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    Nadezhda: Book 3 of the Deep Fracture trilogy
    Nadezhda: Book 3 of the Deep Fracture trilogy
    Nadezhda: Book 3 of the Deep Fracture trilogy
    Ebook434 pages6 hours

    Nadezhda: Book 3 of the Deep Fracture trilogy

    By Graham Storrs

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    Tam Pokkar and his crew did the impossible and found the legendary Omega Point. Now, with the help of the ancient and erratic transhuman Martin Lanham, they must fight their way through fractured space to stop the weapon that is destroying humankind. But, even if they reach it, the mysterious enemy who sent it, is out there, watching, ready to strike again, while a massive interstellar war engulfs all of Human Space. In this final novel in the Deep Fracture series, the crew of the Canta Libre is beset by enemies and unreliable friends on all sides as they make their final stand for the future of their whole species above the beautiful planet Nadezhda.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherGraham Storrs
    Release dateOct 14, 2019
    ISBN9780648432913
    Nadezhda: Book 3 of the Deep Fracture trilogy
    Author

    Graham Storrs

    Graham Storrs is a science fiction writer who lives miles from anywhere in rural Australia with his wife and a Tonkinese cat. He has published many short stories in magazines and anthologies as well as three children's science books and a large number of academic and technical pieces in the fields of psychology, artificial intelligence and human-computer interaction.He has published a number of sci-fi novels, in four series; Timesplash (three books), the Rik Sylver sci-fi thriller series (three books), the Canta Libre space opera trilogy. and the Deep Fracture trilogy. He has also published an augmented reality thriller, "Heaven is a Place on Earth", a sci-fi comedy novel, "Cargo Cult", a dark comedy time travel novel, "Time and Tyde", and an urban sci-fi thriller, "Mindrider."

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      Nadezhda - Graham Storrs

      Part 1

      Prologue to Part 1

      "This is the Sabruabran research vessel, Tide of Small Crabs, we have detected your emergency beacon and we are prepared to respond. Please identify yourself and state the nature of the assistance you require."

      I am awake before the ship has identified itself and I’m fully rebooted before the end of the second sentence.

      "Tide of Small Crabs, I am very pleased to hear from you. My name is Broome and I am stranded on the Federation planet Utopia. I am a single individual and passage to any civilised world would be greatly appreciated."

      There is no response. Their signal was extremely weak, so I assume they are still a long way off. Most ships would be able to detect my emergency beacon within a couple of light minutes, so I wait a full five minutes before I conclude that something might be wrong. When their message begins to repeat as if they had not heard me at all, I know I have a problem.

      I move out of my cave, the joints on my multiple limbs feeling even stiffer than I remember. How long have I been squatting in that hole in a powered-down state? Two hundred years and change if my internal clock is still to be trusted. That would account for the bat droppings and moss all over my carapace. The mountain top looks pretty much the way I remember it – a few displaced rocks, different shrubs and wild flowers, some slight erosion.

      I try signalling again: same message, full power. Same result. They are not receiving me. Yet they had received my emergency beacon, so the transmitter is still working – a minor miracle after five hundred years of constant use. I run a diagnostic on any and all systems that might be causing the problem, thinking, Don't give up on me, Tide of Small Crabs, follow the beacon. Even if I was only good for salvage, it would be worth your while.

      One light minute is roughly eighteen million kilometres. If they are two light minutes away, that would be thirty-six million kilometres – about the distance from Earth to Mars at their minimum separation. When I was last there – half a millennium ago – freighters were regularly plying the space between the two planets in three months or so. But that was using Earth's relatively crude fusion rocket technology. A Republican trader could do the trip in half that time. A military ship from the Sphere of Light or the Federation could halve it again. So let's say my potential rescuer is thirty to one hundred days away. But that is only if they were fitted with what used to be standard radio gear. The Tide of Small Crabs had said it was a research vessel. Maybe they have better equipment. Maybe they are much farther away.

