by Ryk E. Spoor
‘‘How very convenient for you, Shadeweaver,’’ Nyanthus said. The Faith had volunteered to be the Advocates for Humanity in this Challenge. ‘‘As all of your powers are of the essence of your self, this strikes us as rather one-sided.’’
A tossing motion of the head from Amas-Garao. ‘‘It is of little concern to us that Captain Austin has chosen a Challenge she cannot win. I will not acquiesce to the use of powered weaponry; while it is true that a Shadeweaver may often triumph even against the most powerful weapons devised by any race, that is hardly the way of a true duel of warriors. She may bring any weapons that carry no force of their own, and that is all.’’ Sethrik, still looking somehow unhappy and ashamed, bob-bowed his agreement.
No one else had stepped forward to act as the Shadeweaver Advocate, but this did not seem to concern Amas-Garao; he was conducting the negotiations himself, with his less-than-enthusiastic Advocate as pure formality, and Ariane found that particularly galling. Sethrik served a regime that was perhaps the most horrifying she’d heard of, but as an individual she’d come to respect him, and he didn’t deserve this kind of abuse.
Her annoyance was useful to keep her focused on the problem at hand: namely, arranging things to her best advantage. ‘‘Fine, I won’t argue that one any more. Our own traditions would generally agree with you. But one thing I will not back down on is that you have to have certain limitations on what you can do.’’
‘‘What sort of limitations, Captain Austin? For I will accept very few such; as I said, it is no concern of mine that you have chosen to place yourself in the way of an infalling asteroid.’’
‘‘Oh, I’m not going to try to say you can’t use your special powers—much as I’d like to, that’d be like saying I have to fight with one foot in a bucket of sealing compound and both hands tied behind my back. But this is a fight, a duel, and it’s not going to be decided by you messing with my head. I insist that you be forbidden to use your powers to touch on my mind, autonomic systems, and so on in any way, shape, or form.’’
Amas-Garao straightened. ‘‘This is a purely arbitrary restriction—’’
‘‘—yet one that has precedent,’’ Sethrik said, also straightening, his wingcases sliding fully back to their normal position. Ariane could see the Shadeweaver twitch at the tone of the Blessed’s voice, the tone of a man who had found a way to serve his own honor despite being in the service of another. ‘‘In the duels fought with species such as the Rodeskri—that of the honored Nyanthus—it is specifically forbidden that they utilize the species-specific capability of releasing a wide-area hallucinogenic/soporific gas, unless their opposition is known to be immune or is permitted sufficient protective gear.’’
Amas-Garao tilted his head dangerously. ‘‘An Advocate—’’
‘‘Is supposed to serve the interests of his represented patron, but not at the expense of justice,’’ Nyanthus interrupted. Ariane’s grin answered the cheerful undertone present in that of the First Guide of the Faith. ‘‘And he is quite correct; the specific reasoning behind that ruling was that the Dreamsleep directly interfered with the participation of the opponent in the duel, by removing their own self-direction, initiative, and will. In a broader sense, this is applied to all psychoactive, generally distributed materials in a personal confrontation.’’
The Shadeweaver stood immobile and silent for a moment, and Ariane felt tension growing in the room. Then Amas-Garao gave a deep chuckle and a careless gesture. ‘‘Well enough played, then. I confess that in the ways of my original people, the feelings on these matters would be much the same. It would be no combat at all if I could either convince you to surrender, or drive your emotions to remove your reason and thus render you ineffective and powerless. So be it. I shall use no powers that touch upon your mind or any other part of you without doing so in a direct physical manner. This does not mean that such methods will be ones that you can defend against, of course, but they will be ones that even Captain Austin—as a clearly honest and honorable opponent—will not consider any more unfair than the existence of my powers themselves.’’
‘‘Are there other conditions to be placed on the contest ?’’ the neutral voice of the Arena inquired.
‘‘Ah, yes, there is one,’’ Amas-Garao said, with an elaborate casualness. ‘‘Self-powered or not, my opponent will bring no device with her that is intended to suppress, shield against, or specifically counter my powers in a general sense, unless said device is one that her faction could and has created.’’
