Charles Sheffield - Resurgence

Resurgence

Table of Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

EPILOG

Resurgence

Charles Sheffield

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.

A Baen Books Original

Baen Publishing Enterprises

P.O. Box 1403

Riverdale, NY 10471

www.baen.com

ISBN: 0-7434-3567-2

Cover art by Bob Eggleton

First printing, November 2002

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Sheffield, Charles.

Resurgence: a novel of the heritage universe / Charles Sheffield.

p. cm.

"A Baen Books original"—T.p. verso.

ISBN 0-7434-3567-2

1. Life on other planets—Fiction. I. Title.

PS3569.H39253 R47 2002

813'.54—dc21 2002028046

Distributed by Simon & Schuster

1230 Avenue of the Americas

New York, NY 10020

Production by Windhaven Press: Auburn, NH

Printed in the United States of America

To Ann, Kit, Rose and Toria; to Maureen, who proposed the title; and to the fans who kept asking,

when will there be another Heritage Universe book?

Baen Books by Charles Sheffield

The Heritage Universe series:

Convergent Series

Transvergence

Resurgence

The Amazing Dr. Darwin

My Brother's Keeper

The Compleat McAndrew

The Mind Pool

The Spheres of Heaven

Proteus in the Underworld

Borderlands of Science

The Web Between the Worlds

Between the Strokes of Night

PROLOGUE

Before we begin a systematic exposition of Theories of the Nature of the Builders (of which

theories there appear to be at least one hundred and seventy-seven) it seems appropriate to

provide what may be termed the Facts of the Builders. This is far easier than any enumeration of

theories, since the facts are few in number:

Fact 1: No living being, and no dead being whose word carries any semblance of validity, has

ever seen or met a Builder.

Fact 2: Various inorganic constructs possessing some form of intelligence have been found on, in,

or in conjunction with objects created and left by the Builders. These constructs all claim to be of

great antiquity. They also claim a full understanding of the Builder purposes in creating them.

There are reasons to doubt the validity of all such testimonies, not least the fact that no two

testimonies agree.

Fact 3: The Builders made and left behind in the Orion Arm of the galaxy, and possibly in other

galactic arms, a variety of constructions which are generally referred to as Builder Artifacts.

More than a thousand of these are scattered around the Orion Arm alone. The purpose of many or

most of them remains obscure. They range in size from a few meters, to lightyears across. The

technology that went into their creation is beyond that achieved by any other species, living or

dead, inhabiting these regions of our galaxy.

Fact 4: There is no evidence that any Builder Artifact was constructed to be specifically inimical

to organic life forms. Large numbers of deaths have been reported associated with different

Builder Artifacts; however, in every case these deaths resulted from the unwise curiosity of beings

seeking to explore, understand, or exploit the Artifacts.

Fact 5: With one notable exception, every Builder Artifact was completed and set in position at

least three million years ago. Any changes in Artifacts more recent than three million years

appear to have been planned as part of their original design.

Fact 6: Four years ago, there was unmistakable evidence of new, rapid, and unprecedented

change in many if not all of the Builder Artifacts.

Fact 7: At the same time, a completely new Artifact, named as Labyrinth by its discoverer

Quintus Bloom, appeared near the star known as Jerome's World.

Fact 8: Soon after the appearance of Labyrinth, every other Artifact in the Orion Arm quickly

vanished. Labyrinth itself was the last to disappear.

Fact 9: Since the disappearance of Labyrinth, no evidence of any kind of Builder Artifact or

Builder activity has been found in the Orion Arm.

These, and these alone, are the facts concerning the Builders and the Builder Artifacts. We now

proceed to the Theories themselves, which are legion.

—from the introduction to the volume,

A SURFEIT OF NOTIONS: Theories of Builder

origins, activities, nature, and artifacts.

Author: Professor Darya Lang, Artifact

Research Institute, Sentinel Gate.

This is an advance publication copy,

and may be subject to additions

and amendments.

CHAPTER ONE

On Candela, in the Phemus Circle.

