The New Space Opera 2 by Gardner Dozois Read Free Book Online Page A

build, wouldn’t it?”
    â€œIt would,” the chimp agrees.
    I suppress a snort. “If you’re so worried about meeting our constructionbenchmarks, Chimp, factor in the potential risk posed by an intelligence powerful enough to control the energy output of an entire sun.”
    â€œI can’t,” it admits. “I don’t have enough information.”
    â€œYou don’t have any information. About something that could probably stop this mission dead in its tracks if it wanted to. So maybe we should get some.”
    â€œOkay. Vons reassigned.”
    Confirmation glows from a convenient bulkhead, a complex sequence of dance instructions that Eri ’s just fired into the void. Six months from now, a hundred self-replicating robots will waltz into a makeshift surveillance grid; four months after that, we might have something more than vacuum to debate in.
    Dix eyes me as though I’ve just cast some kind of magic spell.
    â€œIt may run the ship,” I tell him, “but it’s pretty fucking stupid. Sometimes you’ve just got to spell things out.”
    He looks vaguely affronted, but there’s no mistaking the surprise beneath. He didn’t know that. He didn’t know .
    Who the hell’s been raising him all this time? Whose problem is this?
    Not mine.
    â€œCall me in ten months,” I say. “I’m going back to bed.”
    Â 
    It’s as though he never left. I climb back into the bridge and there he is, staring into tac. DHF428 fills the Tank, a swollen red orb that turns my son’s face into a devil mask.
    He spares me the briefest glance, eyes wide, fingers twitching as if electrified. “Vons don’t see it.”
    I’m still a bit groggy from the thaw. “See wh—”
    â€œThe sequence !” His voice borders on panic. He sways back and forth, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
    â€œShow me.”
    Tac splits down the middle. Cloned dwarves burn before me now, each perhaps twice the size of my fist. On the left, an Eri ’s-eye view: DHF428 stutters as it did before, as it presumably has these past ten months. On the right, a compound-eye composite: an interferometry grid built by a myriad precisely spaced vons, their rudimentary eyes layered and parallaxed into something approaching high resolution. Contrast on both sides has been conveniently cranked up to highlight the dwarf’s endless winking for merely human eyes.
    Except that it’s only winking from the left side of the display. On the right, 428 glowers steady as a standard candle.
    â€œChimp: any chance the grid just isn’t sensitive enough to see the fluctuations?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œHuh.” I try to think of some reason it would lie about this.
    â€œDoesn’t make sense ,” my son complains.
    â€œIt does,” I murmur, “if it’s not the sun that’s flickering.”
    â€œBut is flickering—” He sucks his teeth. “You see it—wait, you mean something behind the vons? Between, between them and us?”
    â€œMmmm.”
    â€œSome kind of filter .” Dix relaxes a bit. “Wouldn’t we’ve seen it, though? Wouldn’t the vons’ve hit it going down?”
    I put my voice back into ChimpComm mode. “What’s the current field-of-view for Eri ’s forward scope?”
    â€œEighteen mikes,” the chimp reports. “At 428’s range, the cone is 3.34 lightsecs across.”
    â€œIncrease to a hundred lightsecs.”
    The Eri ’s-eye partition swells, obliterating the dissenting viewpoint. For a moment, the sun fills the Tank again, paints the whole bridge crimson. Then it dwindles as if devoured from within.
    I notice some fuzz in the display. “Can you clear that noise?”
    â€œIt’s not noise,” the chimp reports. “It’s dust and molecular gas.”
    I blink. “What’s the