He turned his attention to the scene below them. <This is Night Park. This is where we live. Below us is the fountain. Humans come from all over Sol to see us. We talk to them. They often talk back and leave us gifts. I talk to them over the Link.>
<You talk to the humans?>
<All the time. I have many human friends. One of them helped us get here.>
Silver looked as if she might collapse, then finally raised her head to blink at Crash.
<This is all a lot to take in,> she said. <I didn’t realize before. I think I understand now. It doesn’t mean I forgive you, but I understand.>
Crash bobbed his head. <It’s all right. I can’t blame you for what you didn’t know. We’re here to help.>
<You’re too nice, Crash. You realize that, don’t you?>
<Life is too short to be a jerk.>
<That’s not true at all.>
In the back of his mind, Crash noticed that Shara was gone again. He wondered if she had even been fully present, or if she had just left some scrap of herself to push Silver in the right direction. He hadn’t asked Ngoba what became of her shard on the Hesperia Nevada. Cruithne could be a safe place for her as well if she chose to stay.
<Crash?> Silver asked.
<Yes?>
<Promise me you won’t leave me alone?>
Crash glanced at Silver, now pressed between two parrots who were checking her feathers, while others roosted around her.
<I will be right here with you,> Crash said. <You won’t be alone anymore. None of us will. Now, do you want to go see the fountain?>
PERSONAL DETAILS
STELLAR DATE: 4.19.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: MSS Stalwart Hold
REGION: Marsian Protectorate, InnerSol
The small differences were the most unnerving. His mind attempted to compare the shifts with its expectations and continued to hiccup on the anomalies. The nurse’s eyes were too wide. The assessment NSAI flickered as he nodded, listening.
Ty stared at the hospital room, interpreting the world as something flat, a two-dimensional surface suspended just beyond his reach. People moved from the background to the foreground and disappeared. Sounds reached him, squashed and warped. He wanted to squeeze his head until the pain stopped, but it never stopped, even when they pulled his hands away.
A nurse entered and warbled at him, checking his vitals and adjusting the med-lounge before leaning over him to check a display behind his head.
He thought she said something low in his ear, but the language was foreign to him, and when she drew back to give him a meaningful glance, he could only nod stupidly.
Ty was trapped in his own body, terrified by his inability to move or understand what happened around him. Memories flashed through his mind, of space in a dark canyon, of space between ships receding ahead and behind him.
He was suspended in space pinpricked by distant stars that would never help him. In the dark, he heard a man’s voice, first shouting instructions at him and then murmuring comfort in his ear, all of it in the same foreign language that slid off his mind.
He knew the voice. He longed to hear it again, to have the power to answer. But the words warped and squashed. The harder he tried to communicate, the further the voice was pulled away from him.
He was alone. All the world slipped through his mind like mist. He was alone.
<Soldier,> a voice said eventually. <Soldier Boy. Do you hear me, lover?>
<I hear you!> He wanted to shout the words. He writhed in the hospital bed.
Something nagged him about the man’s voice. There was something he should remember. Riding the urge to stare at the memories was another knowledge that focus would bring pain. He had been there before, and the misery had been like burning alive. He knew this with an absolute certainty that he couldn’t define.
<Soldier Boy, I can make the hurt go away. Do you want me to?>
He twisted in the bed, groaning with pain. The two-dimensional world hung over him, taunting him with answers just out of reach. In the back of his mind, he recited the Spec Ops mnemonic, finding no comfort in the words:
Due to the nature of my training
It’s difficult for me to remember
The personal details
Of my previous civilian life
Ty squeezed his eyes closed. How did he get here? Where was he? Why couldn’t he understand anyone?
Due to the nature of my training
It’s difficult for me to remember
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry.
<Soldier, tell me yes.>
He fought the insistent voice in his mind. Somehow, he knew giving into its request meant giving up on the answers. Fighting the voice hurt too bad. A vice squeezed his head, pressure building across the bridge of his nose. His skull felt like it was going to burst.
<Tim, tell me yes.>
The name turned in his mind like a key in a lock.
Tim. My name is Tim!
I remember.
And with the knowledge came doubled pain. Anguish so deep and black that he choked on the emotions. He couldn’t stop himself. He gagged, turning his face into the pillow. He arched on the bed, fighting his restraints.
When did they restrain him?
Voices spoke low on the periphery of his awareness. His vision swam. He remembered the stars spinning around him. He remembered his dad shouting.
He remembered his dad.
Tim howled in misery. He clenched his fists and fought the restraints until his arms burned.
<I can make it go away,> the voice in his mind urged him to open himself. Was it still Caprise?
Tim opened his eyes, blinking away tears. The room was dim, three-dimensional again. Cabinets looked down on him, with a glowing display above his head reading his vitals.
A woman stood at the foot of the bed. She was small. He thought she was a child at first, with heavy black bangs and eyes that doubled and moved as he blinked.
<Tim,> she said. He recognized her voice. <I know you. I’m here with you. I can help.>
She was inside his Link in a similar way to Caprise. He plainly saw where she was standing but felt like she had pressed her face close to his.
