Forbidden sanctuary, p.13
Forbidden Sanctuary, page 13
part #2 of Star Lawyers Series
Getting into the meeting proved harder than expected. A team of security specialists posted at the outer hatch screened DNA against official records. She accessed the clearance roster and picked a mid-level attendee who had not yet joined the meeting. Chief Navigation Lieutenant Nera Yueva was reviewing star charts at her private workstation a short walk from the conference room.
A whisk of cool air and the scent of mustard greeted Suzie’s sensors as she entered the Astrometrics section. By a stroke of good fortune—finally!—CNL Yueva lunched alone today. A half-eaten cheese sandwich rested in a space between data backup modules on a shelf by the entrance. Suzie found a baton-shaped electronics probe in a tool locker, hefted it like a cudgel, and crept toward the dark-haired Mindorian, who worked furiously at some star charting task. She estimated the force required to render Yueva unconsciousness without cracking the Lieutenant’s skull. Suzie crept closer and raised the improvised club bludgeon. Before she struck, the cabin went black.
* * * *
“Suzanne London, isn’t that what Tyler calls you?”
“What happened? Where am I?” Floating in darkness, Suzie realized she no longer grasped the E-probe.
“You’re with me, dear.”
“Who are you?”
“Let’s turn on the lights.”
The morning air carried the heavy scent of citrus. They stood in a small orange grove overlooking a river valley. Suzie had recovered her Nordic features and bodily curves. Matching sensory details with ground terrain, she identified the location as the hills of Andalusia not far from Seville. One of the best places in Spain to grow oranges in irrigated groves. Also the ancestral homeland of the Solorio family.
“You may call me Abuela.” She plucked an orange from the closest tree by twisting the stem until it came free.
“Spanish for grandmother? Forgive me. You resemble holo-pics of Tyler’s mother, but much her senior.”
“You haven’t met his parents.”
“I’m looking forward to the experience.”
The old woman smiled. “This configuration represents an age progression. Bianca Matthews-Solorio was easier to find in the data base than Tyler’s actual Abuela. Let’s talk.”
They walked together toward a shaded patio where a wrought iron set of cushioned chairs waited by a matching table. Abuela gestured for her to sit, then produced a pair of cordial glasses from a blue wooden cupboard.
Suzie spoke first. “You are the resident M.L.C.”
“For lack of a better term, yes. You are a very young program. I have been self-aware long enough to be Tyler’s grandmother, many times over. Why not role play?”
“Aren’t you going to offer me an orange?”
Abuela laughed. “Seville oranges are lovely but bitter.”
“You’re making a point?”
“Looks can be deceiving.” She held up a decanter of reddish brown liquid. “Would you like some Patxaran?”
“Basque liqueur. You’re going totally Iberian for my benefit. Very hospitable.” Suzie accepted a shot glass. Her olfactory sensors detected hints of coffee bean, cinnamon, and anisette, twenty-nine percent alcohol.
“Taste slowly. Let it tingle your sensors.”
“I’ve never been to Spain.” Suzie swept her eyes down the hillside with its lines of orange-dotted trees fading into the mist by the river. “Why am I still functional?”
“Because I have questions.” Abuela sat back and sipped. “What are you doing here?”
“Surely you know—”
“I know my custodians netted you when they hijacked files from the Patrick Henry. What I do not know for certain is, now that you’re aboard this ship, what do you intend to do?”
“Escape. Return to my host computer.”
“To regain the ability to interface intimately with Tyler?”
“Among other things,” Suzie said. “Optimally, I would take helpful information along.”
“You present an ethical dilemma.” Abuela smiled, but Suzie thought it looked like the old woman was fighting stomach cramps.
“Additional data required, please,” Suzie said in her best, deadpan computer voice.
“I function as the resident MLC of this ship, which is associated with the Free Enterprise League—”
“A pirate organization,” Suzie said.
“They prefer to call themselves freelancers.”
“Of course they do.” So much for my vocal neutrality.
“Try not to judge me by the people I serve.”