      The results of my diagnostics are worse than I feared. So many of my systems are beginning to fail and a few already have. One of the failures is on the pathway between my artificial mind and my radio transmitter. I can think up new messages, I can send messages already in the transmitter's buffers, but there is now no way to get a message from my mind to the transmitter. A component along the way has simply decayed into inoperability. I was originally designed as a military robot so I am packed full of redundant channels and alternative methods to achieve most of my functions. Sadly, the backup for this component had been damaged centuries ago and, being stuck on a backward planet with no technology worth mentioning, I was never able to replace it.

      I move over to my favourite rocky promontory and stare out across the brilliant white cloud tops. When I put myself in that cave and powered down, I had not really expected to wake up again. I'm tough as hell, made to withstand the rigours of combat, to endure all that a technically sophisticated enemy could throw at me. I have lived ten thousand years, replaced every part in my body many times over, survived being buried in sand for a thousand years and for almost a century in a ship with no heat or atmosphere, frozen and alone among the corpses of my friends. But I had come to believe that this wet, miserable, backward hell-hole of a planet, that a cruel Fate had marooned me on with no means of escape, would be my final resting place.

      Rusting place, as it turned out.

      And then, with rescue finally here, practically in the sky above me, I have no way of letting them know to come down and get me. It seems as if the hope that has sustained me all this time is now laughing in my face.

      All right. Stop that. That's not productive, I tell myself. After all, it isn't as bad as it could be. There is a ship up there. Somewhere. I just need to get a message to it. How hard can that be? And I have time. Not much maybe but some. Thirty days, maybe more.

      Unless they have superluminal technology.

      I've been on this world so long, the whole of human civilisation could have moved on beyond anything I'd ever seen. If they do have FTL flight, they could flit past this world in the blink of a diode. They might already have gone.

      "This is the Sabruabran research vessel, Tide of Small Crabs..."

      I almost shout out with joy. They're still here. The message is repeating every seven minutes. With three samples of it recorded now, I compare them. I can detect a distinct drop in the frequencies at which the voice speaks. They are slowing down, coming into the system at very high speed but slowing, their signal dopplering noticeably. I do the calculation, wait for their next broadcast and confirm my result. There is a lot of uncertainty but I believe their rate of deceleration is consistent with a near-light-speed craft braking with fusion rockets. My initial thirty day estimate might well be accurate after all.

      So, thirty days. I have thirty days to build a radio – or interface to the one I already have – and get a signal to them. I don't dance – it's not in my nature, you understand – but for a moment I feel as if I might.

      * * * *

      There are many things that have been blamed for driving human endeavour: love, hate, ambition, greed, curiosity, you name it. I don't deny they have each had their moments. But some of the biggest changes in human history have been brought about by something else entirely. I'm thinking of the revolutions, the great explorations, the founding of countries and planets, first contact with aliens… They all came from hope. Hope for something better. Hope for a richer, more meaningful existence.

      But it is not just the great, epoch-making events that stem from hope. In people's private lives, it's just the same. The young woman, standing alone at a party, the old man, talking to his grandchild, the couple about to have their first baby. If you look, you see it everywhere.

      It is hope that kept me sitting on this mountaintop for all these years, hope that laid me down in that cave with my beacon blipping out the final days of my long, long life. Hope that stopped me throwing my decaying hulk off a high cliff. And hope that has me peering down through the thick clouds of Utopia, looking for signs that the primitive people I found here might finally have developed enough science and technology to build a radio that I might beg, borrow or steal from them.

      And it is hope, as is so often the case, that has proven forlorn.

      There is not a peep in the radio frequencies from anywhere on this wretched planet. I'm going to have to cannibalise my own parts. It's not a big deal, really, just frustrating. This world, these people, have been endlessly disappointing. I gave them so much to work with, so many clues, hints as to the true nature of the world they lived in, knowledge that other societies had to work for for millennia to wrestle from the unyielding bedrock of reality. They should have leapt forward like gazelles but, clearly, they wallowed in their ignorance like warthogs.

