Grand Central Arena

by Ryk E. Spoor

  ‘‘DuQuesne is trying to talk with some of the secondary Factions; he’s also been talking off and on with Orphan about possibly arranging a crew for Orphan’s ship, there are ways to make money trading and shipping stuff, but Orphan can’t captain such a mission himself; he’s apparently found it’s cost him a great deal each time he’s gone off on his own and left the Nexus unattended. Orphan himself has gone with Gabrielle to do some shopping, and Carl, Steve, and Tom are back at Holy Grail and our Sphere. Carl says the waterfall generator’s about ready to come online, so we’ll have at least our own internal power needs met for an indefinite period, and we can get materials we might lack here.’’

  ‘‘What about Laila?’’

  Ariane couldn’t restrain a frown. ‘‘With Nyanthus at the Faith’s Faction House. Their high Temple, I guess. I’m a little worried about that, Simon. Everything I know about her from before was that she was a scientist—a complete analytical fanatic, as far as I could tell.’’

  ‘‘Hm. Yes, true. But there are different types of scientists.’’ Simon seemed to be considering his words. At that point, the first course was laid before them, a pair of plates holding long, curving, jointed things, steaming slightly.

  Ariane studied them. They looked almost familiar . . . ‘‘Are these . . . ?’’

  ‘‘ . . . zikki? Excellent eye, Captain Austin!’’ Mairakag said with a quick bow-gesture. ‘‘The feeding tendrils of the zikki, unlike the capture tentacles, are muscular but not tough, providing a firm, interestingly-textured meat which when steamed in a klantel broth should prove a worthy experience.’’

  ‘‘The capture tentacles are tough, then?’’

  The gourmet chef laughed. ‘‘A too kind and gentle description. Native cultures of the Arena have been known to use their tentacle sinews as mooring ropes and motive cables. Enjoy.’’

  Ariane picked up the provided utensils, clearly modified for human use, and cut the segmented shell open along the centerline. Red-purple meat wafted a sharp, tangy scent to her nostrils. The texture was, as indicated, interesting, a compressed set of individual slightly chewy fibers which popped something like orange pulp, releasing sparks of quick heat like wasabi that faded into a smoky flavor similar to roast duck with a touch of bacon. ‘‘My goodness. That’s . . . fantastic.’’

  Simon frowned. ‘‘I’m not sure I like the texture. The flavor is a bit . . . strong. But that’s just an initial reaction.’’ He took another bite. ‘‘About Laila . . . I didn’t know her very well either—I’m a physicist and she was focused on the life sciences—but if you look at what we do know about her . . . There are people who explore science because they’re curious. They want to understand. They want to poke into things and find out how and why they work. That is my principal motive.

  ‘‘But there are other people who are scientists because they want something to believe. Because they like to have a support of substance under their lives. This is, of course, not at all unlike the reasons that people adopt a religion—saying nothing, mind you, about whether any of the religions are correct or not.’’ He put down his spork-like scoop. ‘‘I’ve decided I’m impressed, but I don’t particularly like it.’’

  ‘‘I’d take your share, but I want space for whatever else he’s bringing us,’’ Ariane said. ‘‘I did look up Laila’s simple bio that we have on board. That actually makes sense; she was raised almost in isolation from anything nonhuman until she was almost an adult, and when she visited Earth for the first time was completely fascinated by all the lifeforms she saw. Like . . . a religious revelation, maybe.’’

  Simon nodded. ‘‘Her integration with multiple AISages could not have helped. I don’t know exactly what Mandallon did to bring her back; was all of her there, or did the . . . well, power he used have to patch what was left back together? And what did it use for patching? Perhaps fragments of the only other persona available at the time—Mandallon. And not necessarily with Mandallon being aware of all this, mind you.’’

  Ariane frowned. ‘‘That . . . would mean that she’s not exactly the person we brought on board.’’

  ‘‘True,’’ Simon said, finishing his nallitiri, ‘‘but we all change with time and events, Ariane. I am quite sure you are not the person who first came on board Holy Grail.’’

