by Ryk E. Spoor
You’re right . . . Have to calm myself, cut away from the world . . . A ripple of nervous laughter. Astrella again, I think. Simon saw her through a haze of blazing light, sliding down to a meditative pose. He caught sight of images from her . . . a mighty forest, silent, cool green of the spaces between . . . a symbol of five virtues, five elements . . .
Another shockwave blasted outward, unbalancing the seven and even causing both the First Guide and the Shadeweaver to pause. Simon felt himself ready to topple, reached out an arm desperately . . . as did all the others.
Arms cut through the circles around them but caught hold of each other, locked all seven into a unit that would not move. Energy moving inward now moved through all of them, circled and echoed through Simon, Laila, Steve, Tom, Gabrielle, DuQuesne, Carl. Simon saw/ heard/felt an almost incomprehensible Babel of sight/ sound/sensation; he felt rage and sorrow burning through him as he watched a vast space station receding behind him, speckled with sparks of explosions that meant the deaths of lies and men. He heard a voice calling Gabrielle’s name, turned with her to see her mother standing in the doorway of a southern mansion. He stepped forth onto Earth for the first time, emerging from a sterile mechanical world into the brilliant lushness of a living world, and felt Laila’s tears of wonder on his face; the flow of a thousand monitoring sensors’ worth of data streamed through him like thoughts and he felt the power core of a colony beating like his heart, Tom Cussler’s mind running it all; he remembered working at breakneck speed to assemble a makeshift control rig for DuQuesne, with Carl Edlund’s hands doing the work; he felt the uplifting thrill of seeing the design of Holy Grail first emerging under Steve Franceschetti’s direction.
Vaguely, he heard the strained desperation in the voices of Shadeweaver and Initiate Guide. ‘‘The symmetry is changed! Gona-Brashind—’’
‘‘Yes, I understand! No time for calculation! Do it! Now, priest, now!’’
The two shouted out alien words simultaneously and energy detonated around them like a crushing sledgehammer. All seven fell to their knees, releasing at the same moment, catching themselves as they hit the ground. Simon was just barely aware of the fact that at that very moment, the circling nodes of power were just intersecting . . . on him.
White-black-green flame burned through him, screaming into Ariane along with his own scream, but he was not even truly hearing himself, because at that moment—for that one splintered instant in time—Simon saw.
For just that infinitesimal fraction of a second, Simon Sakuraba Sandrisson saw into Ariane, and through her, into the infinite maelstrom of energies and knowledge that intersected in her soul, connecting her to her crew, to Gona-Brashind and Nyanthus, and to . . . everything. He gazed into the heart of Nexus Arena, and heard words being spoken by the Blessed on a planet a universe and a million lightyears away, and read the archives of the Analytic in less than no time, stood on the surface of an exploding star and observed the symmetries of thermonuclear holocaust as though they were ripples on a pond, and outside all things, gazing at something else looking back, more than one something, a sense of vastness beyond comprehension, yet startlement, a sharp and uncomfortable sense of something unexpected and impossible.
And then there was silence, and isolation, and a return to awareness. The others, too, seemed to be just rising. What . . . was that? I can barely remember some of it . . . it’s fading. But some of it . . . I think some remains. Somewhere in me.
What happened?
‘‘It is done.’’ Nyanthus said.
‘‘Barely,’’ Gona-Brashind buzzed, exhaustion clear in his sagging posture. ‘‘Yet disaster was averted, and it is finished.’’
‘‘So . . . it’s sealed away and can’t come out?’’ Ariane asked, pushing herself to her feet.
‘‘Cannot is a rather extreme word,’’ Nyanthus said reluctantly. ‘‘It is possible in desperate circumstances that the seal could temporarily weaken. However, in general it will remain until you gain the skill and knowledge to actually wield the power you have—either through accepting the Creators, or through discovering what power has claimed your essence and thus using the techniques of the Shadeweavers.’’
Gona-Brashind gave a rattling which translated as a derisive snort. ‘‘I shall leave before your pompous self-delusions force me into more direct argument.’’ He walked in slow, spidery fashion to the exit.
