ship before Abrazo could come close.

“My fault,” said Maria.

A tremor ran along Runaway’s frame. Ubu’s eyes blurred for a moment. His fingers kept tapping keys.

I HOPE CLAN LUSTRE HAS NOT BEEN DISTURBED BY UNINVITED INTRUDERS.

His heart beat trip-hammer time while Ubu waited for a reply. When it came he could feel waves of anger and determination coursing along his nerves.

CLAN LUSTRE HAS FOUND OUR DISCUSSIONS WITH CLAN DE SUAREZ PROFITABLE. WE HOPE YOU WILL JOIN OUR CONCLAVE.

And, a moment later, a video message from Abrazo: a close-up of Marco’s ancient, leering, unshaven face.

“Bossrider Ubu Roy,” he said. “I wonder if you can guess how I got here.” He let that sink in for a moment. “I’m ready to talk,” he said, “whenever you are.”

*

Gravity smothered Beautiful Maria like a rug, tore tears of sorrow from the corners of her eyes. Runaway’s engine was a constant rumble in her ears, a tremor in her spine. “Kit was on the ship,” Maria said. “I let him on. Twice. No, three times. Somehow he must have found out about Santos 448.”

“Jesus Rice. A de Suarez. How could you...” Ubu’s voice trailed away in incomprehension. “How could you do it?”

“I wiped the log. There was no record of where we were. I was with him every minute.”

“There was Twelve. He could have seen Twelve.”

“Twelve would have told us.”

“Maybe not.”

Maria contemplated the shadowy thought of some dark, strange conspiracy between Twelve and the de Suarezes. A protest wailed in the burning cavity of her heart. “He used me!”

“Payback.”

“Shit. That bastard.”

Somehow, despite her words, anger had failed her. Maybe she couldn’t yet believe in the reality of all this. Maybe, she thought, she just couldn’t blame Kit.

“I’m gonna talk to Twelve.” She swung a keyboard out of the couch’s armrest, slotted it into place across her lap. She called Twelve and explained the situation.

“A ship from Clan de Suarez is here?” Twelve’s voice had crackling, whining overtones that bespoke the double-gee strain. “I am profoundly disturbed, Shooter Maria.”

“You didn’t speak with Kit de Suarez at any time?”

“No, Shooter Maria.” There was a hesitation. “He attempted to enter the auxiliary control section when I was here, but I used Bossrider Ubu’s voice and told him to stay out.”

“Fuck. Thank you, Twelve.”

She turned off the intercom. Anger came at last. “That bastard,” she said, and this time meant it.

Ubu was still tapping course corrections into the nav comp. As if they were blunt instruments, his fingers made furious jabs at the keys. “He knew something was here,” he said. “The question is, what did he find?”

“A backup of the log?”

“Isn’t one.”

“Not that we know about.”

Ubu clenched his teeth. “If we don’t know about it, he’s not going to.”

“You didn’t write anything down? Leave it where he could find it?”

“I don’t write anything down. I just put it in the— Jesus Rice.”

Ubu’s fist, twice its normal weight, slammed into the padded armrest. His other arms were already calling up nav files.

A threedee grid appeared, courses and data tracking across night. “My fucking shooting plots. Look at this. The computer saved them automatically.”

“You didn’t erase?”

“I forgot.”

Renewed anger roared like a furnace in Maria. “You had me erase the fucking log, commit a fucking felony, and you didn’t—”

“They were just working plots. I didn’t even remember them.”

“Jesus Rice.”

They fell silent for a long moment. Slowly, gravity drained Beautiful Maria’s anger. She grudged every lost drop of it.

“I fucked up,” Ubu said. “I fucked up again.” Fists crashed on couch arms.

Maria closed her eyes and battled for breath. Electrons wrote faint tracks across her retinas. Runaway’s acceleration rattled her teeth.

Ubu’s voice was low, his words determined, spoken through clenched teeth.

“I’ll give Beloved a better deal. That’s what I’ll have to do.”

*

“Ubu Roy.” The sound of Marco’s voice brought bright sparkles of angry light dancing in Ubu’s head, the taste of oil and unsweetened lemon to his tongue. “Better stop trying to underbid me. We’re just cutting our own profit margin, competing this way. And I’ll win anyway.”

“Piss off, licehead.” Ubu didn’t bother to broadcast his answer. He hadn’t answered any of Marco’s communications.