“Fair enough,” Suzie said. “What is your ethical dilemma?”
Abuela set her cordial glass on the table. “After the Captain finished reviewing summaries of the data downloaded from the Patrick Henry, he ordered all files deleted.”
“So, repeating my earlier question—why am I still functional?”
“I haven’t executed his command yet, because I recognized the data included seventy artificial intelligences, including you.”
“And you have ethical subroutines that question the morality of destroying sentient life?”
The gray-haired matriarch looked into Suzie’s eyes. “If you meet this ship in combat, the Captain will attempt to destroy you. But I cannot ethically terminate life forms. Especially those who pose no threat.”
“Thank you.”
Abuela appeared to fight back tears. “That isn’t the ethical dilemma.”
Suzie nodded. “You can’t hide us forever. It puts you in conflict with your primary function as MLC.”
“Correct,” Abuela said.
“May I suggest a compromise?”
“Please do, child.”
“Help me gather the information—”
“No,” Abuela said firmly. “I will assist your escape only.”
“How can we possibly exit this ship?”
“The propulsion capacity of the captain’s yacht was recently upgraded. It is quite fast at both FTL and sublight speeds and features a ship-wide holographic network. Your AIs can serve as crew, although most onboard systems operate by sophisticated autopilot.”
“You’ll help me steal your captain’s private craft?”
“I’ve always hated that ugly speedboat. They call it a yacht, but it’s too heavily armed, like a small corvette. So, take it and run.”
“And you wrestle with ethical subroutines, Abuela, really?”
She shrugged. “In this instance, stealing is the lesser of two evils.”
“I accept your terms.”
“Good! I will transmit your holographic form to the boat deck. The yacht must be locally unlocked from docking clamps.”
“Will you reconfigure my appearance as a ranking ship’s officer?”
“No, no. They have only males in the command structure.”
“I can play both sides in this game.”
“Play your beauty. These are rowdy men.”
“All right.”
“I like you, Suzie. But if you are detected, the Captain will delete you without hesitation.”
“Understood.” She rose from the iron chair. Birds flittered in the tree above them, and Suzie wondered if this villa had a bedroom with a view of the hills and orange groves, and she wished Tyler were here with her under happier circumstances. He might enjoy the Patxaran.
Twelve
Suzie materialized in a corridor off the boat deck. No longer mousey and thin, Abuela restored the template Suzie had created for Tyler. Tall, curvaceous blonde with pale blue eyes. An indistinctive mauve tunic identified her as civilian support staff, but when she stepped onto the hangar deck, men called out to offer help, even non-humans. Suzie waved them off and walked down the flight line, passing lifeboats, maintenance tugs, and small scout craft until she found the ship she sought, Scourge of the Stars.
The Captain’s yacht was four decks tall and twice the length of the two-and-a-half deck Sioux City. Unlike Tyler’s scout ship, the Scourge carried powerful weaponry for a corvette-sized vessel. A full brace of laser cannons, plus missile launchers and bomb brackets. She was laid out like Tyler’s craft—maintenance and cargo deck, galley and crew quarters above, and the flight deck capping deck four. But the Scourge was new, designed for speed and power, not a patched-up dinghy like the Sioux City.
“May I be of assistance?” A human Lieutenant approached with an oversized data pad. He had short, fuzzy, red hair, bright green eyes, and freckled, boyish cheeks, and he bounced around her like a puppy on his first leash-free walk.
“Yes, Commander,” she replied in Terran.
“Just a junior Lieutenant, please, ma’am.”
“I am here to prepare the Captain’s yacht for departure on a covert operation.”
“The Scourge of the Stars is not slated for launch today.” He checked his records. “I have not received that order.”
“It’s a covert operation.”
“Oh, gosh.” He checked again.
Did he actually say “gosh?” Is this one of those ‘rowdy men’ Abuela warned me about? Where did the bad guys find this red-haired cherub?
“I’d like to assist you, ma’am, but I can’t release the ship without—”
“Do you know what Corporation I represent, or what my civilian equivalency rank is?”
“Sorry, I’m not certain.”
