Acts of Conscience (45 page)

Well. No.

Finally, I gave up, gave up with mingled anger and despair, went on back down the hatch, heading down the corridor to all those locked staterooms, determined to... I don’t know. Hell. Confront the issue somehow.

o0o

Silence, standing in a dim corridor lined with stateroom doors, standing motionless before the first such door, waiting to decide. Once again, that eerie feeling of the hair on the back of my neck, prickling, moving with a life of its own.

My father’s voice: Right? Wrong? Forget all that shit. Decide what’s best for
you
. Big, blunt workingman’s finger, poking me uselessly in the middle of the chest. If the AIs were here, they’d be urging me to turn and run. Turn away and save myself. Rule sieves tell them if you don’t want to get burned, stay out of the fire. Meanwhile, I could feel that invisible, odorless, impalpable miasma, reaching around the door, through the bulkhead, up my nose and into my soul. I reached out and touched the contact.

There was a long, still moment... curious technician awakening inside, reminding me this was an autoreflex door that should recognize my touch as owner and master and... well. Also keyed to the ship’s operating system. Which... knows.

I growled, “Open the door, God damn it.”

The door slid open.

Darkness within.

Nobody thought to leave a nightlight on for the poor dollies.

Shadows within.

Distant stirring.

Shadows turning toward the light from the door.

I stepped inside and let the door slide shut behind me. Darkness, for a moment, absolute. Then my eyes started to adapt, pick up the faint radiance coming from the wall panels, about what you’d get on a planetary surface, starlight coming in past the curtains.

There. Dark shadows marked by just the faintest glimmer of shining eyes, some of them sitting in the bunks, others huddled over in the corner. All of them looking at me, waiting.

I took a deep breath.

Nothing?

Gentle, sourceless voice, Idiot. Idiot... then I felt it get me, somewhere inside, a soft, insidious, seductive hand sliding over my skin, almost imperceptible, but... there.

Well, this is what you came for, buddy boy. Why not be about it? I could already feel the familiar beginnings of sexual arousal, arousal free of the unease that always comes with... real women. Arousal quickening the way it did with the one’s I didn’t have to... believe in.

One of the dollies got off the bunk and came padding softly over, looking up at me. My night vision was already switched on, irises relaxed, open to admit maximum light, letting me see her, it... little women. Like little women, nothing... animal about them at all.

Dollie looking up at me, eyes... I don’t know. Curious? Dog’s eyes always look curious, as if they’re trying to fathom... The dollie reached out and touched me, a soft touch, reaching up to touch my chest, drifting slowly downward, hovering for a moment over my crotch where, to my mingled joy and horror, things were... ready.

The dollie looked back over its shoulder, back at its comrades, whispered something. Dollie words beyond my kenning. Do I wish the Kapellmeister were here, able to tell me what they say? Or even the barrette, so the library AI could at least help me guess?

No.

A second dollie came forward, coming to stand by the other one, the two of them nearly alike in this almost darkness, twin cowgirls looking up at me, waiting for... something. The second dollie looked me right in the eye, held my gaze for a heartbeat, then spoke softly, unknown, unknowable words.

I imagine they mean,
What do you want
? The first dollie reached out a touched me again, briefly, right on the bulge humping up the front of my pants, sending a tingle of anticipation shooting right up my spine, some primitive thing within urging me, frantically, to get on with it.

What do I want?

Well... you know.

The dollies looked at one another, as if baffled. The first one reached up and fiddled with my belt buckle for a second, obviously... something. Knowing what was involved, not knowing quite how to work the mechanism, dollies evolved in a world where
mechanisms
were unknown.

A little voice in my head reminded me that these dollies had been in human captivity for some time now. So. Maybe they do know. Or maybe it’s just some Clever Hans effect, enhanced to a supernatural power by the dollies’ very real intelligence.

Whisper. Whisper. Dollies on the bunk whispering together.

Telling each other what?

No way for me to know.

I tried desperately to remember what it was like, being with real, human women. Memories of Lara and Jayanne, Garstang... Rua Mater’s hands on me perhaps the last real chance I would ever have to...

