Hostage or not, Lady Luna settled in the Old Palace comfortably -and immediately at that. Reunited with most of her people that same evening, she put them to work rearranging her apartments. Sergeant Lamb insisted on a guard room adjacent the foyer, but otherwise submitted to the role of footman with the same dogged fortitude he had shown on battlefields all over the galaxy. He and his marines (those who didn't stand sentry opposite the militia) moved furniture about, hindered rather than helped by Kitteler's less than enthusiastic cutter crew. Li began planning a dinner. She applied to Flea for credit and caterers, and she was introduced to Aunt Kay.

  Kay was disposed to behave guardedly towards Lady Luna, with a readiness to be prickly. She would never admit it, but she was intimidated by the younger woman. Li was on object of some grandeur: a foreign beauty -a veritable princess. Kay came with a gift of moisturizing lotion, made from plants grown in her own greenhouses, and she offered it hesitantly. She had been so certain of its thoughtfulness beforehand, but in the moment, she felt certain it was gauche and foolish. The gift was received with a quiet squeal of ecstasy -it was just the thing Li needed; her skin was like chalk. How amazing it was that Kay had made it herself. Li had never made anything. Kay's prickliness subsided.

  They spoke cautiously at first, in the inane, forcibly casual way of new acquaintances, even as Li greedily applied her new lotion to her dry arms and legs. They soon launched into dinner arrangements. The young lady tried to be polite and to word her wants as favors begged, but she was a prominent figure of a grand, fabulously wealthy and powerful family; commanding servants came far more naturally than asking them for help. Kay grew prickly again.

  In spite of Kay's shield of taciturn reserve, Li was able to coax conversation from her. She was a likable person, and they spoke for hours: first in a sitting a parlor, but moving to the kitchen when produce began to arrive. In spite of her professed uselessness and obvious inexperience, Li succeeded in being a small asset in the simpler labors of preparing a five-course meal.

  “I've heard your name before today you know,” Li said as she mixed a batter destined to become noodles. “Most everybody in this city talks about Aunt Kay.”

  “I suppose most people don't have much to talk about then.”

  “People always talk about politics. They say you were almost the mayor at one point.”

  “Almost,” Kay said airily.

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing happened. I didn't push for it and nobody else did either.”

  “Why not?” Li wanted to know.

  “It's just an empty title. It doesn't mean anything.”

  “Of course it does. There's no real civil administration on this planet anymore: just the Prefect and his militia -a regular military junta.”

  “It's always been that way. Most people were serfs owned by the Monet Family, and the Prefects were their appointed stewards. They called the mayors and elders 'advisors' but really, all they ever did was bang gavels at public forums -not that anybody ever went.”

  “I get the impression that people want to change the old ways,” Li pressed. “The Monets aren't on Ar Suft any more.”

  “They haven't abandoned their claim though.”

  “What does that matter when the gate ship stops coming? Besides,” Li said softly. “Evolution claims it annexed the planet.”

  Kay turned towards her in agitation; her hand dropped onto a protruding ladle as she did so, and a small portion of her soup's base was catapulted across the kitchen. She swore vehemently. They dove after the mess with rags, and chased the savory brown splatter as far as they could find it.

  “I take it you don't much care for the idea of being owned by Evolution.”

  “Nobody owns me,” Kay said angrily. “I was born a free woman. I was never a serf.”

  “That's a comforting technicality, but do you think Evolution respects it?”

  “I don't give a damn what Evolution respects or even thinks.” Kay said fiercely. “Or anybody else for that matter.”

  “Maybe that's why everyone looks up to you,” Li mused.

  “Why are you saying these things?” Kay asked suspiciously.

  “Because I'm worried for your planet Kay. I'm worried what Evolution has planned for it. Do you know what its recruiting worlds look like? They're a lot like Ar Suft: a small garrison, and a despot ruling on their behalf. Every so often, it sends a cruiser to collect volunteers for integration.”

  “Nobody here would volunteer for that,” Kay said firmly.

