Willful Child (9 page)

“Alas,” said Hadrian, “Terran Space Fleet considers us rogue. They are chasing after us with seven Counter-class ships with orders to shoot on sight.”

“But if we get rid of Tammy and then drop out of T space and hail—”

“We wouldn’t get a word off, 2IC, and even if we did, why would they believe us?”

“I see.…”

“Now,” said Hadrian, “if we crank up the low-g settings on this table, and get rid of the net, I bet we’d—”

“Sir!” Sin-Dour made for the door, adjusting her bun of hair where a few strands had come loose. “If you will excuse me, I’ve had a thought.”

He leapt to his feet. “And?”

“I need to peruse some data, sir.”

“Oh fine, off you go, then. But I want a rematch!”

At the door she glanced back at him and something in her gaze made him weak at the knees. “Happy to oblige, Captain. Might I suggest you take this time to repair your uniform?”

“What? Unnecessary, 2IC, I have multiple sets, in a variety of colors. But as you say, I could do with a shower and change of clothes, and let the crew think what they like.”

She cocked her head. “Sir?”

Smiling, he offered her a gallant wave. “Until later, Sin-Dour.”

She swayed out and the iris closed behind her.

Hadrian looked around, and then said, “Tammy, pull up a hologram recording, will you?”

“Certainly. Of what, precisely?”

“Sin-Dour’s spikes over the table.”

“And the reason? No, honestly, I’m curious.”

“Technique, of course,” Hadrian replied. “I want to be ready for the rematch. Oh, cue slow motion to my commands, will you?”

“What about that shower?”

“That can wait. There’s a good chance I’m about to get sweaty all over again.”

Some time later, Hadrian made his way to his office. Lorrin Tighe was snoring on the floor, her hair disheveled and the bottle of Macallan lying empty on her tummy.

Humming, Hadrian tore off the remnants of his shirt and then the rest of his clothes. Activating a floating shower bob, he stood with arms spread wide as the fist-sized unit scurried over his body, misting, soaping, depilating, lasering, repairing, reassessing, repeating, misting, and then drying. He then threw on a new polyester shirt, this one deep yellow, with fine gold piping on the cuffs. The black trousers were navy cut, tight until below the knees, where they bagged slightly above his shiny plastic boots. The shower bob floated up near his head and worked on his hair, completing its efforts with a spritz of something to set in place the windblown coif.

With the Exclusion Zone’s border an estimated ninety minutes away, Hadrian strode out from his office, feeling like a new man.

“Sin-Dour, any update on that data you were looking into?”

“Sir? Oh, that. Uh, no, false lead.”

Taking his seat in the command chair, Hadrian frowned at the screen. And then said, “Tammy, give me shipwide comms, please. Thank you. This is the captain with a general announcement. From now on, cat and kitten pictures with cute sayings are no longer permitted on any public screen, anywhere. The next crew member to be caught posting them will be personally executed by me. Thank you. Captain out.” Settling back, he said, “Main viewer … hmm, let’s have … oh, I know, that old screen saver.”

There was an audible groan from the bridge crew.

“Now now,” said Hadrian. “There, you see? It looks like we’re actually getting somewhere. To be honest, I’m surprised we don’t have this as standard on every fleet ship. We could even have a few variations. A deep-sea dive in a submersible, for example—with the lamps on, it looks just like space, barring the occasional giant jellyfish looming into view, but even then, who knows what lives in T space? Just because we’ve yet to run into anything, doesn’t mean there’s nothing there.”

Lieutenant Sticks twisted round in her seat. “But Captain, if I may?”

“Go on.”

“With this, uh, screen saver, we’d never know if anything was living in T space, or not.”

“My goodness, you’re right, Helm. Why, we could plough right into a giant intergalactic, subdimensional jellyfish—now that would be exciting, wouldn’t it? Tammy, you’ve been around the block a few times—ever seen anything in T space?”

“Well, funny that you mention it, Captain. As I fully comprehend, you Terrans have a severely limited understanding of this subdimension. This is likely the result of your coming upon it via the unintended leavings of a superior near-the-galactic-core alien civilization. Strictly speaking, the post-quantum multiplicity of active states incorporating such elements as gravity and observation dynamics, not to mention that quaint notion you call dark matter with its dark energy and quantifiable but undetectable mass expressions that so entice your physicists and mathematicians, is in fact as much a manifestation potential of conscious states as it is anything else. Theoretically, you could, if you so wish, populate T space with whatever pleases you.”