One of the dollies stepped forward, took me by the hand for a second, tugging gently.
What
? Cold, clear, crisp voice, my own voice, so rational inside my head, where no one else can hear it: The dollies know. Know what they’ve been saved from, by whom, for what, and why.

I unbuttoned my shirt while the dollies stood and watched, let the front hang open, lost my will for a moment and stood helpless. One of the dollies, I could no longer tell them apart, stepped forward, velvet hand stroking my skin, reaching up and feeling my chest. Beady little dark eyes looking up at me, glimmering in the faint light. Over in the corner, I could hear the other dollies whispering in unison now, chanting together.

I kicked off my shoes, unbuckled my belt, let my pants drop, stepped out of the crumpled pile of cloth. Dollies watching me, standing relaxed, waiting. Slipped out of my underwear. Stood still, nerves wound up, blood pressure at crescendo, ringing in my ears a high, clear note.

The first dollie stepped forward and took my nice hard prick in a velvety little hand, thrust the other one between my legs, gently palpating my scrotum, seeming to tug me forward, lead me to... I was astonished to see the other dollie already sprawled on the deck, legs spread, apparently ready for me.

The cool voice of reason: Imagine how much these things are worth, buddy boy. Intelligent. Pretty. Easily trained. Small and weak and cooperative as hell. Sexually compatible with human males in a way that human females are not, stuffed with arousing pheromones to boot. Just imagine.

I imagined myself a dollie, glad as hell no one was going to eat me for church supper when it was all done.

In the background, the dollies’ chanting was louder, clearer, sounding entirely too much like human words, the voices of little girls in the choir.

I pushed the dollie’s soft hands away, staggered and fell to my knees, gasping for breath, breathing in yet more odorless, chemically-laced air. The dollie at my side nuzzled my face and tried to kiss me. When I put my face on the floor, huddled like a child, I could feel its hands begin stroking my back, long, smooth, practiced strokes, all the way from nape to buttock.

I held still, while something inside me tried to will those hands to lengthen their stroke. Yes, just a little bit more and you’ll find me again, still hard, still ready, still willing, still able.

When I looked up, I could see the other dollie, no more than a meter away, splayed out just so, legs spread, waiting patiently, head lifted, looking at me curiously now.

Oh, hell. Just crawl over and get on top of her. It, I mean. What the hell
harm
can it do?

I took a deep breath. Sat back on my heels. Reached out and petted the dollie beside me gently, like it was some kind of cat.

Other dollies. Whisper. Whisper. Chant. Chant.
Our Father, Who Art in
...

I said, “Shut the fuck up, you God damned idiots!”

Silence.

Christ.

Stood up slowly, stiff prick bouncing like it was mounted on some kind of spring. Retrieved my shorts and put them on. Pants. Shirt. Shoes. Buttons and zipper and belt buckle.

The dollie that’d been waiting on the floor got up, came over to me, looking up with those empty black eyes, made a little sound in its throat, reached out and tugged briefly on my belt buckle.

Now there’s something you didn’t think of, asshole. Maybe the dollies
like
being fucked. Wouldn’t that sort of make a difference?

They say women like being fucked. But then they always have an ulterior motive, so you can’t really
know
. Even with the kind of communication technology we have now, you can’t really... physical, psychological, and social needs all tangled up together, so unlike the simple
need
of a man...

Cool voice of reason: Well now, the dollies will have an ulterior motive as well, won’t they? I imagined myself a dollie again, human prick thrusting away in my cloaca, thinking:
Humans are fucking me
.
No wolfen will eat me now
.

If the wolfen go extinct, the dollies will follow. They depend on the wolfen as part of their reproductive cycle. Do the dollies realize that?

The cool voice of reason took the time to point out it might not be so. The odds are very high a technogenic means of dollie reproduction can be devised. Christ, exogenic birth is common even among modern humans. Won’t be that hard to set the dollies up.

I imagined myself a dollie, worshiping humans forever. Trade a little sex play for
salvation
? Are you kidding? Who wouldn’t be willing to make such a bargain?