      My mistake is clear, with hindsight. I used my priesthood as the conduit for the knowledge I gave them. Almost to a man, they were idiots. I imagined they would become the nexus of a network of learned men, focused on creating and disseminating knowledge, a scholarly sect that would bring enlightenment and a love of learning to their people. Instead, it seems, they acted as a very effective filter, hoarding what I gave them and passing on just enough to keep themselves in power.

      Oh, I'm not saying the Utopians have made no progress in the two hundred years since I last saw them. A radar scan reveals a town considerably larger than the one I remember, with many more buildings of stone. There are even metal-framed structures and a couple of threads of bright reflection that probably indicate railway lines. But, from the tiny fields around the town, I can tell they have not yet developed the farm machinery that would raise them above the level of peasant farming.

      I think about Fen, my young friend, brutally murdered. If I let this ship go by, Fen might be the last human I will ever know. It is a melancholy thought. I have known some truly remarkable people, people who were my friends, or enemies, people whom I have loved, in my way, people who have loved me in theirs.

      After a long time, I realise I am staring out into space, seeing nothing except the faces of long dead people. I move back from the promontory to where a broad flat rock can serve as my workbench, and begin working on my armour, removing panels that will give me access to the components I need to make my radio transmitter.

      While I work on pulling myself apart, let me continue with the final part of my story. You will recall that Captain Tam Pokkar and his wife, Prad, both traders from the Republic of Karmarg, together with Berenetta, Daughter of Larasarra, of the planet Earth, the spy, Tarken, Son of Coren, of Earth's Internal Affairs Department, Martin Lanham, an ancient and deranged mind uploaded into the body of a powerful robot, and the equally ancient robot, Broome, also from Earth, were all on a quest to prevent an alien weapon they call the anomaly, from destroying all of Human Space.

      The Republicans and the Earthers, with Broome, were aboard the FTL ship Canta Libre, lovingly restored by Martin Lanham, who had left one of his avatars aboard. Lanham himself was aboard another ship, an old K'Ha fighter that he had christened The Phenomenon of Man. Their destination was a planet on the very edge of Human Space called Loner's Deep where the anomaly orbited the local star. Their plan, such as it was, was for Lanham to use his knowledge of the science of infra-reality, to stop the anomaly fracturing space.

      And, look, if none of this is making much sense to you, you might like to go back and read the first two books of this trilogy. Or re-read them. I know humans have very limited memories. I don't mean to be rude.

      What the people and the robot did not know, as they wove through the dense network of cracks in space, was that they were being watched. The entities that had sent the anomaly to destroy humankind were taking a keen interest in what our little band of heroes was up to. Perhaps they too reflected on the hope that fuelled such a desperate attempt on the part of humanity to save their species from beings far more powerful than themselves.

      Chapter 1

      Are we there yet?

      Berenetta jumped, spilling kiff on the rec room table. Prad, sitting opposite her, felt her own heart skip a beat. The robot body of Martin Lanham had spoken and was now looking around curiously. It was as if one of the tables or chairs had come to life. The upload's body had been standing stock still for the best part of six months as the Canta Libre had threaded its way through spatial fractures, edging closer to Loner's Deep at sub-light speeds. Now, without warning, it was active again.

      She stood up, acutely aware that she was not armed. Ship, she said. Let the captain know that Lanham is awake. Let Broome know, too.

      Yes, Prad.

      Lanham turned his gaze on her, his head tilted and one eyebrow raised. Did you miss me?

      How come you're back all of a sudden?

      She heard footsteps in the corridor and Tam came rushing into the room. His eyes darted from person to person, sizing up the situation, then settled on Lanham. Broome appeared in the doorway behind him with a staccato rattle of its many limbs.

      Lanham beamed. So, the gang's all here. I must say you're all gratifyingly eager to see me. Where's the other one? You know, the saboteur. He strode confidently across the room and looked behind one of the food printers. Nope, not there.

