Reclamation (28 page)

Eric couldn’t read a computer’s mind any more than he could read a human being’s, but his gift could give him a feel for the workings, both mechanical and logical. Once he knew that, the only way to keep him out of a system was to shut the power down, or incapacitate him.

The board’s smooth polymer pressed against his skin and quickly became slick with his perspiration. He closed his eyes.

What I do is true. What I do is seen and spoken. It cannot be denied.

I cannot be denied.

He let his gift flow from his hands into the console. Familiar territory. He knew its shapes and nuances. With the barest effort, the blind fingers of his power made sure the configuration of the gate between the board and the open line was the proper shape. Then they scuttled down the clear channel, playing his consciousness out like a rope behind them.

The open terminal on the station was easy to find. It almost pulled him straight to it, funneling his senses down into the lines and etched pathways. The fingers of his power divided themselves to probe for the open paths between the closed ones. He moved patiently, feeling the walls to determine the shape of the place he worked in. He activated nothing. He changed nothing. He just touched the walls and remembered.

Eric found the pathways reassuringly familiar. It was all standard terminals and standard gates. Standard means to standard ends. The datastream pulled him along and Eric rode the current. His power gift divided, and divided again until he found a major routing station. Eric explored the paths leading out of it, ten at a time, until he touched a place that made his skin curdle because it felt completely strange.

He probed the strangeness carefully. It was an open portal, no question there. Information flowed steadily through it like water through a sluice gate, but the shape of the gate was undefined. It shifted minutely under his delicate touch. He recalled the other fingers, consolidating his power into a single probe and slid it across the yielding surface into the data-stream.

And there was nothing there.

Eric fell into formless vacuum, the thread of his consciousness streaming out, lost and flailing. There was nothing to hold on to, no paths, nothing to do but fall.

Too far! Too far! Stop it! Pull back!

No!

His power gift slammed against a surface and lay still. Gradually, Eric recovered himself enough to move it again, searching to find a shape in this new place. Like the gate, it yielded to the lightest touch. It held its shape only loosely. It reminded him of something else he knew the touch of. It felt like … a living body.

The realization jolted through Eric and almost broke his concentration. This wasn’t silicate and current he was dealing with. This was a realm of synapses and diffusing chemicals. Eric let his power’s fingers spread out, encompassing as much of the new space as he could reach, trying to understand the ebb and flow of the new medium. The logic of it came to him slowly. This was a place to filter and organize and redirect. The gates made of nerve fibers weren’t laid out in tidy lines like silicate gates, but there was a pattern there. It was subtle and easily disturbed. Eric lifted his power’s fingers from the surface and let them drift, trying to understand the scope of the system. He wished in vain for a way to see the surroundings, but the best he could do was imagination. His mind’s eye showed him a web of synapses stretching out to make a taut network of nerves. His power found holes in the net. Channels to other places that opened and closed in response to the system’s need.

Eric held his power gift in one place, feeling the triggers and responses that moved around him. Pins and needles began to prickle his physical hands and a cramp started in his left foot. He ignored the discomfort. He had to. He had to concentrate on understanding what he touched.

Eventually the pins and needles faded away. Eric could no longer feel his physical hands at all. He didn’t care. He could feel the shape of the commands that flowed through the synapses. He touched the places where the commands were fabricated and he knew how they were generated and which channels they opened. He understood the system. Maybe not everything, but enough.

He let his power slide down an open channel to see where the commands went.

He fell again. He clenched his jaw and held his panic in check. When he landed, the surface was firm and orderly. Silicate channels with orderly gates and switches waited at right angles nearby.

Now that the basics of the system had been defined, it did not take Eric long to understand the specifics. There were only so many ways you could store data, and only so many ways you could retrieve it, no matter what the shape of your container. A Vitae system would be ruthlessly logical and efficient. He could feel their data in tidy little packages, lined up and blocked together, all of it uniformly and exhaustively labeled.

