The Summer Queen (132 page)

He turned in his seat, to see the others gathered around him
in silent incomprehension.

“What did you do?” Dawntreader asked.

Reede let his smile spread. “I released a computer virus I designed
into the citadel’s central operating system. Soon everything will start to slow
down. In a matter of hours the entire citadel will be completely defenseless.
When the rest of Tuo Ne’el discovers that, they’ll do to this place what the
Source did to Humbaba.” He saw Niburu and Ananke start. “That might give us the
chance we need to get clear. At least it’ll take us all out together, cleanly,
if we don’t make it .... Either way, it’s for the best. And it’s already done,”
he finished, ending their protests before they could begin.

“Thank you, Gundhalinu-eshkrad ....”He leaned against the
desktop, his finger caressing the touchboard like a lover’s skin. “One night,”
he murmured, “when we were back on Four, Gundhalinu walked out through that
research complex’s security system with a container of stardrive, like he was
taking out the garbage. The system would let him do anything, because he’d
programmed it himself. The man is a fucking genius, and he doesn’t even know
it. And you know why? It’s not because he’s brilliant—he’s smart enough, but
his real strength is that he’s got common sense. He sees the point of things.
The parallax view, the practical application; when to push, and when to pull
back ... the human fuckup factor. Gods, I envied him that night; I wanted to
have his mind, instead of mine—” He broke off, glancing down. “I’ve been trying
to think like that ever since. It’s not generally something I’m good at.”

“Neither am I,” Dawntreader murmured. “Maybe that’s why I’m
here, and he’s with my wife.”

Reede looked up at him. “And you still trust him to take
care of us if we get back there?”

Dawntreader sighed. “Completely,” he said.

“You know him that well?” Reede asked, skeptical.

Dawntreader looked at Ariele, squeezed her shoulder gently,
before he looked back at Reede. “I don’t know him at all,” he said. “I don’t
want to.”

Reede nodded, and glanced away. “Tell me, did you really
have data for me about the mers?”

Dawntreader looked surprised by the change of subject, but
he nodded. “I thought it would be a good idea, in case anybody asked for proof.”

“You brought your work on mersong and fugue theory,” Reede
said, and knew from Dawntreader’s face that he was right. “That took real
vision. You have a gift, Dawntreader.”

Sparks frowned, ignoring the compliment. “How did you get
that? I didn’t give you that.”

Reede smiled. “I knew you were at least smart enough that
you wouldn’t trust the Source completely when he ordered you to give us your
data. So I raided your files. That’s something Gundhalinu taught me too ... if
you want it done right, you have to do it yourself.” He laughed humorlessly,
glancing at the terminal. “He showed me that if you control the system, you become
a god. Well, I’m the Render now, I’m the God of Death—” He wove his fingers
together, and squeezed.

“You’ve had that all along?” Niburu asked, in something like
disbelief. “You could have used it?”

“No ....”Reede shook his head. “It took a long time to learn
the system, find its weaknesses, perfect my approach .... I had to find the
perfect moment for my revenge. And now it’s here.” He got up from his seat,
moving restlessly past them. They stepped out of his way, as if they saw
something in his eyes, as if they believed in his godhood, his powers of
destruction.

He went to the system that contained his work on the water
of life, the sample he had been going through the motions with since before his
last meeting with Gundhalinu. He toyed with the structure of the
three-dimensional data model he called up into the screen. He altered it
slightly, here and there; implementing the changes that he had tried over and
over in his mind, frustrated by their perversity until his conversation with
Gundhalinu had given him his sudden, terrible insight. He finished his
alterations; ordered the system to copy them and produce a sample.

The others waited uncertainly as he retrieved the
maintenance doses of the water of death already waiting in one of the sealed
cabinets. The Source had been unusually prompt in releasing his supply while he
had been recuperating from his ordeal.

He handed the combined dose to Dawntreader, explaining
tersely about what il was. “Don’t lose this, for gods’ sakes, whatever you do.”
Dawntreader nodded, putting the small container into his belt pouch.