      Prad was still finding it creepy that he was moving at all. Is this just a visit? Or are you back for good?

      Well, I'm back. Whether it's for good or bad, I couldn't say.

      Pricked by irritation, she said, So can we take it you've finished sulking about your girlfriend blowing you up?

      Lanham narrowed his eyes but, before he could respond, Tam said, His ship is slowing down. I think we must be within range of the anomaly. Is that right, Lanham?

      Lanham sauntered over to them and took a seat, clearly enjoying being the centre of attention. Please, sit down everybody. No need to stand on my account.

      Broome spoke up from the doorway. Stop being a smart aleck and get to the point. Prad saw the upload's eyes flick towards the robot and the quick look of resentment that flared its nostrils. Broome was clearly the only one of them that Lanham respected in the slightest.

      Lanham smiled and inclined his head in deference. Since you ask so nicely. As your superior has surmised–

      Yours too, said Tam. While you're aboard this ship, you take orders from me and I expect you to follow the normal etiquette and deportment of a member of my crew.

      Lanham opened his mouth to speak but closed it again, apparently having thought better of whatever amusing comment he had intended to make. Of course, Captain. As I was saying, you were right, we are in range of the anomaly. My other half is ready to make the attempt to disable it.

      Tarken walked into the room at that point, looking as if he'd just woken up and was in search of a cup of kiff. He stopped dead when he saw Lanham sitting at the table. Oh great, you're back.

      Lanham beamed at him. "And so are you. I see you've managed not to blow up any of your new friends while I was away. Have you also managed to keep your hands off The Magic Bus? Has anyone checked the cargo hold lately? Perhaps we should count the knives and forks?"

      Tarken, shaking his head in disdain, picked up a cup of kiff from the dispenser and took a seat next to Berenetta. Prad and Tam also sat at the table.

      You were saying? Tam said to the grinning upload.

      Lanham shrugged. That's it. I was just letting you know. As a courtesy, you understand. The last time someone tried to interfere with the anomaly, it almost killed you. I thought you might like to… He shrugged again. Oh, I don't know, say goodbye to your pretty wife, or hide under a chair, or something. Just in case.

      What are you going to do? asked Berenetta. Prad turned to look at her. She was leaning forward, deeply interested in the answer. Prad had not given a moment's thought to what science or technology the upload might use to destroy the anomaly. She wouldn't have understood if he'd told her. Infra-reality was a kind of physics beyond anything she knew about – and even the physics she knew about, she struggled with. But, of course, Berenetta might actually understand what Lanham was about to attempt. She had been closeted in her cabin for most of these past six months working obsessively with the ship's data stores – a vast library of alien knowledge on the subject. No other human alive understood the new physics the way she did.

      Don't worry your pretty little head about it, my dear.

      Prad saw Berenetta's face fall. The girl pulled back and sat upright, looking at the table. It's all right, Berry, Prad said. That's just his way of saying he can't explain it. Isn't that right, Lanham? You've cobbled something together but you don't really have a clue how any of it works.

      The upload laughed. You really think your pathetic attempt to goad me will make me try to justify myself? I may look human but you should try to keep it in mind that I'm far superior in every way to a creature of flesh and blood.

      Prad was really beginning to dislike this creature. It occurred to her to be grateful he'd switched himself off for the previous six months. Ah, but who are you, exactly? she asked. The you in front of us now has approximately human-level intelligence, so I'm told. The you over on the K'Ha spaceship might have a bigger computer to run on – although I've seen no evidence yet that it makes him any smarter. But neither of you have the resources of Placid Point any more, not since Elvira blew it up. So I'm thinking that, however much some version of you once knew, all we have to work with here is a barely-functioning stunted, partial copy. Am I right?

      In reply, Lanham folded his arms, pursed his lips and scowled at her. In the corner of her eye, she could see that Berenetta, although still staring at the table, was grinning.

