Part 5 (1/2)

The more she spoke of them, the more foolish her advocacy seemed.

Few on Hearth knew anything of the Gw'oth, and for good reason. The sea creatures were too scary to reveal to the public. Baedeker was in the small minority, one of the technologists asked to a.s.sess the implausible findings of the Explorer Explorer expedition. Only everything Nessus had reported was true! The Gw'oth had, incredibly, advanced from fire to fission in two generations. expedition. Only everything Nessus had reported was true! The Gw'oth had, incredibly, advanced from fire to fission in two generations.

No one ever told Baedeker the Fleet had veered to give the Gw'oth a wider berth. No one had had to. The nanotech process by which General Products built its hulls was sensitive to the slightest of perturbations. Soon after Explorer Explorer returned, transient gravitational ripples had disrupted production in the orbiting microgravity factory. Ripples such as a planetary course change might cause. returned, transient gravitational ripples had disrupted production in the orbiting microgravity factory. Ripples such as a planetary course change might cause.

In the few years since Kirsten last visited, the Gw'oth had added interplanetary travel to their capabilities. Who could say interstellar travel would not soon follow?

Baedeker was here, today, coerced onto this mission, because he had been immobilized by an existential question. Was it time for him to return to Hearth? Now he had his answer.

If a strike by the Fleet was not why the Gw'oth called for help, it would be-as soon as Baedeker returned to report what he now knew.

10.

”Five minutes to dropout,” Kirsten announced calmly.

Sigmund's eyes refused to leave the ma.s.s pointer. It was by far the largest instrument on the bridge, a transparent sphere from whose center extended blue lines of varying lengths. The direction of a line showed the direction to the corresponding astronomical object. The length was proportional to the object's gravitational influence: ma.s.s over distance squared.

He sat, transfixed, in the copilot's crash couch. The longest line, aimed right at him, nearly touched the clear surface, and that terrified him. The line seemed somehow hungry hungry, ready to devour this s.h.i.+p, and that horrified him even more. Only a sentient mind could operate a ma.s.s pointer, which begged the question: What might be out there contemplating him him?

Five minutes!

The math was simple. Every extra second they remained in hypers.p.a.ce brought Don Quixote Don Quixote another two light-minutes closer to their destination. But a moment too late would be fatal. Sigmund gritted his teeth and said nothing. Kirsten was by far New Terra's best pilot. another two light-minutes closer to their destination. But a moment too late would be fatal. Sigmund gritted his teeth and said nothing. Kirsten was by far New Terra's best pilot.

”Sounds good,” Eric answered from the engine room. ”All ready back here.”

Baedeker did not report from his cabin. Sigmund imagined the Puppeteer was a tightly rolled ball just now.

Five minutes!

After an eternity Kirsten began the final countdown. ”Ten seconds, everyone. Eight, seven...”

”Pa.s.sive sensors only,” Sigmund reminded her.

She nodded. ”Two, one, now.”

The ma.s.s pointer went dark. Sigmund activated the forward view screen. Ahead: stars.

DON QUIXOTE DOVE into the solar system at breakneck speed. DOVE into the solar system at breakneck speed.

It was a crawl compared to their moments-ago pace through hypers.p.a.ce-but with the mind refusing to see hypers.p.a.ce, how could you judge?

”Lots of background EM,” Kirsten reported. ”Data links. Video and radio chatter. It's all from the inner system. Nothing's intelligible from this far out.”

”Radar?” Sigmund asked her. He raised his voice over the clatter of hooves in the corridor. Baedeker had emerged from his cabin.

”Not that I can tell, Sigmund. Nor lidar, nor deep radar, not that any of those matter in a stealthed s.h.i.+p.” She took a deep breath. ”It'll be hours before the Gw'oth can know we're here.”

Because it would be hours before information from here could reach the inner system. Hyperwave radio was instantaneous where it worked-which was outside of gravitational singularities. They were almost 4.5 billion miles from the star, only a bright orange dot to the naked eye, and Don Quixote Don Quixote's black hull would reflect little of the faint light that reached out here.

”Unless they are already out here,” Baedeker chided from the hallway, before Sigmund got out the caveat. Cowardice was not a bad subst.i.tute for paranoia.

”I'm detecting interesting neutrino flux,” Eric said over the intercom.

Kirsten frowned. ”Check your instruments and I'll check mine. I'm still not seeing any deep radar.”

