Limbo System Read online

  Table of Contents

  PART I: FUSEKI

  PART II: JOSEKI

  PART III: CHUBAN

  PART IV: TESUJI

  PART V: SENTE

  PART VI: KO

  PART VII: GOTE

  PART VIII: SEMEAI

  PART IX: DAMEZUMARI

  PART X: YOSE

  PART XI: AJI

  INTO THE FIRE

  The pilot hit the main engines. Gradually, the Maxwell’s mad dash through space slowed as the huge rockets bled off the excess velocity.

  “Sir, we have achieved orbit,” Iron Alice DeRosa reported formally.

  Captain Jenkins nodded. Then the gray-haired woman smiled wryly.

  “The sixteenth human expedition outside our own solar system. Gets to you, doesn’t it?”

  Jenkins smiled back at his second-in-command. “Don’t let it get to you too much, Al. Just get me the station reports.”

  And far, far away, millions of miles and hours of light travel, the Maxwell announced herself to other ears with a burst of radio noise. The others were as quick in reaction as they were tireless in scanning the heavens. Other instruments swiveled onto the radio source. Optical detectors found the brilliant flame of the Maxwell’s fusion drive. Infrared arrays followed it, too, and as the flame died, they picked up the Maxwell’s heat against the background of space.

  From one end of the system to the other the word went out by ways both secret and open. “Others have arrived. Make ready.”

  LIMBO SYSTEM

  Rick Cook

  BAEN

  The aliens were smarter, tougher and meaner. All they were missing was a star drive. When an Earth ship enters a star system that should have been devoid of life, the crew discovers millions of aliens living in small space habitats. And if these strange creatures manage to steal Earth's faster-than-light drive technology, they will make Machiavelli look like a kindergartner.

  LIMBO SYSTEM

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1989 by Rick Cook

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  260 Fifth Avenue

  New York, N.Y. 10001

  ISBN: 0-671-69835-4

  Cover art by David Mattingly

  First printing, August 1989

  Distributed by SIMON & SCHUSTER

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, N.Y. 10020

  Printed in the United States of America

  eISBN: 978-1-62579-493-2

  For my parents

  Acknowledgement:

  Dr. Art Upgrin of the Van Vleck Observatory at Wesleyan University found me my star.

  What I did with it afterwards was entirely my own fault.

  Fuseki: The beginning

  Joseki: Opening gambits

  Chuban: The middle game

  Tesuji: Middle-game gambits

  Sente: When the player has the initiative

  Ko: A move which must be answered, giving the opponent one or more “free” moves

  Gote: When the player has the initiative

  Semeai: The race to capture

  Damezumari: A shortage of liberties

  Yose: The end game

  Aji: Literally “taste”; the lingering effects of a move

  PART I: FUSEKI

  The kneeling man settled into himself on the mat, hakima billowing oddly in the low gravity. His palms rested high on his thighs, his elbows were out, and his back straight. He looked down at the mat beneath him and his lips moved as he softly spoke a single phrase.

  There was a rustle of motion and suddenly the sword was free of its scabbard, whipping across in front of him as he rose on one knee. Without stopping, the blade came back and overhead, slashing down in a two-handed cut that ended a foot above the mat. Slowly and fluidly the man rose, sword still in front of him. Then the blade swept around the side and over his head, ending with a flicking motion down his front and to the side.

  Without looking he flipped the sword up and across his body, catching the back of the blade with the thumb and forefinger of his left hand while the other fingers held the mouth of the scabbard. The blade slid out and the tip clicked into the scabbard. The man dropped slowly to one knee as the sword slid softly home in the sheath. The fingertips of the right hand moved caressingly out to the end of the long handle, partway down the inside of the handle and came to rest on the inner side of the right thigh.

  And all was still and calm again.

  Around him no one paid attention. The people doing aerobics in the great curved gym gave him wide berth, but the men and women working at the weight machines along the walls well away from him ignored him completely, concentrating on their own internal agonies as weights they could never have handled on Earth rose and fell.