Don’t say “exhaustive.”
He swallowed. His throat was completely dry. His lungs strained to drag in enough air to keep him conscious.

He could feel the shape of open gateways and command protocols that led to more distant storage areas. Places he couldn’t possibly reach directly. It didn’t matter. They would be reached for him.

Eric withdrew to the shifting, organic layer. He found the nerves he needed and pressed against them until they yielded the commands he required. Then he followed those commands down into the silicate layer. Closed gates blocked his commands, preventing their execution. His power gift forced the channels open and sealed their gates in place. When all the data was flowing freely, his power doubled back on itself and followed its own length back to the
U-Kenai.
Back to him.

Eric’s hand slid off the board and dropped to his side. He could not lift it. All he could do was shake and gulp air like a man who has nearly drowned. Perspiration flowed into his eyes, making them sting and water. The pounding of his heart shook his whole body.

Nameless Powers preserve me. Never been this bad.

He opened his mouth to try to call for Adu, and gave up. He couldn’t force any noise from his throat but a sickly wheeze. His head fell back against the chair.

I’ll be all right in a minute,
he told himself as his eyes closed.
In a minute.
Time passed, he knew that, but he didn’t know how much. Awareness came and went. He did not have the strength to interfere with its whims. Eventually he was able to breathe normally and the perspiration dried on his neck and face, even though his tunic remained soaking wet. So did his trousers. Eric tried not to think about that.

With an effort, he was able to reach across the boards and stab the request key on the food dispenser for water. He gulped it desperately, spilling half of it down his shirtfront. His stomach rebelled at the invasion of fluid and almost rejected it. The strain of keeping the water down nearly cost Eric his ability to stay sitting up. He felt better, though. He could think enough to open the intercom to the bridge.

“Adu,” he croaked, “are you getting anything?”

“Lots,” came the reply. “I’m processing it now. I’ll find the most recent references and route them back to your screen as soon as I can.”

“Good. Good.” Eric swiveled his chair around so he faced the drawer of ration squares. Hunger burned in him with nauseating intensity. Even the ration squares smelled wonderful. Eric forced himself to eat slowly. Exhaustion and trembling hands helped. He consumed three whole bricks before the edge of his hunger blunted and he felt some real measure of strength return to him, enough, at least, to muster some disgust at his filthy condition.

He got to the cleaner stall by leaning against walls and doorways. He sat on the tiles while the sonics shook the grime from his skin and clothes. His eyelids drooped. He wanted sleep, badly. Sleep would take care of the ache in his head and in his eyes. Sleep. Yes. That would do it.

Not yet.
Eric jerked his sagging head back up.
Need to make sure we’ve got what we came for, first. Nameless grant that we’ve got what we need. I couldn’t survive using the gift again anytime soon.

He stumbled back to his chair and fell into it. The message DATA WAITING glowed on the main screen. Eric hit the PLAY key and slumped back, forcing his eyelids to stay open until the screen cleared and the information Adu had retrieved began to unfold for him.

What appeared was a video recording of a gathering hall. Despite his fatigue, Eric sat up straighter. The place was filled with people standing on broad, flat tiers that rose from a central platform. Here and there he saw the scarlet robes and bald scalps that were the defining traits of every Vitae he’d ever seen, but they were the minority. Over a hundred men and women, robed in every color he could have imagined, stood in that room. Their skin was tinted solid black or clear pink, and every shade in between. They were bald, or bearded, or carefully coiffured. Metal and jewels dangled from wrists and necks and pierced skin. Some were missing appendages, ears or fingers or … Eric winced as he saw one old man with a hollow eye socket. There was something else. Eric leaned closer to the screen and squinted. Around each human form hung a vague corona of ghost white light.

They’re holograms. I’m looking at an assembly of holograms.

A hole opened in the central stage. Five figures, the only real people in the room and all clothed in solid black robes, mounted a sunken staircase. Behind them walked five more people. These wore green and all had camera sets mounted over their right eyes. The procession ringed the stage, facing the assembled holograms with the people in green standing a little behind the ones in black.

