They fell silent yet again. And then Affron said: “I’ll try to be like Friedrich. Except I’ll be sure to understand you.”
Amelia laughed. “You certainly have a head start.” And she leaned over and kissed him then. And nothing had ever felt sweeter.
“We are going to be a wonderful couple,” Affron said after the kiss.
“I’m sure of it.”
Hieron
Nothing had been the same for Hieron since Larry and Affron arrived.
This was good in a way. It was good to feel unsettled, even worried. Good to help the newcomers. It made him feel useful. It made him feel alive. Still…
As always, he discussed matters with Lucia.
“Everything I tried to build on my home world has been destroyed, it seems,” he said as he wiped down the tables for her.
“You don’t know that,” she pointed out. She had heard Affron’s story, and she had strong opinions about it. She had strong opinions about everything. “Affron has been gone for a long time, helping Larry build his portal,” she pointed out. “Anything could have happened while they’ve been away. All may be well on Terra now.”
“That’s not likely, though, is it?”
Lucia shrugged. She was feeding Veronique, who wasn’t cooperating. “Then go back and find out,” she said. “Nothing is stopping you. Many of us return to our home worlds.”
“Most of us don’t, though. I can’t go back. It’s been too long. It would be too painful.”
“Then stop complaining about it.”
“But I enjoy complaining about it.”
Lucia wiped Veronique’s chin and fed her another spoonful of oatmeal. “Well, as long as you’re enjoying yourself,” she muttered.
“It’s strange that it all started on Terra because Larry wanted to go home,” Hieron said. “He needed to get back to Via, and he ended up overthrowing the government I had created. And then he decided not to go home.”
“That is strange,” Lucia agreed. “I like Larry, though. Don’t blame him. He is still young. He was even younger when he did this.”
“I like him, too. And I don’t blame him. But I worry about him.”
Lucia looked concerned. People mattered to her, not worlds, Hieron knew; she was more interested in Larry than in the fate of Terra. “Larry is young to be here,” she repeated. “It would have taken him far longer to build his portal and find us if Affron hadn’t helped him. Look at how old you were when you arrived.”
“Yes, I know. But I was busy.”
“He doesn’t have to stay, of course.”
“But he doesn’t know where to go,” he pointed out.
“Then he’s just like all the rest of us, poor dear.”
“What should I do? What should I tell him? He likes to talk to me.”
“Then you must listen,” Lucia said.
“I’m good at that, at least.”
Lucia smiled. “I need another towel,” she said. “You keep feeding Veronique.”
She bustled off into the café.
Hieron picked up the spoon and got Veronique to swallow some oatmeal. “What would you tell Larry?” he asked her.
But Veronique, as always, did not reply. Instead her eyes stared off into the distance, and she kept her thoughts to herself.
Larry
Life on Elysium was not going well. He should have been happy, but he wasn’t. Everyone was wonderful to him, but it didn’t seem to matter. And it shouldn’t have mattered that Affron had fallen in love right away and was spending all his time with Amelia, but somehow it did. He had spent years with Affron, and now he was…gone. Not physically gone, of course, but less interested in him. For Affron, this was his final destination, what he’d been searching for all his life. For Larry, it was…what?
He didn’t know. But it wasn’t his final destination.
Larry found himself spending more time with Hieron than with Affron. Hieron didn’t mind talking to him about Terra and Earth and Kravok-Li, didn’t mind hearing his memories and regrets and worries. He didn’t have much advice to offer, other than to give things time. Which was fair enough, but of course it solved nothing—it was the kind of advice that Affron used to give to him. It meant that he had to find answers inside himself, not have them handed to him by someone else. So every day he would wake up and think: have I given it enough time? And it would turn out that he hadn’t.
And then one day he had.
He and Hieron were walking through the woods when they saw Mollia—a thin, black-haired woman—seated on the ground and making those familiar gestures in front of her. “Mollia is building a portal,” Larry said.
“Yes, she is,” Hieron replied. “I’m surprised she hasn’t built one before this. Let’s leave her alone. One does not interrupt someone building a portal.”
They walked on. Finally Larry stopped and looked at Hieron. “It’s time, isn’t it?” he murmured. “Time to build my own portal.”
“Yes, I think it probably is.”
