Part 25 (1/2)

The console was deceptively empty. Most functions must be handled by the computer, whether by keyboard or voice command. Those would take time to decode, with his hostage's coerced a.s.sistance, if necessary.

Still, the console had some ordinary b.u.t.tons, sliders, and toggles. Those would be for emergency functions, as simple and accessible as possible. He found the emergency-hatches release, clearly labeled. That That should keep the others at bay for a while. He slapped the b.u.t.ton- should keep the others at bay for a while. He slapped the b.u.t.ton- And an invisible something grabbed him. A force field. He could not move! He could scarcely breathe.

Panting from exertion, her chest heaving, Kirsten pried loose Thssthfok's grip one finger at a time. Strain as he might, he could not tighten his grip. He could not stop her.

”Jeeves,” Kirsten rasped, ”get Eric up here.” She climbed from her chair, out of Thssthfok's impotent reach, and stared with rage in her eyes. ”Sigmund a.s.sumed you would try for the bridge again if you escaped. So he set a trap.”

An elementary trap, Thssthfok thought, with the reading material as bait-and I fell for it. Sigmund was clever, and that made him dangerous.

When he stayed as still as possible, Thssthfok found the restraint eased off just a little. A field to protect the pilot from collisions or turbulence, minimally modified so as not to relax. He could breathe more easily now; even, he guessed, speak if he should have something to say.

Stars drifted across the main view port, sign of the s.h.i.+p's slow roll. Then something something-a vessel? a city in s.p.a.ce?-came into view. Something unlike anything Thssthfok had ever seen. And it kept coming. An artificial sun, tiny but blindingly bright, shone at one end.

The structure was either very near or very large-and given that fusion flame, it was hard to imagine it was close. He stared at it until Eric appeared on the bridge.

Eric took one look at Kirsten ma.s.saging her neck, bruises already starting to form. The sizzle of his stunner drowned out whatever he snarled.

42.

”Something I might find interesting,” Sigmund echoed dubiously. The end of the world approached, and Twenty-three refused to help. Yet he expected Sigmund to go shopping.

The thing of it was, the Outsiders often had wondrous things to sell.

”An old human s.h.i.+p,” Twenty-three clarified. ”Derelict. We found it adrift in s.p.a.ce.”

”Where?” Sigmund asked.

”We are not allowed to say.”

Sigmund had expected that answer, but it hardly hurt to ask. In a trade deal with the Puppeteers, s.h.i.+p Fourteen had committed all Outsiders to deny New Terrans clues to the location of Earth and its colonies. An old derelict human s.h.i.+p came very close to such a clue, didn't it?

Maybe Twenty-three did did want to help. want to help.

Sigmund knew of one other such incredible coincidence. But Puppeteers had not ”happened” upon Long Pa.s.s Long Pa.s.s, wandering deep in interstellar s.p.a.ce. They had traced a message back to the ramscoop that sent it. And then they bred slaves from the frozen embryos aboard.

”Adrift in s.p.a.ce, you say,” Sigmund said. It was as implausible as the fairy tale the Puppeteer had told their servants.

Twenty-three s.h.i.+fted position. ”We understand your skepticism, Sigmund. No, we did not happen upon a s.h.i.+p. We detected a relativistic gravitational anomaly, which we found to be a neutronium object with the ma.s.s of a small planet. The s.h.i.+p orbited the larger ma.s.s.”

Sigmund blinked. Nature required a supernova explosion to produce neutronium. Only once, to his knowledge, had anyone made neutronium artificially. Julian Forward used his his neutronium to bulk up a quantum black hole, with which he terrorized Sol system for months. And though Sigmund never discovered the specifics, Forward had had surrept.i.tious Puppeteer backing. neutronium to bulk up a quantum black hole, with which he terrorized Sol system for months. And though Sigmund never discovered the specifics, Forward had had surrept.i.tious Puppeteer backing.

On the bright side, Sigmund remembered Forward getting eaten by his own black hole, and taking the secret of his process with him.

A large, fast-moving neutronium ma.s.s made an exceptional beacon.

”I wouldn't mind looking,” Sigmund answered cautiously. He lifted his helmet.

”That is not necessary,” Twenty-three said. With a wave of a root bunch it evoked a hologram inside its dome.