”Because it's not deep radar. It looks like fusion reactors.”

Sigmund glanced toward the nervous tap-tap of hoof pawing deck. Baedeker had to be thinking: fission to fusion in a few years. Sigmund knew how the Puppeteer felt. On Earth, if Sigmund remembered correctly, that transition had taken close to a century. Jeeves probably knew exactly, but Sigmund didn't ask. The details could wait. Or maybe, at some level, he didn't want to know.

Don Quixote was scarcely a minute out of hypers.p.a.ce-and a third of a million miles deeper into the solar system. Einstein s.p.a.ce (an attribution no one on New Terra but Sigmund understood) and hypers.p.a.ce velocities were independent. When Sigmund had recalled was scarcely a minute out of hypers.p.a.ce-and a third of a million miles deeper into the solar system. Einstein s.p.a.ce (an attribution no one on New Terra but Sigmund understood) and hypers.p.a.ce velocities were independent. When Sigmund had recalled Don Quixote Don Quixote, Kirsten came back as quickly as she could. It had meant a thirty-gee sprint out of the system that she had been scouting, to get where she could engage hyperdrive. Don Quixote Don Quixote still had all that Einstein-s.p.a.ce velocity, because they hadn't spent the time to slow down before swapping crews. Relative to this solar system, still had all that Einstein-s.p.a.ce velocity, because they hadn't spent the time to slow down before swapping crews. Relative to this solar system, Don Quixote Don Quixote traveled at about seven percent of light speed. traveled at about seven percent of light speed.

Well, they would have to slow down to meet the Gw'oth.

”Thrusters or gravity drag?” Kirsten had a hand poised above the thruster controls. Her preference, obviously.

Sigmund turned toward her. ”Neither, just yet. Let's coast for a while and gather data.”

Kirsten's hand pulled back. She used it to give Sigmund a perfunctory salute. He read disapproval.

Not so, Baedeker. From the corner of his eye Sigmund saw heads bobbing-high/low, low/high, high/low-in emphatic agreement.

Kirsten changed her tune within the hour. By then Eric had localized the neutrino readings. Fusion plants existed on every major moon of the lone gas giant and on two of the three rocky planets.

11.

Intelligence was overrated.

Since time immemorial the Gw'oth had lived and died beneath the world-encompa.s.sing ice. In just three generations all that had changed. Now they built mighty structures in the vacuum above the ice, ringed the world with satellites and water-filled habitats, even colonized nearby worlds. Intelligence had made all that possible.

But intelligence required you to give up so so much. much.

Er'o hovered in his meditation chamber, his tubacles rippling, seeking respite in the simple joys of motion. His hide was mostly cautious oranges and reds, shading to far red on the tips of his spines. But for an undertaste of lubricant from the pumps, he might have been below the ice. The water that endlessly circulated through this chamber was lush: rich with salts, thick with nutrients, ripe with the synthetic spoor of prey. Nothing was too good for those who made possible all the progress.

Except free will.

From tubacle tips curled downward, he gazed through the clear ice floor. Structures in every shape imaginable sprawled down the seamount slope and across the world's foundation until detail faded into a distant haze. The ancient city was built mostly in stone, of course, but here, there, everywhere jutted new steel construction. Artificial lights glowed everywhere. Cargo vessels glided about, over and among the buildings. Tn'ho Nation ruled the longest, most productive hydrothermal vent in all the ocean, and Lm'Ba was its greatest city.

But that power and wealth might vanish even more quickly than it had come.

Er'o bent and flexed, tensed and relaxed, until the stress flowed down the length of his tubacles and out of his body, until his hide recolored to more serene hues. Succulent worms and fat scuttlebugs had been delivered while he worked, and now he ate his fill. He voided his wastes. As best he could, he cleared his mind. He permitted himself a brief, timed rest period.

Food and elimination, motion and meditation: for true intelligence, one abstained from them all.

The timer rumbled, and Er'o roused himself. Somehow, he had managed to sleep. He jetted from his private meditation chamber, down the narrow access tunnel. His was one cylinder among many, arranged like spokes around the hub (wheeled vehicles above the ice being another small marvel of the age) that was the central work s.p.a.ce. High above the clear dome, great Tl'ho, radiant, striped, roiling with storms, dominated the sky. Two cold spots-whole worlds themselves-transited the great orb.