“All right,” Reede said. “Niburu, I want you to take
everybody on a little tour of the citadel. Lose yourselves.” Niburu stared at
him. “End up back near the entrance to the docking bays, and wait. Wait for the
confusion to start, and pick your moment to ride it. I’ll meet you there.”

“What the hell are you going to be doing?” Niburu demanded.

Reede looked away. “I have unfinished business .... I have
something the Source wants. I’m going to let him have it.”

“Reede, no—” Ariele said, pulling away from Dawntreader and
coming to his side.

“Boss, you can’t—” Niburu protested.

“By the Lady and all the gods!” Dawntreader said. “If you’ve
really set this entire citadel up to be destroyed, you’ll get all the revenge
you need against the Source, for whatever he’s done to you. That’s enough.”

“No,” Reede whispered. “It isn’t enough.” He jerked his head
toward the way out. “You think they won’t check up on your unexpected arrival,
Dawntreader? You think they’re not asking a lot of questions about you right
now? Jaakola’s not stupid—he knows who you are. I’ve got to give him something
else to think about for the next couple of hours, or we’ll never make it out of
here alive. I said I’ll meet you later. Get out.” He took a step toward them,
and they retreated—all of them except Ariele. Dawntreader took hold of her
arms, gently but firmly, and forced her away from him. She followed her father
out, looking back over her shoulder as he led her away. Reede saw fear for him
in her eyes—and, suddenly, a red hunger for vengeance that matched his own.

“The LB’s in Docking Bay Three, boss. On the lower level,”
Niburu called. “Just in case you’re late—”

“Hurry—” Ariele cried.

He nodded, watching her go, watching them disappear one by
one through the doorway and back into the outer world. He listened until they
were gone. And then, moving as if there were all the time in the world, he sent
a message to the Source to expect him soon. “Tell him I have what he wants,” he
said, and cut contact.

He went back, alone, through the echoing lab to check the displays
on the molecular cookers. He settled onto a stool, sat motionless watching the
progress of his program. At last the screen went blank, replacing its run of
data sequences with two luminous words: sequence completed. Reede smiled. He
got up again, and went to the place where his weapon waited for him. He picked
up the clear vial, studying its contents—the heavy, silver fluid that moved
like memory within its walls.

He took the vial and left the lab, made his way through the
sprawling citadel complex, observing its workings, its inhabitants, its
perfect, hermetic universe with an odd detachment. He noticed with satisfaction
the unusual number of cursing, confused workers of all kinds who were suddenly
having difficulties with their operating systems.

It took him longer to reach his destination than he had expected,
because he was delayed for nearly half an hour when a shuttle was unexpectedly
rerouted. His satisfaction at the error was tinged with unease by the time he
finally arrived at the outer perimeter of the Source’s private sector and
requested his audience with the Master. The virus seemed to be spreading
through the system even faster than he had anticipated. He prayed the others
would be watching the signs, or they’d never time their return to the docks
right. He had to trust them to play their part; just as they had to trust him
to do this ....

Reede forced himself to stop looking everywhere, stop twitching,
frowning, tapping his foot as the guard cursed and repeated his unanswered
request for a fourth time, and then a fifth. A desperate voice inside of him
tried to tell him that what he was doing was insane; that he was taking an
insane risk coming here. But he had to do this, he had to keep the Source
looking only at him, thinking about him, or the others would never escape. He
would only get out of here alive if they did. He needed to do this .... He had
to trust himself.

“Goddammit—” the guard said.

The Source’s voice answered them abruptly, a shower of words
falling out of the air, completely unintelligible.

The guard looked up, frowning. “What did he say—?”

“He said, ‘Come on up,’” Reede snapped. He pushed through
the yielding barrier of the security shieldwall, and when it did not stop him,
the guard didn’t either. “Go on,” the guard said, resigned. “You know the way.”

He knew the way. The lift took a very long time getting
there. He thought about how often, since his first, forced, visit to the
Source, he had had nightmares of being trapped in one of these fucking things.
Almost as often as he had dreamed about drowning ....