      Lanham affected a heavy sigh. If you must know, I'm going to create a giant black hole around the anomaly.

      How can you do that? Tam asked. Where will all the mass come from?

      Lanham waved a hand dismissively. Mass is just a field effect. With enough hope, you can create as much as you like. It took Prad a moment to parse the sentence, remembering that hope and faith were technical terms in the new physics.

      What good would that do? Tam asked. Even I know the anomaly isn't quite real. It isn't affected by physical forces.

      Lanham did another of his heavy sighs and shook his head.

      It's time he's trying to manipulate, Berenetta said, speaking to Tam but looking at Lanham again. Something of her earlier excitement had returned. A dense gravitational field slows time. An infinitely dense one – like a black hole – stops time completely. If you made it big enough to completely surround the anomaly–

      I thought about ten solar masses, just to be on the safe side.

      Berenetta blinked in silence for a moment. Weakly, she said, Yes, that should be enough.

      But why would gravity affect the anomaly? Tam wanted to know, addressing his question to Berenetta. Even if he generates a million solar masses, you said it exists outside our reality. We can't touch it.

      No, we can't. That's right. But its effects are very much within our reality. The black hole won't stop the anomaly but it will stop time all around it.

      Prad was still absorbing that when Tarken said, So why won't they just move it somewhere away from the black hole? Seems like a temporary fix at best.

      Again Lanham made a show of his exasperation. Prad saw Tarken's fist clench but Berenetta jumped in to avert the explosion. It's the same reason the anomaly will no longer affect space around it. They won't be able to get a signal in to the device to tell it to move. Because the time dilation grows progressively stronger as the signal gets closer to the singularity, it will take infinite time to arrive there.

      Berenetta began to say more but Tam interrupted her.

      The point is, this will work, right?

      He was asking Lanham and the upload responded with a shrug and a grin. It should, unless the anomaly's builders anticipated this and gave it the brains to move itself if a black hole formed nearby.

      OK. It's worth a try. Let's do it.

      Missile away, Lanham said.

      Confirmed, said Broome. "The Phenomenon of Man just launched a missile towards the anomaly. Impact in four days."

      Four days! You're being a bit cautious aren't you, Lanham?

      Lanham's ship just performed a flip and fire manoeuvre, Captain, Broome said.

      Match it!

      At the risk of getting another eye-rolling performance from Lanham, Tarken said. What's a flip and fire manoeuvre?

      Maximum braking, Prad told him, seeing Lanham's grin in the corner of her eye. You flip the ship so that the main engines are pointing in the direction of travel and then give it full burn.

      Tam was looking agitated. Damn it, Broome, I can't do the calculations fast enough. How long before we come to a stop and then accelerate up to a speed where we can use the IR drive?

      About two days, Captain.

      Prad was amazed. That soon?

      "The Canta Libre has excellent inertial dampening. We can change speed at rates far higher than you are used to."

      Again it was up to Tarken to ask the obvious, stupid question. But why do we need to do all that? We've already got plenty of speed. Just use the IR drive now and skip past the anomaly. Prad and Berenetta both opened their mouths to answer but Tarken raised a hand to forestall them. It's OK, I just worked it out. He glared at Lanham. If we shoot past Loner's Deep, we'll be stuck out there on our own, with no way to navigate through the mess of fractures all around us. So this was what, your plan to maroon us while you make your getaway?

      Prad could hear the manoeuvring thrusters firing but felt no hint of the one-eighty degree flip the ship must be making. If we're putting a black hole out there, Loner's Deep and all the other planets around its star – hell, even the star itself – will be sucked in. There were people on Loner's Deep, weren't there? Farmers and miners? Not many. Shouldn't we try to save some of them?

      Your compassion is admirable, Lanham said. Stupid, but admirable. Also, about fifteen years too late. Every planet in that system was reduced to rubble by the anomaly long ago. Your sensors are primitive compared to mine. Trust me, there's nothing alive out there any more. And there's enough metal and plastic debris among the rubble to suggest scores of spaceships were destroyed along with the native population.

