But he couldn’t focus, not with the voice constantly interrupting him. That, of course, was the trouble with it all—he was tired of the lack of consistency in himself. He was always torn between one thing and another—between abandoning his men or taking them with him, between leaving the Republic in peace or slitting its throat to end its misery, between going after his family or pursuing the fortunes the stardrive offered. For every decision he made, the other presence was there to protest. And he could never appease it, never satisfy its insatiable need to demand from him what ought to be done—who he ought to become.
But you know what you ought to do; you’re just too afraid to do it.
“Shut up,” Kane said.
“Excuse me?” Sootriman asked, her eyebrows raised.
Shut up? That’s no way to talk to yourself.
“I said, shut up.”
Please, old man. I can no more cease talking to you than you can leave your body. I’m simply waiting for you to come to the same conclusion that I have.
“Now, you listen here…” Sootriman said.
“STOP TALKING!” Kane roared. He whipped the MRG from its holster and squeezed the trigger. The weapon barked and blew off the top of Sootriman’s throne. Splinters rained down on her hair and shoulders. Her guards made to lunge, but Nos Kil threatened them with his MX21.
“I want to know where the Luma went,” Kane said, moving his pistol to the first civilian his eye caught. “She has something I want.”
“I believe you have come to the wrong place,” Sootriman said, raising her chin.
Do it.
It’s a civilian.
I know.
But I… I’ve never killed civilians in cold blood.
But you were fine with blowing up dignitaries and diplomats?
That was different.
How?
Kane hesitated. Maybe it wasn’t any different. Maybe this was all just part of saving the Republic from itself—from saving the galaxy from the darkness that he knew the Republic was summoning. The work was dire, but it had to be done. And he knew in his heart of hearts that he was the one to do it.
Do it. Do it now.
Kane’s hand shook.
DO IT!
Kane squeezed the trigger. Several people screamed. Sootriman looked at Kane, horrified.
“I want to know where the Luma went,” Kane said again. Only he was no longer Kane. He was someone else entirely, and he pointed his weapon at the next civilian he saw.
32
The mood on the Indomitable’s bridge was somber as the ship approached the coordinates for the quantum tunnel. The cockpit lights were dim, which allowed Awen a clear view of the vast array of stars beyond the window. Expanding in the center, however, was a black spot that looked like an oil spill on a canopy. No, it isn’t like something has blotted out the stars; it is more like something has removed them completely—as if nothing was there at all.
Ezo was laser focused on helming the vessel, his eyes constantly checking for increases in speed and changes in attitude relative to the event horizon. TO-96’s normally chatty self was surprisingly withdrawn, and he was all business as he monitored the ship’s systems. Blips, pings, and chimes went off in steady succession as the sensors fed more data to TO-96.
Awen felt completely useless. She sat, strapped into her chair, fidgeting. If she’d been a mechanic, maybe she’d be in the aft, taking care of the drive core. If she’d been a trooper, she thought maybe she’d be in a gunner’s seat, but then she remembered that the Indomitable didn’t have any weapons systems. Okay, so no gunner’s seat. What can I do?
You’re a Luma, Awen.
Scolding herself for not thinking of it sooner, Awen closed her eyes and settled her center. Here, in the core of who she was, lay the beginning point of her existence as well as its end, the place where her life flowed from and where it would cease when she died. This center was her truest self, the one whose thoughts and feelings she trusted more than any of her personality’s many layers. If she listened carefully enough, she could hear the true narrative of her life, not the dozens of false ones she told herself—and certainly not the ones that others spoke over her. But spending too much time in the core was uncomfortable if not dangerous for the uninitiated.
“It is possible to see too much of one’s self too soon,” Willowood had said during an early lecture at the academy. “Unless you know yourself well, it may seem like you’re meeting a stranger at first. Therefore, it is best to make introductions slowly and treat yourself gently.”
She didn’t know why she was recalling all of this as the ship neared the quantum tunnel. It seemed an inopportune time to wade into the existential dynamics of the Unity of all things and the role of the true self. Best to keep moving, lest I meet too much of myself. She ignored the sudden desire to linger and stretched out her senses in the Unity.
Awen saw Ezo and TO-96, both of them faithfully attending to their various control surfaces. She saw herself and the bridge and then the whole ship. Outside in the void, she could see beautiful ripples expanding away from the Indomitable as if the ship was a stone skipping along a lake’s still surface at sunset. The stars in the distance hummed, resonating like fireflies on a summer night. And there—directly in front of her—was a light brighter than any sun she’d ever laid eyes on. The quantum tunnel.
Had this epicenter been as bright in the natural realm, and her vision optical, Awen was sure she would have covered her face with her hands and still been able to see the brightness in her mind. The tunnel’s light in the Unity was that all-consuming, that all-embracing. For a brief moment, she thought her flesh and bones would melt at the light’s intensity, but then the feeling was gone.
In the Unity of all things, however, Awen could make out not just luminescence but coloration as well. The light was not white but a coalescence of many colors—some she had never even seen before. In fact, the closer to the center she looked, the more densely packed the colors became.