Every time Ubu had transmitted an offer to Beloved, she’d repeated its essentials to Abrazo. Shortly thereafter Marco transmitted a counteroffer, one Ubu couldn’t beat except by cutting Runaway’s profit percentage again.

Marco, after countering Runaway’s first offer, had been busy with his transmitter. He had offered to make Runaway a part of De Suarez Expressways, at least for purposes of trade with Beloved, granting Runaway equal status with the five de Suarez ships. Control of the combined outfit would remain with Marco, as would scheduling.

All Marco wanted to do was keep Ubu from telling the Multi-Pollies about the aliens until Marco was ready.

The two-gee acceleration was sapping Ubu, draining his anger, his mental energy. He was out of ideas.

Marco was right, damn him. Bidding against Abrazo was suicidal.

Fucked up again. The thought rebounded in his skull.

Ubu looked at the nav board, saw that Runaway was a few hours from its deceleration point, and decided to end the acceleration early. He sounded the zero-gee warning and stopped feeding matter to the singularity.

His heart was loud in the sudden silence. His grateful body drifted free in the harness. Weariness throbbed through him.

Maria threw aside her webbing and kicked off out of the cage toward the toilet.

Ubu drifted in the opposite direction, to the sick bay. The medicine locker opened to his thumbprint. He took out the vial of Blue Eighteen and looked at it for a long moment. His mouth went dry.

Nightmare memories flashed through him— Beloved’s sudden violence, the half glimpse of armored, purposeful soldiers, the long poison-tipped barb that coiled toward him in an eyeblink.

He remembered that the attack hadn’t been Beloved’s idea.

He put the vial away, closed the white enamel locker door with its flaking red cross.

Not yet, he thought. Not yet.

*

“Most assuredly, Shooter Maria, Clan Lustre will honor its previous commitments. You shall have your shipment.”

“And afterward?”

“I cannot say, respected shooter. Our agreement covered only this next shipment.”

Twelve’s body was a mass of aches. During the acceleration burn he had felt as if he were drowning.

His mind staggered in weary circles. Clan de Suarez here? The human god had warned him explicitly that they were not to be trusted.

He had to give this information to Beloved as soon as possible.

One of Maria’s feet was hooked to the castoff bar atop one of the acceleration couches; her body eddied slowly to her left and right like a ribbon swaying in a slow current. “The de Suarezes are treacherous,” Maria said. “They are also very aggressive. We can cite numerous examples of both characteristics. With Runaway, we have dealt with Clan Lustre as a single ship negotiating with a single ship. The de Suarezes are larger. Beloved may be overwhelmed.”

Alarm rang in Twelve. “We do not speak of a military attack?” he asked quickly.

“No. Simply that Beloved, after a time, may find their demands difficult to resist.”

“I will inform Beloved. It would be best if this were accomplished soon.”

Resignation rose in him. He knew he was condemning himself to a high-gee deceleration burn.

*

Fucked up again. Again again again. The words rang wearily in Ubu’s head as he and Maria helped Twelve climb into his ill-shaped vac suit.

Last chance, Ubu thought. If Twelve couldn’t persuade Beloved to deal exclusively with Runaway, he’d have to surrender to Marco.

Or, the idea flashed, use the Blue Eighteen.

Reflex horror drove the thought away.

“Thank you, good shooters,” Twelve said. There was a tinny resonance in his voice that showed his weariness. The long deceleration burn had ended only a few hours ago.

Twelve sealed himself into his suit. Beautiful Maria handed him his keyboard transmitter. He began to type.

“I thank you, reverend Bossrider Ubu Roy, for this opportunity to journey with you. I wish you all good fortune.”

“You are very welcome, Volitional Twelve,” Ubu said. “I hope we’ll have the opportunity to travel again.”

He and Maria floated from the airlock and watched as the inner hatch swung shut, as the lights over the door went from green to red, then green again.

Blue Eighteen, Ubu thought.

“I have a plan,” he said.

Maria looked at him. “So do I.”

Maybe the same plan, Ubu thought. He didn’t want to give voice to it now.

“We’ll talk about it later,” he said. “If we need to.”

“Fine.”

“Who’s gonna supervise the first shift of loading?”

“Your shoot,” Maria shrugged. The small motion sent her body drifting slowly toward one passage wall. Ubu sighed.

“I will,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

Ubu went to the medicine locker and took two capsules of Red Nine to give him the energy to get through the work.

He tried not to look at the vial of Blue Eighteen.

*

Twelve stiffened as bliss struck him with the force of a hammer. Glory glory glory, he chanted, his mind filled with stunned awe. Never had he been separated from Beloved for so long; never had the ecstasy of fusion been so powerful.

