by Ryk E. Spoor
‘‘Indeed would that be a fine thing,’’ Orphan said. ‘‘Though I am afraid not entirely likely. Tell me, First Guide, what brings the leader of all the Faith to be passing by this ramp at this very moment?’’
The chime-and-buzz translated to a warm chuckle. ‘‘Do the Initiate Guides not see when the Creators permit? Do we not watch and hear their guidance, that we, in turn, might guide those of the Arena to truth and revelation? It was in the seventh turning of yesterday’s light that I saw this place, and knew you would come. Perhaps they are the ones?’’
Orphan’s snort of laughter was, perhaps, not as polite as it could have been. ‘‘And has the Faith not asked that question ever, for each new Emergents? Did you not even ask it of the Blessed when they arrived?’’
‘‘And so we shall ask, until the answer becomes yes.’’ Nyanthus spun slowly in place. ‘‘You know that it is joy for us to see new arrivals, for they are most ready to appreciate the wonder of this Creation and understand it, as others—more jaded and cynical—cannot.’’ The First Guide flowed a bit closer to Ariane. ‘‘Behold much of Nexus Arena, Captain Ariane Austin; see many of its wonders. But commit to nothing until you have understood what you see, and if you need help in that understanding, know—the Faith is ready to assist you.’’
Commit to nothing indeed. I never wanted to be in politics, and now I don’t have a choice. ‘‘I thank you for your gentle warning and your offer, Nyanthus,’’ she said. ‘‘I am sure we will have many questions which the Faith can answer, once we know the right questions to ask.’’
The creature flickered its carved-candle top open momentarily again. ‘‘We are pleased with your courtesy, and shall now leave you to the learning; it would be unkind and unwise for us to further press you now.’’ It bobbed at Orphan. ‘‘Treat with them well, Orphan; remember that the current can aid only those who seek not to shift it.’’
‘‘I have been given more than one lesson in such things, First Guide. But your advice is well-taken.’’ Orphan waited until the three strange figures had moved some considerable distance off. Then he turned to the humans. ‘‘Your first official greeting is, to be honest, one of the best that could be hoped for. Although somewhat worrisome in its own way.’’
DuQuesne nodded. ‘‘You mean the fact that the leader of a Faction important enough to play a major role in everything that happens here would show up to greet us?’’
‘‘It shows his interest, and does indeed give you an opening; the Faith are—within limits—trustworthy, and they do not make empty offers.’’ Orphan’s body language somehow conveyed a cynical smile; Ariane wondered if she was just learning to interpret it better. ‘‘Doing favors can gain the goodwill they need to gain more . . . converts, I suppose would be the best term.’’
‘‘They’re also powerful because they can perform miracles, if I understood you correctly?’’ asked Simon.
A buzz-slap was translated as a derisive snort. ‘‘Miracles? ZZ-Zk. Shadeweaver tricks with a different name, as far as I can tell.’’
‘‘Which is why they don’t get along with the Shadeweavers,’’ Ariane said, nodding. The musing on the interactions reminded her of a question she hadn’t asked.’’How many Factions are there, Orphan?’’
‘‘Some would say as many as there are individuals, Ariane Austin.’’ Orphan spread his wingcases apologetically. ‘‘But that is not truly what you ask. There are a very large number of Factions, but there are—relatively speaking—only a few of them which are truly powerful and on whose actions much of the politics of the Arena hinge. You have now met three such, or four if I might count myself.’’
‘‘I don’t know if seeing a Shadeweaver for a second and having it disappear counts as ‘meeting’ the Faction,’’ Ariane pointed out, glancing a bit nervously at a squat pair of creatures whose appearance seemed to owe a great deal to tarantulas; however, those aliens gave them a wide berth. In fact, it was evident that much of the Transition traffic kept to the individual lanes sloping down from specific Gateways, making collisions of traffic minimal and encounters between different species or groups something that would almost have to be done deliberately.
‘‘A point. Although they undoubtedly consider that they have met you now. One of the most unpredictable and dangerous Factions, yet also most helpful when the mood strikes them.’’ Orphan confirmed.
‘‘Isn’t counting yourself pretty arrogant, if there’s only one of you?’’ DuQuesne asked.