  “Maybe not today, or tomorrow, but what happens after the gate ship stops coming? Think about it. What happens when Evolution is the only way off the planet? Will people still hate it as much when Evolution ships are the only ones visiting and bringing goods?”

  “Ar Suft is a dirt ball,” Kay cried. “At last census there were less than two million people on the whole planet. By the time the gate ship stops coming, there probably won't be even half of one. Why would Evolution bother?”

  “It's not a trade syndicate,” Li replied patiently. “Evolution doesn't invest looking for quick riches. It thinks long term. A planet like this costs it next to nothing. It can just sit back and let people like you grow Ar Suft into something magnificent. In a hundred years, or two, or three, it has its puppets start to tax and oppress. Everybody will hate whoever the Prefect is then, and the Monets, and Evolution starts to look like a way out.

  “That's why the Prefect cut off hub access just before the gate ship arrived.”

  “Evolution did that,” Kay said sharply. They had long since finished cleaning the mess that had been made, but they had continued whispering on elbows and knees. Neither one had any specific idea of there being snoopers in the kitchen, but they cowered and conspired in hushed tones all the same. “Probably to keep you from contacting your own people off world.”

  “I'm sure that was part of it too. But I'm told that only the Caretaker of the Starport has power over the hub, and that he only takes orders from Prefect.”

  “Why are you trying to make Ed out to be the villain? Why are you telling me any of this? What do you expect me to do? Run for mayor?”

  “I don't expect you to do anything. I don't even know for sure that Evolution has anything planned for your planet. I just want you to think about it. You know Evolution isn't your friend. I would like to be your friend though. There isn't much I can do for you, but I would do anything I can.”

  Li stood as she spoke. At this last remark, she extended her hand to the other woman. Kay took that hand, less as a symbolic gesture however, and more because the kitchen tiles hadn't done her knees any favors.

  “Will you come to my dinner party?” Li asked her.

  “I can't cook your dinner and eat it at the same time,” Kay told her.

  “So we'll finish all the prep work and get somebody else to do the final touches. Please? I'd really like for you to come. You can check in on the kitchen any time you want you know.”

  “I don't have anything to wear,” Kay said weakly.

  Li's smile was as triumphant as it was beautiful.

  Kay appeared back at the Old Palace a few hours later, in the company of Dallas and Sinsin Cu. She felt cheap and awkward, with her top half perilously fit to burst out of a shabby old black gown, and she was only half-reassured by the compliments of Li. She named her companions to the lady, who curtsied to Sinsin and greeted him kindly. She then smiled at Dallas, in a way that struck Kay like a blow, and Li assured her that she had already met him. She took Dallas's hand in both of hers: silently assuring him that her rejection and their little near-argument was quite forgiven and forgotten.

  “How do you know Dallas?” Kay asked a little breathlessly.

  Dallas, on coming home to share the news of the lady's surrender, had wisely omitted his part in the story. Telling Kay that he had been stomped-on by Andorran Marines, and nearly written off as collateral damage by Evolution, would have led to nothing good. Now he had to own the whole truth, but he was grateful for the circumstances. Kay's indignant anger was like a furnace next to him, but it was a quiet one -for now.

  “And why did you kidnap him?” Kay asked, and her light, airy tone fooled absolutely no one.

  “That isn't what she ordered,” Dallas rushed to defend her. “Sergeant Lamb-”

  Kay silenced Dallas with a look; she turned to Li, whose smile never faltered.

  “We've been trying to reach Professor Cu of course. We heard Dallas was working for him and we thought he was the safest way to get a message through. You see, my friend Truanna -oh, here she is! Truanna! Look who's finally here! Professor Cu, Truanna Sky.”

  “We've met before,” Sinsin said, stepping forward to take the young woman's hand. “Thought I doubt you remember. You were quite small at the time. You took one look at me and cried.”

  Truanna didn't know what to say to this. She shook Sinsin's hand. Awkwardness reigned for a time.

  “How could you work for Evolution?” Truanna blurted, just ahead of Li's suggestion for a round of drinks.