      What about the rest of the Sphere of Light? Tam asked. And its neighbours? What about Arl and the Republic?

      The Republic? Prad didn't see it at first but then it hit her. Ten solar masses. Even out here on the edge of human space, a mass that size would have an effect on the surrounding stars. Everything would shift, all the nearby stars would move towards the black hole, all their neighbours would shift too. Eventually all the stars in the neighbourhood would settle into new positions as they found a new equilibrium.

      It's all right, Broome said. The gravitational field from the new black hole will spread at the speed of light, the enormous inertia of the surrounding stars and planets will mean they react extremely slowly. Also, the inverse square law means the effect will be very weak before it reaches any stars with significant populations. The Sphere may experience some disruption – although nothing like the catastrophes that have already befallen it – but the Republic and the Federation will barely notice it. Some minor adjustments to navigational databases over the next few centuries, slightly shorter interstellar journeys in this direction, that sort of thing.

      And the black hole, asked Prad. Won't that shift its position too? Won't that expose the anomaly to normal time again?

      Don't worry about it, Lanham said. The anomaly may only be barely here in our universe but there's enough of it that the black hole won't let it go. IR effects don't just spring out of nothing, you know. Something has to be there to cause them, something the anomaly's builders steered or dragged into position off Loner's Deep, something that will be sucked into the singularity like everything else that goes near it.

      Prad didn't understand. Berry had told her they were unable to detect anything solid in the anomaly. She was about to ask how that could be but the ship cut in the moment Lanham stopped speaking.

      All crew to acceleration couches. Main engines will fire in two minutes.

      What about the fancy inertial dampening? Tarken complained, but he stood up to go just like everyone else.

      Broome answered. Lanham's ship is now decelerating at a rate well beyond what our inertial dampeners can handle. If we are to stay with it, there will be a small excess G-force.

      How small? Tam asked.

      About four G.

      Four? Tarken burst out. How long can we survive that?

      Certainly not for two days, Tam said. Ship, do not exceed two Gs. Broome, keep watching Lanham's ship for as long as you can. Make sure we know every manoeuvre it makes. Lanham, what the hell are you doing?

      Lanham leaned back in his seat, perfectly relaxed. I'm just doing what it takes to get my ship as far away from that black hole as possible before it starts up. You should take the same precaution and not worry about a little discomfort.

      Discomfort? Tam was getting angry. Prad was beginning to think he might want to stay there and argue and she might have to drag him off to their quarters and the acceleration couch.

      Captain, it was Broome, still there although the others had left. Let me handle this. You should get yourself – and Prad – to somewhere safe. You have ninety seconds. She saw Tam glance her way and then stalk out of the room. She hurried after him.

      Ship, she said, as they left. I want to hear the conversation in the rec room.

      Certainly, Commander.

      Commander? Did she just get a promotion? She'd have to talk to Tam about that later. Right then, Broome was saying, Cut your acceleration, Lanham.

      Or what, lickspittle?

      Or I will blow up your ship.

      Lanham laughed. Do you suppose I didn't find your explosives?

      I suppose you found the ones I wanted you to find, so that you'd become complacent and stop searching.

      Silence.

      You're bluffing.

      You cannot risk it.

      And you cannot risk blowing me up because then there would be no-one to guide you through all these spatial fractures. I wish you could see what a mess it is out there.

      Lanham, if you don't slow down, you'll be outside our sensor range in a day. At that point, it won't matter if you vanish now or then, we'll be just as stranded.

      Looks like a Mexican stand-off to me.

      I don't know what that is but I promise you I will blow up your ship in ten seconds if you do not comply.

      Prad reached the couch in her room and began strapping herself in. Neither Broom nor Lanham said anything. She asked her implants to display a timer and she watched it counting down as she fiddled with the unfamiliar fastenings.