Nyanthus gave a flowering bow. ‘‘My apologies that this was necessary and my thanks to all of you for your giving us as much cooperation as you have.’’ He glided out.
Mandallon lingered, then ran to Ariane. ‘‘Captain . . . Ariane . . . I will still believe in your miracle.’’
She smiled, her heart lightening some. ‘‘Then I’ll try to think of it that way too. Thank you, Mandallon.’’
Simon looked at Mandallon. ‘‘What . . . what just happened there, at the end?’’ The young priest had been the only true witness, the only one who was not directly involved during the ritual.
Mandallon looked as confused as Simon—and to judge by the expressions, most of the others—felt. ‘‘I . . . I am not sure, to be honest. When unbalanced, you held each other up. That broke your immediate portion of the matrix, but by clasping arms you at least afforded a unified channel . . . but then you let go just as the final action was taken. I was afraid, for a moment, that you would be . . . ’’
Simon felt his head, gingerly; even the light pressure of his fingers seemed about to pop his skull. ‘‘I think I nearly was.’’
‘‘But you are all right?’’
‘‘I think I shall be, yes. You had best move along, Nyanthus undoubtedly is waiting.’’
The young priest seemed a trifle less subdued as he exited.
‘‘An interesting additional wrinkle. Not entirely unexpected,’’ DuQuesne said.
‘‘You expected this?’’
‘‘Well, something like it. Controlling the spread of those powers has to be uppermost in their rituals. You don’t want five thousand separate little groups of people throwing that kind of stuff around, so you have to make sure your beliefs—on both sides—make it real hard to go independent. And with the power being hard to control, that’s not too difficult to arrange.’’
‘‘So I’ll be seen as some kind of dangerous wild card . . . and I’m sealed up so I can’t use the power. Unless I learn how, and the only people who know how won’t teach me unless I’m committed to their cause.’’ Ariane rolled her eyes. ‘‘Wonderful.’’
‘‘Forget it.’’ Carl said. ‘‘What we really need right now is a party, and then—we go home!’’
Ariane looked gratefully at him, and Simon realized how, like Gabrielle, the cheerful engineer had been an understated but so very necessary support for their spirits at critical moments. ‘‘Thanks, Carl. You’re right. I didn’t even really WANT that power anyway; it was just a last-minute trick.
‘‘So let’s throw a party the Arena won’t forget tonight!’’
Chapter 72
‘‘I must say, Captain,’’ Orphan said, using his tubelike mouthparts to drink from a blue-green spherical something, ‘‘I was a bit hesitant about attending your ‘party,’ as your last attempt at celebration climaxed with an assault upon the Shadeweavers.’’
Despite the words, Ariane—by now becoming quite familiar with the body language Orphan used—thought she caught the tone of one poking a bit of fun at a friend. With a laugh, she answered, ‘‘I admit I do sometimes end up finding trouble after those kind of contests, to blow off the excess adrenaline, you know.’’ She gave him a wink, which Orphan seemed to understand. ‘‘But I know other people have a bit less . . . exciting ideas of parties. So I let Steve, Gabrielle, and Carl plan this shindig, with a little advice and help from Mandallon and Mairakag Achan.’’
‘‘Your celebration is greatly enhanced by his participation,’’ Nyanthus said, drifting by; his central column was holding a wide bowl of sparkling liquid, into which the symbiotes w
ould dip and fly back out like dragonflies taking drinks. ‘‘It is an immense honor that he would deign to personally participate in a private party; then again, your victory was utterly unprecedented and he, as well as others, recognizes the value of such publicity.’’ He twirled slowly and flowered in front of Ariane. ‘‘I hope, Captain Austin, that you will bear me no great ill will for this afternoon?’’
Orphan tilted his head, and backed up a step, signifying that he at least symbolically pretended not to hear (or so Ariane guessed). Ariane smiled. ‘‘Nyanthus, you’re a true believer, as is Mandallon. But unlike Mandallon, you’re responsible for your whole Faction—as I am—and so you can’t take chances. I can’t begrudge you the caution you have to take; whether or not I believe in the Creators, you do, and you have to act on that. Regardless of what happens with me and your people, I hope that—as Factions—the Faith and Humanity can remain close.’’