  The old man stood, smoothed his hakima and knelt again to repeat the exercise.

  Beautiful, thought Sharon Dolan from where she stood watching. Like a dancer. Her face was still beaded with sweat from her own workout, but she had stopped on her way to the shower to watch Dr. Sukihara Takiuji in his daily practice. Beautiful, archaic and deadly all at once.

  That was the impressive thing, she decided. It wasn’t the motions themselves. It wasn’t the grace with which he handled that sword. It was the utter concentration, as if every cut was directed at the body of a real enemy. Sharon had taken one semester of fencing in college, but that was totally different. None of the fencers she knew gave that sense of actually trying to kill someone.

  Dr. Sharon Dolan shivered slightly and it wasn’t from the sweat slowly drying on her body.

  She turned away from the exercise area and glanced up at the big clock on the wall. Nearly an hour to spin-down. Enough time for a long shower before the ship’s living quarters lost gravity. A good thing, too, she thought, wrinkling her nose. I need one and if I don’t get a shower now, it will be zero-G sponge baths for a day or two.

  “Time to jump two hours, fifty-five minutes.”

  Captain Peter Jenkins floated in near darkness and watched the stars. He didn’t need the pilot’s call, but he was glad for it just the same.

  In addition to the big three-dimensional screen ahead of him—“above” him when the ship was under acceleration and the term had any real meaning on the bridge—there were actual ports to either side. His own displays showed a multitude of views of essentially the same scene, some with almost photographic realism and others abstracted to a network of colored lines.

  Beneath the spangled display of the heavens, the bridge was a blood-red pit lit by the dim glow of screens and the dimmer reddish work lights. It struck groundsiders as eerie, but to Jenkins and the rest of the bridge crew, it was just “the office.”

  As a Space Force officer, Captain Peter Jenkins had spent most of the last fifteen years working under red lights in an office just like this one.

  No, he corrected himself, not just like this one. Not like this one at all. He pulled his lank frame down into his command chair and belted himself in extra tight. This one was very, very different.

  The annunciator on the edge of his screen lit up. “Dr. Aubrey calling,” the synthesized voice announced.

  Jenkins shook off the mood. Then he summoned up his patience and punched the “accept” button.

  Dr. Andrew Aubrey blossomed into existence in one corner of his screen, the full-color image clashing with the abstract diagrams that filled most of the space.

  “Smooth” seemed to have been coined to describe the man. His skin was smooth as if the flesh was pa
cked tightly into it. His brown hair was smoothly cut and laid. His clothes were as neat as if they were still on the rack. But most of all, his manner was smooth. He exuded confidence and an easy grace. It was hard to imagine Andrew Aubrey committing a gaffe of any sort.

  “Yes, Dr. Aubrey?”

  “Captain, the Ship’s Council has asked me to discuss leaving spin on one more time.”

  “I’m sorry, Doctor, but the decision stands. We will restore spin as quickly as possible after we have jumped and stabilized, but we will jump spun down.”

  “Captain, may I speak frankly?”

  “Of course, Dr. Aubrey.”

  “There is a sizable faction on the Council who feel that your insistence on removing artificial gravity before we jump is not a matter of safety at all. They see it as a rather crude attempt to assert superiority over the technical staff.”

  Jenkins kept a tight rein on his temper. “Believe me, Dr. Aubrey, it is and always has been a matter of safety and ship handling. When Spin is spun up, it acts as an enormous gyroscope and it makes it that much harder to maneuver the Maxwell quickly.”

  Aubrey nodded sympathetically. “I understand your concern, Captain, and I’m sure it would be ideal to jump spun down. But I ask you to consider the problems and resentment it will cause as well as the human misery involved in leaving us without gravity for two days or more.”

  “I have considered it, Doctor. Believe me, I know how miserable zero-G makes most people. But I must have the ship as maneuverable as possible when we jump.”