As a last meal it left a lot to be desired.

Hans Rebka stared down at the mess on his plate, then up at the guard.

"Kolker, what's this supposed to be?"

Rebka was naked. He was shackled at the ankles and his hands could move only far enough from the

iron chair's arms to allow him to eat. Even so, the guard took a step back at the prisoner's scowl.

"Isn't it what you asked for, Captain?"

"I requested as my last meal the best that the planet could provide. Take a look at that plate. I've seen

more inviting pig shit. Smell it for yourself, and tell me what happened."

"Wait a minute. I'll try to find out." Kolker did not take up the offer to smell the plate of food. That

would have brought him within reach of Rebka's hands. He took another step back, close to the room's

bare stone wall, and his lips moved. Through his implant he was in contact with more senior officials.

After a few seconds he nodded.

"Captain, that meal was provided on instructions from Minister Schramm. Apparently itis the best that

the planet can provide. But not this planet. It is the best that can be had on your home world, Teufel."

The guard hesitated. He knew that every word and gesture was being recorded. "The minister thought

that you would appreciate a little joke."

"Did he?" Hans Rebka picked up the spoon. It was, like the plate and little tray that it sat on, made of a

thin and flexible plastic that no amount of treatment or hardening could turn into a weapon. "I must be

losing my sense of humor. But the terrible thing, Kolker, is that he's right. I've been away from Teufel so

long, I'm spoiled. Do you know what they say about Teufel?"

"Yes. I have heard it many times."

"Then I won't bother to repeat it." Rebka dipped the tip of the spoon tentatively into the black goo on his

plate. He tasted it, grimaced, and laid down the spoon. "Once I'd have gobbled this up and gone back

for seconds. The minister knows what's what in the worlds of the Phemus Circle. Thisis as good as it gets

on Teufel."

"Are you going to eat it?" In the weeks that Rebka had been in captivity, a peculiar relationship had

developed between guard and captive. Rebka had done his best to become friendly, and he was good at

that. But Guardsman Kolker, who suspected—rightly—that given half a chance Hans Rebka would kill

him and try to escape, had remained respectful but aloof.

"I told you," Rebka went on. "I've become picky these past few years. I'd rather die hungry than eat

that." Hands chained together, he waved the plate away. "It's all yours. Do what you like with it."

The guard approached warily and snatched the tray out of Rebka's reach. "I can't bring you anything

else, you know."

"I understand. And you can't share your food with me, either, right? Don't feel bad. I've been hungry

before. And people waiting to be executed are not expected to enjoy their final night."

Kolker nodded and retreated to the metal door. He pushed the tray through a narrow horizontal opening

at waist height, then stood motionless. He seemed to be listening. At last he nodded, turned to Hans

Rebka, and said, "Minister Schramm asks if you have any last request."

"Certainly. Tell the minister that I would like to be allowed to write my memoirs."

The guard frowned. Finally he said, "You are joking, are you not? Excuse me, Captain Rebka, but I do

not think it would be a good idea for me to transmit that message."

"Very wise of you. It's my impression that Minister Schramm only like little jokes that come from him."

Rebka glanced around the bare, dimly lit and windowless cell. "So. What now, Kolker my friend? Dinner

is over and death is twelve hours away. We have the whole night ahead."

"I am to remain here with you. If you would like to talk, or if—"

The rest of Kolker's words were cut off by a metallic rattling at the door of the cell. The guard spun

around, pulling his weapon from its holster. He stood poised to fire as the door swung open.

The four men who entered were equally wary. They wore guards' uniforms, and all held drawn guns.

"Stay right where you are, all of you." Kolker, part of his attention still on Hans Rebka, backed up

against the stone wall. "I have absolute orders to admit no one. If you do not leave this room at once, I

must shoot."

"You got orders? Well, so do we." The biggest of the newcomers held an envelope out to Kolker. "I'm

Colonel Toll. Check with Guard Central if you don't believe me." Toll stared at Rebka. "He's the one

who caused all the trouble? He sure don't look up to it. Anyway, we've come for him."