Nyanthus’s branches relaxed slightly; the flowering bow he returned to her words was more fluid than his prior actions. ‘‘This is indeed one of my great hopes as well, and I thank you for your understanding.’’ His two mostly-silent bodyguards gave their own squatting bows, echoing the First Initiate Guide’s gratitude, and then followed the high priest of the Faith as he drifted back through the crowd.
Ariane saw Mandallon notice the movement from across the room; his crest rose and the filter-beard flip-flopped cheerfully. Looking much more relaxed, the gangly young Initiate Guide turned back to the motley group of people he was addressing, a group that included Carl, several aliens whose species she didn’t know, a Chiroflekir, a pair of Milluk, and three of his own species. Another significant knot of people, including the huge Challenge Warrior Sivvis, were watching with great interest as Simon and DuQuesne demonstrated human fencing; she’d been surprised to learn that Simon was extremely adept with a sword, though—unlike herself, Carl, and DuQuesne—he was not particularly skilled in hand-to-hand and other forms of combat.
‘‘I suppose it is too much to hope that, having rejected the Faith and the Shadeweavers, you might join with us,’’ a razor-precise voice said from behind her. Turning, she saw Selpa’A At. The Swordmaster First was carrying some kind of refreshment that looked like purplish beef jerky sticks in his underside manipulators. ‘‘Perhaps you saw something of the true intent of the Voidbuilders? Or was all as perfect and light-ridden as old Nyanthus would have it?’’
You guys just make me uncomfortable. Fanatics in a nasty way, even if you can be courteous. On the other hand, there was no reason to antagonize them, and every reason to try to be reasonable. ‘‘I can’t really say what I saw, to be honest. But no, it’s definitely not all sweetness and light. Unfortunately, Swordmaster, it’s also not all malevolence and torment, either. So I’m afraid I can’t see my way clear to joining the Vengeance—even if I felt I could do that with a clear conscience, which I can’t, as long as I’m the leader of this Faction.’’
The Milluk leader of the Vengeance dipped on his multiple legs. ‘‘Understood. But do I understand that you did, indeed, see or sense something malevolent, as well as something benevolent?’’
‘‘I can’t deny it, no. What position all the things I sensed have, I don’t know. But there are definitely forces out there that have anything but our best interests at heart, yes.’’
A rattling buzz, translated as a grunt of satisfaction. ‘‘Better than nothing, I assure you. Until now, we had only words of Shadeweaver or Faith; the one wave their manipulators and cast vapors of words to obscure the truth, and maintain that the power they wield is merely power, and nothing truly lies behind it; the Faith proclaim the perfection and wondrous glory they see, mentioning not the slightest flaw. You are the first to gaze upon this with unbiased mind, and you bring us a truth never spoken by others.’’
Ariane wasn’t sure she liked helping to reinforce the paranoid beliefs of the Vengeance, but at this point it couldn’t hurt to keep the Factions she could happy. ‘‘Glad I could be of help.’’
‘‘You have, and I shall not forget this small yet very important service. A small favor I shall owe you, Captain Austin.’’ Selpa dip-bowed to her and to Orphan. ‘‘Survivor.’’ He then scuttled off through the crowd, apparently looking for someone else.
‘‘I guess it’s the time for everyone to check in with the winner,’’ Ariane said wryly.
‘‘Is it not also the case on your world that many contacts are made, deals arranged, negotiations begun, in such settings?’’ Orphan inquired, tossing the wrinkled husk of his fruit into a refuse container.
‘‘I’m sure it does happen that way, Orphan. I’m just not used to any of this. I was just a racing pilot, for crissake, not a diplomat!’’
‘‘Is that so?’’ The precise voice was unmistakeable. Sethrik mimed the pushup-bow. ‘‘Then even more
remarkable your people must be, for you have managed to make a very credible leader of a Faction . . . for a mere racing pilot.’’
‘‘Sethrik! Glad you could make it.’’
The leader of the Blessed shook her hand. ‘‘Your victory was . . . pleasing to me. I was not proud of the part we were forced to play in that charade. No more were the Minds, I must note.’’