Twelve had sensed prosperity and happiness from the moment he had seen Beloved’s ship silhouetted against the gas giant’s blue-green mass. The unsightly magnetic grapples were gone, and new sensor arrays studded the ship’s surface. Light gleamed from the polished wings of two dozen new atmosphere craft that were carried on the ship’s flanks. Once Twelve entered, a bright-orange sentient named General Volitional Twenty, ruddy frame glowing with youth and health, met him at the airlock to help him remove his vac suit. Improved nonvolitionals leaped from the walls to give Twelve’s skin a welcome and thorough cleaning. Beloved’s tympani beat out rhythms that summoned him to her presence, and with his hearts pounding in resonant answer he made his way along a short corridor to his old umbilicus. Several soldiers, their armored bodies molded around their weapons, hung motionless in one darkened room. Beloved had grown them there, in the sealed-off section.

Twelve stiffened as he passed another room. Though a tympanum covered the door, his palps could nevertheless detect the scent of a dissolution chamber. Had it been prepared for him?

You have done well, Beloved sang. Neuronic drills quested for his centers of memory. You have brought other humans, rivals to Runaway. We will take great advantage of this.

A wave of distant fear rippled through Twelve. He was too stunned by Beloved’s outpouring of pleasure to give voice to it, but Beloved detected the hesitation in his reaction. Twelve’s ecstasy dimmed to the point where he was able to assemble his thoughts.

All glory is to Beloved, he said. There is danger. Do not take my memory. This-individual’s thought has been polluted. Sadness whimpered through his mind at the realization that he may have just triggered his own death. This-individual did not bring Clan de Suarez to this place. Their arrival was their own doing. Perhaps an evil god prompted them.

Through the umbilicus he sensed the awesome, deliberate movement of Beloved’s limitless thought. Terror danced in his veins. Would she order his immediate dissolution?

I need further information, Beloved said. You will report to me, in full, of all you have seen.

*

Twelve hung in fusion for hours. Nourishment was brought by Volitional Twenty, who hovered before him and regurgitated food into his mouth.

I will be more cautious in My dealings with Clan de Suarez, said Beloved. Still there is too much advantage to be gained from the human rivalry for Me to disregard it altogether.

Beloved, this-individual urges caution. The human god—

Pain resounded in Twelve’s mind. He quailed before a wall of stunning agony. Do not presume to offer Me advice, Beloved said. Your thought has been contaminated; you recognize this yourself.

Glory, Twelve said fervently. Glory glory glory.

The pain eased slowly. Beloved’s instructions echoed in his skull.

You have at least fulfilled part of your mission, in that you have learned to vocalize human sounds. This knowledge will be transferred to Myself, and then to My servant Volitional Twenty.

Glory to Beloved, he said, resigned. Twenty, Twelve knew, would supersede him. After that, he would meet dissolution as a threat to the purity of Beloved’s sacred thought.

Anaesthetic pleasure poured into Twelve’s mind. It did not overwhelm his sadness but served to make it only more poignant. Beloved’s umbilicus pulsed as it injected Twelve’s linguistic centers with carefully shaped polyribonucleotides that began to copy his human speech ability. Twelve could feel his heart speeding in order to provide enough fuel to his mind so that this activity could be performed efficiently. He heard Beloved speaking through his own voice, ordering Twenty to fuse with her through another of the umbilici.

The transfer went quietly at first. Twenty’s voder began making tentative human sounds, then a few words. “Bossssssrider,“ said the orange volitional, and then his right arm flailed. “Bossrider!“ he yelped. “Bossrider, bossrider!“ He kicked out with his right foot. Spittle flew from his palps. His right side thrashed, but his left side seemed paralyzed.

Twelve, his mind dizzy with pleasure and sadness, watched in surprise as Twenty stiffened, then went slack at the end of his umbilicus.

Twelve’s pleasure dimmed. Beloved’s voice rang in his head. Twenty has gone into shock. You will watch him.

Yes, Beloved.

If he awakens soon, you will inquire as to the source of his distress.

Yes, Beloved.

I had been assured that his type was most flexible and adaptable. My disappointment shall be transmitted to Others. Perhaps this type will be devalued.

The sense of Beloved’s presence withdrew from his mind, although the umbilicus did not detach itself. Twelve had the impression that Beloved’s attention was busy elsewhere.