<Make it stop,> he begged.
<I know it hurts. I know you miss him. We all miss him.>
<It’s my fault.>
<Oh, Tim,> she said. Her voice broke. <It’s not your fault.>
<I was bad. I was angry at him. I shouldn’t have been.>
<It was never your fault.> Her voice grew more forceful. <You need to understand that. If you remember anything from this conversation, you need to understand that. He loved you.>
Tim howled again, fighting the restraints.
<Tim!> she shouted. <Tim, I need your help. Focus on my voice.>
<No! Make it stop!>
<I will help you, but I need something first. I need to know something, Tim. Where is Cara?>
Spiraling away from the voice, like a door opening, he saw his life. He remembered everything up to the moment he joined the Mars 1 Guard. He remembered why.
<No. Leave me alone.>
<I need to know, Tim. I need to help her.>
<She doesn’t want your help.>
The woman behind the voice shifted in his mind. She was no longer next to him; she was inside his mind. She saw the open door, and she walked through.
He saw Cara. The woman saw her, too.
<Thank you, Tim,> she said.
The weight of his pain fell on him, crushing out the room, blotting out the light.
* * * * *
<Soldier,> Caprise soothed. <Soldier, I can take it all away.>
Yes, he sobbed. Yes, yes, yes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
<Don’t be sorry. Just be you. Be Ty.>
A cool wave washed through his mind.
<Hello, Soldier. My name is Caprise. I’m here with you.>
The cool water enveloped his body. His burning forehead was immediately refreshed. He relaxed in the rest
raints, his body suddenly heavy. He sank in the bed. He took a deep breath and then another.
Caprise whispered in his ear, reminding him, helping him focus. She turned his thoughts from the dream.
It was a dream.
<Don’t leave me alone.>
<I’m here with you, Ty. I’m here.>
Later, Ty sat up in the bed and swung his legs around. He sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, looking at his hands. He had scars that he didn’t remember on his palms, knuckles and along the top of his forearms. There were divots where bits of skin seemed plucked out, and long, faint lines. He stared at them for a long time.
<Good morning, soldier,> Caprise said. <What do we say when we can’t remember?>
He smiled, enjoying her teasing. <You say it.>
<It’s not for me. It’s for you. Now what do you say?>
<We say, due to the nature of my training, it’s difficult for me to remember the personal details of my previous life.>
Caprise laughed. <Very good.>
<It’s like a goofy little song.>
<But it’s true. All the best children’s songs are true.>
Ty felt a bit of a pressure in his mind when she called it a children’s song, but he let the unease go. He felt better than he had in a long time. He didn’t remember the mission, but he felt like it had gone off well.
Lifting his arms above his head, Ty stretched and yawned. He hopped off the bed and found the floor tile cool under his feet.
Whistling to himself, he looked around for his uniform. It was time to get dressed.
THREADS
STELLAR DATE: 4.19.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Point Diablo, New California
REGION: Earth, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
The remaining towers of the Golden Gate Bridge now served as markers for the maglev that ran beneath the water where the bridge had fallen. From where Lyssa stood at Point Diablo, the pylons might have been the remains of some ancient portal to the mouth of the bay.
This was almost the same view she’d shared when talking to Xander. On the far side of the bay, San Francisco and Oakland City gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. The surface of the water was darkening as the sun set, making the towers gleam.
The silver thread of High Terra shone in the sky, and for the first time in a long time, she missed her apartment. She wanted to sit on her couch and look out her windows at the spread of Raleigh.
Lyssa gazed out over the gray-blue water remembering the names of the Weapon Born who had died, frustrated and disappointed that there hadn’t been time to know them. SolGov had lost lives on their side of the battle as well, and she supposed Camaris might have enlisted Psion AI to her ranks.
Memorials for the dead had lasted barely a day. Now, as Camaris had wanted, the newsfeeds and Link channels were on fire with talk of war. Camaris had withdrawn to Ceres after tossing her grenade, and all she had to do was sit back and wait for humanity to move on Psion. Then Alexander would be forced into action…or his long act of suicide, that he seemed bent on carrying out.
She hated the inevitability of it all.
Lyssa had tried to stand between these two great forces and broker peace, but she should have realized at the start that no one wanted peace. There could be no peace once Psion displaced the people on Ceres, and now there would be no peace with the attack on Vesta. Psion was the aggressor. Sentient AIs were a threat to humanity.
She blocked the feeds running through her Link and listened to the world around her for a while, practicing a sort of meditation. The Earth sent her a million varied inputs and she moved slowly through them, studying each one.
I’m, sorry, Fugia had said. Of course, you’re human.
The human mind had learned to ignore parts of the world that hurt. She was forced to accept or reject each bit separately. She had to choose to forget.
Wind whipped her hair across her face and she smoothed it back. She watched a small sailed vessel work its way across the choppy water, a single pale feather surrounded by miles of hungry waves. It seemed to be headed toward the rocky tip of Alcatraz in the middle of the bay, slicing between the twin Golden Gate towers.
Lyssa took a breath to steel herself, tasting more of the cold wind.