"For Captain Rebka? I cannot allow that. I have orders from Staff Advisor Lanski to remain here with

the captain until morning, when he will be taken away for execution."

"And we have orders from Minister Schramm to take Rebka away with us. Do I need to tell you who's

higher in the line of authority?"

"I was warned that there might be some kind of rescue attempt. If I do not obey my orders—"

Kolker was interrupted by a laugh of disbelief from Rebka and by an impatient, "Read the bleeding

papers, mister. We don't have all night," from Colonel Toll.

"They seem to contain the right authorization." Kolker was trying at the same time to scan the document

he was holding, keep one eye on Hans Rebka, and train his weapon on the quartet of guards standing in

the doorway. "But this makes no sense at all. The prisoner is scheduled for execution at dawn, on the

basement level of the building where we are now. This instructs you to take him to 132-B. That's above

surface."

"More than just above surface. 132-B is Minister Schramm's suite, up at rooftop level." Colonel Toll

waved his gun at Rebka. "Can you walk?"

"Try me."

"Right. Get him out of those shackles, Guardsman Kolker. We'll take over from here. Anything that

happens to him after he leaves this cell will be my problem, not yours."

* * *

Down in the basement cell there was no day-night change of lighting. Hans Rebka had been chained in

near-darkness for more than three weeks. The elevators were almost as dimly lit as his cell, and sudden

emergence into the brilliance of evening sunlight of Candela made him flinch and throw up his forearm to

protect his eyes.

A familiar and outraged voice said, "He is naked! How dare you bring a prisoner naked into my

quarters?"

Rebka lowered his arm and blinked away tears. His eyes could see only fuzzy outlines in the large,

windowed room, but the voice told him that the figure a few paces away was Minister Schramm.

"I'm sorry, Minister." That was Colonel Toll. "I was ordered to bring him here at once. No one

mentioned clothing."

"Did no one also tell you to use your common sense? Find clothes for him at once—or give him your

own."

"Don't worry on my account, Minister." Hans was beginning to see more clearly. "Once I'm executed I

doubt if I'll care what I'm wearing."

"You will not be executed." Another figure standing behind Schramm swam into focus. "Is that not

correct, Minister?"

"It is correct."

Schramm was a tall, fleshy man in a style of dress that for the impoverished worlds of the Phemus Circle

represented extreme opulence. He spoke without enthusiasm, but Rebka paid him little attention. The

man at Schramm's side held his eye. He wore the shimmering white suit with gold epaulets and light-blue

trim of an inter-clade Ethical Councilor. If any such councilor had ever before made a visit to Candela, or

any other world of the Phemus Circle other than Dobelle, that was news to Hans.

"Though I should point out," went on Schramm, "that the execution of this prisoner is more than justified.

He attempted to bring down the authorized government of the Phemus Circle—"

"I am aware of the charges against him." The councilor stepped forward, placing himself squarely

between Rebka and the minister. "Don't push your luck, Minister Schramm. There are those of the

Council who believe that such a change to the Phemus Circle is long overdue. However, that is not my

business today. Captain Hans Rebka?"

"Speaking."

"I am Inter-clade Councilor Jeremiah Frole. I am here to inform you that you are needed on Miranda,

and that you will leave with me."

"As simple as that?" Rebka waved a hand toward Schramm. "With no objection from your friend the

minister?"

"I provided the necessary . . . explanation." Jeremiah Frole nodded toward a wall screen. Hans Rebka

glanced across at it for the first time and realized that it showed a view of Candela as seen from space.

The whole planet wore a circlet of bright points of light.

"Armed ships," the councilor went on. "Two hundred of them. We had a previous unfortunate

experience with the Phemus Circle. We sent for one of their political prisoners, rather than coming to

collect her in person. She suffered, we were told, a fatal accident before she could leave the surface of

Candela. We did not want that to happen again. We brought forces designed to discourage such a

possibility."