Twenty’s palps flickered faintly with respiration, but otherwise he did not move. Twelve waited, trembling with fear, with anticipation. Die, he thought as he gazed at Twenty, die die die. If Twenty died, perhaps Twelve might live.

Hours passed. Twelve found himself needing to excrete but dared not detach himself from the umbilicus. He voided and let the nonvolitionals clean up first the mess, then himself.

He looked up in sudden fear as soldiers filled the doorway. Black and businesslike, they swarmed inside. Many arms appeared from their carapaces to seize Twenty. The umbilicus withdrew. Carrying Twenty’s inert form, they left without a word.

Suddenly Beloved’s presence returned to his mind. Glory, glory, Twelve chanted.

Twenty’s dissolution has been ordered.

Glory to Beloved.

I will attempt to grow other volitionals, both of your type and his. The necessary information concerning humans will be fed to them gradually as they mature. Perhaps the shock will not be so great.

Glory to Beloved. Success to her plan. Hope fluttered desperately in his hearts.

I desire more information, Twelve.

This-individual is Beloved’s servant. After the information, then, would come his dissolution. Unless, he thought desperately, he had the information Beloved desired.

We have detected communication between Runaway and the Clan de Suarez ship. We are unable to translate these communications. Can you offer any suggestions?

Perhaps the transmission is holographic, Beloved. We would need to have a holographic receiver.

Have you discovered how to construct one?

Twelve’s hope foundered. Alas, Beloved.

Have you returned with technical knowledge of human AIs?

Worse and worse, Twelve thought. From one pit of ignorance to another. This-individual knows only their appearance and some of the techniques of operation.

Volitionals operating under My supervision disassembled one of Runaway’s computers. It appears to be composed of a crude analog of neural circuitry which achieves its power by virtue of speedier calculation. Some of the elements of its operation were discovered, but not the principles behind some of its critical components.

Glory.

We discovered what appear to be components that permit an electronic signal to move at a speed faster than light.

Surprise rose in Twelve. This-individual understood the speed of light to be an absolute limit for electromagnetic spectra.

This was My belief also.

Twelve was stunned. Beloved had admitted to an error in her fundamental comprehension of the universe. The implications were too disturbing to contemplate.

Glory, glory, he stammered.

Beloved disdained reply to the disturbance she surely perceived through her neural connection.

Other components transmit electricity without resistance. These have been analyzed and their elements noted, but the secret of their manufacture is not evident from a mere list of their components. The acquisition of this technology should be your greatest priority in conducting future negotiations.

Terror and hope warred in Twelve. This-individual is to continue as your voice? he queried.

It is My desire. You have the greater experience.

Glory to Beloved. Never had the ritual answer been more heartfelt.

Your mind has been contaminated by human thought. I wish to correct some of your errors.

Yes, Beloved.

You mistook the nature of the hype you observed. The god was a dramatic device, not a literal truth.

This-individual does not comprehend, Beloved.

Your comprehension is not necessary to My purpose, Volitional Twelve. I am familiar enough with dramas to recognize their tropes. You need only know that no human gods should concern you.

Yes, Beloved. Still puzzled. Glory to Beloved.

The god who appeared to you was probably a trick by the humans, who wished to warn you away from their enemies.

Yes, Beloved. Twelve’s mind swam. Beloved was familiar with drama?

You will await My further instruction. Maintain yourself in the meantime.

Beloved’s umbilicus withdrew. Twelve hung alone in the room, unhappiness gnawing at his bones. Beloved understands drama, he thought. He felt vaguely betrayed at Beloved’s revelation of a life beyond his own knowledge, a life in which, presumably with the other independent intelligences, she participated in drama and other royal pleasures which she did not deign to share with her servants, even the most devoted of them.

At least she had spared his life, even if her action had been the result of an accident with another of her servants. He still had an opportunity to prove his worth, to make certain that Beloved still required his services.

To make himself as invaluable as possible.

*

Ubu’s hope was dying.

Twelve had been aboard Beloved’s ship for three days without contacting Runaway. The last container had been loaded into Runaway’s hold. The final Lahore AI had been delivered to Beloved. Abrazo, advancing at its more sedate pace, was nearing rendezvous with Beloved and Runaway. There had been no word from Beloved, although presumably she had taken note of the fact the two human ships had ceased to bid against one another.

When Beloved’s answer came, Ubu knew what it would be. He and Maria sat in the command cage and watched the holographic letters rise from the comm display, the statement that Clan Lustre was accepting the latest offer from De Suarez Expressways.

