Larry Niven - Fate of Worlds - Return From the Ringworld

“I’ll extend your offer to the leader of our task force.”

“And who is that?” Sigmund asked.

Rodgers-Bjornstad stood and came out from behind her desk: meeting adjourned. “If he’s interested, I’m sure you’ll hear. Meanwhile, go home and enjoy your retirement.”

“I’ll do that, Governor.” Go home that was. Enjoyment was not in the cards. Not when she had confirmed his most paranoid suspicions.

Unless he stopped them, the ship from Earth was never going to reach New Terra.

Proteus considered:

That the ceaseless froth of hyperspace emergence-and-departure ripples had changed.

That these manifestations, far subtler than what had heralded the disappearance of the Ringworld, nonetheless showed statistically significant patterns.

That three distinct waves of ships rushed toward the Fleet of Worlds.

That the more intruders came, the more motivated Chiron and Citizens alike were to expand his capacity.

ACHILLES GLOATED.

How could he not gloat? Proteus, his finest creation, had eliminated Baedeker and Nessus. The strain of Long Shot ’s final charge had all but driven Horatius over the edge.

With one more push …

“We have no choice,” Achilles sang imperiously. Horatius, alas, knew neither English nor Interworld. He would not pick up on that royal we.

“Then why do you ask?” Horatius countered. His eyes were bloodshot and his necks drooped. He stood with hooves close together: ready to bolt. Aching to bolt. “I have given you the authority to commandeer for our defense whatever resources you need.”

Why do I ask? Because as overwhelmed and terrified as you are, you have yet to do the proper thing and step aside. Depart this, your grand residence, for you are unworthy of it. Renounce your office.

Achilles kept his thoughts to himself, let the Hindmost agonize.

“It will be all right,” Horatius finally sang. “If our expanded defenses fail to deter the coming hordes, we will surrender.”

Achilles stared back boldly. “We surrendered once before. I see no indication that Ol’t’ro choose to relinquish their power.”

His necks drooped farther, but Horatius sang nothing.

So close, Achilles thought. With just a little more pressure —

And he knew how to exert it.

OL’T’RO CONSIDERED:

That war was coming.

That when it did, Proteus would inflict grievous harm upon the alien attackers — and the attackers upon these five worlds.

That the artificial intelligence, expanded commensurate with the alien menace, had surpassed their abilities to fully comprehend.

That nothing — not ruling the Citizens or deflecting them from the Gw’oth worlds, not the wonders of multiverse physics or the evolution of AI — could long distract them from their brooding.

They had seen Long Shot come apart. Long-range sensors reported the remnant residue of General Products hull material. Ships sent to the scene confirmed wisps of hull dust there.

So where was the Type II hyperdrive? Why had so little debris been recovered? Where were the bodies?

Where? It doesn’t matter, Cd’o whispered into the meld. We should have destroyed that ship long ago. We should have suppressed all related research and destroyed the records. Eliminating the Type II hyperdrive from the galaxy was in the interest of all Gw’oth. Our own curiosity — the unit meant, fixation — swept us from the current of reason. Be thankful that Baedeker forced that ship’s destruction.

Where a single unit had dared murmur rebelliously, there swelled the conjoined feelings of many. Let us go home. In vivid far-reds, the abyssal deeps of Jm’ho shimmered.…

Ol’t’ro considered:

That they were tempted.

That duty and desire were very different concepts.

Unexplained does not mean destroyed, a soft voice sighed into the meld. Indistinct almost to unintelligibility, Er’o’s whisper nonetheless evoked compelling authority. The unit had unique memories.

Long ago, amid the multispecies war against the Pak, Sigmund Ausfaller had demonstrated the tremendous survival value of paranoia.

Alice’s eyes flew open.

A clear dome, dotted with rime, hung inches above her face. Indicator lamps of some kind glowed green.

I’m in an autodoc!

She smacked the panic button, trying to figure out how she got here. The lid was taking forever to begin moving and she was bursting with energy. She needed to move, tanj it!

At last she could sit up. She had just noticed Louis standing across the cargo hold when she realized: I’m naked. A wrinkled old crone —

Only she wasn’t old!

She grabbed the robe draped across the foot of the ’doc. “You look like shit,” she told him, slipping on the garment.

“I haven’t been sleeping well,” he admitted. “What do you remember?”

Chaos and madness. “Something knocked Endurance out of hyperspace. We were under attack. So was Long Shot. ”

“You were injured,” Louis said.

Obviously. “Where are we? What about Nessus and Baedeker?” Skimming the summary report on the ’doc’s main display — three crushed cervical vertebrae, a severed spinal cord, and brain damage! — she added, “How long have I been out of commission?”

He gave her a weary smile. “Way too long. Call it five weeks.”

Alice vaulted out of the ’doc, marveling: she wasn’t stiff, her knees and hips didn’t offer as much as a twinge, and she had a sense of balance. “So we got away.”

Louis’s face fell. “ We did.”

“Oh, no.” She shivered. “What happened?”

He laughed bitterly. “What happened? I blew it. That’s what happened. The last thing I saw was Long Shot coming apart and a flash.”

She found herself staring, speechless.

“Yeah, I can’t believe it either.” Only his haunted expression said otherwise. “But today is a happy occasion. How are you feeling?”

“Shocked. Starved.”

“That latter I can do something about.” He offered his arm in antediluvian mock gallantry. “May I prepare your dinner?”

Brushing past him, ignoring the arm, she headed for the relax room. But Louis always could cook. “Sure.”

ALICE DUG INTO A HEAPING PLATE of Tex-Mex. Louis had not lost his knack over the years, and she packed away the food as she hadn’t in … centuries. From a corner of an eye, she caught him grinning at her. “What’s up with you?”

“Nothing.”

Whatever it was could wait till she finished dinner and got some proper clothes. She went back to eating. After a second helping and most of thirds, she pushed away her tray. “That was excellent. So tell me. How soon do we get…?”

She ground to a halt. Rebuilt to perhaps twenty years old, a treason charge and life in prison took on a new aspect.

“We aren’t going to New Terra,” Louis said.

“But Earth is more than two hundred light-years away, or so you told Julia.” With refueling stops and sanity breaks from hyperspace, call it two futzy years. “You didn’t take it on yourself again to decide — ”

“Relax. We haven’t gone anywhere. Endurance is a little more than a half light-year from the Fleet of Worlds.”

“Would you care to explain?”

“I tell myself that staying here is useful, that there’s value to New Terra knowing what happens when the Fringe War arrives.”

“We all tell ourselves lots of things.”

“Yah.” He sighed. “Does returning you to New Terra mean jail? I suspect it does.”