      At two seconds, Lanham sighed and said, Very well. I won't go any faster than those pathetic meat bodies can handle.

      Prad wasn't sure she would rather Broome had blown up the other ship anyway and they'd taken their chances with the fractures. She felt the main engine kick in, pressing her flat against the couch. She thanked the Rider it was only two Gs and not four!

      Chapter 2

      We must stop them, Linyin said. She watched the long range sensor with a fluttering heart. The two ships had fired a missile at the thumper and were decelerating fast. From the colour of the missile's track, she knew it was armed with a powerful IR effect generator. What it might be going to do was impossible to know. They're not supposed to be able to destroy it. What if they can? It's barely begun to wipe them out, yet. It needs more time.

      Wangshu closed her eyes and sighed. Those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything, she said.

      What's that supposed to mean?

      It means, if you were any more predictable, we could replace you with a pulsar.

      Linyin pouted but did not take her eyes off the display. We've got four days before it arrives. We should do something.

      Wangshu rolled her eyes. Very well, let's chase after it and shoot it down.

      Linyin's head snapped up. What? Chase it? I only meant–

      You only meant what? That you like to hear the sound of your own bleating? Wangshu got up from her recliner and walked over to Linyin. We both know we're not going to do anything that might give our position away. Sitting here quietly, we're cloaked and safe, but the instant we start our engines, they'll see us. Then they'll come, for sure. They'll hunt us. They might even shoot at us.

      Linyin shuddered at the thought. Sulkily, she said, Omega Point wasn't supposed to take an interest. They never have in all these thousands of years. You were quite confident, I recall, when you presented your mission plan to the Council. And now they've sent two ships and fired a missile. She saw Wangshu scowl, not liking to be reminded of her exposure.

      There was always a small probability that Omega Point would respond.

      Small? 'Infinitesimal' was how you described it.

      Based on your research! Something strange is going on. Linyin was pleased to hear the irritation in her colleague's voice. They blew up their own station! Why would they do that? It doesn't make sense.

      But we're safe here, aren't we? The idea that the Old Enemy might chase after them and try to hurt them had unsettled her.

      How would I know?

      Because you study these things. You understand them. The thumper was your design. You know about weapons and defences and all that. So, tell me, are we safe?

      Wangshu turned away, perhaps to hide her own anxiety. Of course we're safe… from anything we know about. But this is Omega Point. They could have tricks we don't know about.

      Linyin hated the idea of unknown dangers. I should have watched them more carefully, learned more about them. She shut her mouth, eyeing Wangshu warily. Watching and understanding the Old Enemy had been her job. For a thousand years, she had headed the group that studied them. Linyin herself had set the parameters for the attack almost two hundred years ago. As soon as the people of Human Space began experimenting with faster-than-light travel, the Council had agreed, they must be ruthlessly crushed. If they were ever to be allowed to develop a working knowledge of infra-reality, the danger they posed would be intolerable. They had to be destroyed well before that happened.

      Wangshu was grinning. The Council won't be happy when they learn of how badly you messed up.

      It was unpredictable! You just said so yourself. Omega Point should not have interfered.

      Well, maybe we should destroy them, too. Oh wait, we can't. They've already destroyed themselves.

      For a moment, Linyin had to fight the urge to immerse herself in her psychosocial models of Human Space, to look for the error, to build her defence. Wangshu was right. The Council would not be happy. But she knew her models were as good as she could make them. And they had worked perfectly, predicting precisely how the different human polities would react, which would ally themselves with which, which would send fleets of warships, which would hold back, which would flee… Everything had happened just as she knew it would, until Omega Point had blown up and those two IR-powered ships had flown out and attacked the thumper.

      We should go back, she said, a reluctant admission of defeat. We should seek guidance from the Council.

      Let's at least wait until their missile hits its target, to see whether their counterstrike works. The thumper is heavily shielded. They may have underestimated its resilience. In Wangshu's voice, Linyin could hear the woman's own reluctance to admit failure.

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