On the other hand, it might solve so many problems if the thieves succeeded. Some mighty faction would then have the secret at last, perhaps using it to dominate the next age. Battles and great conspiracies could then surge onward, perhaps letting Earth and her colonies drift back into the side eddies of history, neglected and maybe safe for a while.
“I’m surprised no one tried this before,” she commented, wary as she watched the minibattle follow Streaker’s retreat across the vast interior of the Fractal World.
“Indeed, it seems a logical ploy to try seizing the watcher from our bow. I can only hazard that our prior enemies lacked the means to read a coded WOM.”
If so, it spoke well for the neutrality of the Library Institute, that even the richest clans and alliances could not break the seals. That made Gillian wonder. Might the betrayals at Oakka have been an aberration? Perhaps it was just Streaker’s run of typical bad luck that put it at the mercy of rare traitors. Institute officials might be more honorable elsewhere.
If so, should we try again? Gillian wondered. Maybe head for Tanith and try surrendering ourselves to the authorities one more time?
Meanwhile, the Niss whirled thoughtfully. The Tymbrimi-designed software entity flattened into a planate whirlpool shape before speaking once again.
“It must have taken them much of the last year, using their influence as elder members of the Retired Order, to access the keys. In fact …”
The mesh of spinning lines tightened, exhibiting strain.
“In fact, this casts a pall across our earlier miraculous escape from this place.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that we thought we were being aided by altruistic members of the Retired Order, benevolently helping us elude persecutors in the name of justice. But consider how conveniently easy it was! Especially the way we stumbled on references leading to the so-called Sooner Path—”
“Easy! I had to squeeze our captured Library for it, like pressing wine from a stone! It was—”
“It was easy. I now see that in retrospect. We must have been infected by a lesser meme parasite, conveying the attractive notion of fleeing to Jijo. A nearby sanctuary with just one way in and one way out. A haven whose only exit would lead us right back here again.”
Gillian blinked, abruptly seeing what the machine was driving at.
Suppose one faction hoped to seize Streaker’s WOM, but knew it would take a while to access the right codes for reading it? Fugitive wolflings could not be left just hanging around in the open till then. Someone else might snatch the prize!
What better way to stash the memory unit for safekeeping than by sending it into hiding, guarded by the self-preservation skills and instincts of tested survivors? The Earthship’s own crew.
“If we had not turned up about now, no doubt they would have sent word to Jijo luring us back. Indeed, the plan has earmarks — patience and confidence — that resonate of the Retired Order.
“Only now this failure to seize the object of their desire shows that their scheme broke down. Not everything is going their way. This faction still has enemies. Moreover, note how dismal the state of their power has become, under these conditions of calamity!”
“Calamity” was right. As Gillian watched, fighting seemed to ripple outward around them. Tactics sensors showed signs of conflagration spreading toward the nearest ragged edge of the wounded criswell structure.
“At this rate,” she mused, “someone’s gonna get fed up and use one of those big disintegrator rays. Maybe on us. We better think about getting out of here.”
“Dr. Baskin, while we have been talking I’ve thought of little else. For instance, I have endeavored to call our captor-protector, the Zang ship entity, to no avail. A leading hypothesis must be that it was destroyed.”
Gillian nodded, having reached the same conclusion.
“Well, if it ain’t coming, I don’t care to hang around waiting.”
She raised her voice toward the intercom.
“Kaa! Give it a full effort. Let’s make a break for t-point!”
The pilot acknowledged with a click burst of assent.
As Streaker started pulling away, the battle storm followed. Detectors showed still more machines converging from all sides. Still, a gap slowly began to grow.
Then the Niss interrupted again.
“Dr. Baskin, something else has come to my attention that I know will concern you.
“Please observe.”
The main viewer zoomed toward one corner of the fiery brawl — a scrap far smaller than some other battles Streaker had observed, though nearness made the flashes and explosions seem more garish by far. Rapid glimpses revealed that most of the fighters were machines, lacking any boxy enclosures to protect protoplasm crews. Clearly, the varied factions of “retired” races preferred doing combat by proxy, using mechanical hirelings rather than risking their own necks.
Then one object loomed into view, more squat in profile than any other — a tubby dart, rounded and heavily armored. Gillian recognized the outline of a Thennanin scoutcraft.
“Ifni!” she sighed. “Has he done it again?”
“If you mean Engineer Emerson d’Anite, I can tell you that interior scans show no sign of him within this ship. I surmise it is him out there, unleashing weapons with quite futile abandon, missing nearly everything he shoots at. Organic beings really should not face mechanicals in close combat. It is not your forte.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” Gillian murmured, deeply torn over what she could or should do next.
Emerson
WHEN HE REALIZED HE WASN’T HITTING anything — and no one was shooting back — Emerson finally shut down the fire controls. Apparently, nobody thought him worth much worry, or effort. It felt irksome to be ignored, but at least no faction seemed bent on avenging the robots he had taken out with those first few lucky shots, igniting this fury.
Combat surged around him. There was no making sense of the shadowed struggle as machines flayed other machines.
Anyway, it soon dawned on him that something else was going on. Something more important and personal than events taking place outside.
Waves of confusion swept through Emerson’s mind.
Nothing unusual about that. By now he was quite used to feeling befuddled. But the type of disorientation was exceptional. It felt like peering past dark clouds of delirium. As if everything till then had been part of a vivid dream, filled with perverted logic. Like a fever-racked child, he had made no clear sense of anything going on around him for a very long time. But in a brief instant light seemed to pierce the mist, limning corners that had been shrouded and dark.
Like a hint, or a passing scent, it lasted but a moment and was gone.
He suspected a trick. Another psi distraction …
But the light must have been more than that! The joy it brought was too intense. The sense of loss too devastating when it vanished.
Then, without warning, it was back again, much stronger than before.
Something he had been missing for a long time.
Something precious that he had never fully appreciated until it was taken from him.
I … I can think …