"Two distinct animals,” replied Meridian, with obvious amusement.
The Lion recalled hearing tales from the archives about pre-Apocalyptic binary experiments performed on all manner of living creatures. Most such experiments ultimately had ended in failure. In particular, some of the interlinks made with dog fetuses had produced puppies who, after a few weeks or months of so-called “normal” binary behavior, had gone insane and ripped each other to pieces. According to the few remaining records from some of the genetic labs, no dog tways had ever survived to adulthood.
It remained to be seen whether Meridian was telling the truth about this pair.
"They appear well trained,” said Huromonus.
"They do as they are told."
Inez scowled.
Losef continued. “This Council appreciates the opportunity to meet with you."
"It is my duty and pleasure."
"For the record, your other tway remains aboard the vessel which recently intruded into our solar system?"
Meridian laced his fingers together and laid his palms on the table. “The word ‘intruded’ connotes a specific bias."
"Allow me to rephrase. Your other tway is aboard the vessel which recently entered our defensive grid?"
"Yes. I am here and there."
"And you address this Council as the official emissary of the Paratwa aboard this vessel?"
"Yes."
"And Sappho is the leader of those Paratwa?"
"Our vessel is called the Biodyysey. Sappho has a great deal of input relative to the Biodyysey's course and actions, if that is what you mean by ‘leader.’”
"Do you have any introductory remarks?"
"Such remarks were contained in my initial communication."
"Do you have any suggestions about where we can begin these talks?"
"Indeed I do."
And then he was on his feet, his arm hurtling downward, something small and bright emerging from his fist, a burst of white luminescence erupting from the edge of the table where the object impacted.
The Lion flashed back to the events surrounding the massacre, to that first terrible instant when his mind rendered chaotic atrocities into patterns of danger. He flew from his chair, prepared to meet whatever threat Meridian had introduced.
Inez cried out, spun to face the dogs. Huromonus and the Lion pivoted to follow her gaze. But the animals had not moved. They remained poised in their flanking positions at the doorway.
Losef arched her eyebrows.
A pillar of white luminescence was slowly rising from the tabletop—a column of pulsating energy soaring up past the chandelier, reaching for the ceiling.
"No cause for alarm,” Meridian assured them, smiling while his fingers played with one of the jeweled hooks on his vest.
The white column halted its vertical growth some eight feet above their heads. It disintegrated. Sparkling dust fell softly toward the table; swabs of color began to take shape within the gentle rain of mist, tiny collusions of form and hue. The swabs coalesced rapidly, each one mutating into a floating miniature of one of the Irryan Colonies. The largest, obviously Irrya, was nearly two inches long; the others varied respectively in size. Detailing was incredibly precise and appeared to be the result of photographic data as opposed to purely artistic interpretation. He knew without counting that all two hundred and seventeen colonies were represented.
It was the most stunning display of holo technology the Lion had ever seen.
Even the geometric spatial relationships between the various tiny colonies looked correct; Irrya hung at the proper minute angle to its most adjacent cylinder, Saskatchewan Omni. He spotted his small home colony of Den, out near the edge of the display. Only the actual distances between the colonies were exaggerated. Severe selective compression had been necessary to contain the entire manifestation within the limited space of the Council chamber.
"Saints of the Trust,” murmured Inez, gingerly moving her face closer to one of the cylinders. She squinted down at the tiny model. “This looks like Northern California. I can even see green forests through one of the cosmishield strips. The animal preserve.” She jerked her head away. “Things appear to be moving inside ... clouds..."
Meridian beamed, obviously enjoying their amazement. “This is not merely a static display. It is a real-time fully animated representation of the Irryan Colonies."
"Most impressive,” offered Losef, without conviction. “Does this holo have a specific purpose?"
"For the moment, consider it as a memento of what is."
A faint chill ran through the Lion as he resumed his seat.
From his position behind the holo, Meridian went on. “The Paratwa wish their return to be a peaceful one. We do not look forward to the deplorable tragedy of conflict."
From the Lion's position, one of the tiny colonies appeared to hang directly in front of the tway's mouth. As Meridian continued to speak, it appeared as if he was trying to eat the cylinder.
"Our vessel, the Biodyysey, represents a level of technological achievement well beyond your capacity. We have detected the approach of your first wave of assault ships—fifteen vessels, all told.” He turned to the FTL screens. “Councilor Van Ostrand, I have been instructed to inform you that should these vessels attempt to inhibit our passage, or should they attempt offensive action against us, they will be immediately annihilated. We provide this warning to you in the sincere hope that a state of outright war between our peoples can be avoided."
Van Ostrand, looking angry, was about to respond when Losef held up her hand. “You are invading our sovereign space,” she said calmly.
"We are returning to the place of our beginnings,” countered Meridian. “The roots of our existence beckon."
To the Lion, such words sounded strangely like the metaphysical platitudes of the Church of the Trust.
Huromonus achieved the same interpretation. “The Ash Ock are generally credited with the invention of one of our religions. Are you, sir, a devoted follower of the Church of the Trust?"