  She had to admit he had a point. And patched or not, Laila was definitely a person, not a vegetable, and Gabrielle had said in private that she wouldn’t have given any significant chance that she could be restored at all back home. ‘‘Too much depending on those AISages and such, and all that’s gone,’’ she’d said. ‘‘If she’d made regular backups and we’d had the chance to apply them right away . . . but by now too much time’s gone by.’’

  ‘‘Touché,’’ Ariane responded to Simon. ‘‘And at least she’s functional.’’ This wasn’t the kind of discussion she had wanted to have on this night out, though. Time to start in the right direction. ‘‘So what have you been up to these days, Simon? We generally haven’t seen much of you, you’ve been busy with the Analytic and Dr. Relgof.’’

  ‘‘I suppose that’s true. I’ve been trying to figure out how the universe works, I guess you could say.’’

  ‘‘What do you mean?’’

  ‘‘Well.’’ Simon leaned back in his chair as the next course—something looking like blue gooseberries in wine sauce—was set before them. He leaned back in. ‘‘I was intrigued by things Selpa’A At said before, about how nanoprobe replicators do not work in our own space. Obviously they work within our solar system.’’

  ‘‘Yes,’’ Ariane said, remembering the lecture by the leader of the Vengeance. ‘‘You said something about the ‘Fermi Paradox’ then.’’ She tried some of the new dish, but this time she didn’t like it; the texture was gluey, the flavor too subtle and heavy. It did, however, make an interesting dip for the zikki. And Simon was eating it up.

  ‘‘Exactly,’’ he said between bites. ‘‘And DuQuesne once spoke with me and Mio . . . ’’ he paused as he was reminded of his own now-silent AISage, ‘‘ . . . about unmanned probes to other systems seeming to fail, which fits very well with what Selpa told us. Now, the Vengeance see this whole phenomenon as a hostile one. It occurred to me—as I am sure I has to others—that you could interpret it very differently, specifically as a very positive action. The Voidbuilders wanted to make sure that no single species would dominate all reality, and thus prevent other species from ever evolving. In other words, without the Voidbuilders’ interference, we would never have evolved at all. And, in all likelihood, neither would any of the species currently extant in the Arena, since given the apparent lifespan of intelligent species, none of those here are part of even the second or third generation of the Arena. We’re not even really sure how old the Arena is—a hundred million years old? A billion?’’

  ‘‘Can you explain that? Not the age, I mean, but why we wouldn’t have evolved?’’

  Simon nodded. ‘‘The basic idea is that once any species evolves that has an interest in exploration outside of its own solar system—and for a number of reasons, it seems very likely if not inevitable that most species would—they quickly realize that they can (A) explore much more efficiently with unmanned probes; (B) terraform worlds as they go with appropriately-designed probes; (C) even carry the basis of their biology with them in the probes, building up the initial population ex nihilo, as it were; and (D) with sufficiently advanced technology, take normally useless matter systems, such as blue giant stars and so on, and disassemble them for use later, effectively extending the habitable lifetime of the universe.’’

  While she hadn’t been familiar with the concept before, she grasped the outcome now. ‘‘Basically you’re saying they’d have come here and either put our solar system into storage, disassembled it for use in a Dyson sphere, or made sure it was properly settled by them already.’’

  ‘‘Exactly. The reason it’s a paradox, of course, is that by everything else we know, it’s not all that
hard for life, and even intelligent life, to come into existence . . . so why aren’t they here?’’

  ‘‘Ah. I see I have had one success with each of you. For diners with whom I have yet to gain familiarity, this is acceptable,’’ Mairakag Achan said as he swept by the table. ‘‘I shall have to get your full evaluation later, if you would indulge me.’’

  ‘‘Oh, certainly!’’ Ariane answered.

  She turned back to find Simon’s leaf-green gaze meeting hers. ‘‘You know, Ariane, I didn’t really come here intending to bore you to death with lectures.’’

  Oh, well, now we’re getting to the fun part! ‘‘It’s been . . . a long time since I had a chance for a date at all. Out of practice.’’ He is pretty darn gorgeous, though; that pure-white hair and those silly glasses work well together. And I love a good accent.

  ‘‘Obviously the same with me, or I might have found a more subtle opening line.’’ He smiled disarmingly.

