This Alien Shore by C.S. Friedman Read Free Book Online

expression, and a hundred other subtle variables might be judged. The iru had no skill at such games, no patience for them, and—fortunately—no societal obligation to indulge them. (Praise the founders of Guera for that! Who in their wisdom had established an order of precedence for the kaja, so that strangers of alien mien might converse without confusion.)
    â€œYou called for me,” Masada said shortly, and because he didn’t feel like standing, he took a seat. “Why?”
    The Guildsman hesitated. Most likely his nantana spirit was ill prepared for such a sudden immersion in business matters, and it took him a few seconds to switch gears. “The Guild has a job to offer you,” he said at last. “The pay would be excellent and we believe the work would interest you.”
    â€œWhen?”
    It seemed to take the Guildsman a moment to understand him. Perhaps he had expected a different question; the nantana liked to anticipate. “You would need to begin as soon as possible. I regret that it would require your leaving the university for a time—”
    â€œI have obligations.”
    The Guildsman shook his head. “Your classes are all but finished. You have a paper to present at Graduation Seminar, which you’ve nearly completed; it could be read by a colleague. You have three advisees to lead through their final application process; the Registrar assures me that others can handle that. Aside from attending the graduation ceremony itself—a purely ceremonial appearance—that accounts for everything, does it not?”
    Masada said nothing. He visualized an icon to awaken his brainware, which quickly analyzed the time and effort required for the Guild to obtain such information without his passcodes. Impressive.
    â€œWhy?” he said at last.
    The Guildsman pulled out a chair and settled into it; his full sleeves fell upon the tabletop as he leaned forward, his posture stiff with tension. “One hundred and ninety E-days ago, a Guild outpilot was badly injured while returning to safespace. Analysis of his personal log shows there was a malfunction in his brainware at the moment of transition. It lasted only seconds, but that was long enough. In that instant he believed himself to be an alien creature, surrounded by beings whose brains didn’t function like his own. He believed that these beings had fed programs into his brainware which would make it impossible for him to think clearly, and that they had surgically implanted a mechanism in his arm which would feed drugs into his bloodstream, altering the very essence of his identity. With only seconds in which to act, he did what he could to disable the perceived mechanism, and then attempted to smash his skull open so that he could tear out his wiring. Fortunately for him, the latter effort failed.”
    â€œSince his basic assumptions were correct,” Masada said evenly, “I find it hard to comprehend your objection to them.”
    The Guildsman shook his head. “That moment of awareness should never have happened, Dr. Masada. You know the kinds of programs we use. You know how finely tuned they are. The moment he exited from the ainniq there should have been enough medication injected into his bloodstream to counteract any paranoid episode. Only there wasn’t. There was a delay. And that delay was deadly.”
    â€œHe was himself,” Masada said quietly. “For one moment longer than perhaps you would have liked, he saw the world through unaltered eyes. Is that a crime?”
    â€œHe was infected,” the Guildsman retorted. “Our people have isolated a programming virus they think was responsible, and they believe they know when and where he picked it up. What they don’t know is where it came from. That’s why we need you.”
    A virus. That was interesting. A virus implied origin, context ... and purpose. Who would want to disable an outpilot? And why?