Larry Niven - Fate of Worlds - Return From the Ringworld

Nessus bided his time. His turn would come.

Spaceport security was minimal. Why guard ships that lacked hyperdrives? Steal a ship, and where would you go? Only other worlds of the Fleet would be within range. And who would steal a ship? Perhaps one in millions could bear even the thought of leaving Hearth. Of the odd few who could, most ended up in Clandestine Directorate — and its ships were guarded.

When a Citizen ended up on another world of the Fleet, it was seldom by choice. Criminals were imprisoned off-world. Malcontents and misfits were exiled off-world. Anyone who wanted to experience another world had only to ask: volunteer workers for the farms and nature preserves were always welcome.

Or: break a window.

Nessus preferred not to call that much attention to himself. Besides, he was not ready to leave Hearth. He only wanted a bit of time unsupervised aboard one of these ships …

He watched the three departing workers trot across the tarmac. A stepping disc just inside the fence flicked them to Nessus’ side.

A terminal worker gestured. “The next three.” He aimed his transport controller at a stepping disc on his side of the fence. “Be quick.”

Nessus was among the three. While the disc inside the fence remained in receive mode, they stepped through.

The terminal worker straightened a neck, indicating the grain ship that had just landed. “Join the team working there.”

Near the ship, anti-noise equipment struggled against the roar of grain being blown onto stepping discs for delivery, and the splatter of waste streaming back as soon as a cargo hold was emptied. The foreman standing at the top of the ramp shrieked to make himself understood. “Your job is to clear the mess,” he directed, offering Nessus a post-mounted cleaning implement. The filter-covered miniature disc at its tip transported anything organic.

Nessus raised his coverall’s oxygen-permeable hoods over his heads, then accepted the tool. He started down the indicated corridor, cleaning up hoofprints and spatters as he went. Past the first curve, he saw no living thing.

He let himself into a wiring closet, found the fiber-optic port for maintenance access, and connected his pocket computer. The program Baedeker had provided uploaded in moments.

Hearts pounding, Nessus sneaked back into the corridor. Again, he saw no one, so hopefully no one had seen him.

He resumed his slow, methodical cleaning. The time seemed to fly by as he pictured the surprise he had just arranged for Achilles.

Achilles and three junior aides were reviewing recent sightings by the Fleet’s early-warning array when Vesta entered the office. “Excuse me, Excellency. Eupraxia has returned from Hearth.”

“Bring him,” Achilles sang. To the rest, he added, “Leave us.”

“But, Minister,” Zelos, one of the aides, responded hesitantly. “About these sightings?”

Achilles stood tall, hooves set far apart, eyes fixed on this impudent aide. Was it not enough that he had Nature Preserve One to govern, and prisons to run, and all the worlds’ defenses to manage? Was it not enough that for the safety of all he ceaselessly improved Proteus? “Must I do everyone’s job?” he asked.

“My apologies.” Zelos twitched. “When it is convenient for you, Excellency, we will present our analysis.”

Achilles waggled heads once, dismissing them, and off they scurried. “Bring Eupraxia.”

“Yes, Excellency,” Vesta sang, also hurrying from the room.

The sad truth was, Achilles did do everyone’s job, and another to which he did not admit. Adding capacity to Proteus was not enough. The time-consuming part was extending its autonomy routines so that the scaled-up system could achieve its full potential. Singly, each tweak and add-on offered some worthwhile improvement. Together, if he ever had the time to complete his work, those changes would undermine Ol’t’ro’s control —

“Excellency,” Vesta sang. With him at the doorway was a cowering, bedraggled specimen.

“Inside,” Achilles ordered Eupraxia. “That will be all, Vesta. Close the door.”

His deputy hesitated. “Proteus has requested a great many more hyperdrive-capable drones. He wants sufficient drones in reserve to direct several against each enemy missile, not just every enemy ship.”

“Then order the drones built!” Achilles sang. He had work to do.

“Respectfully, that will entail further diversion of production resources.…”

Such diversion was the Hindmost’s problem, not his. Pressuring Horatius had failed to bring about a resignation. Ignoring the Hindmost, leaving him to fester in his inadequacies, had yet to succeed, either.

“What I deem necessary for the planetary defense is necessary,” Achilles sang. And the Hindmost can cope with any popular dissatisfaction.

The public mood …

Achilles’ attention refocused on the shaggy-maned recent arrival trying to fade into the wall. “Tend to it,” Achilles sang, with sharp undertunes of impatience.

“Yes, Excellency.” Vesta backed from the room and closed the door.

Eupraxia plucked at his already tousled mane.

“What do you have to report?” Achilles roared.

With his heads lowered subserviently, Eupraxia sang, “Dissident uploads continue across Hearth, Excellency.”

“I know that.” Achilles strode behind his desk. From astraddle his padded bench, he initiated a playback.

With each new video and each new viewing, Achilles’ hatred grew.

“Minister Achilles cannot be trusted,” Nessus sang. “For his own political gain, he has provoked our enemies: the Pak, the Gw’oth, and most recently the Kzinti. Of my certain knowledge, he has attempted premeditated murder.

“Citizens of the Concordance, Achilles must not retain a position of authority. He — ”

Achilles froze the playback. Those crazed, mismatched eyes bored into him like lasers. No one could have survived the destruction of Long Shot — and yet there was Nessus.

“What progress have you made toward locating Nessus?”

Eupraxia lowered his heads farther. “None, Excellency.”

“What have you learned to help stop this outrage?” Achilles demanded.

“Excellency, I traced one of the rogue videos to a pocket computer left in a public shopping mall. Lip and tongue prints from Nessus were found on it. The upload program had a two-day delay before initiation.”

“Which suggests what?”

“That … that more rigged computers may be out there waiting to upload?”

Not may be — are. Nessus, curse him, would not stop. “What progress have you made purging these scurrilous lies from Herd Net?”

Softly: “Insufficient, Excellency.” And all but inaudible: “Copies get made and uploaded and shared among Citizens faster than the network administrators can remove them. The files spread almost like viruses.”

“ How am I to defend the Fleet? How can I save everyone while such treasonous slander circulates about me?” Achilles demanded.

“I beg your pardon, Excellency. I … I…”

Achilles stomped on the call button beneath his desk, and Vesta galloped in. “Yes, Excellency?”

“See to it that Eupraxia has a respite from his too onerous duties.”

“I … I need no rest, Excellency,” Eupraxia sang desperately. “I will redouble my efforts.”

“You will work hard, indeed,” Achilles thundered.

Because nothing would focus the mind of the next worker — Zelos, Achilles decided — like knowing where failure had delivered his predecessor.

To Penance Island, the world’s maximum security prison.

MUCH NEEDED DOING, but Achilles needed time alone more. Time to think. Time to calm down. Time to picture the torment Nessus would suffer once he fell into Achilles’ jaws.