“Really? Are you saying, Tammy, that if I imagine, say, giant fuzzy pom-poms with bobbly eyes on long stalks, that’s what we’ll find?”

“In theory, yes. But Captain, what would be the purpose of that?”

“The purpose? Are you crazy? Captain Hadrian Alan Sawback, the very Hand of God! I don’t know about you, but I like the sound of that. Okay! Drop the screen saver. Let’s see what’s out there. Forward view, please.”

As it turned out, Lieutenant Jocelyn Sticks possessed a most agreeable shriek.

“Evasive maneuvers!” Hadrian shouted, leaning hard in his seat. “Helm! Move it, damn you!”

The giant fuzzy pom-pom’s enormous eyes were fixed on the
Willful Child
, and then a massive mouth filled with sharp teeth opened wide.

“Hang on! Who gave it that mouth?”

“I’m sorry!” screamed Jimmy Eden from the comms station. “I didn’t mean it!”

“Galk! Fire up the railguns!”

“Target locked, Captain. As a manifestation of the ineluctable absurdity of existence, sir, I couldn’t have done better myself. Explosives away, sir. Impact, four seconds.”

The giant pom-pom disintegrated in a cloud of white stuffing.

“Sensors, what’s that filler consist of? Is it dangerous?”

Sin-Dour replied. “Anachronistic term, ‘fiberfill,’ sir. Not immediately lethal. Classed as Aesthetically Irritating.”

“Ah, thank you. Very Good. Well, that was enlightening, I’m sure we all agree. Lieutenant Eden, I’m starting to see a lot of black flags on your file.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t help it. When I was a child, my nanny was a Baint Flitter, one of the first of the Ahackan Symbionts released to the Affiliation. That’s the Sentinel species, sir, and its eyes and, well, its giant mouth and all those vicious teeth—”

“Enough, Eden! Unless you want a giant Baint attacking us from T space.”

Joss Sticks turned to face Eden. “But, like, weren’t the Baint Flitters, like, recalled?”

“For eating babies, yes. But my family was on a remote outpost. We never got the memo.”

“Oh! I’m like .. oh my God,” she said.

Hadrian frowned at the man. “What happened, Eden?”

“I was four years old. It was self-defense—of course we all know that now, don’t we? But at the outpost … well, they locked me up for murder.”

“They locked up a four-year-old?”

“How did they describe it? Oh, right. ‘Unmitigated, heinous slaughter.’”

Hadrian studied the comms officer, noting the pale visage, the slight tremble of the man’s beefy hands, the dribbly beads of sweat on his upper lip. “Really? Now you have my attention, Eden. Go on.”

“Must I, sir?”

“Absolutely. Details. Out with it!”

“I—I used a sausage bob—”

Joss gasped, one hand to her mouth.

Hadrian leaned toward the man. “A meat grinder? Wow, Jimmy, that must have been spectacular! And let’s face it, we’re not talking fiberfill here, are we? We’re talking mangled bits of guts and whatnot. You ordered the bob to—what? Burrow into the Baint Flitter? Outstanding!”

James Jimmy Eden vomited onto his comms panel.

Leaning back and sighing, Hadrian said, “Get a mop, someone, and a particulate-displacer. Oh, and contact engineering. It seems we need a new panel installed.”

The look Jocelyn Sticks threw Hadrian’s way was most unbecoming. He frowned at her. “Eyes forward, Lieutenant. This is space travel, and every man, woman, and alien on board this ship better understand something pronto—thin skins won’t do, especially among my officers. Eden! You’re temporarily relieved, and I order you to seek counseling. Childhood traumas—really! So you were four years old and locked up in a cell—you used a sausage bob for crying out loud. On your nanny! How come this wasn’t in your file, by the way?”

Slouched, head hanging, Eden paused at the exit and mumbled something without turning.

“Louder, please, and face your captain when he addresses you!”

The man turned. “Retroactive pardon, sir. The Baint Flitter was trying to eat me, after all. I even got a formal apology from the Ahackan Symbiota. All records expunged, sir.”

“Right, so there you have it. You were vindicated. So what’s your problem, Eden? Hell, that fourth place in the Olympics should have been far more traumatic than some blood-fest in the playroom when you were four years old!”

Eden threw up again.