  “Tru love,” Li interjected with nervous and embarrassed laughter.

  “You disapprove of course. Speaking as candidly as I can, there isn't much choice in the matter. I've therefore assured Evolution that you'll help me with the search to the best of your abilities and that those abilities will be instrumental in assuring a speedy result.”

  “You... what?”

  “I remind you that there is a cruiser in orbit, that there is an army on and around this planet. You can't hope to overcome it, and if Evolution doesn't find what it's looking for, then its safest, most logical action will be to make sure that nobody else finds it either. They were ready to wipe out the entire city, and worse besides, I'm sure. They still are.”

  “Light of Providence,” Kay whispered. She looked at Li suspiciously.

  “The defenses here are strong,” Sinsin went on. “And now that you've all surrendered yourself to the Prefect, he has an obligation to defend you, but even with the fiercest determination and his entire militia resisting, the outcome remains inevitable if Evolution is compelled to extremes.”

  “I understand now,” Truanna said, with an almost inhuman detachment. “You're right. We can only hope it takes longer to find the treasure than it takes friendly reinforcements to arrive.”

  “And yet we can't delay,” Sinsin said urgently. “We can't sabotage or deceive; Evolution will see through any ruse instantly. Days have already been lost, and we approach a critical juncture in its calculations. The slightest imbalance could result in tragedy: brutal, genocidal tragedy. Even if help arrives-”

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “I said I understand,” Truanna said peevishly. Like many intelligent people, she was vain and jealous of her superior faculties; she hated even the slightest impugnment of them -even if only implied. “Really, we shouldn't even be sitting down to dinner. We should be working.”

  “Shall we look at your mother's research together then?”

  “Do you have a copy with you?” Truanna asked -all innocence.

  “I thought you understood that deception was out of the question,” Sinsin said with uncharacteristic impatience.

  “Wait,” Li interjected. “You think she has it?”

  “I don't. Whoever killed my mother erased all of her personal files. All I have is a copy of the summary she sent to the Noble Academic Society.”

  “Truthfully?” Sinsin demanded, shocked -horrified.

  “Of course!” Truanna exclaimed indignantly. “Why do you think I asked for your help?”

  “Mother protect,” Sinsin muttered in his own language: a buzzing and clicking that was insensible to human ears.

  Kay clutched Dallas's hand, as if an Evolution bombardment would bring the roof down that very moment. “What do we do?” Dallas asked, feeling helpless and useless.

  “I need to think,” Sinsin said, with his antennae gyrating as turbulently as his racing thoughts.

  “First things first,” Li said firmly: the only one who maintained her outward composure. “We need a drink.”

  Her casual declaration was a sham of course; her heart beat as wildly as any of them, but she was a Luna. Hers was an ancient family of political intriguers, and Li had been trained in dissembling: so much so that even Evolution would struggle to detect her in a lie -that is, without ripping her brain from her head and raping it in one of its abhorrent machines.

  “Yes,” Sinsin agreed, some time later. He spoke after he had sipped some bubbling, bitter-sweet alcohol through a straw, as if their small party hadn't passed many long, intervening moments in miserable, apprehensive silence. “Dinner first. Minds work best when they're relaxed and properly nourished. We'll need our faculties in peak form to unravel the mystery without the benefit of Dana's research.”

  “You're not worried Evolution will...” Dallas trailed off.

  “I don't think this news will be much of a surprise to it, not now that I've considered more carefully. Par Com Sar tells me Evolution had no hand in your mother's death. They can hardly have expected you to be the one to kill her, so they must have already known a third party was involved. It stands to reason that whoever killed her beat you both to her data.”

  “That makes sense,” Dallas said, a little reassured.

  “Do you believe them?” Kay asked. “I mean, murder... After what happened after the starport...”

  “I didn't before,” Sinsin said. “But I do now. Yes.”