“I’m not good at it,” Larry pointed out. “I’ve only built one, and that took forever. I never really learned how to control it—you know, the way you could control Via. Figuring out my destination and so on.”
Hieron shrugged. “You’ve mastered the hard part,” he replied. “The rest will come to you. You will get plenty of advice, if you need it.”
“Where do I do it?”
Hieron gestured vaguely at the woods. “Choose a spot. The woods are big enough if you want privacy. But go somewhere else if you like. You won’t be in the way.”
Larry looked around and made up his mind. “I’ll do it here.”
Hieron nodded. “That’s fine. And I will help however I can.”
That was settled, then. There was just the one remaining question.
When he finished the portal, where would he go?
Thirty-Four
Palta
Palta won the battle of Alexandria.
She didn’t mean to; she hadn’t expected to. She had spent the voyage from Misenum below decks, seasick and ignored. Decius liked her, but he had given her little to do, and everyone assumed she was his concubine and resented her for taking up space on the fleet’s flagship.
Alexandria was the capital of Egypt and its most important port. The rebel leaders had finally agreed with Decius that conquering Egypt should be their first objective. Roma survived on Egyptian grain. If the rebels could take Egypt, Urbis would be brought to its knees. They hadn’t expected much opposition; that turned out to be a mistake.
Palta made her way onto the deck to see what was happening as they approached the city. The empire’s fleet was arrayed at the entrance to the harbor. “Not good,” Corscius muttered, coming up next to her. “There’s far too many of them.” She spotted Decius and Hippolytus arguing with Eukippus, the admiral of the rebel fleet. “Hippolytus and Decius want to turn the fleet around,” Corscius explained, “but the wind’s shifted.”
“So we’ll have to fight?”
Corscius nodded. “I expect so.”
Corscius was holding a sword, she noticed.
The enemy vessels began to approach; rebel soldiers shot flaming arrows towards their sails, without much effect.
Palta watched the ships as they approached. The soldiers on the flagship were holding their swords; the sailors were bringing out grappling hooks and ladders. She heard Eukippus shouting orders, the whizzing of arrows, the lap of water against the ships. The sky was cloudless; the day was hot.
Decius came up to her and Corscius. “Eukippus thought we could surprise them,” he said. “They do not look surprised.”
“Shouldn’t the flagship be behind the line?” Corscius asked.
“Eukippus doesn’t want to look like a coward, apparently.”
“Are we going to lose?” Palta asked.
Decius shrugged. “I do not like our chances.”
She felt the gant in the pocket of her robe.
“I can improve our chances,�
�� she pointed out.
Corscius looked puzzled; Decius did not.
She did not want to do this. But what choice did she have? “Should I?” she asked Decius.
“I did not expect things to happen so quickly,” he replied. “I thought we could save it.”
“You need to tell me,” Palta insisted. “I cannot do this on my own.”
He sighed. “Can it sink a ship?” he asked.
“I think so.”
“Then yes, you must use it, I suppose.”
Palta took out the gant and waited.
“What is that thing?” Corscius asked, staring at the gant.
“It is Death,” she replied.
A ship neared them. Palta could see the faces of the men onboard—dark, bearded, confident. A couple of them spotted her, pointed, and laughed. They shouted lewd comments to her. Was the ship close enough? She thought so. She walked to the railing and steadied herself, Then she squeezed the handle of the gant.
A hole opened up in the side of the ship, and water began pouring in. The laughter stopped. A bitter smell filled the air.
She shot again and again, and the ship began to list. Men jumped over its railing into the water. Men on the flagship stopped what they were doing and watched her. A cheer went up as they realized what was happening.
“What’s this?” Eukippus demanded, coming up to them.
Palta ignored him. She sprinted towards the port side of the ship, where another ship was approaching. The men made way for her. “Let ’em have it!” one of them shouted. She could see the sailors and soldiers on the enemy ship, now terrified instead of laughing. They moved back when they saw her, but it didn’t matter. She simply shot again and again at the ship itself, and it began to disappear underneath them. In moments what was left of it started to sink, and those men fell into the water, flailing helplessly.
Palta hated the water, and she began to hate the gant and what she was doing with it, hate the sight of men drowning in front of her. She wanted to destroy the empire, but she no longer wanted to kill anyone. And how many more deaths would be required?