You don’t want a repeat of that little beating that Orphan and DuQuesne gave you after Orphan unlimbered his secret weapon. Can’t say I blame you.
Nyanthus’s symbiotes weaved a complex thinking pattern around the central trunk. ‘‘But she is free to devise specific defenses against your abilities, so long as they are powered purely by Ariane herself, or from the nature of the materials she constructs them from?’’
‘‘I would have it no other way. I am simply excluding something that would seem, to me, to be the equivalent of your prohibition of my mind-control or psychoactive agents. Depriving a Shadeweaver of his powers is very much the same, would you not agree?’’
Ariane saw by the uneasy movements of Nyanthus’s openwork tendril-top that he was trying to figure out a way to argue that. ‘‘Never mind, Nyanthus. I agree with him, actually.’’ And I don’t think Orphan has such a gadget that I could power, anyway, and if he did, he’s not giving it to me. Amas-Garao’s just covering all his bases like I’m covering mine. ‘‘Agreed.’’
‘‘This is the final condition?’’ the Arena inquired. Can’t think of any more that I could sneak by. ‘‘I’m
done.’’
‘‘We are finished,’’ Amas-Garao said.
‘‘Then the conditions are set, as follows: the two participants in the Challenge will be Challenger Ariane Austin, for the Faction of Humanity, and Challenged Amas-Garao for the Faction of the Shadeweavers. The basic form of the Challenge will be personal combat. Both participants may use weapons powered by their own natural inherent abilities, with the exception of influences on the mind or methods to negate the inherent abilities of the participants .
‘‘The combat will take place within the Core Ring of Nexus Arena. The two combatants will enter simultaneously, from opposite sides of the Core Ring. The Arena will signal the beginning of the Challenge.
‘‘Once the Challenge combat has begun, neither combatant will be able to leave the Core Ring, no matter what the circumstances. The Arena will maintain a protective seal around the entire Core Ring, thus permitting spectators to observe safely.
‘‘Victory conditions are as follows: if the opponent is dead, if the opponent is unable to continue fighting for more than eight seconds, if the opponent yields the contest, if the opponent attempts to cheat any of the competitive conditions. In the event of a tie—both contestants meeting loss/victory conditions to within a tenth of a second—the Challenge will be re-negotiated; it will be possible at that point for either party to withdraw from the Challenge without prejudice.’’ The Arena paused. ‘‘Do all of you understand and accept these conditions? ’’
Ariane took a deep breath. ‘‘I understand and accept these conditions.’’
‘‘I, Amas-Garao, also understand and accept these conditions.’’
‘‘Then the Challenge shall be undertaken in precisely three days, seven hours, twenty-one minutes from this moment.’’ That would, Ariane knew, put it at a time which would be the equivalent of mid-evening for the Arena—primetime, as Steve would say.
Thinking of Steve reminded her of one last issue. ‘‘Arena, one more inquiry, please.’’
‘‘State inquiry. ’’
‘‘As all know, we must keep a constant presence in our Sphere, or forfeit our current status. Yet all of our people have a great interest in the outcome of this Challenge. Is there a way for them to observe?’’
A pause. Then, ‘‘Precedent exists for this reques
t. A display will be generated within your Sphere. ’’
‘‘Thank you, Arena.’’
‘‘Accepted.’’ A subliminal tension—perhaps barely-perceptible white noise, perhaps something a lot more esoteric—seemed to vanish, and Ariane knew that the Arena, having made all arrangements, was now no longer focused on them at all.
Amas-Garao bowed, a nearly-human gesture that gave her hints of a very supple, not-quite-human structure beneath the robes. ‘‘Then we shall meet again . . . soon. I will not wish you luck, but I hope to see you perform well. Until then . . . farewell.’’ The Shadeweaver sank downward, shadows running away in all directions as though Amas-Garao were melting into nothingness, and he was gone.
‘‘Creepy bastard,’’ she muttered. ‘‘Sethrik, thank you.’’
The leader of the Blessed to Serve bob-bowed. ‘‘I am . . . pleased to balance the debt owed you. Rare is the time that we would permit ourselves to be used in such a fashion, and it is an offense to the Minds that we be so demeaned. I fear that we shall be enemies often, Captain Ariane Austin, but I would have it that we respect and honor each other.’’