‘‘Perhaps. Perhaps not, in another sense. You will come to judge on your own. Let us say that my very existence is sufficient to disturb the Blessed and affect their actions, and in any accounting of the Factions the Blessed would be ranked very highly indeed.’’
Sandrisson, meanwhile, had been studying the spectacularly-varying crowds. ‘‘Orphan, I must say that there are other aspects of this that confuse me mightily. For example . . . how is that creature managing to walk at all?’’
The creature Sandrisson indicated was a translucent creature, blue and green, that seemed as delicate as a jellyfish and moved along on tendrils scarcely more sturdy looking than tentacles.
‘‘How . . . Ah, yes, I see your meaning, Dr. Sandrisson,’’ Orphan said after a pause. ‘‘Look about you closely. See you the three Milluk—round-shelled creatures on four legs?’’
After a moment, Ariane spotted the Milluk, about three feet high, almost spherical. ‘‘Yes, I see them.’’ There seemed to be a faint haze near them, slightly brownish.
‘‘I think I get it. Though if I’m right it’s just one more ‘How the hell does that work?’ mystery,’’ DuQuesne said. ‘‘The Arena is maintaining individual environments around all of us. So that thing Sandrisson was pointing at, it’s in a very low-G pocket, and those, um, Milluk have their particular atmospheric requirements met.’’
‘‘Exactly. Here we are all equal and supplied with appropriate support. On one’s home Sphere, of course, conditions are kept appropriate only for the legitimate owners or claimants.’’
‘‘Claimants?’’
‘‘Yes. It is possible to land on the outer Sphere and claim all or part of it, and until the claim is successfully contested the claimants can cause the immediate area they claim to conform to their needs.’’ Orphan was guiding them now across the flat floor of Transition, towards a series of huge archways which clearly exited from this central station. ‘‘This is of course a rare event indeed, since it can only happen when the legitimate and natural residents of a Sphere have not yet emerged and laid claim to the outer Sphere, or if a direct attempt is made to invade the Sphere by a credible force.’’
‘‘Invade? On the scale you’re describing, I’d think that would be virtually impossible,’’ DuQuesne said, frowning.
Orphan gave a surprisingly humanlike sigh. ‘‘Alas, Dr. DuQuesne, the problem is that no matter how many things I think I have explained, I realize there are a thousand more I haven’t, and that you will need to understand soon. There are the Sky Gates, which are something like the Inner Gateway but . . . well, no, not really like them at all, I suppose. And while it is, of course, convenient to have a Sky Gate leading you to another Sphere directly, it is not at all impossible to reach other Spheres without that advantage, and indeed many are the opportunities to be had in that fashion.’’ The translation of his next laugh was low, controlled, like someone hiding an impending surprise. ‘‘Allow me to show you. There is a viewing lounge to this side, and the sight may assist you in understanding.’’
Ariane exchanged glances with Sandrisson and DuQuesne. Sandrisson grinned. ‘‘I think our friend may have thought of another opportunity for his vicarious sense of wonder.’’
‘‘If it helps me get a better understanding of this cockamamie asylum, I’m all for it,’’ DuQuesne muttered. Not for the first time, Ariane noticed the occasional odd turns of phrase the power engineer used, and now she understood why he did. Another tiny bit of comedy and tragedy from the Wagnerian-scale screwup of Hyper
ion.
They passed along a corridor which seemed—at least at the moment—little used, though still immense, thirty meters across and opening up into a strange room. Ahead of them the floor changed from metallic/stony to something clear as polished glass, with a broad latticework of shining silver for internal supports. Ahead, this glassy floor extended only another hundred meters, ending a few meters short of the wall, the gap edged by a protective railing a meter and a half high. To either side, the room extended at least a kilometer, and it was at least that high overhead and—dizzyingly—extended at least that far below.
Orphan led them to the railing. When they were all gathered, he turned. ‘‘Captain Austin. Dr. DuQuesne. Dr. Sandrisson. Behold the Arena.’’ He gave a sweeping outward gesture, and the wall suddenly became transparent.
Ariane gave an inarticulate cry and barely kept herself from stumbling back from the rail; she saw DuQuesne’s hands tighten, and Sandrisson did step back, almost seeking shelter behind her and DuQuesne.
