Линда Нагата - Edges

The philosopher cells comprehended the threat. They monitored the expansion of the debris field, a task made easier this time because Khonsu had been so much closer than Pytheas . They identified three fragments with enough mass and relative momentum to seriously damage Dragon ’s hull if they struck.

An alliance of cells submitted a proposition:

A sharp spike of excitement from Clemantine. When she’d suggested using the gun before, distance and the chaotic movement of the debris had made it impractical. Now, the situation was different.

She pointed this out, in a bitterly ironic voice: *The philosopher cells have experience enough to know their range—and they’re confident.

*Sooth , Urban agreed, too aware of the history of destruction contained within the memory of the cell field. *But it’s not without cost.

He’d used the gamma-ray gun when he’d hijacked the ship, and twice more since then, but he did not like using it. *The gun pulls so much power, it weakens the propulsion reef and destabilizes the ship.

He considered denying the philosopher cells the option of the gun. He had the ability to do that. Over the centuries he’d expanded and strengthened the branching structure of the bridge, increasing its links to the cell field so that he could overwhelm any debate among the philosopher cells and drive the discussion to the consensus he desired.

But he already needed to replace two outriders. He did not want to risk the added burden of major damage to Dragon —and he could not predict the path of the debris because of the unknown effects of Khonsu ’s shattered propulsion reef.

*Let the cells have their way , he told Clemantine.

*All right. Her tone grim, but eager. She wanted to see this, to experience it from the other side, from behind the gun this time. No longer helpless prey.

They withheld input, let the cells find consensus on their own. It didn’t take long. The window of opportunity was limited. The cells had to act while the fragments retained heat and could be easily tracked.

The gun was deployed. Its lens pivoted, lining up on the projected path of the tumbling debris. The reef blazed in Urban’s awareness. Power surged to the gun. Once, twice, three times. Urban felt the force of it like a parallel universe punching through and twisting strands of space-time, destabilizing the internal structure of the ship.

*By the Unknown God , Clemantine swore.

The moment passed. The cells went quiet, waiting, watching.

*I had no idea it’d be like that, she said. *It felt like… a chaos of tidal forces ripping open the ship.

*I hate it , Urban admitted.

*Sooth. I hope we never have to use it again.

She stayed on the high bridge with him, waiting to see if the philosopher cells had hit their targets. Eventually, still riding the senses of the ship, Urban picked out three glowing vapor clouds.

*There! he said. *It’s done.

Urban felt the future of his expedition to the Hallowed Vasties at risk. Not because he couldn’t replace two lost outriders. He’d done that before. He would do it again, in time. But because he would now have to reveal all the facts of Dragon ’s history far sooner than he’d planned—and that could end the expedition.

They were just a few years out from Deception Well and although it would take many more years to reverse momentum and return, they were still close enough to make it a real option. Once Clemantine learned what was to come she might demand to go back, and if she insisted, he would have to comply. No way would he ever force her to stay with him.

He messaged everyone, while their ghosts were still active: *We need to talk about our future—and I don’t want to do this as ghosts in the library. Let’s all meet in the forest room, in one hour.

He hoped the warmth, the reality, the subtle chemical interaction of living people would work to his benefit—and he wanted no interruptions from the Apparatchiks.

Questions came back to him.

His only answer was to repeat: *One hour.

He woke his avatar from cold sleep, rising to consciousness amid the swaying ribbons of wall-weed in his chamber. Blinked his eyes and felt his gut knot in anxiety. Guilt was there too, though he tried to reject it. He hadn’t lied, exactly.

Well, he had .

A lie of omission because he knew Clemantine never would have agreed to come if he’d told her the full truth.

He dressed and went early to the forest room. Evening was falling, casting a rosy glow through the pergola. Lanterns drifting within the perimeter nooks gleamed with soft light. White moths fluttered around them, casting erratic shadows.

He chose a nook, hooked his foot into a stirrup, and turned to face the entrance. He did not have to wait long.

After just a few minutes, Clemantine floated in. She saw him, and kicked off the wall, gliding the short distance to join him, holding out her hand. He took it, and they hugged. He breathed in the sweet, rich scent of her. “I love you,” he whispered.

She drew back, suspicion igniting in her eyes. “You’re really in trouble, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he agreed ruefully, offering no resistance as she pulled away.

Vytet came in next, looking distracted, as if his mind was engaged elsewhere—until he joined them in the nook. Then his attention lit on Urban. “Is it an issue of resources?” he asked.

“Let’s discuss it altogether,” Urban said tersely though he suspected it was being discussed in an exchange of messages not addressed to him.

Vytet’s eyes narrowed. He traded a glance with Clemantine. Then they both turned toward the entrance just as Kona glided in.

“All right,” Kona said as he joined them. “This must be about the outriders.” He hooked a bare foot under a stirrup, and Urban found himself the subject of a stern, all-too-familiar gaze that sent him back through time, twelve hundred years, to when he was a kid in pursuit of adventure and ever short on good judgment.

“You’re going to have a hard time replacing the lost outriders. Is that correct?” Kona asked.

“Yes,” Urban agreed. “That’s right.” Feeling off balance, his planned speech already blown. “If it was just a question of mass alone, Dragon would be able to easily re-grow the lost ships—”

“But some necessary elements are in short supply,” Kona finished for him. “You don’t have them in sufficient quantity.”

Despite his growing ire, Urban was impressed. He’d thought Vytet would work it out, or Clemantine, but the old man had gotten there first. “That’s right,” he agreed. “That’s the issue.”

“You didn’t plan for this?” Kona asked.

“Oh, I did. I just didn’t think it’d become an issue this early.”

“Say it, then,” Clemantine urged him, her voice low and dangerous.

“I have to postpone completion of the gee deck. We can finish the engineering phase, but work on the interior has to wait—along with the resurrection of the ship’s company.”

“You’re not serious,” she said.

“I am. I’m sorry.”

“We owe our people a life, Urban. You can’t keep them archived forever.”

“I don’t want to keep them archived forever! That is not my intention. But I need time to recover from this loss.”