Juggler of Worlds by Larry Niven and Edward M. Lerner Page B

frighteningly authentic.
    “We’ve spotted a ship-sized object plunging into Sirius system at eight-tenths light speed. Repeat, oh-point-eight cee. Preliminary observations suggest that it’s altering course.”
    Aiming?
    People filled the hallway outside Sigmund’s office. “Kzinti?” someone whispered. Others murmured agreement.
    ARM naval forces must be scrambling. If Jinx was under attack, why not also Earth? And who but the ratcats would try it?
    Near light speed meant a kinetic-kill weapon. A ship-sized mass going that fast was a planet-buster. How could you stop it? No one would survive the impact. How had the ratcats managed this?
    Jinx to Baen, and then Southworth to Earth. Those light-speed crawls in the gravity wells meant almost a day’s delay. Was Jinx still there?
    “Quiet, everyone,” Sigmund snapped. And then—
    In the streaming message, a woman in JDF uniform whispered into Rickman’s ear. “A moment,” Rickman said. He turned his back to the camera. Men and women huddled.
    “The transmission is muted,” Medusa said. “I lip-read something about a radio contact, presumably with the intruder. Now I can’t hear or lip-read.”
    Sigmund wondered: Who mutes an end-of-the-world message?
    Rickman turned back to the camera. Anger had replaced fear in his eyes. “We’ve just gotten a message from the object. It’s owned by a futzy flatlander, name of Gregory Pelton. He’s demanding rescue. He’s decelerating, so it’s probably not an attack. Have you got anything on this yutz?”
    Sigmund sent: “Respectable citizen. No record of wrongdoing.” Thinking: Respectable until he began consorting with Beowulf Shaeffer. The Jinxians didn’t need to know about those suspicions.
    But from where was Pelton returning? And how, at eight-tenths of cee in Einstein space?
    THE TRANSFER BOOTH delivered Sigmund from ARM HQ to—Atlantis? Beyond a picture window, a stingray rippled languidly. Coral glistened in crystalline, sunlit waters.
    Carlos Wu emerged from a shadowed alcove of the vestibule. “I do apologize, Agent Ausfaller. I enjoy the reactions too much to forewarn guests.”
    “I thought I was transferring to your home,” Sigmund said. He tried to ignore the tons of water pressure striving to crush that window. The lobby decor favored shells, driftwood, fishing nets, and seascapes, like a seafood restaurant designed by a really exclusive interior designer.
    “This
is
home.” Carlos smiled disingenuously. “It happens to nestle inside the Great Barrier Reef.”
    It took more than money to live somewhere so ecologically fragile—it took a UN license. One more perk for the genetically golden? Then Feather stepped through, and the confusion on
her
face was priceless. Sigmund excused their host. “Dr. Carlos Wu. Agent Feather Filip.”
    “Just Carlos.” Carlos shook Feather’s hand enthusiastically. He offered beverages and snacks, pointed out a lionfish hiding in a crevice of the reef, and generally bubbled with enthusiasm.
    Annoyingly charming, Sigmund thought. Or is there more to Wu’s animation than that?
    A quick data dive had shown Wu used to hang around with Sharrol Janss. Had she contacted him since meeting Shaeffer? “Thanks for seeing us on such short notice, Carlos.”
    “Sit.” Their host gestured at massage chairs. “You’re welcome, of course. I’m glad to help. At least I assume I am. You didn’t really explain. Not another galactic explosion, I hope.”
    “Nothing so dramatic,” Sigmund said. “Not quite. It may still merit a few minutes’ conversation with an astrophysical genius.”
    The Jinx Defense Force had yet to admit publicly to its brief panic. If no one else revealed the intruder, Sigmund guessed the JDF meant to keep it secret.
    Feather shifted in her chair. “Here’s a hypothetical question. Say I wanted to accelerate a large object, ship sized, up to, oh, say, eighty percent of light speed. How would I do that?”
    “I’d need other parameters.”