bay as if entitled to do so. It was a dangerous thing to do under normal circumstances but with the battleship at the highest state of alert it verged on suicidal. Captain Boone’s command chair whined as he swiveled to the left. More than two dozen cameras covered the launch bay. He checked number sixteen. It showed the hatch through which the shuttle would soon enter, “All batteries will hold their fire ... The Sheen will receive the same courtesies extended to the Thralki.”
The naval officer sensed a presence and turned to find Admiral Chang at his side. She offered a fresh mug of coffee. “So, are we having fun yet?”
He accepted the cup. “No, ma’am. The Sheen are crazy.”
“Machines,” the senior officer replied cheerfully. “You can’t live with ‘em—and you can’t live without
‘cm.”
Meanwhile, oblivious to what the humans thought, the Hoon commanded its fleet, flew the Sheen shuttle, and controlled the onboard security units. Everything and everyone with the exception of Jepp, Veera, and Sam.
The Hoon executed a sharp left-hand turn and entered the battleship’s bay. It was far less automated than the AI considered to be appropriate. After all, why rely on biologicals when machines were available? All of which served to confirm the conclusion already arrived at: Negotiations were a waste of time, and the fleet should attack. The conclusion was logical, eminently so, but the Hoon took no action. A very un-Hoonlike thing to do. Had the computer intelligence been capable of greater introspection it might have wondered why and sought to understand. But it wasn’t, couldn’t, and didn’t. Programming is programming, and where computers are concerned, as immutable as DNA. Careless of what the Hoon thought, Jepp was on a high. Veera, to whom a lot of his babbling was directed, ignored most of his commentary. The occasional “yes” or “no” was sufficient to keep him happy. In spite of the fact that the Prithian might have been able to remain aboard the Ninja, she had decided to come, and observe what took place.
Though inconclusive thus far, her research regarding the Sheen had proved quite interesting, as had her evaluation of Thraki society. “Markets derive from economic principles,” her father liked to say, “but are influenced by culture. That’s why you must understand each in order to profit.”
The merchant was gone now. but his lessons lived on.
The shuttle touched down, the blast doors closed, and air flooded the bay. Jepp was eager to address the senate. He bounced off the small uncomfortable seat. “This is it, Veera! The moment we’ve been waiting for. Once they hear God’s plan, once they embrace the silvery host, the new order will unfold. Think of it! The entire Confederacy governed by a single religion! Historians will write about this day—and your name will appear for all to see.”
Veera realized that Jepp was more concerned with his name—but knew better than to say so. The hatch opened, the delegation descended a flight of self-propelled stairs, and were met by a carefully chosen reception committee. Nankoot was there, per Jepp’s request, but so was Maylo, who, unbeknownst to her, had been chosen for reasons other than her political acumen. Admiral Tyspin had provided the government with every bit of information that she could, including the fact that Jepp had a definite interest in women.
Knowing that, Nankool couldn’t help but smile when the exprospector saw Maylo, and his face lit up. The party formed a column of twos, wound its way between some navy transports, and headed toward the main lock. A metal archway had been established in front of the portal. Anyone who approached had no choice but to pass through. The humans went first followed by the robots. Booly and a pair of technicians were sequestered in a compartment not far away. A row of jury-rigged monitors was racked in front of them. The essence of Tyspin’s theory was that Jepp amounted to little more than a noisy decoy and that the Hoon, or part of the Hoon, controlled one or more of the so-called security units. If that was true, there would be a link back to the fleet and that would validate Tyspin’s thesis.
“Okay, sir, here goes,” Corn Tech Rutaza said. “Assuming the chip heads are linked with each other and//or one of their ships, the computer will provide me with a visual profile.”
Booly watched the first security unit pass through the arch. The monitors, lime green the moment before, shivered as an image appeared. It looked nothing like the real thing. The protective force field from which the Sheen took their name appeared as a yellow-white aura. A complex tracery of blue lines described the robot’s electronic nervous system. They rippled in synch with the machine’s alloy body. A lake of red-orange heat confirmed the location of the droid’s power plant while lesser ponds, pools, and streams were associated with online weapon systems, sensor relays, and good old friction. The weapons were worrisome but allowed. There wasn’t a senator onboard who didn’t have their own security.
Rutaza frowned as the first unit exited screen left. “No linkage, sir.”
Booly nodded. “Keep looking.”
The second robot passed under the arch followed by the third. Some lavender lines appeared, and Rutaza pointed at a screen. “Bingo! They’re talking to each other.”
Booly nodded. Some sort of localized communication was to be expected. But what of the more important question? Was the Hoon, or a part of the Hoon, actually present?
Booly was just about ready to say, “no,” when Unit Four appeared. “Look!” Rutaza said. “See the bursting? The dashed line coming in from the upper righthand comer of the screen? Four is taking a feed. Not continuous, like we were thought, but in the form of periodic reloads. How much you wanta bet the receiving unit will update the rest?”