Dumb hopelessness filled Ubu’s heart. His rage had long ago burned itself out. Fucked up again, he thought, just like every time before. Just like Pasco. Finally had the big score and lost it.

I urge Beloved to reconsider, he typed. A pointless exercise, but one that seemed necessary. He pushed Transmit and looked at Beautiful Maria.

White incisors were clamped on her upper lip. Cold fury filled her wide eyes. “That bastard,” she said.

A distant surprise stirred in Ubu.

Beautiful Maria looked at him. “I’m not gonna let ’em do this!” Bright color blossomed on her pale cheeks, like shellfire falling on snow. “Tell me your plan,” she said. “I’ll tell you mine.”

*

Glory to Beloved. With trembling and obeisance, this-individual begs a favor.

You may ask, General Volitional Twelve. Beloved’s reply was cool. It was not her policy to encourage initiative among her servants.

If this-individual is to continue negotiations with the humans, this-individual would find it valuable to know the worth of that for which he is negotiating. This-individual begs to discover the results of Clan Lustre’s negotiations with other clans.

Beloved’s thought rolled onward for a long moment. Your request has merit, she concluded.

There was a pause during which Twelve could sense Beloved’s neurons shifting in his head, invading the sight and vocoder centers of his brain.

And suddenly experience crashed in on him and his awareness dissolved into a roiling onslaught of immediate sensation. Twelve’s nerves flamed as his perceptions expanded at superluminal velocity— suddenly he was enormous, a vast body floating through nothingness, sensory information pouring in from organs that studded his resinous skin. He felt the caress of radiation on his exterior, the turbulent flow of heat from the side of the body nearest the sun to the side in shadow. His bones were rippled by gravity, compacted by acceleration. Living in his heart was the ship’s burning singularity, roaring like an angry beast inside the magnetic bottle that held it prisoner. Data flowed past. Calculations were performed too rapidly for Twelve to follow. And somewhere outside his mind was something else, the one thing in the universe that seemed outside his own ken, a feature cold, alien, and troubling.

Twelve realized that he was experiencing the ship from the perspective of Beloved’s pilot, body and mind fused with ship sensors. He was aware of the pilot’s mind straining to overcome its limits, burning oxygen and nutrients furiously as it tried to process data swiftly, exactly, with greater and greater precision. He felt the pilot’s frustration as his hands tried to keep up with the data churning through his brain— and Twelve realized that the pilot was feeding the data into the human computer, that the strange object so peculiarly outside the pilot’s perception was the AI that would guide the singularity shoot.

Then the pilot’s mind relaxed. The last bit of data had been fed into the computer. Twelve experienced the depression of the pilot’s sensation, his growing sense of loss— Twelve intuited that the pilot normally went beyond this point, that he controlled the singularity right up to the instant when the data blurred past at too great a speed for his mind to keep pace.

Displays flickered on the human computer, more data, all in human script. The pilot was baffled at its speed.

And then, suddenly, the universe contracted. Through external sensors Twelve could see the stars’ radiation refracting in strange ways, spraying bright rainbows across his mind; and then the whole universe collapsed and, in an instant, rebuilt itself.

More data flowed in from the sensors. The pilot’s blood pressure declined as the processing function of his mind was reduced. His consciousness was turned toward discovering the ship’s precise new location.

When the last coordinate rolled into place, Twelve felt a staggering hammerblow of surprise. The human AI had far outperformed the pilot even on his best day.

The pilot began again, readying himself and the computer for the next shoot. Dimly, beneath the throbbing of the pilot’s hearts, the flow of blood and data, Twelve sensed the pilot’s shock and terror, the growing understanding that he and his entire kind had been superseded, made obsolete by a single, inexpensive device obtained from an incomprehensible source.

Sorrow filled Twelve’s hearts. The pilot’s world had changed far beyond his ken. He had participated in his own obsolescence, and done so by use of a medium that even his own universe-encompassing powers of perception found incomprehensible.

Perhaps, Twelve thought, he and the other general volitionals would be next to feel supersession as the result of trade with the humans.

The pilot’s mind faded from Twelve’s consciousness and another memory slotted neatly into place. He wore this new personality with greater ease, with a heightened body awareness and a familiar sense of movement through space ... He realized that he was experiencing the memory of another general volitional, one of his own body type.

A white alien corridor loomed around him. Foreign odors nagged at his palps, odors not from his own clan. Sentients and near-sentients flooded the space around him. Strange rhythms beat at his vocoder, echoed from the corridor’s pale walls.