“The Reclamation Assembly is called to order and sealed to its purpose,” said the black-robed man with his back toward Eric’s point of view. “Because of the critical nature of what we must discuss, I call for the assembly to agree to allowing a mechanical tally of attendance and transmission of the records of the previous meeting to personal data storage for review and confirmation at a later date. Do any here wish to register objections?” There was silence.

The square-jawed woman who stood facing Eric spoke next. “There are three items of business that must be approved immediately. First is the proposed method to counter the current activity of the Unifiers regarding the status of the Home Ground in the view of the client governments of the Quarter Galaxy.”

Home Ground?
Eric frowned.
I didn’t think the Vitae had a home.

“Second is the procedure for seizure and control of the artifacts on the Home Ground.”

The translation must be mucked up. That can’t be what she said.

“Third is the procedure for establishing habitable zones for the main body of Vitae emigration.”

The man standing to her immediate left spoke. “Historian Masselin of the
Guardian Voice
will present the first proposal.”

The crowd of holograms faded from view, leaving a single figure, a bald Vitae in an amethyst robe, standing on the third tier from the stage.

“We still do not have a reliable model of how the Aunorante Sangh accomplished the theft of the Home Ground …”

“Adu!” Eric started to his feet and slapped his hand down on the STOP key.

“What?” came back the android’s voice.

Eric backed away from the screen. “Where are you getting this translation from? It’s screwed up eight-eight ways.” He stabbed a finger toward the keyboard.

“The translation is accurate.”

“It can’t be!”

Adu stepped into the doorway. “Why not?”

Eric stared at the blank screen and realized he was still pointing. He lowered his hand slowly and swallowed. “Because,” he said as if he could force reason into his words,
“Aunorante Sangh
is a term from the Realm, not from the Vitae. This translation is coming through in Standard, and it must have gotten cross-fed with the …”

He suddenly remembered Basq’s sharp response when he had used the term. A slow, sick sensation closed in on him. Fear, with unwanted comprehension following fast behind.

They thought they’d be able to talk to Arla without help. Why did they think that?

“Adu,” Eric croaked, “do a data sort for me. The cross-reference is
Aunorante Sangh.”

“Right.” He turned away, then turned halfway back. “Are you all right?”

Eric didn’t answer, he just sank back into his chair.

What’s the matter with me? I left that all behind. I left! I …
Eric looked down at his hands and watched the smooth, blank, brown skin stretch and relax as his fists clenched and unclenched.

Right. I left. But I haven’t forgotten anything. And I still
g
o back. First sign of trouble and I’m right back where I started.

Oh Nameless Powers and Metthew Garismit, let me be wrong. Let me be sick and tired and completely wrong.
Eric pressed the heels of both hands against his eyes.
Garismit’s Eyes! How could I have hoped to get away!

“… recording the statements of Bio-technician Uary of the
Grand Errand.
Proceed, Technician.”

Eric lifted his hands away from his eyes. On the screen, a pinched young man in a bright purple robe was unbending from a deep bow. At a table in front of him sat a man and a woman both robed in black. The man’s hand lay on the table and only had four fingers on it.

“Contractor Avir, Contractor Kelat, I have entered the data from the DNA analysis on Eric Born into data storage, but my findings are …”

Eric’s throat closed. He swallowed to clear it, but could do nothing to move his frozen gaze, or close his opened jaw.

The purple-robed man, Uary, leaned against the tabletop. Above the table appeared a holographic representation of two beaded, twisted strings.

“This is Born’s DNA construct. It is between one-half and one-third the length of the DNA sequence of any other race from the Evolution Point that our databases have on file. This brevity and lack of redundancy attests to his artificial genesis as much as his extramechanical ability. But within this short stretch, his Engineers”—Uary paused—“left no less than three hundred nucleotide sequences that can be identified as unique to the Rhudolant Vitae.”