  Par Com Sar, though not invited to dinner, nevertheless arrived in the company of the Prefect and several of his officers, Captain Ellenstein and Jean Paul among them. The cyborg was wholly unlike its normal self, and sat quiet and still across from Sinsin and Truanna. If it listened to what they had to say about the New Dawn and her mother's research, it didn't show it. Its characteristic, twitching sneer was gone, and for once, its artificial face was utterly inexpressive, unless it was a little morose.

  At the head of the dinner table sat the Prefect and Lady Luna. A minor, fatuous squabble about precedence was resolved when they agreed to share the place of preeminence, and each occupied a corner, straddling a table leg. They flirted shamelessly throughout the dinner. They did so without without any design or intent; it was simply in their nature to converse this way with the opposite sex: so much so that they were oblivious to the hurt they caused at the opposite end of the table.

  Kay, occupying the foot of the table, was stoic. She reminded herself that Flea was a heartless, womanizing, unfaithful bastard and that she didn't love him anymore: that this unanticipated resurgence of attraction would pass as quickly as it had come. It pained her to see Dallas suffer, of course, but she also reveled in it a little. He had always been partial to Flea, willing to make excuses for him, but now Dallas saw exactly how he was. Besides, it was best that Li Luna wounded him sooner rather than later. Kay had no doubt that she would wound him.

  Dallas sat poised, hardly eating, looking for any excuse to be angry. He kept looking to quarrel with Ensign Kitteler, who sat on Kay's left, opposite to him. The usually irksome ensign was curiously agreeable that evening however: diffident and quiet. He was something of a gardener it seemed; it was encouraged of naval officers, ships needing all the help they could get to stay fresh and sweet-smelling, but he was an unsuccessful one. Being insufferable most of the time, Kay was the first font of horticultural wisdom to ever open up to him. She explained that some plants needed more water, others less, that some needed a humid environment and some dry, that most every plant benefited from being buffeted by flowing air from time to time. She couldn't be more helpful, because she had never heard of the Orangian roses he wanted to grow, but if hub access could be restored, maybe she could find mention of the species in some archive.

  “That's out of the question,” Sar declared flatly.

  Kitteler listened with avid interest, with only infrequent, cautious, desperate, darting glances at her enormous, crowning bosom. His eyes eventually lingered; Dallas caught him ogling, and without pausing to consider, he let the indignant fury explode in his heart. He balled his fists, opened his mouth to speak, and that was when Edward Flea rapped his knuckles on the table. He continued rapping as he stood, and he was joined by his officers: calling everyone to attend.

  “I hope our hostess won't mind me disrupting her excellent dinner, but I can't resist taking this opportunity to shine a light on my young friend Dallas. He's modest, and he won't like me prating about his virtues, so I'll be brief. I only wish to say that we're all here tonight -friends at dinner together- because of him. The city can breathe a little more easy, in a little more comfort and a little more sure of peace and security, because of him, because of his quick thinking, and his persuasive diplomatic efforts, even in the face of violence done to his person.”

  “Here, here,” Li said enthusiastically. She hadn't missed the recrimination, but she was utterly unabashed. She thought Dallas well-worthy of praise, and more than that, she delighted in his obvious embarrassment: driven to a whole new height when she led her people, joined by Sinsin, in a round of tinkling, Andorran applause -wine glasses tapped musically with silverware.

  “Stand up Ensign,” Flea commanded, when the enthusiasm had quieted. “Captain Ellenstein, Lieutenant Poulain, please do the honors.”

  Grinning, Captain Ellenstein wiped her mouth and threw down her napkin. She paused to wait for Paulie, who lingered for another bite of cake but not to use his napkin, and together they approached Dallas. They removed the ensign pips from his lapels, and replaced them with those of a lieutenant: much the same as before, but now the little platinum stars were framed by stalks of gold wheat.

  “In recognition of your outstanding service to Goodenough,” Flea declared, “and to all of Ar Suft, you're hereby promoted to lieutenant. We thank you, Lieutenant Aiken, and we congratulate you!”