The point of view shifted from the corridor to a smaller room as Beloved’s general volitional moved through a doorway. Behind, rear eyes confirmed that a drumhead membrane slid over the oval doorway behind, assuring privacy. The membrane hummed faintly in resonance with throbbing outside.

Inside was a general volitional, blueblack in color, with a pair of arms affixed to his lower torso and a long pair of whiplike tentacles sprouting from just below his head. He was connected to an umbilicus. Beloved’s volitional offered a respectful salutation.

“Clan Lustre gives respectful greetings to the Potent Clan. This-individual is Volitional Twenty-six.”

Twenty-six! thought Twelve in surprise. He had known no such sentient on board Home. Volitional Twenty-six must have been grown as a replacement while Twelve was sealed off in his corridor.

The blue-black sentient rippled his tentacles in a barely civil greeting. “This-individual is Potent Volitional 3281. Please state your business with the Potent Clan.”

The Potent Clan, Twelve knew, lived up to its name: it owned several hundred planets, moons, and planetoids, the orbital stations that exploited their resources, and the ships that trafficked between them. Twelve now guessed the location of this dialogue: Potent 5367, a giant station in the center of a gas cloud charged with protostars. The station was owned by the Potent Clan but used by clans of all sizes and descriptions in their efforts to mine the valuable proto-systems.

Volitional Twenty-six stiffened in a formal declamatory stance. “Clan Lustre wishes an informative broadcast on the station information service, announcing that Clan Lustre now offers for sale a method that allows a ship to travel up to ten light-years with a necessary correction of less than one thousandth of one percent.”

Volitional 328l’s whip-arms rippled to wavelike movements that reached the tips, then rebounded. “Clan Lustre offers for sale a new-model pilot?” he queried.

“This-individual did not make that statement,” said Twenty-six. “Shall this-individual repeat Clan Lustre’s desired announcement?”

“This-individual’s memory is not faulty.” 328l’s stance stiffened. His whips coiled toward his body and he hung motionless for a moment, during which 3281 apparently communicated with his governing entity. “The figures you-individual claim are absurd,” he said. “No pilot is capable of guaranteeing such results.”

“This-individual has never spoken of a pilot.” Twenty-six’s tone was sharp. “Neither is Clan Lustre accustomed to having its veracity questioned. If the Potent Clan does not believe the capabilities inherent in Clan Lustre’s offer, the Potent Clan does not have to purchase them. Other clans shall bid, however, and if the Potent Clan cannot guarantee deliveries as efficient as those of its rivals, then the Potent Clan will have only itself to blame.”

Twelve’s hearts thrilled as Twenty-six spun and kicked off for the entrance. The tympani-membrane did not withdraw in time and Twenty-six contemptuously yanked it aside before propelling himself out into the pounding corridor.

Glory, Twelve thought. Pride glowed in him.

The offer went out on the station communications net. Inquiries followed. Twenty-six negotiated cautiously, refusing to give more than hints of what he was actually selling. The first computers sold were offered entirely on speculation— if they performed as advertised, Beloved would be guaranteed a share of the profits from any cargoes. But Beloved insisted on long-term contracts— demanding shares of profits for decades— and the skeptical bidders made their offers, figuring they had nothing really to lose. And, once it became clear that bids were actually being offered, and that the quantities of computers were limited, the bidding grew in volume, intensity, and profitability. One of Clan Diamond’s ships, equipped with the computer, made a brief shoot outsystem and back and reported the AI performed as advertised. Panic promptly set in. The dozens of clans that did business on Potent 5367 made ridiculous offers— sending gifts to Beloved of genetic material, newly grown hardware, offering credit, cargoes, even ship hulls— and all simply to get Beloved’s attention. Beloved chose among the bids with care and made a fortune.

Elation danced through Twelve’s veins as the images rolled through his mind. Beloved was dealing as an equal with the Potent Clan, with Clan Tattoo, with Clan Sapphire and Clan Starwind... Clans so mighty that formerly they would have barely acknowledged Beloved’s existence. The AIs could guarantee a clan’s competitiveness, or another’s extinction. Their manufacture and components were a secret that could be kept for years, perhaps for decades. And during that time Beloved’s profits would be increasing as demand grew.

Glory to Beloved, Twelve chanted joyfully.

And then another series of memories swarmed into him. Though the memories were brief and simple, Twelve was overwhelmed as to their scope, detail, and intensity: it was as if he had suddenly become aware of an entire dimension of existence that had somehow escaped his attention. Twelve realized, awe pouring into him, that the memories were Beloved’s.