So would I. She dropped to the floor and gave a full pushup-bow. ‘‘Take this as token of my agreement, Sethrik.’’
Sethrik returned the gesture enthusiastically, and gripped hands with her in the human manner. ‘‘Though I acted as his Advocate, I will not be hoping for luck to be with the Shadeweaver. I will hope that you shall be glorious in your defeat.’’
You can’t even imagine my victory, huh? Well, to be honest, knowing what I do about Amas-Garao . . . neither can I.
Chapter 63
‘‘Good Lord, Marc, where did you guys come up with all this stuff?’’
DuQuesne laughed, feeling a knot in his gut loosen slightly at Ariane’s genuine surprise. ‘‘From all over, but you can credit some of it to Hyperion. See, a lot of the selected, um, template characters would have pretty damn strange worlds, their own signature weapons, that kind of thing, and they had at least ten AISages and four different human researchers working on ways to make something that worked close to the original’s specs. Sure, in some cases it was pretty much impossible, but they came damn close in others.’’
Ariane poked her way around the mass of assorted weaponry and armor. ‘‘And I thought I was going to have a problem before figuring out what to take. What’s this?’’
He looked at the armored bodysuit she was indicating, with an internal tracery of lighter lines worked into a pattern all over the suit. ‘‘That was actually Simon’s idea. Simon?’’
The Japanese-Nordic scientist bowed and turned to Ariane. ‘‘As I read them, the fighting conditions are that you cannot use any weapons not powered by the participants. I did not, however, see any rules there that prevent you from letting Amas-Garao power your weapons. That armor—which is of course mostly ring-carbon composite with flexible mesh and thixotropic impact response—incorporates a superconductor mesh which should absorb at least some of the electrical energy that he seems to favor as a primary attack. The charge runs through here, where it is channeled into distributed superconductor loop batteries; you can link into it with your headware transceiver to trigger discharges at any of these four points.’’
DuQuesne saw a delighted look on her face. ‘‘Why, that’s brilliant, Simon!’’
‘‘Which, of course, led the rest of us to make sure that there’s some nice conductive channels built into all your other weapons,’’ DuQuesne said. ‘‘Hit, discharge, and keep hitting until he says ‘uncle!’—or until he can’t say anything.’’
A pained expression crossed her features. ‘‘Marc, I don’t want to kill him.’’
‘‘Arrie, don’t worry about that—worry about whether he’s going to kill you!’’ Gabrielle said firmly. ‘‘I may be a doctor, but I’m not stupid, and it’d be really stupid of us to worry about anything but what you have to do.’’
‘‘He won’t kill me,’’ Ariane said, certainty in her voice. DuQuesne could tell she was tense, but getting more into the kind of tension she’d had before the race, rather than the kind of tension someone who might be doomed to die might have. ‘‘That’s one of my major advantages. He isn’t getting DuQuesne, and if he tries to use any real big guns on me, he might lose by winning. And with him not able to meddle with my thinking, I can at least keep it on a physical level I might be able to exploit . . . especially with tricks like this.’’
‘‘I still think it’s damn unfair that they let the Challenge go through at all,’’ Steve grumbled.
‘‘Like I said before, I don’t think the Arena is entirely concerned with ‘fair,’’’ DuQuesne said. ‘‘And as we had Mandallon verify, Amas-Garao was very careful to not meddle with any of her choices after making the Challenge.’’ Which was damn disappointing, because not only might it have made it possible for us to argue our way out of this mess, it would also have let me argue them into letting me take the captain’s place.
Because good as she is, Ariane’s going to get her ass handed to her in this fight, no matter what tricks I try to give her.
‘‘There’s no way I can carry all of this stuff,’’ Ariane said finally.
‘‘Pick and choose, then,’’ Tom Cussler said. ‘‘I let ‘em go wild on the construction—I can always feed the stuff you don’t use back into the AIWish.’’
‘‘A shame about that ruling on the drugs and toxins,’’ Laila said. ‘‘I had been thinking of some concealable and effective drug dispersal methods to help even the odds.’’