Awen kept looking for the point at which the quantum tunnel began, like the center of a target. She moved forward in the Unity, sure she would make it out at any moment. But the farther her senses stretched into the beyond, the more the beyond invited her in, swallowing her vision. Rather than finding a point on a map, Awen found a direction on a horizon, a continual summons that she could not see the end of. The quantum tunnel’s gravity was pulling her presence in the Unity from her physical body. Farther and farther it stretched, going so far that she feared journeying into it might separate her from her body. Forever.
The thought startled her, and she recoiled, snapping back into her mortal body. She gasped and noticed that her body was shaking.
“You okay, Star Queen?” Ezo said over his shoulder, his voice rising above a commotion on the bridge.
Awen realized she wasn’t shaking from her fear alone but from a very physical quaking of the ship as well. “I’m fine,” she said, gripping the arms of her chair.
“Getting rough,” Ezo said, stating the obvious.
“The tunnel’s gravity also seems to be employing a compression scheme that will most likely have an adverse effect on our physiology,” TO-96 stated.
“You mean our physiology,” Ezo corrected, indicating Awen and himself.
“Quite so, sir. My apologies. Though I do not think I will be without effect either, nor will the ship,” the bot said, looking around.
With each passing second, the ship shook more rapidly, as if someone was turning up the oscillation pattern on an audio device. The pitch rose higher and higher, and Awen noticed an acute pain in the middle of her head. “Does anyone else feel that?” she yelled.
“And here Ezo thought it was just his hangover,” Ezo replied, squinting through a forced smile.
“I am not clear on what you are referring to,” TO-96 said, “but I am aware of the quantum tunnel’s density now beginning to approach terminal levels for matter in our universe.”
“Terminal, as
in lethal?” Ezo asked.
“Correct, s-s-sir,” the bot stuttered. The lights in his eye sockets flickered.
Awen’s vision began to diminish, and it seemed like the entire cabin was shrinking. A wave of vertigo struck her so hard she knew she was nanoseconds away from vomiting. Strangely, she felt guilty that she would not have time to grab the bag that Ezo had placed under her seat.
* * *
At first, the voice sounded like it was underwater. Awen tried to focus her blurry vision, but a combination of searing pain near her temples and a strong urge to pass out kept her from making out anything beyond fuzzy shapes. The voice continued to speak until Awen finally heard her name.
“Awen… hear me?”
She blinked several times and noticed an arm. Then she saw a hand. She moved the fingers. It was her hand. The shapes in her field of view started to clarify.
“Awen? Can you hear me?”
She tried to speak, but no words came out. A face was getting closer to hers. Its eyes were enormous. It was terrifying!
“Awen?”
And then her stomach lurched. She was so tired of throwing up. Awen wiped spittle from her lips, using the hand. She could smell bile in her nostrils.
“I got you,” it said. She knew that voice. It was—a friend. No, it was just…
“Ezo?” she asked.
“Phew! Star Queen, you had us worried there for a moment.”
“Worried?” Awen repeated, finally getting her bearings. She was on the bridge of the Indomitable. They’d been headed toward something important—toward a hole in space. The stardrive. The Novia Minoosh. The quantum tunnel.
“Did we make it?” she asked.
Ezo smiled. “We sure did, Star Queen.”
Awen returned his smile and tried to stand up.
“Easy there,” he coached, insisting she stay seated. “You’ve been out for several minutes. The jump hit you hardest of all, it seems.”
“Her vitals are stabilizing,” TO-96 said.
“But we really did make it, yes?”
“Indeed, Awen,” the bot replied. “Just as Ezo said. And the jump seems to have been almost instantaneous. By my calculations, one point eight attoseconds. That is a billionth of a billionth—”
“Don’t think she cares right now, ’Six.”
“Ah, yes. My apologies.” TO-96 knelt on her other side and offered his hand to her. Awen grasped his and Ezo’s hands and stood. It took a moment more for her to get her balance. Then she stared out the bridge window, her eyes widening, mouth agape.
TO-96 leaned in and whispered, “Welcome to metaspace, Awen.”
Instead of brilliant white, the stars here were various shades of purple set against the same infinitely black background. A fine pink-hued cloud connected the millions of lights like a spiderweb that looked as if it had been blown about at the hands of an ancient wind. Other smaller gems twinkled in the distance, flickers of green and blue and gold. The entire scene seemed to pulse with otherworldly energy the likes of which she’d never encountered before.
“It’s… magnificent,” Awen said, spellbound by the sight. She felt a surge of emotion so strong that tears welled in her eyes. Almost a minute passed before she finally found words again. “I… I can’t believe I’m seeing this.”
“Nor can we,” TO-96 said.
“I’m just glad you made it through,” Ezo said. “We were worried about you there.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning toward them. “I’m fine. Really, I am.” She smoothed her turtleneck and noticed the puke stain. It smelled terrible.
“Let’s get you some new clothes,” Ezo said.
“Thank you. But what about the planet?”
Ezo smiled at TO-96. “Go on,” he prompted.
