He turned in his seat, to see the others gathered around him in silent incomprehension.
“What did you do?” Dawntreader asked.
Reede let his smile spread. “I released a computer virus I designed into the citadel’s central operating system. Soon everything will start to slow down. In a matter of hours the entire citadel will be completely defenseless. When the rest of Tuo Ne’el discovers that, they’ll do to this place what the Source did to Humbaba.” He saw Niburu and Ananke start. “That might give us the chance we need to get clear. At least it’ll take us all out together, cleanly, if we don’t make it…. Either way, it’s for the best. And it’s already done,” he finished, ending their protests before they could begin.
“Thank you, Gundhalinu-eshkrad….” He leaned against the desktop, his finger caressing the touchboard like a lover’s skin. “One night,” he murmured, “when we were back on Four, Gundhalinu walked out through that research complex’s security system with a container of stardrive, like he was taking out the garbage. The system would let him do anything, because he’d programmed it himself. The man is a fucking genius, and he doesn’t even know it. And you know why? It’s not because he’s brilliant—he’s smart enough, but his real strength is that he’s got common sense. He sees the point of things. The parallax view, the practical application; when to push, and when to pull back … the human fuckup factor. Gods, I envied him that night; I wanted to have his mind, instead of mine—” He broke off, glancing down. “I’ve been trying to think like that ever since. It’s not generally something I’m good at.”
“Neither am I,” Dawntreader murmured. “Maybe that’s why I’m here, and he’s with my wife.”
Reede looked up at him. “And you still trust him to take care of us if we get back there?”
Dawntreader sighed. “Completely,” he said.
“You know him that well?” Reede asked, skeptical.
Dawntreader looked at Ariele, squeezed her shoulder gently, before he looked back at Reede. “I don’t know him at all,” he said. “I don’t want to.”
Reede nodded, and glanced away. “Tell me, did you really have data for me about the mers?”
Dawntreader looked surprised by the change of subject, but he nodded. “I thought it would be a good idea, in case anybody asked for proof.”
“You brought your work on mersong and fugue theory,” Reede said, and knew from Dawntreader’s face that he was right. “That took real vision. You have a gift, Dawntreader.”
Sparks frowned, ignoring the compliment. “How did you get that? I didn’t give you that.”
Reede smiled. “I knew you were at least smart enough that you wouldn’t trust the Source completely when he ordered you to give us your data. So I raided your files. That’s something Gundhalinu taught me too …if you want it done right, you have to do it yourself.” He laughed humorlessly, glancing at the terminal. “He showed me that if you control the system, you become a god. Well, I’m the Render now, I’m the God of Death—” He wove his fingers together, and squeezed.
“You’ve had that all along?” Niburu asked, in something like disbelief. “You could have used it?”
“No… .”Reede shook his head. “It took a long time to learn the system, find its weaknesses, perfect my approach. … I had to find the perfect moment for my revenge. And now it’s here.” He got up from his seat, moving restlessly past them. They stepped out of his way, as if they saw something in his eyes, as if they believed in his godhood, his powers of destruction.
He went to the system that contained his work on the water of life, the sample he had been going through the motions with since before his last meeting with Gundhalinu. He toyed with the structure of the three-dimensional data model he called up into the screen. He altered it slightly, here and there; implementing the changes that he had tried over and over in his mind, frustrated by their perversity until his conversation with Gundhalinu had given him his sudden, terrible insight. He finished his alterations; ordered the system to copy them and produce a sample.
The others waited uncertainly as he retrieved the maintenance doses of the water of death already waiting in one of the sealed cabinets. The Source had been unusually prompt in releasing his supply while he had been recuperating from his ordeal.
He handed the combined dose to Dawntreader, explaining tersely about what il was. “Don’t lose this, for gods’ sakes, whatever you do.” Dawntreader nodded, putting the small container into his belt pouch.
“All right,” Reede said. “Niburu, I want you to take everybody on a little tour of the citadel. Lose yourselves.” Niburu stared at him. “End up back near the entrance to the docking bays, and wait. Wait for the confusion to start, and pick your moment to ride it. I’ll meet you there.”
“What the hell are you going to be doing?” Niburu demanded.
Reede looked away. “I have unfinished business. … I have something the Source wants. I’m going to let him have it.”
“Reede, no—” Ariele said, pulling away from Dawntreader and coming to his side.
“Boss, you can’t—” Niburu protested.
“By the Lady and all the gods!” Dawntreader said. “If you’ve really set this entire citadel up to be destroyed, you’ll get all the revenge you need against the Source, for whatever he’s done to you. That’s enough.”
“No,” Reede whispered. “It isn’t enough.” He jerked his head toward the way out. “You think they won’t check up on your unexpected arrival, Dawntreader? You think they’re not asking a lot of questions about you right now? Jaakola’s not stupid—he knows who you are. I’ve got to give him something else to think about for the next couple of hours, or we’ll never make it out of here alive. I said I’ll meet you later. Get out.” He took a step toward them, and they retreated—all of them except Ariele. Dawntreader took hold of her arms, gently but firmly, and forced her away from him. She followed her father out, looking back over her shoulder as he led her away. Reede saw fear for him in her eyes—and, suddenly, a red hunger for vengeance that matched his own.
“The LB’s in Docking Bay Three, boss. On the lower level,” Niburu called. “Just in case you’re late—”
“Hurry—” Ariele cried.
He nodded, watching her go, watching them disappear one by one through the doorway and back into the outer world. He listened until they were gone. And then, moving as if there were all the time in the world, he sent a message to the Source to expect him soon. “Tell him I have what he wants,” he said, and cut contact.
He went back, alone, through the echoing lab to check the displays on the molecular cookers. He settled onto a stool, sat motionless watching the progress of his program. At last the screen went blank, replacing its run of data sequences with two luminous words: SEQUENCE COMPLETED. Reede smiled. He got up again, and went to the place where his weapon waited for him. He picked up the clear vial, studying its contents—the heavy, silver fluid that moved like memory within its walls.
He took the vial and left the lab, made his way through the sprawling citadel complex, observing its workings, its inhabitants, its perfect, hermetic universe with an odd detachment. He noticed with satisfaction the unusual number of cursing, confused workers of all kinds who were suddenly having difficulties with their operating systems.
It took him longer to reach his destination than he had expected, because he was delayed for nearly half an hour when a shuttle was unexpectedly rerouted. His satisfaction at the error was tinged with unease by the time he finally arrived at the outer perimeter of the Source’s private sector and requested his audience with the Master. The virus seemed to be spreading through the system even faster than he had anticipated. He prayed the others would be watching the signs, or they’d never time their return to the docks right. He had to trust them to play their part; just as they had to trust him to do this….