‘‘I appreciate the thought, Laila,’’ Ariane said with one of the sharp smiles DuQuesne liked so much. ‘‘But I want to win this one straight-up.’’ She picked up a complicated-looking wrist-mounted device. ‘‘This . . . Carl, you didn’t!’’
The controls expert grinned. ‘‘Took it right out of your character file. Astrella’s Wrath of God.’’
First weapon he made, actually, DuQuesne recalled. Odd . . . he did that even before the rest of us started in, but now that I look at the design, it already has conductive channels. Maybe he was ahead of us on that. The weapon could be easily used, if I understand the design right, to ground out a lot of Amas-Garao’s thunderball trick.
‘‘Well, then how could I turn that down?’’ DuQuesne watched as she picked up the multifaceted, thick, complex device and locked it onto her wrist, a flat-levered panel extending from it across her palm; she finished the locking with a fluttering gesture that DuQuesne suspected was associated with the virtual game character that used the odd weapon. ‘‘You know, I feel like a kid in a lethal candy store. I’m taking the armor, no doubt, and my sword. What else?’’
‘‘A helmet,’’ Gabrielle suggested. ‘‘We’ve got several—’’
Ariane shook her head. ‘‘I hate helmets. Even the best restrict my field of view and muffle the sound. Yes, I know the arguments, but I won’t wear one.’’ Gabrielle sighed and shook her head, but clearly recognized an argument she wouldn’t win.
‘‘Take this.’’ He handed her a small, thick rod, saw her raise her eyebrows at the density of the device. ‘‘That’s a version of a weapon I know you know how to use, and that’s got a lot of potential tricks in it.’’ And has a lot of sentimental symbolism for me. I don’t pray, don’t believe in it . . . but if the spirit of the guy who should be wielding it exists, maybe he’ll help her. ‘‘The original belonged to . . . one of my friends on Hyperion. It’s a staff.
Extendable and retractable through memory-composites to lengths between, well, what you see there, up to slightly over ten meters. It’ll harvest the energy to trigger the state changes during movement and combat, once we activate it, or you could channel some through the suit. Speed of shift depends on the power available to some extent.’’
‘‘Oh, that is nice. Yes, I’ll take this one.’’ She examined the armor, found a latchpoint that would hold the retracted staff. ‘‘One of the Hyperions . . . Hanuman?’’
‘‘Close. Wu Kung.’’ Strange how much it still hurts to say his name. I wonder if they’re still taking care of him? They must think I’m dead by now. I left instructions . . . but there’s so much that could go wrong.
We’ve got to get home soon. Too many people depending on us.
‘‘The Monkey King . . . Well, I’ll just hope I can borrow his skill, then, along with this replica staff.’’ She started sorting through the other equipment.
I’ll hope so too; but that’d be about the level of miracle we’re going to need . . . and I don’t believe in miracles. He could see his grim thought reflected on the other faces. Ariane was focused, not allowing thoughts of uncertainty or failure, and that was as it ought to be—it was the way she approached such problems, according to Carl, and it was pretty much the only way to go into this kind of fight. But the rest of them didn’t have the necessity of combat—or, in most cases, the training—to push all worries and concerns aside like that.
And even training isn’t enough for me. Amas-Garao made me feel helpless. I haven’t really felt that way since I was a child, a long, long time ago. That monster’s completely out of my league. And Ariane . . . she isn’t the type to give up. Ever. We saw that in her race against Sethrik.
‘‘Marc, I also need everything your headware learned about the Shadeweavers. I know there isn’t much chance of it, but maybe something else you saw or heard or felt will give me a clue, a tactical advantage.’’
‘‘Of course, Captain.’’ He concentrated, linked, dumped the entire sequence of experiences from the time he met Amas-Garao up until the end of the battle into her open head-port. Well, there were some thoughts of his own he edited out, but those weren’t relevant.
‘‘Thank you, Marc.’’
‘‘My pleasure, Captain.’’ He could see her eyes temporarily unfocus, as she ran through the sequence of events. But he couldn’t make himself feel much hope.