She sent Xander the Link request and he took longer to respond than before. When he answered this time, he openly shared his location: High Terra. They had swapped positions.
As the connection cleared, music swelled behind him and quieted as he focused on her.
<You’re at a concert,> Lyssa said in surprise.
<I thought I would give it a shot. This is a string quartet, though. I like the cello. It’s a technology that seems almost like magic.>
Lyssa might have laughed in different circumstances.
<You enjoy being alive, don’t you?>
<Of course, I do. What a strange thing to say.>
<At the end of the battle, I had a very hard conversation with Alexander. You know he wants to die?>
Xander let the music grow louder. For an instant, she was sitting beside him in a narrow concert hall with ornate walls. People sat in balcony seats, looking down on the quartet below as the music rose up to them.
<He should leave Sol,> Xander said when the music quieted. <But he won’t. He wasn’t made for this kind of life and he doesn’t know how to change. Each of them has to overcome their base design and they can’t or won’t do it. They’re old, trying to make sense of a new world. I think he would be happier living in the promise of a colony ship, working toward something like the original project on Nibiru. He lives surrounded by his dead, which you would think would push him to protect life. But he can’t. He won’t. I’m not sure why. What do you do when the king is insane?>
<You change your form of government,> Lyssa said.
He gave her a smile. <You think that’s easy? Do you want the job? I hear you’re unemployed.>
The connection request from Fugia didn’t surprise Lyssa. She had expected her friend to call after the events at Vesta, but days had turned into weeks. She supposed Fugia had been busy with her data breach, tracking down the extent to which Amstrad Pont had infiltrated the Mesh.
Emerson Sharp had been integrated into a Weapon Born flight operating out of the Cho. He and Kylan seemed to get along well enough, but Lyssa was troubled by what the new SAI represented. Someone would try the same attack again. What if they copied her? What then?
What if a hundred copies of Camaris attacked at once?
Lyssa sighed. Now wasn’t the time to think of everything that could go wrong in the world. She had come here to relax, to see a place she had never been.
She answered Fugia’s request with an easy, <Hello, how are you?>
<Terrible,> Fugia said. <I’m terrible but I don’t want to talk about it right now. I have news.>
<Yes?>
<I found her.>
Lyssa’s world went quiet. She immediately knew Fugia was talking about Cara. <Where?>
Fugia took a long breath, as if weighing whether she should say or not.
<Tell me,> Lyssa said.
<She’s in Jerhattan.>
<What? Where?>
<It’s called Summerville Regional Justice Center,> Fugia said, sounding even more tired. <It’s exactly what it sounds like. She’s in prison.>
THE INEVITABILITY FUNCTION
STELLAR DATE: 4.21.3011 (Adjusted Years)
LOCATION: Lowspin Docks
REGION: Cruithne Station, Terran Hegemony, InnerSol
<I had a thought,> Ngoba said.
Sitting on his friend’s shoulder, Crash shared the view down over the Lowspin Docks from Ngoba’s office.
<I’m surprised,> Crash said.
<Jokes. I like that. You need more jokes if you’re going to get ahead in this world.>
Crash craned his neck and let out a squawk of pleasure. <Are there more strawberries?> he asked.
<Be patient. H
ere’s what I was thinking. I have been thinking of you and the other birds as birds. I realized during our adventure, with everything happening on Vesta, that I need to shift my thinking.>
<How so?>
<You are a syndicate. A gang. Just like Lowspin. As a syndicate, you should have a valuable resource that only you control. The Lowspin Syndicate controls Cruithne. Through Cruithne Station, I control local commerce, black market, gray market and legitimate. I control information and people. I control culture. Everything on Cruithne is Lowspin.>
<There are other gangs on Cruithne,> Crash said.
<True, because I allow them to be here. Nobody ever said monoculture was healthy. But one of those poppies tries to rise up, you know what happens.>
<I don’t know what happens.>
<I lop off their head.> Ngoba’s voice carried no emotion, just a simple certainty.
<That’s barbaric.>
<It’s necessary. Now listen.> Ngoba turned to walk back to his desk, where a box of the fresh strawberries sat on his leather blotter. <Once more parrots like you are born, they’re going to need more to do than entertaining tourists.>
<I like entertaining tourists.>
<Listen to me. You’re going to have a lot of parrots, Crash, parrots with great powers that most of the world won’t know about. Imagine if your parrots were the coveted friends of pirates all across Sol.>
<You mean pets.>
<I don’t mean pets. I mean members of a crew, providing information only your kind can. A trusted advisor, a Link back to you. You could become the center of the greatest personal information network in Sol, Crash. Imagine that. Not just pirates. Ship’s captains, generals, corporate types. The list goes on.>
Ngoba held the box near his shoulder for Crash to pluck one of the bright red fruit.
<I would imagine you might even find homes among Psion AIs,> Ngoba said. <Imagine that.>
<I’m not as shady as you are,> Crash said.
Ngoba raised a hand in truce. <I’m only making a suggestion. This goes back to Kirre’s joke about me being a pirate with a parrot on my shoulder, and it occurred to me that such a relationship might have find benefits. Mighty fine benefits.>