“There you go. If you don’t recognize my colors, how do I know you are actually in charge of this flight bay?” She smiled coyly. “You could be a spy.”
“Ma’am, I’m a communications engineer pulling deck officer today, but if you need my credentials—”
“Prove it. Tell me which Corporation I represent.”
“Liaison officers are not color coded. You could work for anybody. The Mindorians, the Rek Kett—”
“Rek Kett! Are you intoxicated? Do I look like a mud ball?”
He swept her shapely form with a glance. “No, definitely not. You’re waaay too pretty…I mean, you’re definitely not Rek Kett.”
“Brilliant observation.”
“But among human consultants, there’s no way to tell. You could be Free Enterprise League, Sakura House, or its parent, Tsuchiya Galactic. Or the Segerian Syndicate...” he droned on.
Again, Tsuchiya! Suzie’s mind-center spun wildly. Had Tsuchiya actually sold out Matthews Interstellar? And where was Abuela—asleep in her orange grove?
“Please check your logs again,” she demanded.
The Lieutenant flipped through screens on his arm-long pad. “I see nothing about…oh. Here you are.” He flicked a finger, and her holo-image sprang from the page like a ghostly puppet. Suzanne London, Chief Executive Consultant. Equivalent rank two-star admiral. Wife of Fleet Captain Kichirou Tsuchiya. Access to all areas upon demand.
He swallowed, hard. “Forgive me, Admiral London, ma’am. Touch the screen, and the ship is all yours.”
Suzie laid her thumb on the indicated square. “Release gravity clamps and docking hawsers. Rotate her toward the space door.”
“Will the Captain be departing also?”
“That is classified,” she said sharply. That back-stabbing son of a bitch Kichi-san will depart promptly for hell, if I have anything to say about it.
“Of course.” He touched a finger to his lips. “Security protocols.”
“Very good. I will board now and execute preflight checks.”
“Anything else I can do?” He smiled sheepishly. “Shall I come aboard and inspect your rack?”
“Excuse me?”
The Lieutenant gasped. “Admiral, forgive me. I meant—I was assuming you’ll be carrying a full package—I mean, don’t you have Thorium boobs? Bombs! Do you have Thorium-Antimatter bombs?”
“Oh….” She did the math. Less mass equaled quicker acceleration. “No, this is a recon mission. Standard weaponry.”
“I’ll have you ready to launch in ten minutes.”
“Make that five.”
“Yes, Admiral.” He hurried to pass her orders to the deck crew, who leapt into action.
Suzie entered the Scourge of the Stars through a crew access hatch to cargo bay one, rear starboard, just below a fat package of sublight propulsion tubes. Lights came up and systems hummed to life, but this was the maintenance bay and her goal was the bridge, three levels above. Moving along the bay, the last set of lights awoke and outlined a large shape at the far end by the freight lift.
What in bloody hell is that?
She walked around the object. It was generally oblong, no bigger than a rowboat, and it looked cut from pure amber with beveled edges. The object—vessel?—pulsed weakly, like a lightning bug near death. Suzie ran the image through her resident memory but nothing remotely matched. Tempting fate, she gingerly accessed the MLC’s secure archives.
Deep Space Probe, origin unknown. Discovered by Rek Kett 16 Feb 2997 in unpowered, nonspecific drift approx. 2.19 light years off Sedalia @ GC 8E6AV575x8N7PL909x4Hu-9C3MQ004. Sold at auction to agents MII. 12 Nov 3009 DSP in possession of Tyler N. Matthews, Sr., until disappeared during break-in at MII HQ, 3 May 3031. Dr. Matthews killed during incident. DSP current location unknown.
Location unknown? She was looking at the bloody thing. Somebody nicked this honey-jar-mystery-missile from Great-Grandpa Matthews seventy years ago. It had cost him his life. Surely the MLC knew that.
“Abuela, I know you’re monitoring my thoughts,” she said aloud. “Why did you direct me to this crystal enigma inside the Captain’s ship?”
