Larry Niven - Fate of Worlds - Return From the Ringworld

“The most recent Conservative to preside.” Minerva sang a formal name. “Conservatives do not last long after finding out who truly rules.”

“Yet this one deemed himself Horatius defending the bridge,” Nessus sang. “I think I would like this Conservative.”

Holding the bridge against whom? An army of the Etruscans, maybe. Or Babylonians. Maybe Mayans. Nessus was the one who had studied human myth and history. But Baedeker had come to understand — painfully mastered, over the years — the art of politics. “Who are Horatius’ leading ministers?”

Baedeker did not know most of them, either. Except one: Achilles. “How much influence does he retain?”

“A great deal.” Minerva hesitated. “You will not understand until I review some events since you left the Fleet.”

More bad news? “Proceed,” Baedeker sang.

Minerva took time to gather his thoughts. “After the Ringworld expedition, Nessus’ crew returned to their homes knowing the location of the Fleet.”

“And nothing came of that,” Baedeker sang. He shot a quick, sorrowful glance at his mate. Exchanging long-held secrets, Nessus had confessed to wanting ARM and Patriarchy navies to descend upon Hearth. But had that scheme for chasing off the Gw’oth been any less mad or desperate than Baedeker’s own? Hardly.

Minerva lowered his heads subserviently. “For many years, that was the case. The distances were great. The secrets of the Ringworld beckoned. But after the two of you left…”

Fled, their friend meant. “Sing plainly,” Baedeker directed.

“Aliens began to arrive.” Minerva looked away. “Not in large numbers. Their strength had all been sent to the Ringworld. But still, aliens were among the Fleet. Watching. Demanding commercial relations. Every group of aliens scheming to embroil us in its rivalries against the others. Having been permitted to open embassies on Nature Preserve Three, they push to establish presences on Hearth itself.”

“Have they learned about New Terra?” Baedeker asked.

“No, Hindmost.”

“They may know soon,” Nessus sang sadly. “A New Terran ship brought me here.”

Minerva sang, “It will find ARM ships and reveal the shameful past.”

“So I fear,” Nessus sang.

“About conditions in the Fleet,” Baedeker prompted.

“I apologize, Hindmost,” Minerva sang. In broken melodies and with disheartening grace notes, he told the sordid tale: Chiron judging the old, automated defense arrays inadequate. An artificial intelligence given control of the array. Proteus getting more and more enhancements — and since Ringworld’s disappearance, yet more capacity and new capabilities.

What would my old friend think of Voice? Baedeker wondered. But the circumstances were not the same. Voice was a companion, little more. To surround Hearth and herd with weapons under the control of an AI?

“Let me guess,” Nessus sang. “Achilles built Proteus. In the process, he has made himself indispensable.”

“As you sing, Nessus.” Minerva’s heads sagged lower. “Who else is that crazy?”

“Or ambitious?” Nessus added.

“As you sing,” Minerva repeated.

Baedeker was still struggling with the implications when Minerva intoned meekly, “There is more, Hindmost.”

What more could there be? How much worse could the situation get? “Go on.”

“Ol’t’ro is old,” Minerva sang. “Their youngest members are of the eleventh and twelfth generations. No Gw’otesht has ever clung together this long. They are … not quite right.”

“How can you know that?” Baedeker demanded.

“One of my crew, Hindmost. For a time, Tf’o was unwillingly a part of the meld. He was replaced.” Minerva trembled. “This far from home, even a Gw’o sometimes needs companionship.”

As for a long while, I had only Voice, Baedeker thought. For much of their “adventure,” Louis had set his own course, ranging far across the Ringworld. To reunite with Nessus after so many years —

Text pulsed on a console. A warning from Voice. All Kzinti ships have jumped to hyperspace.

Where were they going?

Come at once, the Norquist-Ng summons read.

“Not much for small talk,” Sigmund muttered. He didn’t expect specifics, but please would have been a nice touch. On my way, he texted back.

But first …

This jumbled den was his favorite room of the house. He had been standing at the clear wall, admiring the view, when the message came. Yucca plants and the mesquite hedge bowed beneath the wind. The desert, starkly beautiful, stretched to the distant rugged mountains.

He turned away from the vista to sit at his desk. Rummaging in a side drawer, he retrieved a comb, a pocket pack of tissues, and breath mints. In the process he sprang the false back to palm the earbud long hidden in the desk.

He didn’t trust Norquist-Ng. That the weasel would have him under surveillance was the least of it. With a fingertip pressed deep into his ear, pretending to dig at wax, Sigmund set the bug into place. It would hear and record everything he heard.

Assuming that it worked. The bug had lain hidden in the drawer for a long time. He tapped a test rhythm on the desk.

To the ear with the bug, Jeeves sent the double-click that meant, Loud and clear.

“Jeeves, I will be at the Ministry.” Where, the second I enter the situation room wearing a bug, I become a felon. “Keep an eye on things here.”

“Very good, sir.”

Sigmund reprogrammed pants and shirt from his customary black — by local standards, misanthropic — to more sociable, if still reserved, shades of gray. The muted colors would help him fit in at a time he really didn’t want to call attention to himself.

Then he strode out his back door, flicking from the patio to the security lobby of the New Terran Defense Forces headquarters.

“I HAVE GOOD NEWS,” Julia reported. “No, make that excellent news.”

Sigmund spared a quick glance around the situation room. He saw hope and relief — and some shifty eyes. Excellent meant different things to different people.

Had Julia and Alice made contact with an ARM ship? Julia was larger than life in the situation room’s main display, but still Sigmund leaned closer to the table and her image.

“Continue, Captain,” Minister Norquist-Ng said. “I take it you are prepared to return home?”

“Soon, sir,” she said, “but our news is far more consequential. We were contacted by an ARM vessel, the Koala. We need not return alone.”

Cheers rang out, only to choke off as Norquist-Ng smacked the table with a fist. “Captain, you are not to — ”

“It gets better.” The minister’s objections had yet to reach Endurance, where the bridge camera pivoted toward Alice’s voice. Sigmund couldn’t remember seeing such a big grin on her. “We know the way to Earth. From this location, it’s about two hundred light-years, mostly to galactic south. From New Terra, a bit over two ten. Jeeves? Show them.”

Alice disappeared, a graphic taking her place: a star field, bearings on pulsars, and one star set to blinking.

Sigmund had sought this information for half his life — ever since Nessus had forever changed his life. Instead of a flash of recognition, Sigmund felt … nothing. Those memories weren’t just buried. They were gone.

In an instant, so was the map.

“Graphic off,” Norquist-Ng barked. The last view of Alice replaced the map. “Jeeves, you will show that image to no one except by my authorization. I’ll brief the governor. No one is to speak a word about this development outside this room.”