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“Unless it’s willing to catch us,” Paul said. “Maybe it’s counted the odds and doesn’t like three of us at once. I’llgo forward. Maybe that will interest it.”
“You can bet it will,” Jillan said, and caught his arm. She was strong; strong as he: that was the law of this place; and he was going nowhere, not against her, not by any means against the two of them. Rafe stepped in his way and faced that distant light in his stead.
“You!”Rafe yelled at it. “Lost your nerve? Never had it in the first place?”
“That’s one way,” Paul said. “Let me tell you about that thing. It knows it’s a coward. It lives with that real well. It knows all kinds of things about itself. That’s its strength.”
“You’re wrong,” Jillan said. “If it’s you it’s not a coward.”
“Let’s say it’s prudent,” he said. “Let’s say—it knows how to survive. If we split up—it’ll go for one of us. Me, I’m betting.”
“Me,” said Jillan. “I’m the one it doesn’t have.”
“It’s scared of you,” Paul said with a dangerous twinge of shame. “I really think it is.”
“What’s thatmean?” Jillan asked.
“That. Just that. It is. Keep pressing at it.” He walked farther with them. The light they pursued grew no brighter.
“Ever occur to you,” Jillan asked then, “that we’re being lured—ourselves?”
“Where’s Kepta?”Rafe demanded of the uncounseling dark, the void about them. “Dammit, where is he? He could be more help. What’s he expect of us?”
“Kepta’s saving his own precious behind,” Jillan said. “We’re the delaying action. Don’t you figure that?”
But they kept walking, kept trying, together, since he could not persuade them otherwise. “Think of something,” Paul said. “That’s mewe’re chasing. It knows every move I’d make. Think of something to surprise it.”
“It knows us,” Jillan said, a low enthusiastic voice. “Too bloody well. It’s not taking the bait.”
“Kepta?” Rafe Two asked, facing Jillan’s shape that strode toward him; but even while he asked it he kept backing up until he was within Lindy’s limits, until he had Rafe beside him, and true-Jillan and Paul Three. There was something very wrong with that Jillan-shape, something very much different from Kepta in its silence, the curious unsteadiness of its walking.
“Kepta?” Rafe himself asked it, at his side, half-merged with him.
“Maranduuuu,” it said, this puppetlike Jillan-shape, “Marandu,I—”
“Stay back from us.” Rafe Two held out a forbidding hand, making himself the barrier, remembering in a cold sweat that it could touch him, if not the original, that he could grapple with it if he had to—but he had wrestled Jillan-shape before when it was Kepta and he knew his chances against that strength. “Keep your distance. Jillan, Paul, get Rafe back. Get him back!”
“Safe,” it said. Its hands were before it, a humanlike gesture that turned into one chillingly not, that tuck of both hands, against Jillan’s naked breasts, like the paws of some animal. One hand gestured limply. “Safe. Kepta sent—” Eyes blinked, as if it were sorting rapidly. “Me,”it decided. “Me. Marandu. To defend you.”
“Do your defending from there,” Rafe Two said, hand still held out, as if that could stop it.
</> invaded another center of the ship, dislodging a few of the simpler passengers, who wept; and one complex, ||||, who sent out a strong warning pulse.
</> did not counter this, or attack. The entity was not capable of aggression, but of painful defense. </> offered |||| choices. In time |||| redefined the necessities of ||||’s situation and wandered away.
That was the first layer of <>’s defense about the replication apparatus. It went altogether too quickly, tempting </> to imprudent advance on the chiefest prize: the i
So </> guessed where <> had centered <>self: </> would have done so. <> was there, wound about the replication apparatus and possessing every template there was. It was necessary to advance against that center sooner than </> had intended, and </> knew raw terror, approaching this place.
There were doomsday actions that <> could take.
“</> advise <> against such measures,” </> said from a safe, distance to the core. “They are ultimately destructive. Surplus copies of——” (</> used a pronoun collective of the ship and passengers) “would complicate matters. Get out of there. Give up. </> promise </> will replicate <> when </> have won the ship, when things are secure.”
And in <>’s infuriating silence:
“<>,” </> said, “have </> not always kept the promises </> make?”
“Are not </> one that <> kept?” came the answer, faint and deceptively far away. “<> regenerated </> in our last such impasse. <> did as <> said. Give up,” <> added, a hubris that astonished </>, “and <> will show </> this mercy one more time. The struggle is inconclusive again. There is,” <> added further, “always another time.”
</> laughed in outrage. “</> will amalgamate these newcomers with <> when </> copy <>, since <> are so defensive of them. </> will add <^> and lump all </>y enemies together.”
“Do this,” <> whispered, no louder than the whisper of the stars against the ship-sensors, loud as the universe, “do this and regret it infinitely. Reciprocation, </>. Remember that. </> don’t have the keys <> have. </> always have to resurrect <>. <>’ve changed the keys; <>’ve been doing it all through <>y waking. <> learned—from </>ur old trick.”
This was likely truth. <> was fully capable of altering the ship. But </> disdained the warnings and pressed forward, urging </>’s other parts to advance as well.
Paul/Rafe was one. He was afraid, in aggregate. He trembled, constantly keeping his enemy in sight, but constantly assailed with doubts.
He was in space, the, stars about him, nothing for reference.
He looked about forLindy , but there was nothing there.
So Rafe-mind fought him still, deep within his structure, having saved back some shred of itself for this. It fed Paul self-doubts.
Fargone station’s deepest ways, and it was not Security after Rafe Murray this time; it was another kind of force.
No one freelance-smuggled with the likes ofIcarus , no one crossed the moneyed interests that ran what they liked past customs; and if they caught him, if they saw his face—
So Paul fought back, and drove Rafe-mind into shuddering retreat.
Rafe made a mistake, a wrong turn in docks he had known all his life; but a stack of canisters against the wall became a maze, became a dead end, and cut off his retreat.
“Got you, you bastard, “ said the first of the four that filled the aisle between the towering cans.
He did not defend himself. It was not wise to antagonize them further. He only flung up his hands and twisted to shield himself as best he could, let them beat him senseless in the hopes they would be content with that, private law privately enforced, the kind they might not want Fargone authority involved in.
They did a thorough job. They knew, from his lack of defense or outcry, that he would not be going to authorities to make complaint; that he had something to lose that way more than they could do to him. And in that frustration they took their time about it.
“Where’s the other one?” they asked him over and over, knowing they had chased two, but he had diverted them his way. He never answered them about Jillan, not a syllable.