Read Online Clarkesworld Anthology 2012 by Wyrm Publishing - Free Book Online Page B

receptive to the humans’ control.
    I rise slowly, like floating up to the surface from the depths of an ocean, the lights and sounds of the control room wavering and resolving. I blink, eyes slow to focus as the ciliary muscles reawaken to their duties.
    On every wall of the room, the display screens shine with dazzling varicolored light. My tear ducts water, my pupils hasten to contract. I see the humans shading their faces with their hands, so I know my body’s reaction is not an oversensitive after-effect of deep interfacing. The screens are very bright.
    Yes, I realize. The screens are Bright.
    “They’re beautiful,” says Rosenberg, “even if it hurts to look at them.”
    Ahmed is still bent over a console. “There’s an audio recording, too, but the frequencies are all ultrasonic.”
    Rosenberg asks, “What are they saying?”
    “It’ll take a while for the translators to work it out,” says Ahmed.
    “Unnecessary,” I say. I force some crude adjustments to the anatomy of my ears, expanding the range of my hearing. The recording is part-way through the message, but I wait until the end and it loops back to the beginning. “Roughly translated: the Legacy ’s destination is a research base on a dwarf planet in the outskirts of the Brights’ home system. They hope that, in the time it has taken your primitive species to develop interplanetary travel and discover Legacy , the pathogen will have gone extinct. The research base contains preserved samples of healthy Bright genomes. If you have the technology to restore plant biota from the genomic database and shepherd Legacy through the transition to maturity, you will be able to restore the Brights.”
    Everyone goes quiet. What have I done, meddling in the fate of these humans? An ambassador would have known better than to do for them what they cannot do themselves; I was a fool to think I could help without entangling myself. I feel nauseated, an unfamiliar physiological response to this upwelling of emotions inside me.
    Ahmed is the one who says what they all must be thinking. “But it wasn’t us who brought back the plants and guided the ship, it was you.”
    Which means the task of restoring the Brights falls on my shoulders, not theirs. “I know,” I say, and rush from the room.

    Hiding in the aft solarium, I stare out at the painted starscape. By human means of reckoning, this region of space was my home for three lifetimes: cold empty death punctuated with tiny oases of energy and life. They all belonged to me, once. I felt at home in the void, satisfied with what I was, and now I am trapped behind this glass and can only yearn for that silent solitary existence.
    At my core I am a fighter pilot — a thug, a killer. I was made to do what the rest of the Sheekah, with their delicate dispositions, could not. How can anyone expect me to resurrect a whole sentient species when all my training and experience has been in dealing death, not life?
    I am no one’s savior. It is too heavy a burden to bear.
    Liu comes in: shuffle, shuffle, soft steps on the deck. He approaches hesitantly, hanging back as if he doesn’t wish to intrude on my thoughts.
    “Rosenberg sent you?” I say. I am learning how their hierarchy works.
    Liu takes the words for an invitation and joins me on the bench. “She wants me to try talking with you.”
    “We have now spoken.” I look at him. “You may report success.”
    “Why, Ohree, that was almost a joke. Are you growing a sense of humor to go with the mammalian physique?”
    “Doubtful,” I say, looking away again. Though maybe I am.
    Liu lets out a loud breath. His vocal pitch drops lower. “You know what I’m here to ask you about.”
    “Rosenberg wants me to continue with you to your destination. Rosenberg wants me to revive the Brights.”
    “We can’t do it without you, obviously.”
    “You do not understand. The process will not be a simple one, like with the seeds. Brights are very complex organisms. I