  “Surely the matter can’t be that clear cut,” Aubrey protested. “The Einstein jumped spun up on her last two missions.”

  “With no disrespect to Captain Anguro, I disagree with his decision,” Jenkins said, a little more forcefully than he intended.

  “Captain, I wish you would be a little more flexible on this.”

  “Dr. Aubrey, as I have been telling you for the last three months, I must insist on spinning down before we jump. This is a matter of ship safety and handling and no matter how badly the Ship’s Council wants it, I cannot compromise.”

  Aubrey nodded. “Very well, Captain, I won’t take up more of your time. Good day.”

  Aubrey vanished and was instantly replaced by the leathery brown face of Iron Alice DeRosa, Jenkins’ pilot and second-in-command. As number two, DeRosa was automatically cut into conversations on the captain’s channel.

  “As if we could change now if we wanted to,” she rasped. “Christ! Less than three hours to jump and that bozo is still after us.”

  Jenkins shrugged uncomfortably. “Not him so much as some of the people on the Ship’s Council, I think.”

  She snorted. “The authority of the Ship’s Council stops at the edge of Spin. Formally, they don’t even have that much. There’s nothing in the orders for this expedition authorizing a Ship’s Council. I still think you’re soft in the head for encouraging Aubrey and his pack of trained seals.”

  No one else in the crew would have dared to speak to the captain like that, but Jenkins and DeRosa had served together for years. Besides, Iron Alice DeRosa was a legend in the Space Force and legend has its privileges.

  “I ‘encourage’ them, as you call it for three reasons.” He held up three fingers. “First, we’ve got almost six hundred people, nearly two-thirds of those aboard, who are not Space Force and who are only nominally subject to Space Force discipline. Second, those people arrived at the idea of a Ship’s Council consensually and democratically.” DeRosa snorted again, but Jenkins ignored her.

  “And third,” he ticked off the final finger. “The Ship’s Council keeps those people out of my hair. Better to deal with Aubrey than listen to the complaints of fifty dropsick passengers.”

  And fourth, neither of them added aloud, it’s the scientists who are running this show and they’ve got a lot more pull than the ship’s captain.

  “So now the Ship’s Council thinks we can change our plans just like that. What do those yutzes think this is, the Toonerville Trolley?”

  “They have a point, Al. Nearly two-thirds of the people aboard are dirtsiders. They’re going to be pretty miserable for the next couple of days.”

  DeRosa looked sharply at her superior. “You going to change plans?”

  Jenkins shook his head. “No. But it’s important to remember that the Council is expressing a legitimate concern. Now,” he said more briskly, “let’s get back to business. We’ve got a long way to go in the next three hours.”

  DeRosa snorted again and broke the connection.

  “Hello, Sharon.”

  Sharon Dolan turned to the voice behind her and Major Autro DeLorenzo flashed a smile. His tee-shirt was dark with sweat and his curly hair damp from whatever exercise he had been pursuing. “Resting?” he asked in his faintly accented English.

  “No, I just finished. I’m going to try to get a shower while we still have gravity.”

  At five-four, Sharon barely came up to DeLorenzo’s shoulder. He was broad and heavily muscled. She had the slender build of a dancer. He was darkly handsome, with almost black, curly hair. Sharon had fair skin and a short mop of reddish blonde hair.

  DeLorenzo chuckled. “I know what you mean. I tried bathing once in zero-G and nearly drowned. Never again.”

  Sharon found herself warming to him. His charm was infectious in spite of everything and she realized she did enjoy herself in his company.

  “How about you? Weights today?”

  “Nope, handball.” Again the smile. “It never ceases to amaze me what you can do on a handball court in half-gravity.”

  It was Sharon’s turn to smile. “You should try it in zero-gravity.”

  DeLorenzo laughed. “I think I’d spend more time bouncing myself off the walls than I would the ball.”