Before them was a vast skyscape, a twining, roiling sea of air and cloud, brown and black and white and green, extending beyond the reach of sight in all directions. Through this atmosphere swam tiny shapes, some dimmed by haze of distance, that seemed no more than a meter long, finned or sailed things like strange fish.
Then one of them suddenly appeared to the left, emerging from a cloud in majesty, trailing streamers of mist from spars and masts, a titanic ship a kilometer long, lights blinking on its extremities, a distorted image of the massive, impossibly huge Nexus Arena reflected on the polished bronze-colored hull. As it passed, Ariane could see a bridge or forward observation deck, through which tiny figures were visible moving about. In the deepest distance, scarcely visible through the murk and gloom, another spark of light was seen, near to some monstrous shape, a shadow against shadow, of a Sphere that could envelop a world.
‘‘Behold the Arena,’’ Orphan repeated, more quietly, almost reverently. ‘‘The endless skies, the worlds that drift in cloud and light and shadow, a place where storms a million million kilometers wide clash above and around embattled Spheres, where trading ships and pirates and mercenaries travel beside, prey upon, and defend explorers, decadent tourists, lost souls searching for a home or a cause, armadas finding new worlds to conquer, and all, all of them looking, watching, asking for news . . . news of First Emergents, of ancient ancient ruins atop a lost Sphere, of rumors of Voidbuilder knowledge or Shadeweaver powers . . . and all of them returning here to hear that news, to behold the newcomers—and perhaps to Challenge them, or be themselves Challenged, and gain or lose all in a single contest. It is my home. Now it is yours.’’
Chapter 25
Ariane finally broke herself out of the spell that the awful grandeur of the Arena had cast. The description that Orphan had given before had been impressive, but it simply—to be honest—exceeded her ability to visualize. Apparently that wasn’t the case for DuQuesne and Sandrisson, who’d been clearly shellshocked by the scale of the Arena in a way she hadn’t.
But this was different. Here she could see and her mind was forced to grapple with a scale of construction and distance that wasn’t appropriate to anything built by the hand of mortal beings. That almost-invisible shadow against the darkest reaches of the Arena’s . . . atmosphere, that was a Sphere . . . like the one inside which they’d arrived, something so monstrously huge that they needed an interplanetary drive to travel from one side to the other in reasonable time. And that was just one Sphere, barely visible, with others to be found if one just kept going into the infinite veiled darkness and light.
She laughed suddenly, and Sandrisson jumped. Even DuQuesne twitched. ‘‘What’s the joke?’’ Simon asked.
‘‘It’s just . . . funny how things hit you differently, just depending on what you’re thinking at the time,’’ she answered. ‘‘It occurred to me that if this was one of the simgames, I’d simply be looking and saying ‘Wow, that’s a cool idea—nice effects.’ Totally different reaction if you’re seeing it and thinking ‘This is real.’’’
DuQuesne grunted, a surprised sound. ‘‘Hadn’t thought of it that way. Of course, I have reasons for not wanting to think of reality the way I do a game. I keep a very clear division between them, as you might guess.’’
‘‘Actually,’’ Simon said, ‘‘I’m rather surprised you participate in such entertainments at all . . . given the circumstances.’’
‘‘My own form of therapy.’’ DuQuesne’s gaze was distant, and she saw a shadow of sadness in his expression. ‘‘It’d be easy to simply avoid all things that reminded me of Hyperion; it would also have crippled me in a number of ways, professionally and socially.’’
Orphan was looking from one to another, puzzled. ‘‘Having near-perfect translation is little help, my friends, when you talk in riddles.’’
‘‘Never mind. It doesn’t concern you,’’ the dark-haired scientist snapped, brusquely. ‘‘No offense. It’s personal, and let’s not get sidetracked.’’
Orphan studied him a moment, then gave one of his wing-shrug gestures. ‘‘Indeed not. Come then. I hope you found this diversion entertaining and instructive.’’
‘‘Gave me a gut feeling for what we’re dealing with, that’s for sure,’’ Ariane said, following Orphan back towards Transition. ‘‘That’s what’s outside our Sphere, then?’’