The dollie felt the front of my pants, small fingers searching out and molding the shape of my still-hard penis, all the while looking up at me, looking up into my eyes.

I reached down and smoothed the long, soft hair on its head. Nice, smooth hair, slightly oily, the movement of my fingers liberating a hint of the dollie’s sweet smell, commingled honeysuckle and root beer.

I said, “You know, pal, everybody I ever worked for cheated me, some way or another. Every friend I ever had, every deal I ever made, every time I ever let my guard down, opened my heart and
trusted
someone, the day would came when I knew I’d been fucked again.”

Dollie just staring, words meaningless to it. I said, “Right now, I just can’t convince myself it’s all right to become the thing I’ve hated so long.”

Cool voice of reason: But you’re going to take them to Epimetheus and hand them over, nonetheless.

What else is there to do?

I patted the little dollie on the head once more, turned away, passed through the sliding door and found myself back out in the corridor, leaning up against the dollies’ closed door. Softly, I whispered, “Oh, Christ. Jesus Christ...”

Gruff voice, almost a whisper in my ear: “A commendable deity.”

I jumped, startled, turned to peer into the shadows, found myself looking at the fat, hulking form of Andrész van Rijn. Great. Fucking great. There he is looking me up and down, having seen me come out of this room, leaning here, face covered with sweat, great big bulge poking up in the front of my pants. In just a second, he’ll start to smile that hideous, knowing smile of his, and then he’ll say...

Face deadpan, he said, “You should be careful, Mr. du Cheyne. That can be habit forming.”

I stood staring, motionless, hardly realizing he’d spoken a language I could understand.

He said, “Take it from somebody who knows.”

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me alone.

Eighteen: Jump

Jump
. I sat shivering in the pilot’s chair, hands on the emergency controls, chilled by a profound inner cold, looking out at the bright, unchanging stars. Only nine light years after all. No reason for them to change. Only me.

From its perch on the flight engineer’s chair, the Kapellmeister said, “A most unpleasant experience.”

The spacesuit AI whispered, The Salieran pod software seems quite disturbed by the transition.

Why? Nothing’s
really
happening. All the drive does is redefine the quantum numbers of our Kaluza-Klein entities simultaneously. Instead of being
there
, we’re
here
. No movement, no interval, no...

The library whispered, For an entity running on an array of quantum-parallel processors, that’s an inadequate description. For... us, there’s some sense of... duration.

The navigation subsystem said, During what you choose to call the jump, I sense an extended physical tensor. I navigate this tensor.

Spacesuit: The pod software may be more sensitive to this phenomenon.

From the jumpseat behind us, van Rijn muttered in Greek, “Are we at 40 Eridani? Shit. I feel like I’ve been pushed all the way here by having an icicle shoved up my ass.”

Maybe we can make money by selling rides as a sexual thrill.

Library: As Planck sockets are non-synchronized and non-synchonizable, the shift can in no sense be truly instantaneous. Human minds are operating on a very large array of quantum processors patched together through an extraordinarily slow electrochemical switching network. In all likelihood, these are lag effects.

The Kapellmeister said, “It’s almost a pity you didn’t discover one of the pleasanter means of faster than light travel. Of course, if you had, the Interventionists might have acted a little more precipitously.”

Hmh. “Don’t your ships use the same principles as ours?”

“I should say not! Like most sensible species, we’ve always preferred the stable octal constant available at the plenary interface between what your literature refers to as the Einstein and Feinberg portions of the continuum. Not the fastest modality, but certainly the least... discomfiting.”

Meaningless gibberish?

The library whispered, Not quite. There are clues embedded there.

“How fast?”

“Eight factorial cee, of course.”

Navigator: That would be 40,320 times the speed of light. A little more than a hundred times the theoretical maximum speed of this ship. I thought about that. From Earth to Kent, circling Alpha Centauri A?

The navigation subsystem whispered, Fifty-six minutes, thirty-three seconds, plus whatever time required for takeoff and landing.