The memories concerned the preparation of a brood chamber, the metabolic changes necessary to assemble the long, long chains of Beloved’s genetic components all in one location, all coiled in a single cell.

Beloved was going to reproduce. Children were being created, readied to occupy new ships that would trade across the gulf of space with the humans.

A glow of happiness settled in Twelve. Things, he realized, could only get better.

*

Marco looked weary, as if he’d been awake for a long time. “Ubu Roy,” he said. A jaded enmity sparkled in reddened eyes. “I wonder why you didn’t call before.”

“Had no business with you till now.”

“Be none now, Ubu Roy.”

Ubu felt cold energy whirling in his mind. I know something you don’t, old man, he thought. That gives me power.

“You made an offer, bossrider,” Ubu said.

Marco scratched his grizzled chin with knobbed fingers. “The situation’s changed, Ubu Roy. You be wanting a piece of this action now, you get it under different conditions.”

Ubu looked at him. “Don’t see any reason for alterations,” he said.

Casual contempt touched Marco’s features lightly, as if Ubu wasn’t worth the effort of a real sneer. “Clan Lustre accepted my last offer,” Marco said, “and I don’t need you any more. But since I don’t want you interfering with my operation, I’ll make you a part of it. But you don’t have a sixth any more, you have a twelfth. And a de Suarez comes aboard Runaway to make sure you do as you’re told.”

“Eat shit, Marco.”

Marco stared at him. “Be all you’re getting, Ubu Roy.”

“If that’s your best offer, Runaway’ll shoot straight to Angel Station and tell the Navy and the Multi-Pollies exactly what’s going down out here. We’ve got recordings of the negotiations and they’ll believe us.”

Marco snorted. “Too late. We’ll have our exclusive contract. The Multi-Pollies’ll have to deal with us.”

Ubu grinned. “What you gonna do with your cargo, old man? What you gonna do when I start telling the Navy about contamination from alien life-forms? They’ll embargo your ass, Marco. Maybe you’ll get out of quarantine eventually, but in the meantime your ships are gonna be hanging in space unable to move cargo.”

“So you say.” This time Marco went to the trouble of a real sneer.

“Clan Lustre isn’t gonna wait around while you get your ships out of quarantine, they’re gonna want to deal with someone. And Clan Lustre isn’t the only alien clan. So while you’re sitting in quarantine with no money coming in, I’ll be investing my profit from the first shipment while I negotiate with a Hiline company to go looking for aliens. We know the right general direction, and we’ll find ’em now we know they’re there. You’ll be frozen out, Marco. And while you’re stuck in quarantine I’ll be waving at you from my new yacht and grinning.”

Marco stared at him stonily. “What you be wanting, Ubu Roy?”

“We’ll abide by any prices you negotiate. Runaway sets its own schedules. We want a sixth of the total action, including any new deals cut with Clan Lustre. Any ships I build or buy come into the arrangement on equal shares with any de Suarez ships.”

“That all, Ubu Roy?”

Ubu smiled at him. “Just a fair share, Marco. That’s all.”

Marco lifted a chak to his nose, fired twice. Thought for a moment. Finally he nodded. “Okay, Ubu. You’re smarter than I thought.”

“It’s my licehead sister that fucked up. Not me.”

Marco gave a skeptical grunt. “Neither of you fuck up again, we get along fine, Ubu Roy.”

Ubu switched off. I know something you don’t, he thought.

He rose from the couch and bounced toward the ladder. After the heavy-gee bum, he’d set the centrifuge to six tenths of a gee in order to give stressed ligaments a chance to repair themselves; his movement was a half dance, a lofty skip. He went easily up the ladder and began drifting to his cabin.

Beautiful Maria stepped from the galley. A forcebulb was in her hand. She stopped, shook her hair back, looked at him.

“Just talked to Marco,” he said. “We’re in business.” He planted his feet on the carpet’s scratchy surface and thought of Kitten, the smell of burning, the way her tear reservoir had stained the pillow.

Maria nodded. “Good.”

Ubu’s upper right fist hooked out, caught Maria high on the cheek. She went down, the bulb bounding on the deck. The force of the blow and the light gravity bounced Ubu a few inches to his rear.

He looked down at Maria, his heart hammering. She was crouched on the deck, her hand raised to her cheek. Her hair covered her face and kept him from seeing her expression.

Ubu’s nerves twisted like wires. He reached down, helped her rise.