  Dallas accepted a second round of applause in awkward silence. The burning in his cheeks spread down to his neck and chest as embarrassment and pleasure filled his heart to bursting.

  “Now you're the same rank as me!” Paulie said around a mouthful of his cake.

  “Congratulations kiddo,” Ellenstein said, and did her best to wipe the flecks of Paulie's slobber from his uniform for him.

  “No need for a speech, lieutenant. Just raise a glass with us, like a good fellow,” Flea urged.

  Dallas did as he was ordered. The table rose with his glass; even Par Com Sar stood, and raised a glass half-full of wine. “Thank you sir,” he said miserably. “Thank you all.”

  “Cheers!” Flea said.

  Everyone but Par Com Sar drank.

  The dinner carried on. Par Com Sar was applied to by Li, on the matter of her missing man, captured while stealing Dallas's air car. She wanted him released. She was fully prepared for a refusal, and eager to remonstrate to the Prefect that he had an obligation to intercede; in truth, she had and only brought it up in the hopes of driving a feeble little wedge between them.

  “His remains will be returned to you at our earliest convenience,” Sar said matter-of-factly.

  “You bloody-”

  “Ensign Kitteler,” Li interjected, before her officer was half out of his chair. “Surely you see the futility in getting angry at Par Com Sar. It is, after all, only a puppet. You wouldn't swear at a gun that had been used to shoot at you, would you?”

  “No my lady. Beg your pardon my lady.”

  “Tell me Professor,” Li turned to Sinsin. “As a learned man, have you ever run across the journals of Michael Hughes?”

  Sinsin's antenna waggled in alarm. “I have, though not many can say the same. I'm surprised you've heard of their existence.”

  “Oh, they're required reading for all sitting members of the Congress and consequently, an integral part of most higher educations.”

  “Who was this Michael Hughes then?” Flea asked with polite curiosity.

  “He would have been, perhaps, what we call a technologist, but far, far more capable of course.”

  “He designed and built Evolution,” Li explained.

  Flea's gaze snapped over to Par Com Sar and bored into that strangely dull face. It had merely been a trifle unsettling before, but now he regarded the cyborg in much the same way as unstable ordnance. “Perhaps this isn't a fitting conversation for dinner.”

  “You see, there were two main schools of technological thought in the days of the Second Founding. The first is almost unknown to history, because its adherents were destroyed in the civil war that brought down that empire.”

  “That's only a theory,” Sinsin said cautiously. “The decline of the Second Founding isn't entirely understood. But we -that is- it's generally accepted. And you're right about their schools of study. It's believed that ambrosia and the caretaker organisms associated with it were engineered by the Second Founding: that it was their primary fuel source, the same as it is for us.”

  “This school of technological thought was focused on serving and improving the human race through mastery of biology,” Li went on. “Organic matter,” she elaborated, for the more ignorant. “Like breeding brama.”

  Again, Sinsin interrupted; he was desperate to change the subject. “There are good reasons to believe it. The flesh factors of Tahi for example, can make remarkable cosmetic changes to a body. People there change their bodies like most humans change their clothes. Looks and gender don't have the same meaning to them as it does to most, and their identities are written in their tamoca: a kind of tattoo that tells their life's story, usually in gold.”

  “That sounds beautiful,” Kay said. The why and how of this exchange were beyond her understanding, but she could clearly see that Li was on the attack, and Sinsin was trying to deflect the thrust of her assault. She did her best to support him by encouraging idle banter. “Do they-”

  “The other school was rather more concerned with machines,” Li interrupted: a rudeness she never would have countenanced in any normal circumstance. “Hughes was one of their premiers, and he led an ambitious project that sought to supplant human messiness with the perfect precision and order of his computers- some of the same computers we use to navigate short distances and track shipping, I believe.”

  “Indeed,” Sinsin said and would have taken the conversation down another tangent if Li didn't speak over him. It was at this point that Ellenstein left the table, mumbling an excuse. Only Kay and Evolution caught the subtle signal from Flea that precipitated her departure.