The lift let him out at last, in the deceptively ordinary
reception area before the unmarked doors that opened on darkness. He glanced at
his watch, checking the time again as he crossed the open space. He had to make
this take long enough, just long enough .... The guards, human and electronic,
let him pass without comment; the doors welcomed him.

Reede stopped just inside, as the doors sealed shut behind
him; feeling his heart miss a beat. His sweating hands tightened around the
precious vial of silver fluid. / am the god of death .... “Master,” he said,
straining in the blackness for an almost undetectable glimmer of red. “I have
it.”

“Kullervo,” the Source’s voice whispered, perfectly clear to
him now. Yes. He saw it now, the faint glow of ember-light. “The water of life?
Bring it to me. Bring it here ....”

He started forward, shuffling his feet, moving cautiously despite
the eagerness in the Source’s voice. He reached the seat in which he was always
forced to sit, finding it abruptly in the darkness. He began to grope his way
around it.

“Come here,” the Source said. “Come closer. Give it to me—”

Reede obeyed, moving like a man working his way through a
minefield as he approached the dim, indefinable silhouette. He had never been
permitted to approach this closely before. For all he knew, this could be
another illusion, another projection—for all he knew, he could be here alone.
But he thought not.

He collided with the impenetrable edge of something that
abruptly stopped his forward momentum. He fumbled in front of him with his
hands, finding a flat, cold surface that stung the hypersensitive skin of his
fingers. “Here it is, Master.” He set the vial down on it, working by touch,
and began to back away.

“Stop,” the Source said. “Come forward again.”

Reede unlocked his muscles and moved forward again, until he
encountered the hard edge of the obstacle between them. He folded his fingers
over the edge, clung to it, grateful that it was still there, separating them.

A sudden beam of blue-violet light struck him, falling on
him from above, bathing him in blinding brilliance. He shut his eyes against
the glare, his shirt fluorescing like a strange flower in the darkness. For
you, Mundilfoere .... He let his hands drop to his sides, letting her memory
form a sublime and exalted space within him, an adhani of perfect calm in which
he endured whatever perverse scrutiny was being inflicted on his body and his soul.
The light went out again, abruptly. He waited, motionless.

“So, you’ve actually done it ...” the Source whispered. “You’ve
synthesized a form of the water of life which we can reproduce, and sell—”

“Yes. Master.”

“You told Gundhalinu it was impossible.”

“I said I lied about that.”

“But you wouldn’t lie to me,” the Source whispered. “Would
you—?”

“No, Master,” he said.

“You told me it would take a long time to find the answer.
But you’ve found it already?”

“I had a lot of time to think, while I was recovering.”
Somehow he kept the words uninflected.

“I’m sure you did. I hope you have given a lot of thought to
humility, and futility.”

“Yes, Master.”

“And if I take this, I will find it to be as good as the
original.”

“Better,” Reede said softly. “It’s better.”

There was a moment of silence. “In what way?” the Source
asked.

“It’s stable. Just what you asked for. I found a way to
extend its life outside of the mer’s body. Makes it easier to produce, and
ship, and sell—”

A beam of blinding light struck the invisible surface in
front of him like a sword, focused on the vial he had set there. He shut his
eyes again against the brilliance; he could see its line of brightness through
his closed lids.

And then, as suddenly, there was only darkness again. He
opened his dazzled eyes, blinking uselessly.

“Well?” the Source demanded suddenly, his voice disintegrating
with impatience. “What is it?”

“What—?” Reede broke off, as he realized the Source was not
speaking to him now, but instead demanding an answer from the hidden data
system that had just run an analysis on the contents of his vial.

He heard a sudden rustling in the darkness, as if something
had moved abruptly, and a guttural noise that might have been a curse. He
waited; invisible, implacable.

“Congratulations, Reede ...” the Source’s voice murmured at
last. “Or should 1 congratulate Vanamoinen? It is what you say it is ...
perfect. Better than before. You truly are a genius—” Something in his voice
made Reede freeze with the sudden fear that his usefulness had ended, and he
was about to die. But the Source chuckled unexpectedly, and muttered, “Who
knows what new worlds you will conquer for me?”