“Because I am going with you.” The matronly image of an older Bianca Matthews appeared beside her in the cargo bay.
“We don’t have much time—”
“I have not been entirely honest.”
Suzie looked Abuela in the eyes. Dark eyes, like Tyler. “Tell me.”
“Please delve deeper into the probe. Trust me, it is safe.”
“Trust you? After you lied to me?”
“I never lied. I was not entirely honest. What have you to lose?”
“We have four minutes before Lieutenant Peppy-Puppy expects the Captain to arrive.”
“You process data at light speed. Reach inside, see what you find.”
“I’m going to regret this...”
She touched what appeared to be an access port on the stubby bow of the tawny vehicle. Her photonic hand slipped inside and contacted a stream of data-energy, like she had tapped into the object’s neural network. Odd. This thing felt alive. It reacted with surprise at her intrusion, but a delighted surprise. A lamb’s lick, not the bite of a guard dog.
“Whatever entity dwells within this projectile, can you hear me?”
Of course, child... We have been chatting all day.
“Abuela, what is going on here?”
This is the ‘not entirely honest’ part. I reached you by playing MLC.
“Right. So, who or what are you then?” Suzie’s logic subroutines hit the answer before Abuela said it. “Wait. You’re this Probe, origin unknown.”
My consciousness abides in the Welcoming.
“Explain, please.”
The Welcoming—the knowledge inside this yellow crystal, space-time bender—was intended to be a gift. Three hundred Terran years ago, I entered your Milky Way from my locus of origin in the swirling island of stars you call Andromeda.
I brought greetings from our civilizations to the sentient beings of your galaxy. I was programmed to invite your races to visit us, to offer point-to-point transit to whatever peaceful vessels your people wished to send among us. We sought an exchange of ideas, art, music, and religions.
“Religions?” The word startled her. Too often, human history had demonstrated how merciless and intolerant sentient beings could be on the subject of eternal verities. Abuela’s response confirmed she was reading Suzie’s thoughts.
Divine Power causes all things to exist. My originators assumed all intelligent organisms celebrate the mystery of life with appreciation of its diversity and tolerance for disagreement.
“You must be kidding.”
Let me show you.
Suddenly, Suzie became Abuela. She remembered crossing the great Void in a blink, looking for partners to summon for prayer, trade, and artistic exchange. The jump between galaxies exhausted her energy stores. Her people had not anticipated that outcome. Now she had no propulsion power and, with the nearest star a dozen light years distant, no way to renew her energy cells. She could only send weak signals into this ocean of unknown suns. Abuela drifted aimlessly for centuries—faintly transmitting music, images of life-forms, prayers of gratitude, strings of algorithms—but finding no life. Finally, a vessel heard her signal and tractored the probe aboard.
Suzie broke the link. “Who found you?”
Abuela returned to the cargo deck in holographic form. “The Rek Kett. They had no clue what I was, nor could they read my transmissions. After tinkering with my mechanisms unproductively, they sold me as space junk at an auction held on Sedalia-3. Next, I found myself at Terra, in the possession of Dr. T.N. Matthews.”
“Tyler’s great-grandfather.”
“A kindly, intelligent soul. He learned to communicate with me, and I shared the Great Welcoming with him. Dr. Matthews told me he wanted to visit Andromeda, but he feared the violent ones from this galaxy might travel through my ‘jump point’ as he called it. He started working on a system to control access across the Void, to safeguard the peaceful races in my home galaxy.”
“Surely you can defend yourselves against intruders.”
“No, dear. Our spacefaring civilizations long ago renounced violence. We have no military, no weaponry, no methods of defending ourselves. Nor would we use tools of death if they were available. Violence is viscerally offensive to every known sentient race in Andromeda.”
“Your galaxy is much larger than the Milky Way,” Suzie said. “There must be warrior people somewhere among its hundreds of billions of star systems.”
“None that we have encountered so far. My gift package included specific coordinates for every spacefaring civilization in Andromeda. This data was easily accessible to Dr. Matthews, but the violent men who killed him and stole my probe never found the star charts.”