Schramm said, "Councilor, the previous case was no more than a regrettable—"

"Just so, Minister. I feel sure that nothing similar will happen this time." Jeremiah Frole turned to Rebka.

"Captain, how soon can you be ready to leave after you have clothing?"

"Forget the clothes. I'm ready to go right now."

"Don't you have possessions that you want to take with you?"

"Not one thing. Since we're leaving, I guess I can do without this, too." Rebka had been standing with

his fists clenched. Now he opened his right hand palm upward, turned it over, and allowed a gram or so

of blackish powder to fall to the floor. While the others stared, he said, "Pepper. The best I could

manage. Took me nearly three weeks, saving it from my food."

"What did you plan to do with it?"

"Whatever I could. At the very least, I'd give somebody a faceful. I wouldn't go down without a fight."

Rebka turned to face Schramm. "I can't say I'm sorry to be leaving—but don't worry, I'll be back."

"If you have any thoughts of starting up another rebellion against the Phemus Circle government—"

"Of course I don't. At least, not as my top priority. I'll want to settle a few personal scores first with the

people who sentenced me to death and locked me away. From now on you'd better watch your back,

Minister. Every minute of every day."

Rebka turned away without waiting for Schramm's reaction, but Jeremiah Frole saw the instinctive

movement of hand toward belt.

He shook his head. "Not this time, Minister, or you may not care for the result. We'll be clear of

Candela orbit and make our first Bose transition in half a day. After that you can do as you like—but it

won't be to this prisoner."

He followed Hans Rebka out of the room. As they moved along the corridor he noticed for the first time

the condition of the naked man's legs and bony back.

"You were tortured!"

"I was?" Rebka turned his head and saw what the councilor was staring at. "Oh, you mean the sores.

That wasn't torture."

"Then what was it?"

"Just what you expect when you have no clothes on, and they chain you to sit in an iron chair for a few

weeks."

"They did that to you? Thatis torture."

"Not by Phemus Circle standards it isn't. I've slept in worse beds. But don't get the wrong idea,

Councilor, I'm really happy that you came along when you did. I was beginning to wonder just how I was

going to make it out of there. Gratitude doesn't begin to express it."

They had reached ground level and begun walking to a waiting car. They passed half a dozen men and

women, but only Jeremiah Frole seemed concerned about Hans Rebka's nakedness.

"We will provide you with clothing as soon as we are on board the ship," he said. At the car he

hesitated. "Your file describes you as a problem solver and troubleshooter. I hope that remains true."

"Why? Seems to me you just got meout of trouble."

"Perhaps. I notice that you have not asked why I came here to take you to Miranda. That is just as well.

For if you were to ask, I am not at liberty to tell you."

The councilor held open the car door for Rebka. "However, when you do learn the reason why you are

being removed from Candela, I hope that your feeling toward me and the Council will still be one of

gratitude."

CHAPTER TWO

On Xerarchos, at the far end

of the Zardalu Communion.

For the full three weeks while Hans Rebka sat naked in a rusty iron chair, Louis Nenda had lived the

good life. Thirteen hundred lightyears away from Candela, he sat now in lordly ease and surveyed the

arid surface of Xerarchos.

True, the planet beyond his ship's ports was not most people's idea of a garden world. The dust storms

came every season and raged worldwide for months on end. The air was thin and dry and tasted like

powdered iron. If you went outside without a suit, fine grit worked its way into your teeth and eyes and

every body cavity. Water was so scarce on the scoured surface that no gemstone or precious metal

could match it in value, ounce for ounce. The natives were warlike and bloodthirsty. An honest man was

defined as one who stayed bought for more than a day or two.

But now you had to look on the good side. Louis Nenda had come here voluntarily, knowing that his

ship was well-armed and if it came to a fight he could kick the ass of any native group. He did not have

to breathe Xerarchos air, or eat food grown on Xerarchos. Best of all, the water generators on board the

Have-It-All made him the richest being on the planet. The locals would die to learn their secret. And if

that's what it took to keep control, Nenda was quite willing to let them do it.