Meridian smiled. “I am, sir, devoted only to logic. The Biodyysey has traveled a long way. Ancient longings have hardened into a resolve, which becomes more like a structural configuration with each passing day. No energizing mythos of religion compels us. The Paratwa are driven only by the inexorable strategy of reason.
"The Solar system was once our home. It will once again be our home. We will not be swayed from the achievement of that dream."
"According to the Irryan charter,” stated Losef, “neither the Earth nor the Colonies are yours for the taking."
The tway shrugged. “A charter; a rationalization for maintaining the status quo. Meaningless in real terms."
"You intend to ignore our sovereign rights?” asked Inez.
"We intend to achieve our dream."
The Lion scowled. “Much as you sought to achieve your dream in the late twenty-first century, by attempting to wipe out humanity."
Meridian stared at him coldly. “Back then, the Paratwa were given no choice. War was declared upon us. Many so-called charters were composed, which negated the right of binaries even to exist. We were pronounced a human mistake. We were scheduled to be exterminated. Our so-called attempts to wipe out humanity were actually the desperate actions of a race of conscious entities to survive."
Huromonus said, “I believe our data archives provide a very different interpretation of the pre-Apocalypse."
"Indeed? Why am I not surprised that the E-Tech archives would be filled with massive distortions of the truth?"
Huromonus, in what the Lion recognized as one of his trademark legalistic mannerisms, stroked his speckled goatee. “You suggest that the Paratwa did not murder one hundred and fifty million human beings?"
"The human race suffered severe casualties throughout that era. Were the Paratwa directly responsible for all of those deaths?” Meridian shook his head firmly. “Distortions. Factual errors compounded by unbridled hatred."
; The Lion felt his fury ascending. He stood up and pointed a finger at the tway. “Was it a distortion that attacked my home four days ago, murdering my friends? Was it a distortion that has been on the rampage in our colonies for months, killing innocent citizens? And fifty-six years ago—Reemul! Was he also merely a misinterpretation of the facts?"
Meridian hesitated: his eyes grew distant. The Lion got the impression that the Jeek's other tway was conferring with someone. Sappho and Theophrastus, probably. Finally:
"Humans and Paratwa have been at war for centuries. No one denies this. And when Paratwa make war, they do so with two basic criteria—winning and achieving the victory with as little loss of life as possible ... on both sides.
"Reemul is ancient history. Both he and Codrus, who awakened him, are long dead. Reemul was of my breed, but unfortunately, by almost anyone's standard, he was clearly insane. His excesses never carried the full sanction of the Ash Ock. To use him as an example is patently unfair. Have there not also been crazed humans over the years, operating totally beyond the boundaries of law and order?
"As to the attack on your retreat, need I remind you that you have been willfully harboring—and for a time without knowledge of this very Council—several sworn enemies of the Paratwa, including that vicious little man, Nick, who is known to us as the Czar. Can you truly fault my leaders for sending a warrior to deal with ancient and brutal foes?"
The Lion gritted his teeth. “Yes, I fault you. I accuse you and your kind of murder, plain and simple. Nick was right about you, Meridian. You're nothing but a well-trained liar."
The tway rose slowly from his seat. His arm flashed downward. The holo disappeared, the miniature Colonies of Irrya vanishing in a swirl of colored dust. He turned calmly to Losef.
"I request an adjournment. I see now that the emotions of the moment will not allow a reasonable discussion of our peace initiatives. Perhaps a few days to cool off. I still maintain high hopes for reconciling our differences."
Losef glanced around the table. “You've just arrived, Meridian. We have many questions for you—"
"I'm afraid I must insist."
The Lion felt his fury continuing to grow. He wanted to physically lash out at the tway, to cause him pain.
Meridian approached the Lion, halted two paces away. “I understand your rage, and despite what you may think, I even sympathize with it. But may I remind you, and with no threat intended, that in the attack on your retreat, the Ash Nar deliberately spared your life. You, the Lion of Alexander, the man whose lifelong opposition to us has been nurtured by an unfortunate childhood encounter with Reemul."
"Ash Nar,” whispered the Lion, not trusting himself to raise his voice. “So that is what you call your tripartite murderer."
Meridian turned to the others. “For the record, the various attacks by the Ash Nar were based on military decisions beyond the scope of my authority. But I assure you that if this Council and the Paratwa can reach a common basis of understanding, all such offensive military actions will end.
"And now, with your permission, I would like to have a few days to enjoy the boundless attractions and pleasures of Irrya."
Inez looked astonished. “You want to go sightseeing?"
"Yes."
Even Losef appeared to be at a loss for words.
Huromonus cleared his throat. “We would like your assurances that this Biodyysey will initiate no offensive actions against our approaching ships."
"You have my word. The Biodyysey will initiate no conflict, provided, of course, that your own fleet maintains a nonthreatening posture.
"We will talk again in a few days.” Meridian turned to his dogs. “Standard ambulation alignment. Follow me."
The poodle hopped back up on the borzoi's back, again facing its rear. The wolfhound rose, waited for Meridian to pass, and then trotted obediently out the door, three paces behind its master.
After the door closed, Losef turned to the Lion. “Your fury does not contribute to effective discussions. No matter what your feelings, I must formally request that you exercise a greater degree of control during our official dealings with Meridian."