‘‘Indeed,’’ Orphan said dryly. ‘‘as the great Masters of Manipulation, they would find it most noisome to have some lesser beings forcing them into playing their game.’’
‘‘Have a care, Mindkiller.’’ Sethrik’s tail twitched upward. ‘‘I have come here with civility and under truce.’’
‘‘He’s right, Orphan. Although, Sethrik, I would very strongly prefer that you not refer to him by that name within my hearing.’’
The two nearly-identical aliens locked gazes for a long moment, tails half-poised for striking. Somewhat to Ariane’s surprise, it was Orphan who first stepped back and dropped his tail. ‘‘Our hostess is most correct, and I am at fault for attempting to provoke you. Habits of centuries are hard to break, Sethrik. Accept my apologies and my gratitude for the sympathy you have displayed to my ally Ariane Austin, instead.’’
Sethrik lowered his tail as well. ‘‘As all the stories have it, you can be well spoken. I accept both the apology and thanks, and out of respect for Captain Austin, I apologize for using that title which she finds offensive.’’
A twirling gesture of Orphan’s stinging tail, giving the impression of an airy dismissing of concern. ‘‘Accepted.’’ He glanced slightly to the side. ‘‘Is something amiss?’’
DuQuesne was making his way purposefully through the crowd, the massive black-bearded, black-haired Hyperion having to do little other than glance at those in his path before they made way. Ariane glanced at the floating chronometer which showed time to each viewer in whatever manner they were accustomed. ‘‘Not amiss, no, but there’s something we have to do.’’
‘‘Captain,’’ DuQuesne said as he came up. He nodded to Orphan and Sethrik, who returned the nod with minor bob-bows.
‘‘Yes, I know. It’s time to get moving.’’ She turned to Orphan. ‘‘Would you be so kind as to help Simon keep an eye on things while I’m gone? Or,’’ she said, as she located the scientist, ‘‘maybe Carl, as I see Simon’s once again ended up in a corner with three of the Analytic and there’s seventeen floating displays of equations around them. How they managed to get from fencing to physics, I have no idea.’’ She spotted the other critical members of her crew, already heading in her direction, and waved.
‘‘There is something you have to do now?’’ Orphan asked with some puzzlement. ‘‘In the middle of the celebration? What is it? Will it take long?’’
‘‘Shouldn’t take too long,’’ DuQuesne said with a slight sidewise grin.
‘‘I’m about to turn into a pumpkin, and they have to get me back to my house before midnight,’’ Steve said, coming up with Tom in tow. They’d volunteered to go back after they’d enjoyed the party for a little bit.
‘‘Get a chance to hang out with the
victorious group, meet-and-greet the aliens, that kind of thing,’’ Steve had said. ‘‘But not take any chances. I don’t think any of us are comfortable leaving our Sphere empty for very long.’’ Everyone had agreed with that.
The expressions conveyed by the body language of both Sethrik and Orphan showed that Steve’s vernacular had failed in translation. Perhaps their society wouldn’t have anything like the Cinderella myth, especially after the Minds got through with it, Ariane mused. ‘‘Never mind, Orphan. We’ll be back shortly.’’
She turned and headed for the exit. With both me and DuQuesne escorting them, and no one knowing what we’re really up to, this should be easy.
So why am I nervous?
Chapter 73
‘‘How much time have we got?’’ Steve asked nervously as the elevator closed to take them to the floor where Transition was.
‘‘Relax, Steve.’’ DuQuesne said absently, paying more attention to the actual dynamics of movement around him. He wanted to be fully alert to any potential problem. ‘‘We’ll have you through the Inner Gateway with at least fifteen minutes to spare.’’
‘‘Well, everything seems fine to me.’’ Ariane said.
‘‘So far.’’
The danger was obvious; with the Sphere of Humanity deserted but fully active, all a smart or malicious group had to do was prevent someone from returning there by the deadline, and suddenly there was a new Sphere for the taking—and the annoying new Faction eliminated, all in one fell swoop. Of course, no one should know that this was the case, except Gona-Brashind and Nyanthus, but you never knew.
‘‘Seriously, Marc, what can anyone do? Violence is pretty much out, unless we assume the Shadeweavers are going to stop us, and I really don’t think that’s likely.’’