He placed his boots on the lip of the rounded observation port, leaned back, and scratched his hairy rib

cage. He yawned. A few more weeks, to squeeze out the limited best that Xerarchos had to offer, then

theHave-It-All would lift off and seek another source of commercial advantage. The local arm of the

galaxy was full of them. There was a new sucker-world born every century.

Pleasant thoughts were interrupted by a faint sound from behind. He jerked around, and confronted a

nightmare. The creature stood on one pair of its six dark-brown legs, rearing twice the height of a man.

The segmented underside was dark-red, rising to a short neck banded by scarlet-and-white ruffles.

Above that sat a white, eyeless head, twice the size of Nenda's own. A thin proboscis grew out from the

middle of the sightless face and curled down to tuck into a pouch on the bottom of the pleated chin.

Yellow horns in the middle of the broad head constantly scanned whatever stood before them. A pair of

light-brown antennas, long even in comparison with that great head, were unfurled to form two

meter-long fans that quivered delicately in the ship's warm, moist air.

"For God's sake, At, I wish you wouldn't come crawling in quiet like that." Nenda swung his boots to

the deck, stood, and turned. "You give a man the creeps. It shouldn't be too hard to let me know you're

on the way."

"I did exactly that." Atvar H'sial's message wafted across to Nenda as a complex interplay of

pheromonal molecules. They carried more subtle information than any human language ever could—mild

irritation, admonition, amusement, and a hint of something else. "You were too busy daydreaming and

gloating to take notice."

What was that other message? A touch of alarm, maybe? Nenda concentrated. The Karelian augment

on his chest was a dark array of pits and nodules, sufficient to permit him to understand and to speak the

Cecropian language natural to Atvar H'sial. However, no augment could ever provide the fine distinctions

of meaning available to Cecropians, or to their Lo'tfian slaves and interpreters.

"What's up, At? We got trouble?" He spoke both pheromonally and using human speech.

"Not on Xerarchos. Everything here is quiet, and payments to us were made this morning. But this came

to the ship's message center a few minutes ago."

Atvar H'sial held a brown flimsy in one bristled paw. The fine pattern on it was designed for ultrasonic

scan by a Cecropian reader.

"You know I can't read that stuff, At. What's it say?"

"It is the highest level of command from the Cecropia Federation's Central Council, an order I cannot

disobey. I am told to report to Miranda, in the Fourth Alliance, with all possible speed."

Nenda took the output and stared at it. "You sure you're reading this right? I thought all charges against

us were dropped after the Builder artifacts disappeared, and we helped everybody get out of Labyrinth."

"They were dropped. This is not an accusation of criminal actions. It appears to involve some entirely

new matter."

"And you feel you have to go?"

"I must, for reasons I will not specify. More than that, Louis Nenda, I suspect that there may be similar

orders waiting for you. When this directive arrived, a separate message came to the ship's

communications center in human output format. At the time, Glenna Omar was giving me another lesson

in human speech, which she interrupted in order to take the message. She read it, gasped, and hurried off

aft. She carried the message with her, and I suspect that she was seeking you."

"Heading in the wrong direction. Why didn't you tell her?"

"I did. I told her exactly where you could be found. However, I continued to employ human speech,

which may have been a mistake. I spoke this." The Cecropian folded its proboscis into the pleated region

on its chin and inflated the thin tube. After a wheezing like a leaky bellows, sounds emerged: " 'lusnnda 'sn

'sfrd k-kbn.' "

" 'Louis Nenda is in the forward cabin'? Yeah, that's very good, At. But with all due respect, those

sounds could just as well have come out of either end of you. I better go see what's happening."

Nenda marched off along the corridor. Somehow he felt more resigned than surprised. Things had been

going far too well for far too long. Just when you thought you had the universe by the tail, it turned round

and bit you on the ass.

He came on Glenna drifting back in his direction. If he hadn't known that Atvar H'sial was female, and

Charles Sheffield - Resurgence

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