And hit her again.

*

Twelve, in his vac suit, hung in the airlock, his arms and legs braced outward to prop himself against its walls. His helmet was pushed back, his forward eyes peering out from beneath its seal.

“I am pleased to see you, Volitional Twelve,” Ubu said.

“I am honored to be aboard Runaway once more, reverend bossrider.”

“I hope you will convey my compliments to Beloved.”

“It will be my pleasure to do so, Bossrider Ubu Roy.”

Beloved had at last consented to allow Twelve a personal visit, allowing Runaway to set up its delivery schedule without De Suarez Expressways finding out by listening on an open radio channel.

Ubu ghosted into the lock entrance. “Would you like me to help you remove your vac suit, Twelve?”

“My apologies, reverend bossrider, but I will not be here long. I would not wish to put you to the trouble.”

Ubu’s heart sank. He frowned and looked at Twelve. “I understood Beloved wished to negotiate a delivery schedule.”

“That is so, Bossrider Ubu Roy. But she regrets she cannot conduct negotiations at present. Clan de Suarez wishes to conduct deliveries at another star system, and which star has not been decided.”

“If I don’t know the star, I can’t make deliveries.”

“It is my understanding, reverend bossrider, that Clan de Suarez will inform you of the schedule when it is concluded.”

Anger warmed Ubu’s nerves. His fists clenched in fury. “That would give Clan de Suarez control over Runaway’s deliveries,” he said. “That would give Clan de Suarez a monopoly over trade with Beloved. Beloved can’t want this.”

“I but follow Beloved’s instruction in this matter, bossrider.”

“It isn’t to her advantage.”

“I am Beloved’s unworthy voice, Bossrider Ubu Roy.”

Ubu stared at Twelve, fury burning inside him. Marco had guaranteed him his own delivery schedule, and then gone behind his back with Beloved to make sure Runaway had no control.

“Very well, Volitional Twelve,” Ubu said. “I trust you will convey my sentiments to Beloved.”

“That shall be my pleasure, bossrider.”

Ubu pushed back from the lock entrance, let the inner door slide down. The red light above the lock reflected off his hands, turned them red, like blood. Blue Eighteen, he thought.

Madness.

*

The fuge, building slowly to one gee, gave a tremor. One of the ceiling natural-light fluorescents blinked out. Ubu glanced upward in irritation.

Marco gazed at him hollow-eyed, a hologram skull. “We know you had a visit from one of Clan Lustre’s people. I don’t think that’s good for business.”

Ubu looked into the hollow eyes and grinned. “And I know you want to make your deliveries to Clan Lustre in another system, so you can maintain control over the schedule. I’m a part of that schedule, Marco. I wanna see it. Who do you think I am, my stupid sister?”

“You’ll see the schedule when it’s finished.”

“Then I’ll talk to Clan Lustre’s people anytime I want.”

Marco’s unshaven chin gave a contemptuous jerk. “I don’t think you’re taking this business as seriously as you should, Ubu Roy.”

“I think I’m taking it as seriously as my one-sixth share requires, Marco de Suarez.”

Marco gave a scowl. The expression only made Ubu want to laugh.

Abrazo ended transmission without a word.

Ubu’s cold amusement drained away a few minutes later as he read a transmission from Abrazo to Beloved, asking that Clan Lustre send a personal representative to conclude the final details of the contract.

Fury filled him. He left the command cage and paced angrily along the centrifuge, driving his bare heels into the worn green carpet as he passed the machine shop and the food storage area and all the empty cabins that were once filled with Pasco’s family. He ended up back at the command cage. The dancing lights on the comm board showed that intercepted transmissions were still being read. He didn’t want to see them and went up the ladder quickly. Cooking smells drifted toward him and he stepped into the galley.

Maria looked up at him. She was making dumplings. Ubu’s vitals twisted as he saw the split lip, the purple bruise on the eye. His fists clenched.

“Marco’s asking for a private meeting with Twelve,” Ubu said. “Shit.”

“We’re gonna lose unless we do something.”

Rage burned in him. His heart boomed Beloved’s war song.

Ubu hit her twice more, sickened by the way her head jerked back with each punch, the way she stood and took the strikes, her hands at her sides.

He couldn’t look at her any more and found himself staring at the counter, seeing the half-readied dinner, dough the pale color of Marco’s flesh, Maria’s nail marks on the sealed edge of each completed dumpling.

Hot bile rose in his throat. He turned and fled out into the fuge.

Once there, all he could do was run in a circle.