“Ithnor Ithelia is right where they said it would be,” TO-96 replied, naming the planet for the first time. Awen mouthed the words back at him in wonder. Then the bot input a few commands, and the ship began a slow turn to starboard. The stars pitched across the window until a brilliant purple star flooded the bridge with light. The ship’s sensors adjusted the window’s transparency to reduce glare. As the Indomitable continued its rolling arc, a new object began to fill the field of view.
Appearing from the lower right was a massive planet whose greens and blues were nearly iridescent in the purple sun’s light. Countless flecks of white and gold sparkled on the planet’s surface. The world looked like nothing Awen had ever witnessed, nothing she’d ever imagined. She’d felt overwhelmed before, but now she was overcome with emotions so strong that she wept openly. One hand covered her mouth, and the other pushed back tears and loose strands of hair. This was the single most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in all her life.
“Ithnor Ithelia,” she whispered. “You are breathtaking.”
* * *
For the first time in her life, Awen didn’t vomit during atmospheric entry. She was too excited to be sick, though she doubted there was anything left in her stomach to throw up. She was also too excited to be mad at Ezo—at least for a little while. She pressed herself up against her harness like a little kid trying to look out the family skiff’s front windshield from the back seat. Purple-blue light saturated the landscape—what little of it she could see—and continued to bathe the cockpit in the otherworldly glow.
Once the ship’s rate of speed had decreased and the vibrations subsided, TO-96 began conveying sensor data to Ezo and Awen. “The atmosphere is… surprisingly conducive to biological life as we know it. Trace amounts of other compounds but nothing that should impede your ability to breathe normally.”
“So you’re saying you’re pretty sure we won’t die?” Ezo asked.
“I calculate that there is less than a three percent chance that one of the trace elements is lethal, correct, sir.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
“Me too,” Awen said. “How long before we can touch down? I don’t even know what the protocol is for something exploratory like this.”
Ezo looked at her and raised his shoulders. “Me neither, Star Queen. But it is your expedition, technically speaking. Your op.”
“Awen,” TO-96 said, “might I suggest reviewing data from the preliminary sensor scans to aid in your decision-making?”
“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Awen said. “I’m assuming I can unbuckle now?”
“Aside from thermal sheering or atmospheric anomalies, both of which the ship’s dampeners can account for, I would say everything will be smooth from here.”
Awen undid her harness and climbed out of her seat. “How soon before the scans are finished?”
“Well, we will need several more hours to complete a full planetary rotation. However, I’m bringing up the preliminary scans now.” TO-96’s head twitched back and forth as he worked with the Indomitable’s AI to present query results. Three holo-projections displayed across the dashboard, indicating…
What? Awen wondered, moving between Ezo and TO-96 for a better look. All she saw were jungle-covered mountains, none of which looked like good candidates for landing a starship, let alone being hubs for an advanced sentient species to congregate in.
“These represent the three largest cities detected on this hemisphere,” TO-96 said, “one of which happens to be the one indicated on the stardrive—here.” He pointed to the center image and started it rotating.
“I don’t understand,” Awen replied. All she saw was a pyramid-like mountain with countless protrusions on its surface, all of which were covered in foliage. The city looked more like a spiny mass in a dense jungle than the shining metropolis she expected. “Are they—are the inhabitants jungle primates or something?” She looked at Ezo and then at TO-96, wondering if they were as confused as she was.
“Ah, I think I understand your assumptions. This is a visual scan only. Here,” TO-96 said, looking down at the dashboard. He eliminated the two peripheral projections and expanded the center one of the city until it nearly filled the
bridge. “This should help you.”
All the green vanished to reveal one of the most stunning cities Awen had ever seen—it even rivaled the architecture and grandeur of Capriana. Delicate spires towered over latticework skyscrapers, serpentine sky bridges wove between monolithic domes, and countless causeways and canals formed a footprint so mathematically perfect that Awen wondered who could have designed and written such a beautiful algorithm.
“It’s spectacular,” she whispered.
“You can say that again,” Ezo said.
“But I still don’t understand it,” Awen said. “Why the foliage? Are we saying… this city’s been reclaimed by the planet? That would mean—”
“It’s abandoned,” Ezo concluded.
Awen’s heart sank. To come so far, to risk so much, to witness so many people’s death’s, all for a lost civilization? She knew the discovery would not be a total loss, of course. Such a find would merit decades of excavation and cultural findings to last centuries of analysis by the Luma. But still—she was hoping to discover the most important find of all: life.
“Ninety-Six, what about life signs?” she asked.
“I’m sorry, Awen, but besides basic and complex organisms one might find in any jungle throughout our galaxy, there is nothing notable—nothing that I’m sure you’re looking for.”
Awen lowered her head. “Keep scanning, Ninety-Six. But let’s look for a place to land.”
“As you wish, Awen.”
33
Magnus dragged Valerie and Piper across the desert in a makeshift sled as the sun baked them raw. They were headed east toward the canyon and the closer of the two settlements he’d seen from the air. With any luck, they’d arrive by nightfall.
Magnus had taken one of the glass canopies, flipped it over, adhered several pads from the downed capsules to it, and covered it with fabric from the parachutes to act as a shade. Then he repurposed a few meters of his grappling-hook line, tied it around his waist, and connected it to the sled.
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