The mop arrived a moment later and immediately got to work. Hadrian watched the unit spinning back and forth on the floor. Eden shuffled into the corridor and the iris closed behind him.

“Bridge air filters on full,” Hadrian said. “Uhm, let’s have, oh, I don’t know—why not sandalwood?”

“Sir!” cried Sticks. “We have a planet dead ahead!”

“Well, I can’t see it—how far away?”

“Indeterminate, sir. We’re in T space after all.”

“So why isn’t it onscreen?”

“It will be soon, sir. I think.”

Hadrian stood and looked around. “All right, who decided on imagining a whole damned planet? Come on, ’fess up whoever you are!”

Tammy spoke. “I suspect this is a genuine manifestation, Captain.”

“Is it now? Completely unprecedented, just like that? Is that what you’re saying?”

“It is well within theoretical parameters, Captain, that a sentient civilization on any particular planet can, if united, phase-shift their entire world into T space. Perhaps this is what has occurred here. In any case, I admit to being curious enough to postpone our arrival at the Exclusion Zone.”

“Tammy, why would any species be so stupid as to drop their world into T space? Won’t it freeze solid? Won’t everything die for lack of sunlight?”

“That depends, Captain,” the AI replied. “After all, any reality one might imagine is possible in T space.”

“Now hold on here,” said Hadrian. “We may not know everything about how the universe works, Tammy, but one thing we do know, it’s that it’s all give and take. Mass, energy, all the rest—you get nothing for free. Not a single effect, in fact. Even simple displacement demands a resetting of the universal balance. Entropy itself turned out to be simply a shifting of forces from one side to another. So, if all these rules are being broken in T space, there has to be a nasty rebound going on somewhere!”

“Or indeed,” said Tammy, “some
when
. It’s all very exciting, isn’t it? Oh, here’s the planet coming up now—and we can see why it was not visible at any distance. The light and heat generation is ninety-seven point eight percent in-folded within the improbable atmosphere. No sun, after all. I’m dropping us into standard orbit, Captain.”

“That’s not quite an inviting surface, is it?” Hadrian said, squinting at the blue-white world on the main screen.

Sin-Dour spoke from the science station. “Captain, this object is ice-clad, over the entire surface. Average thickness … sixty-six kilometers. To do a deep scan—to penetrate that ice layer, that is—we would have to employ surface thumpers.”

“Send down a full array, 2IC,” said Hadrian.

“Yes, sir. It’s likely the original civilization either perished upon transition, or phase-shifted into a higher state of consciousness, abandoning corporeal form.”

“I am aware of that, Sin-Dour,” said Hadrian. “Still, for all we know, the bedrock under all that ice could be honeycombed with caves with perfectly flat floors and cheesy spray-painted plaster walls. Or,” he added, “vast cities teeming with aliens who’ve forgotten they were ever anywhere else, barring a xenophobic central computer now being worshipped as a god, and it’s either not telling, or it’s gone utterly mad.”

“Well,” Sin-Dour admitted, “I suppose those are, uh, possibilities.”

“And if so,” said Hadrian, “I intend to get down there and shake things up.”

“Sir, the Secondary Directive—”

“Blast that Secondary Directive, 2IC! We’re a galactic spacefaring civilization that uses the military to explore the galaxy—don’t you realize we offer up little more than lip service to the Secondary Directive? After all, we have the Primary Directive to trump things, don’t we?”

“Captain, I don’t see how this world offers us the ‘opportunity for rapid, unmitigated colonization and exploitation of any and all resources on any planet, habitat, or resource-rich environment, said ownership we can reasonably contest based on our technical abilities and probability of outright victory over the enemy, inhabitants, or anyone else who gets in our way.’”

“Maybe not—are those probes on the way down, Sin-Dour?”

“They are, sir. Surface impact, twenty seconds.”

Hadrian settled into his command chair and stretched out his legs. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

SEVEN

“My apologies, Captain. Readings indicate subsurface interconnected chambers, containing dense atmospheres and structures, as well as independent energy sources. Also, possible life-forms. One probe is fast-burrowing, sir. Once it bores into a chamber we will have solid data on composition of the atmosphere, and the nature of the life-forms.”

Frowning, Hadrian grunted and then said, “Tammy? Did I conjure all that up out of my own imagination?”

“Theoretically possible, Captain, but I deem it unlikely in this instance.”

“Why?”

“Because I have initiated communication with the central system hub maintaining the conditions beneath the world’s surface.”