The Lion scowled, but he knew that Losef was right. “I apologize to Council. I will maintain a calm demeanor in the future."
"Good.” She turned to the others. “Comments?"
Van Ostrand shook his head. “Where did that holo come from? How could we have missed something like that?"
Inez looked glum. “It appears that we can't even detect aspects of their technology."
Huromonus gave a philosophical shrug.
Losef said, “I'm afraid we must face some unpleasant realities here. It would appear that our worst fears are coming true: we are being confronted by multiple aspects of a superior science.” She paused. “We must at least consider the possibility that the Paratwa are undefeatable in a direct confrontation."
"That's nonsense,” muttered Van Ostrand. “We've been shown just enough of their so-called superior technology to scare us into accepting whatever terms this Meridian deems to offer us. I wish to state for the record that we cannot simply assume their invincibility without a fight."
"Are you suggesting we attack this Biodyysey?” asked Losef.
"The Paratwa shall be defeated."
The Lion frowned. Van Ostrand, even at his most militaristic, usually did not sound quite so imperious.
He suddenly wanted the meeting to be over. Until they knew more, further discussions would be a waste of time. Right now, he wanted desperately to talk with Nick.
The midget possessed an understanding of Paratwa psychology that easily surpassed that of anyone on Council—and probably anyone within the Colonies, for that matter. In fact, Nick's presence today might have proved invaluable. But Nick had considered it vital that, at least for the time being, the Lion continue with the charade that he remained in a coma. And the midget had other priorities.
Freebird—that's where Nick says our real hope lies. The program could well contain secrets that would enable them to defeat the Paratwa. The invaders were not all-powerful. Despite apparent technological superiority, they could be defeated.
The Lion sighed, not believing it for a moment. His willingness to grasp at such a fantasy meant only that reality no longer offered reasonable options.
O}o{O
Gillian found himself trying to remember a place he did not know.
Crisp distorted sensations—images—flashed through awareness, like rapidly changing pictures of a distant waterfall, photographed scenes shown one after another, an endless cascade of forward motion. Liquid eruptions from his own past, literally moving too fast to be comprehended.
Empedocles clarified: The problem is that you are moving too slowly. The images are discrete; this you perceive. But you must look at them more closely. You must look at them from the deepest valley of your own consciousness, from that place where even I cannot go. You must drop down into your own temporal depths, to the landscape where only the creature Gillian exists.
"How?” he wondered, hearing his solitary word multiply itself, echoing and reechoing along a fading tier of amplification, a stone skipped across water until it becomes nothing.
Become nothing, urged his monarch.
Gillian did not know where he was. He could not remember where he had last been. A chain had been broken, continuity destroyed.
It is not important, said his monarch, using a tone that Gillian knew was intended to soothe him, to prevent Gillian's fear from overwhelming awareness, to prevent terror from superseding the lost knowledge of where he existed.
Am I dreaming or am I awake?
Empedocles did not answer. Gillian quickly realized that the question was meaningless. I am inside myself. That is all that matters.
He sensed pleasure within Empedocles; Gillian's correct assessment of his situation produced satisfaction within his monarch.
You must enter the deepest valley of your own perception. It is a place where I can neit
her lead nor follow. You must go alone.
Gillian stared into the cascading images, trying to see through them, or beyond them.
Slow yourself. Perceive the spaces, the separations.
He gazed at them more closely but they only seemed to move faster, become more incomprehensible. So he tried the opposite tack, deliberately focusing his attention away from them, allowing the steaming pictures to be glimpsed only through peripheral awareness.
It worked. The simulacra slowed. He still could not make out what each individual image represented, but he began to perceive the spaces separating them. Each distinct image possessed a shadow; each casting of light carried with it an equivalent slab of darkness.
Light ... shadow ... light ... Ad infinitum.
And the shadows seemed to be pointing away from the illuminated images. That was important. Darkness lay at right angles to the light.
For a moment, he considered that he was going mad, that he had become lost in some sort of obverse consciousness, a conceptual rhythm completely at odds with his established intellectual norm. Nothing made sense. Nothing could be understood.
Yes, urged his monarch, willing him to follow that line of reasoning. Nothing can be understood.
Insight blundered into truth; in a flash, he knew what the images and the shadows represented; he knew precisely why he could not comprehend their nature. Empedocles's assessment was correct. The images came from Gillian's own prenatal awareness, from a time before intellectual conceptualization was possible: icons of pure perception, predating the ascension of his logical mind. Back then, his only referential context was the pictorial stream itself, the endless flow of images, the slip of light and shadow across a mental pathway too primitive to grasp anything beyond the simple rhythm of the flow itself:
Shadow ... light ... shadow...
But now he understood. I am seeing my own earliest representation of what it means to be a Paratwa.
Here was the binary coagulation, the endless dervish of forward movement that linked him and Catharine. Here was his own primordial vision of the interlace—the two-way waltz—the alternation of light and shadow which, when properly aligned, made possible the existence of their monarch Empedocles.
The Paratwa (#3 in the Parawta Saga) Page 18