Read Online Juggler of Worlds by Larry Niven and Edward M. Lerner - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Larry Niven and Edward M. Lerner
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And to all their employees, of course. Then to clothing stores, restaurants, realtors, utilities…
Soon enough, the pain would spread worlds wide.
In a sudden cascade, the 3-V murmurings blended into a louder and louder roar: news bots tuning in a breaking story. Sigmund had yet to download his preferences to the new office comp. He stuck his head into the hall. He couldn’t quite place the voice on the newscast.
“Come in, Ausfaller,” a neighbor said. She was a petite Eurasian woman with too many facial piercings and a fondness for blue.
Samantha? Selena? Sangeeta? Sigmund had met two dozen people that morning. At this point, he couldn’t remember anyone’s name. He nodded.
Some astronomical phenomenon occupied the holo. A nebula perhaps, but painfully bright and speckled with black.
“Will you look at those radiation readings,” Sangeeta(?) said. “It’s like the inside of a solar flare, and the ship is still thousands of light-years away from it. And listen to the cabin ventilation fans whine.”
Away from it. Away from what? Sigmund wondered. The voice he couldn’t quite place continued. “… Chain reaction of supernova events, long ago. Those dark motes are stars. They look black because they block the much hotter and brighter light streaming from behind.”
The corner logo read, in an ornate logo, JBC. The Jinx Broadcasting Company. Sigmund knew it well, long tracked by hyperwave. Was this a science show? An educational simulation? Why would something like that trigger significance filters here in ARM HQ?
“We’re fortunate to live a good twenty thousand light-years away. We wouldn’t even know, except for this truly amazing vessel.” A GP #4 hull replaced the glowing patch. At this small scale, machinery filled every bit of the transparent hull. “It embodies an experimental Puppeteer hyperdrive, capable of nearly a light-year every minute. I’ve returned the ship and made my report to General Products, my employers. Now I’m free to tell all of you.”
A light-year per minute! Sigmund was trying to grasp
that
when the crawler restarted at the bottom of the holo. The crawler began, “Galactic core explosion revealed!”
The galactic core had exploded?
Twenty thousand light-years. Had the Puppeteers fled a danger at least twenty thousand years into the future? And the JBC exclusive… why the connection with Jinx?
The crawler inched along. “Only on JBC! Coming next: our exclusiveinterview with the pilot.” The holo cut to the pilot, the man whose voice was so familiar. His face was, too: a lean, pointy-chinned albino.
Sigmund shook with fear. Puppeteers. Jinx. And now—
The pilot was Beowulf Shaeffer.
Flee from danger. Gather for protection.
Pawing the floor, Nessus struggled to defy eons of instinct. In the days since the report of the core explosion, Citizens had evacuated Earth, as they had evacuated every other GP outpost. They sped, as fast as the escape vessels could carry them, to Hearth. There to flee again.…
Here on Earth
he
must remain, unable to gather or flee.
Nessus hid in one anonymous ship among hundreds on the tarmac at Outback Spaceport. Prying eyes could not see him through the paint that coated the interior of the impregnable hull. The air-lock hatch was fake, bonded to a seamless hull. Access was possible only by transfer booth—and then only if he chose to reconnect the booth to power. His fuel tanks held tritium and deuterium to capacity. Anyone calling would reach only the liveried butler persona to which his uncustomized human comm system defaulted. Given reserves, recycling, and synthesizers, he had air, water, and food more or less indefinitely.
Duty required him to stay. Logic called him safe.
Instinct demanded that he launch immediately and rejoin the herd, and if returning was impossible, to roll himself into a tight little ball of denial.
Instinct be damned. With a shudder of defiance, Nessus placed a call.
THE WAR ROOM HUMMED. Sigmund got
Soon enough, the pain would spread worlds wide.
In a sudden cascade, the 3-V murmurings blended into a louder and louder roar: news bots tuning in a breaking story. Sigmund had yet to download his preferences to the new office comp. He stuck his head into the hall. He couldn’t quite place the voice on the newscast.
“Come in, Ausfaller,” a neighbor said. She was a petite Eurasian woman with too many facial piercings and a fondness for blue.
Samantha? Selena? Sangeeta? Sigmund had met two dozen people that morning. At this point, he couldn’t remember anyone’s name. He nodded.
Some astronomical phenomenon occupied the holo. A nebula perhaps, but painfully bright and speckled with black.
“Will you look at those radiation readings,” Sangeeta(?) said. “It’s like the inside of a solar flare, and the ship is still thousands of light-years away from it. And listen to the cabin ventilation fans whine.”
Away from it. Away from what? Sigmund wondered. The voice he couldn’t quite place continued. “… Chain reaction of supernova events, long ago. Those dark motes are stars. They look black because they block the much hotter and brighter light streaming from behind.”
The corner logo read, in an ornate logo, JBC. The Jinx Broadcasting Company. Sigmund knew it well, long tracked by hyperwave. Was this a science show? An educational simulation? Why would something like that trigger significance filters here in ARM HQ?
“We’re fortunate to live a good twenty thousand light-years away. We wouldn’t even know, except for this truly amazing vessel.” A GP #4 hull replaced the glowing patch. At this small scale, machinery filled every bit of the transparent hull. “It embodies an experimental Puppeteer hyperdrive, capable of nearly a light-year every minute. I’ve returned the ship and made my report to General Products, my employers. Now I’m free to tell all of you.”
A light-year per minute! Sigmund was trying to grasp
that
when the crawler restarted at the bottom of the holo. The crawler began, “Galactic core explosion revealed!”
The galactic core had exploded?
Twenty thousand light-years. Had the Puppeteers fled a danger at least twenty thousand years into the future? And the JBC exclusive… why the connection with Jinx?
The crawler inched along. “Only on JBC! Coming next: our exclusiveinterview with the pilot.” The holo cut to the pilot, the man whose voice was so familiar. His face was, too: a lean, pointy-chinned albino.
Sigmund shook with fear. Puppeteers. Jinx. And now—
The pilot was Beowulf Shaeffer.
Flee from danger. Gather for protection.
Pawing the floor, Nessus struggled to defy eons of instinct. In the days since the report of the core explosion, Citizens had evacuated Earth, as they had evacuated every other GP outpost. They sped, as fast as the escape vessels could carry them, to Hearth. There to flee again.…
Here on Earth
he
must remain, unable to gather or flee.
Nessus hid in one anonymous ship among hundreds on the tarmac at Outback Spaceport. Prying eyes could not see him through the paint that coated the interior of the impregnable hull. The air-lock hatch was fake, bonded to a seamless hull. Access was possible only by transfer booth—and then only if he chose to reconnect the booth to power. His fuel tanks held tritium and deuterium to capacity. Anyone calling would reach only the liveried butler persona to which his uncustomized human comm system defaulted. Given reserves, recycling, and synthesizers, he had air, water, and food more or less indefinitely.
Duty required him to stay. Logic called him safe.
Instinct demanded that he launch immediately and rejoin the herd, and if returning was impossible, to roll himself into a tight little ball of denial.
Instinct be damned. With a shudder of defiance, Nessus placed a call.
THE WAR ROOM HUMMED. Sigmund got
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