Sigmund knew one thing for certain about Earth and its colonies. They were far far away. Had it been otherwise, Nessus would never have started a scout program using human Colonists. It stood to reason the salvaged s.h.i.+p was a stars.h.i.+p, probably a hyperdrive vessel. away. Had it been otherwise, Nessus would never have started a scout program using human Colonists. It stood to reason the salvaged s.h.i.+p was a stars.h.i.+p, probably a hyperdrive vessel.

It wasn't.

How could a little fusion-powered Belter singles.h.i.+p, something a solo prospector might use in the inner solar system, end up far from Earth? How, when, and where had the s.h.i.+p a.s.sumed an orbit around the neutronium ma.s.s? How had the singles.h.i.+p reached relativistic speed-no way way it could carry enough fuel-to overtake the neutronium ma.s.s? Where did the neutronium come from? it could carry enough fuel-to overtake the neutronium ma.s.s? Where did the neutronium come from?

With too many questions already roiling his thoughts, Sigmund spotted something s.h.i.+ny at the singles.h.i.+p's bow. It looked out of place. Boot electromagnets clomping, he started around the dome to inspect the holo from another angle.

”You now have control of the image,” Twenty-three said. ”It will follow your hand motions.”

Sigmund extended an arm experimentally. The holo s.h.i.+p receded. He rotated his hand, and the image rotated to follow. Something gleamed at him through the c.o.c.kpit canopy. The age-pitted hull looked all the darker in contrast. Strange. He brought his hand toward his chest; the s.h.i.+p zoomed closer.

Inside the c.o.c.kpit, as s.h.i.+ny as quicksilver, a smooth, ovoid surface hid the s.p.a.ce where the pilot would sit. Staring at a holo Sigmund could not be certain, but that certainly looked like total reflection. Could that be a stasis field stasis field inside the singles.h.i.+p? inside the singles.h.i.+p?

Twenty-three would know. Feigned ignorance could be a kind of help, to keep the price affordable for Sigmund. For stasis had but one use: freezing time inside to preserve something valuable.

Eons ago, two ancient races had waged a conflict of galactic extermination. Little remained from that era but a few artifacts preserved for eternity within stasis fields. Most items recovered from stasis defied understanding. All embodied technology of frightening potency-often weapons caches.

Stasis fields reflected everything everything, from visible light to the hardest gamma ray. A stasis field even reflected neutrinos, which was why pilots routinely deep-radar pinged every solar system they approached. A person could live in princely style on the standard ARM bounty for a stasis box-and it was a rare decade that saw the ARM making that payout.

Still, compared to a huge ma.s.s of neutronium (which, coincidentally, also stopped most neutrinos), the s.h.i.+p that had orbited it, and whatever waited inside, were but the ribbon around a priceless package. If Twenty-three chose to overlook a stasis field, Sigmund would not ask.

With slow, careful gestures, Sigmund turned the holo for study. The registration plaque came into view, the s.h.i.+p's ID a mere five digits long. This s.h.i.+p was old old.

The feel of Earth, its appearance, the constellations in its night sky ... all were lost from his mind. Instead, useless numbers cluttered his memory. PINs for bank accounts of a former life. Bits of obscure tax rules, and entire tax tables. The addresses of former residences, but not the cities where he had lived. Too many years as an accountant had made numbers and patterns second nature to Sigmund. And maybe that much harder to erase, if Nessus had tried.

The five digits on the registry plaque ignited rockets and flares in Sigmund's head. He knew those numbers!

This was not merely an antique vessel misplaced in s.p.a.ce and time. This was the singles.h.i.+p in which, more than half a millennium earlier, Jack Brennan had encountered Phssthpok! Sigmund had seen the official registration in Lucas Garner's deposition. But Brennan-monster had evaded ARM custody and vanished-with this this s.h.i.+p and a key module of Phssthpok's stars.h.i.+p. s.h.i.+p and a key module of Phssthpok's stars.h.i.+p.

If this was a stasis field, the singles.h.i.+p might preserve-to save New Terra in its hour of need-the only known human protector.

TWENTY-THREE, IN ITS OWN WAY, might be helping. It still would not give away the relic.

So what did Sigmund have with which to bargain? Discovery of the Pak invasion, already dismissed as old news and without value.

And Gw'oth!

”I would trade information for the s.h.i.+p,” Sigmund suggested.

Roots writhed. ”If you have something more useful than your last disclosure.”