‘‘Something of that nature, yes. The view will differ in details,’’ Orphan said, as they emerged once more into the Brobdingnagian foyer of Nexus Arena. ‘‘For example, from my Sphere, currently the sky is predominantly greenish as a major storm is passing, and—’’
Orphan suddenly stopped short—so suddenly that Ariane once more found herself bumping into someone’s back. Orphan’s was considerably less yielding than DuQuesne’s. ‘‘What the . . . ’’
She trailed off as her gaze followed Orphan’s, to see ten figures very like Orphan’s striding purposefully through the crowd. The other groups parted, making way for Sethrik and the Blessed, who had apparently just entered via a Gateway somewhere near the middle of Transition. After a moment it became clear that Sethrik had not seen them, and they were able to watch as the Blessed left via the farthest side exit.
‘‘My apologies, Captain Austin,’’ Orphan said, once the last of the Blessed had disappeared. ‘‘Perhaps it was foolish of me, but I did not wish to precipitate a confrontation at this time.’’
‘‘No apology needed. I didn’t want another face-off right now either.’’ Seeing Transition again reminded Ariane of a more immediate concern. ‘‘Orphan, you said we would get the access code to go home when we got here . . . but I haven’t seen anything even in the way of controls for those Gateways.’’
‘‘Eh?’’ The puzzled vocalization was translated from a muted wing-buzz. ‘‘But of course not. Would the Voidbuilders be so crude? A code you might misremember?
One that might be left behind, or stolen? You already have the code, Captain Austin.’’
As Orphan said the words, she realized he was right. There was . . . something, embedded in her knowledge of this place, something to think of or a state of mind to be in or an indescribable object to visualize, associated with the Inner Gateway. Something that hadn’t been in her memory before, but was now ensconsced with all her other security codes as though it had always been there, even though it was nothing like any security code ever conceived elsewhere. Creepy, I tell you! It’s becoming my favorite word of all time!
‘‘That’s . . . interesting,’’ DuQuesne said after a moment; by Sandrisson’s expression, he felt the same way. ‘‘But let’s test it, shall we?’’
‘‘If you wish,’’ Orphan said, turning in the direction of the nearest Gateway. ‘‘In fact, that is not at all a bad idea. It will cause your Outer Gateways to be unlocked; if some terrible misadventure befalls us all here, your remaining people will have two options, rather than one.’’
Orphan’s easy acquiescence, and suddenly more purp
oseful stride following his new thought, made DuQuesne relax visibly. He made no attempt to change the course of action, but Ariane got the impression that Orphan’s reaction had been enough of a confirmation for him.
They reached the Gateway; DuQuesne stepped through without even pausing in his stride, and only a few seconds later reappeared in a quiet shimmer of mother of pearl. ‘‘Works perfectly. Definitely took me back to our area; I was leaving markers.’’
She saw Orphan twitch with surprise—a feeling she shared. She hadn’t seen DuQuesne do anything that indicated he was blazing a trail, and they already knew that scattering nanodust didn’t work. Other Sphere’s Gateway areas might look identical to their own, so how could DuQuesne be so sure? ‘‘I didn’t see you do anything . . . ’’ Sandrisson said, confirming that none of them had.
‘‘You weren’t meant to,’’ DuQuesne said with a sideways grin. He did not elaborate.
After a silent pause, in which Orphan was clearly regarding DuQuesne with increased trepidation, Ariane spoke. ‘‘So . . . where to now?’’
Turning from his study of the black-haired scientist, Orphan considered. ‘‘The Powerbrokers, I think. They hold the crescent that corresponds to Transition, on the other side of this first layer of Nexus Arena. The Embassies and the Grand Arcade are in the second layer, with the docks in a ring around the edge of that layer.’’
‘‘I had the—perhaps mistaken—impression that Nexus Arena is even larger than our Sphere,’’ Simon said, as Orphan began once more leading them onward. ‘‘Yet if we are walking, I would presume these layers are not impossibly large. So either I was mistaken, or there is some other use for the majority of the volume of Nexus Arena.’’
‘‘In that you are correct, Dr. Sandrisson,’’ Orphan responded. ‘‘None are sure whether the majority of Nexus Arena is dedicated to the Challenges, or to administration and control of the Arena itself; it is, however, well-known that no attempt to map the interior with accuracy has succeeded. The very top layers, these are constant, but below these—relatively minute—sections, Nexus Arena is yet another of the mysteries; a most frustrating one to many, as it remains impenetrable to analysis even though it is as close to all the inhabitants of the Arena as their own Embassies.’’