  “That’s part of the fun.”

  “Well, I’ll have to try it sometime, if I can find a partner that is.”

  “It will have to wait until we get back then,” Sharon told him. “The gym isn’t open when we’re spun down.”

  “Pity,” he said and then his smile froze on his face as he caught sight of something over her shoulder.

  Sharon looked around and saw Andrew Aubrey coming their way.

  Last night in the Sunset Lounge, the pair had another one of their political “discussions” that broke up in a shouting match. She hoped they wouldn’t start up again here in the gym.

  But DeLorenzo was apparently in no mood to resume the argument.

  “I’ll see you later, Sharon,” he said and walked across the gym floor to ostentatiously strike up a conversation with a man working at one of the weight machines. She turned to greet Dr. Aubrey.

  “How are you this morning, Dr. Dolan?”

  Sharon smiled at him. “Hello, Dr. Aubrey. Are you down here for the exercise?”

  “No, just finishing up a few matters of Council business before we jump.” In addition to his regular duties, Aubrey was presiding officer of the Ship’s Council.

  “Spin down?”

  He nodded. “The Council asked me to try one more time. I’m afraid the captain is as adamant as ever, though.”

  “That’s too bad,” Sharon said sympathetically.

  Aubrey sighed. “I’m sure the captain feels strongly about this, but it is unfortunate he can’t see how undesirable it is.” He shrugged. “But that’s as it is. Where are you off to?”

  “I’m going to take a shower. If I don’t hurry, it will be too late.”

  “Quite right,” Aubrey nodded. “See you at dinner perhaps?”

  “If either of us has any appetite,” Sharon said.

  The director’s face clouded. Like most of the non-crew on board, he was fundamentally a ground hugger and he didn’t enjoy zero-G.

  “I’m sure it won’t affect you at any event.”

  “Doctor, I’m afraid Spacers get dropsick just as easily as groundlings. We just get more used to it.”

  Behind him, she saw Dr. Takiuji kneeling on
ce again to repeat his sword exercise.

  Sharon turned and walked away, vaguely dissatisfied by something about the two men. It wasn’t until she had her leotard off and she was standing in the shower stall that she finally pinned it down.

  He’s a lot nicer than DeLorenzo, she thought as she turned on the water. Why is it I don’t like him as much?

  Aubrey watched the planetologist as she headed back through the gym to the showers. Then he sat down on a bench behind him to see who else came along.

  Andrew Aubrey genuinely liked people and the gym was the best place on the ship to meet them. Everyone had to exercise to keep muscle tone and prevent physiological problems in the half-gravity maximum that Spin provided and there was only one gym. By contrast, there were four cafeterias and a dozen or more lounges scattered throughout the enormous revolving cylinder that constituted the ship’s living quarters.

  As president of the Ship’s Council, Aubrey conducted a lot of business in the gym. DeLorenzo and his friends might snort and call it “holding court,” but a large part of modern management was meeting people on a personal level to understand their concerns. Aubrey was fond of saying that only old-style hierarchical managers tried to run things from behind a desk. A consensual manager should try to meet people in less formal surroundings, he maintained.

  He didn’t have long to wait. Sharon Dolan was barely out of sight when a dark-clad man in a clerical collar came into the gym and turned toward the locker room.

  “Father,” Aubrey nodded.

  Father Simon looked up, as if he was slightly startled. “Oh, hello, Dr. Aubrey.”

  Father Michael Simon, SJ, was short, with graying hair and a face that was saved from ugliness only by his air of good humor. Under gravity, he was awkward, and in zero-G, he was notoriously clumsy. He was quiet and self-contained in a way that came off as superiority to the less perceptive and as shyness to the keener observers.

  “Going to exercise?”

  “Oh, no. I’ve already been today. In fact, I left something back in my locker. And you?”

  “Just sitting here, enjoying the last of the gravity. I’ve been talking to the captain about spinning down.”