  ‘‘Subtlety usually flies over my head.’’ She mimed something zipping just above her hair.

  He smiled again. ‘‘Then I’ll try to be courteous, but not subtle. I realized I found you devastatingly attractive shortly after we met, about the time of my first similarly devastating faux pas. And you seemed not uninterested at the time. There is a certain chemistry between us, yes?’’ He reached out and gently took her hand.

  Whew! Nice little tingles up my arm there. ‘‘I think so. Yes. But . . . ’’ But? This isn’t a time to be saying but, girl, what’s wrong with you?

  The elegant head tilted. ‘‘Perhaps I’d better not ask what would have followed that last word. Yet . . . Might it simply be that despite undeniable attraction, there’s a certain other person you’re more interested in?’’

  ‘‘Um . . . ’’ Hey, there, that’s a great start. ‘‘Um.’’ Speechwriters down the centuries will be quoting you. ‘‘Who do you mean?’’

  ‘‘I would think it is obvious . . . or perhaps not, to you.’’ Simon’s smile was a tiny bit less bright.

  ‘‘Well . . . look, part of the problem is the whole commanding officer thing, okay?’’

  Simon pushed back his glasses slightly. ‘‘Hm. Yes, there is that. But we are operating in a very different setting from the traditional vessel. And we have no way of knowing how long, or short, our wait to return home will be.’’

  You’re tap dancing and you know it, girl. ‘‘Oh, hell. You mean DuQuesne.’’

  Simon nodded, white hair moving slightly over his face and then back.

  ‘‘Argh. I wish I could answer that clearly, Simon. I really wish I could. There’s times I think he’s the most incredibly attractive guy I’ve ever met, then he’s just plain scary, or so remote that I don’t know how to reach him. You, you’re . . . cool and collected, and I can see something not so cool underneath. And I like that. A lot.’’

  There was a touch of pink on the aristocratic cheekbones. ‘‘Thank you. And you’re direct, and fiery, and you have a fierce joy in everything you do that, to be honest, leaves me breathless. Not to mention that you’re beautiful. I must say your choice of dark blue hair was inspired.’’

  She blushed at the compliment. ‘‘Choice isn’t the word; that just happened.’’

  Simon gave a puzzled stare. ‘‘Gene or biomodification isn’t something that ‘just happens,’ my dear; anyone around you as long as I’ve been can tell that your hair is naturally blue, so to speak.’’

  ‘‘Unnaturally naturally blue, yes,’’ Ariane agreed with a laugh. ‘‘But that’s the truth. I only have one actual biomod, I was born with blue hair. The docs said it’s not entirely unheard of; it usually means someone back in your family tree a generation or two had some kind of tweak done, and it pops up as hair color, sometimes a skin tone shift, and so on. Mine wasn’t too bad, no reason to fix it.’’

  ‘‘Well, that’s something new to me. I’ve never heard of such a thing. Do you know who it was? Your father or mother?’’

  ‘‘Not for sure. Neither mom or dad had direct gene mods, but Dad’s mom took off shortly after he was born, and Mom’s parents . . . might have been any of a couple of pairs of people.’’

  ‘‘Communal marriage?’’

  ‘‘Poly community, actually. Compared to them, Mom and Dad were practically throwbacks to a past era like Grandaddy.’’

  ‘‘So you do have one biomod, you say?’’ Simon seemed to have decided to let things just go as they would, which was something of a relief. She didn’t want to get pushed one way or another yet, especially since she did like Simon Sandrisson. A lot. But this question . . .

  ‘‘Did I . . . yes, I did say that.’’ She rolled her eyes. ‘‘It’s a pretty stupid mod, and the kind of thing that only someone in my kind of profession—or maybe a thrillgang or something like that—would get. It just was so tough to get done that I hate to go through the trouble of getting rid of it. I—’’

  Green light suddenly appeared before her. ‘‘Ariane?’’

  Timing! Everything’s about timing here, and the timing always sucks! ‘‘What is it, Gabrielle?’’

