Brian Stableford: Asgard's Heart

“Why did you want me to come all the way out here so you could tell me about it?”

“I don’t know where else they’ve distributed their little listening devices. Since the Tetrax from the prison camp came down here with the Scarid delegation, the entire level is lousy with people I don’t like and don’t trust. The only other authentic human here is Finn—and he’s got the kind of coat that’s ready cut for turning at the slightest provocation. It looks to me like you and me against the universe, Rousseau, and this is the only place down here that none of the other guys have been.”

She hadn’t included Myrlin in her list of potential enemies, nor had she included him while numbering the tiny clique that knew about this little Eden. I gathered that she still had him on her list of unmentionable topics, even though she’d made no attempt to wipe him out for a second time.

“So this is a council of war?” I said.

“If you like,” she said. “I never expected to end up in a situation where the only person I could trust is you, but that’s where I am now. Read this.”

She drew a flimsy out of her pocket and passed it over to me. I scanned it quickly. It was in English, and was signed by Valdavia, the diplomat who’s been sent out from the solar system aboard Leopard Shark to represent the UN in negotiations with the Tetrax. The document was an order to Colonel Susarma Lear to return as soon as possible to Skychain City. It was embellished with firm statements to the effect that in the meantime she was still to consider herself, and all her subordinates, to be under the orders of 994-Tulyar, and that she was to co-operate in every possible way with the Tetrax. It did not say in so many words that Valdavia knew how cynically the Tetrax had used us to spread their plague for them, but he was obviously assuming that we might have fallen out with Tulyar, and was telling us in no uncertain terms that we were not to take offense at what had happened.

“He’s got a hope!” I muttered. “The Scarida have been telling us for days that the chaos caused by that damned influenza makes it impossible to transport anyone up or down above level fifty-two.”

“They got that down,” she pointed out, drily. “And they also brought down a group of top-flight Tetron scientists. Mostly electronics men, plus a couple of bioscientists. They arrived during the night. Our old friend 673-Nisreen is one of them. The Tetrax used us as weapons of war, but now it seems that we’re definitely surplus to requirements. They want us out.”

“Not exactly,” I said. “They want you out. There’s no mention of your bringing me with you—or Finn for that matter. I have a nasty suspicion that Tulyar might have other plans for me, and that I won’t like them one little bit.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

It wasn’t necessary to tell her about Medusa. “I’m the one who made the contact with whatever godling kicked the shit out of the Nine,” I pointed out. “Tulyar can’t begin to understand the situation which is now unfolding, and there’s nothing a Tetron high-number man hates worse than not understanding. What’s more, the fact that he can’t understand doesn’t affect his ardent desire to control things. I think he’s almost as far out of his depth here as the Scarid commanders, and I have a feeling that, for all his velvety Tetron manners, he might react to being out of his depth in much the same panicky fashion. One thing I’m sure of—he means me no good. I never thought I’d say this, Colonel, but I think I’m going to miss you.”

“Like hell you are,” she said. “I’m not going.”

I was mildly surprised. I knew how seriously she took the Star Force, and I couldn’t quite see her in the role of mutineer.

“Do you have a choice?” I asked, raising the paper slightly.

“Valdavia doesn’t understand the situation,” she said. “My duty is to protect the interests of the human race, and if I can make a better estimate of what those interests are than he can, I’m the one whose obligation it is to make policy.”

“What policy did you have in mind?” I asked. I remembered, without much enthusiasm, her approach to the problem of finding Myrlin when she’d first arrived on Asgard. She had been making her own policy then, and she hadn’t impressed me with her style. In fact, she’d shown all the sensitivity and diplomatic flair of a wolverine.

“That’s a little hard to say,” she retorted, “unless I have rather more information at my disposal. You’re the one who knows more than the rest of us, Rousseau. As I said, I never expected to get to the point where you were the only person I could trust, but here we are. What do you think we should do?”

I was less surprised than I might have been a day earlier. After all, I’d already been presented with evidence that the Age of Miracles had dawned again. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any pat answer ready to hand.

“That’s a difficult question,” I parried.

“Well,” she said testily, “if it was an easy one, I sure as hell wouldn’t have to ask you, would I?”

I suppose it was a compliment of sorts, though she hadn’t quite intended it that way.

“I think you ought to know,” I said, after a brief pause for consideration, “that the situation may be a lot more complicated than you suppose. It seems that while I was interfaced with the Isthomi, and they were involved in some kind of life-or-death struggle, something got into me. Something may have got into Myrlin and Tulyar, too. I think something’s happening deep inside Asgard which makes the Scarid invasion look like a very trivial nuisance. The macroworld itself might be in danger—I can’t say for sure. One thing I am sure of, though, is that if the beings we’re involved with now are determined to make pawns of us, we could be in for a far rougher ride than the Tetrax gave us when they hired us as catspaws. There’s no way out for me— I’m in too deep—but if you aim to come out of this mess alive, you might be better off obeying this order and getting the hell out of Asgard. You’d be safer out of the system.”

She looked at me with an expression that was far less easy to read than those which the Nine’s simulacrum had worn.

“You’re going to try to make a run for the Centre,” she said, “aren’t you?”

“Yes I am,” I told her. “I guess I’ve been here too long— I’ve made myself a thoroughgoing sucker for the big mystery. Anyhow, I don’t want to consign myself entirely to 994-Tulyar’s tender care. If I need any other reasons, I also suspect that whatever’s got into me isn’t going to let me rest unless I do try to get to the heart of the matter.”

“You were planning to go alone?”

There was no point in dissembling. “Actually,” I said, “I was hoping to take Myrlin. I figured he’s the only one I can trust to the hilt. I think some of the scions will come, too. I did intend to ask you, because I figured we might need your firepower, but I wasn’t sure you’d be willing. I’ve asked the Isthomi to build me a vehicle—a robot on wheels, capable of taking me safely through the levels. They’ve started work already.”

“You hadn’t bothered to take into account, I suppose, that you’re a star-captain in the Star Force, and that I’m your commanding officer?”

“I guess I’m a deserter through and through,” I confessed—not without a pang of uneasiness. “But I was going to tell you.”

“Jesus!” she said, with more tiredness in her voice than disgust. “What the hell did I ever do to deserve this command? Poor Serne got blasted, and all I have left is you and that creep Finn. We might be standing on the very spot where Khalekhan got killed in action, you realise that? Where you go, I go. All the way. Got that?”