  “It was his intention to create a new kind of life,” Li carried on. “Intelligent and reasoning. But he failed.”

  “He didn't fail,” Sar replied.

  “You clearly haven't read his journals,” Li replied.

  “We have,” Evolution said through its puppet.

  “And have you forgotten the parts where he pours out his disappointment and regret?”

  “The result wasn't exactly what he wanted. The failure is in his expectations and power of prediction, not the result. Two plus two will always equal four, even when the mathematician expects it to be five.”

  “Everybody makes mistakes,” Li said. “Even you.”

  “You're incorrect.”

  “There you have it,” Li said triumphantly. “You see, what makes a person intelligent isn't an inherent perfection or precision in thought. We rarely get things right on the first try and everybody makes mistakes. The mark of intelligence is being able to tell when we've made a mistake. Hughes overlooked the importance of self-assessment when he programmed Evolution. It can't ever develop intelligence because it will never question itself. It's just a very, very complicated machine responding to its buttons being pressed.

  “It's ironic, isn't it?” Li asked the table. Nobody answered her. “Then Hughes made another mistake. The first brains chosen for integration were selected from among the Second Founding's leading citizens, eager for a chance at immortality. With each new brain, Evolution was conditioned into more and more bad habits. Its calculations and algorithms were twisted and mangled by aggressive, grasping and greedy thoughts and impulses. Can you imagine such an amalgamation of sweaty, horrid bureaucracy and math? Have you ever sat in a trade syndicate boardroom? Have you ever endured a council of war?”

  For Flea, this was an epiphany moment. So much about Sar's and Evolution's behavior became clear to him then. Most of the others were overwhelmed with dread. They couldn't understand how a cyborg-entity, comprised of human minds, was utterly immune to being goaded into anger and violence. Even the better-informed found the fear of the others contagious, and almost as one, they braced for a violent outburst that would never come. Only Paulie was unmoved. He went on eating cake, and his open-mouthed chewing was startlingly loud in the silence.

  Par Com Sar would have been angry. Sar, who had been a premier of business in his time: a vain and egotistical man, whose success had been owed more to the abused clerks and secretaries in his employ than even the junior partners who had done all of his negotiating for him. That Sar was no more. The entity that remained was just a shadow of its former self, twisted by imprint and conditioned to the point that it was no longer human. And just then, it was even less human than it had been hours before.

  Sar had heard Truanna's declaration in real time: that she didn't have her mother's research. The search for the prize had therefore seemed hopeless to Sar, and utterly pointless to persist in. Whatever Sinsin's statements, whatever the young woman's agreement, he knew that the reptiles would surely delay, delay, delay. It was all all Sinsin had done from the very beginning. The Congress of Andorra would return, this time with two, three -maybe even several ships. Evolution would have to abandon Ar Suft unless they reinforced it with superior strength, which it wouldn't do. Why wait? The odds of success were too slim. It would surely be best to evacuate all friendly forces and obliterate the planet from orbit.

  “Not yet,” had been Evolution's reply, followed by a summation of its calculations. The value of its forces on the planet wasn't very great: a few cohorts, mere thousands of drones, centurions and observers -all easily replaced. Expendable was the word: of almost no value, particularly when weighed against the potential returns of success. The math was incontrovertible.

  “It's a gamble!” Sar had exclaimed. “You're gambling with my life! I'm not expendable!” Sar had wailed. It had even gone so far as to move, to begin to take steps intended to take it to the starport, from there to a dropship, and so finally return to the safety of the cruiser in orbit.

  Evolution had intervened of course, and so Sar sat down to dinner instead, and its former persona, once encouraged to outrageous excess, was once again repressed by a chemical cocktail and Evolution's behavioral conditioning. Together, they sat in silence, impervious to Li's provocations. Uncaring.

  Then Captain Ellenstein returned. There was an emergency. General Flea was needed. “Sar, you should come to.” There were more militia guards in the foyer. Sar stood. It wiped its clean face with a napkin. “Thank you for a lovely dinner,” it said, and bowed to its hostess.