  There was a slight nervous backtone to the normally warm and calm Southern accent. ‘‘Somehow I’ve gotten separated from Orphan. I was in a shop browsing, and I turned around, and poof, no sign of him anywhere. I don’t have to tell you he’s not exactly easy to lose sight of, that man.’’

  That’s bad. What could have happened? ‘‘Where are you?’’

  ‘‘Grand Arcade. About halfway between Celenvia Fabrics and the casino what kicked Steve out.’’

  Which means she’s got quite a walk to get anywhere the robocabs can reach her. And with the Anathema on, I don’t like the idea of her alone—of any of us alone. ‘‘Orphan!’’ she called. Another green ball . . . but this one sparkled red. Either Orphan was deliberately refusing contact, or he was far too busy to answer. And given the circumstances, ‘‘busy’’ would be a very bad thing.

  She looked almost helplessly at Simon. ‘‘I’m sorry, Simon—’’

  ‘‘No need to apologize, let us go immediately!’’ Simon was already standing. ‘‘Mairakag Achan, a thousand apologies, but an emergency calls us away.’’

  ‘‘I hope you shall be able to return soon, then.’’ The alien gourmet had, of course, seen many similar events in his years there, she was sure. ‘‘Your account shall pay for what has already been created, but for no more.’’

  ‘‘Thank you, sir. It was wonderful so far.’’ She turned back to the other green sphere. ‘‘We’re coming, Gabrielle. Find the least conspicuous point you can; we’ll be there very soon.’’

  Let’s hope it’s soon enough.

  Chapter 60

  The Grand Arcade was crowded, and many of the people there recognized the humans—perhaps not as individuals, but as a faction. Most of these moved aside, out of their way, almost afraid to touch. There were a few, however, who would subtly, or not-so-subtly, arrange to block their passage, impede their progress. Ariane knew better than to try to just shove her way past or bull through, but it was so damned hard to be patient and cautious when she was worried about Gabrielle. Not that Gabrielle was helpless, no, but with everything that had happened . . .

  . . .and finally she came around the corner. ‘‘Oh, crap.’’

  ‘‘Shimatta,’’ concurred Simon next to her. ‘‘Of all the worst possible luck . . . ’’

  Gabrielle Wolfe was in the midst of the arcade main promenade, and circling her were six of the Blessed to Serve; Sethrik’s darker mottled coloring and slightly taller figure was clearly recognizable, as was Vantak, slightly to his right. Scattered about the feet of the Blessed were broken jars, powders, torn strapping. All the massed aliens had given some way to the Blessed, but were watching with all the avidity of a human crowd, talking and whispering and buzzing in their own languages in a half-translated babble.

  ‘‘Let me through!’’ Ariane hissed, and started shoving her way past the rubberneckers.

  It se
emed to her that Sethrik’s head turned, very slightly, and that if he had been looking extremely carefully he might have caught sight of Ariane. But in that moment, the black-green arm lashed out and sent Gabrielle spinning, crashing into one of the other Blessed, who didn’t budge. The small blonde shook her head, then leaped up into a combat pose.

  No, no! Ariane opened her mouth to tell Gabrielle to drop; she’d seen Sethrik in action, knew that while DuQuesne could fold the Blessed leader up like a cheap cardboard box, and that she herself could probably hold her own against him, Gabrielle didn’t stand a chance.

  But things were happening way too fast, and as soon as it was clear that the human in front of him was ready to fight, Sethrik lashed out again. To Ariane’s surprise, Gabrielle did not just go down, but blocked, parried, struck back. That’s right . . . Mentor said she’d had military-grade enhancements, and Carl said she implied she’d take him on if he wanted. But Sethrik wasn’t playing a game; one of the other Blessed struck at her from behind, and even though Gabrielle managed to block that, she couldn’t stop Sethrik’s next strike. This time his circle parted to let the Holy Grail’s doctor go tumbling

  away unimpeded. Ariane could see, as she finally broke through the encircling onlookers, that there was blood running down Gabrielle’s face, and the blue eyes were dazed and shaken. She caught Simon, whose face was furious as a samurai in battle, and pushed him in Gabrielle’s direction, and then bellowed ‘‘What the hell do you think you’re doing, Sethrik?’’