The gant was warm in Palta’s hand. She noticed that Decius was still beside her. She held the weapon out to him. “You do it,” she said. “It’s not hard, but I am sick of it.” And then she turned and vomited on the deck.
But little more needed to be done. Decius sank one more ship, and then the rest of the enemy fleet turned and fled. The battle had been won.
Palta sat and closed her eyes. People crowded around her, but she ignored them. The rebel ships headed into the harbor of Alexandria. She disembarked as quickly as she could.
The enemy troops had pulled back, leaving the city to the rebels. It was agreed that Hippolytus would pursue the soldiers; Eukippus would pursue the remaining enemy ships; Decius would stay behind to administer the city. Meanwhile Palta was a hero, but she didn’t care; she just didn’t want to kill anyone else.
But first she had to answer the general’s questions about the gant. No, that was the only weapon she possessed. No, she wouldn’t tell him who she was or how she came to have it. No, she wouldn’t give it to him. Or, rather: Decius possessed it now. What he did with it was up to him.
Decius shrugged. “It will do you little good,” he said to Hippolytus. “We’ve used it too much. It is cold in my hand. Its power is weakening.”
Hippolytus seemed not to understand. He was not very clever, Palta thought. “I saw its power on the ship,” he pointed out.
“The power does not last,” Decius replied. “It is the nature of the weapon.”
“Can we not…do something to increase its power?”
“No, my lord,” Palta replied. She was tired of this. “Give him the weapon,” she said to Decius. “Let him use it as he wishes. He will discover the problem.”
Decius shrugged and handed it to him. Hippolytus seemed delighted to hold it in his hand. Palta recalled how Feslund had looked when he had first held a gant back in Gallia. “We can defeat the empire with this,” Hippolytus said.
“No, you can’t,” Decius replied. “The empire has its own weapons, which they are sure to use once they find out what happened in this battle. We are in as much trouble as ever.”
“Our troops will be a match for them. But I must hurry. I leave the city in good hands.”
Decius bowed to the general. “I thank you, my lord.”
Later Palta stood with Decius and Corscius in the main plaza of the city, outside its massive library, guarded by a small squadron of troops. They looked around at the city they would rule.
“It is a great city, a great country,” Decius said. “We have started well, but still we face many difficulties.”
“Gretyx will use her gants now,” Palta said. “She’ll have to.”
“And Hippolytus and Eukippus are both fools,” Corscius added. “You are the only competent leader we have.”
Decius did not disagree with him.
Palta found herself looking at the library. She was fascinated by the idea of a building filled with books. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a such a place,” she said.
“It is the largest library on Terra, I believe.”
She felt a twinge of longing. There was so much to learn. She could scarcely read. She had never read a book. Did that matter? Perhaps not. “We must protect the library,” she said.
“Of course,” he replied. “But there is much else to be done.”
Olef-Nan
Olef-Nan looked out her window at the plaza below. “I see some of the rebels down there,” she said to Menander.
“Yes, my lady,” the young man standing behind her replied. “What are they doing?”
“Nothing. Talking. Looking up at us.”
“Maybe they love books,” Menander suggested.
No one loved books more than Menander, so it was a natural guess for him. “Doesn’t seem likely, does it?” she replied.
“Well, the priests—”
“Don’t speak of the priests,” Olef-Nan said sharply.
“Sorry, my lady.” Menander wanted nothing more than to keep her happy.
“It’s all right,” she murmured. She turned away from the window and walked back to her office, a little room on the top floor of the library. Menander followed her, awaiting orders. But she had none for him. There were always tasks to be completed, but the tasks didn’t matter if their new rulers didn’t care about the library.
What the new rulers should do, of course, was leave the library alone. For centuries it had stood on this spot—before the priests and after them—the center of learning for the empire and beyond. Why would anyone want to change this? Just let the people here do what they knew how to do—collect the books, care for them, teach people about them. What higher calling was there than this? What greater service to humanity?
“My lady…” Menander began.
Olef-Nan waved him away. “It’s all right,” she said. “Go home. Nothing more will happen today.”
“Yes, my lady.” Menander bowed and departed, leaving her to her thoughts. She knew nothing of the people who now held the library’s fate in their hands. The rumor was that they were disaffected generals seeking to overthrow Gallian rule. Olef-Nan had no love for the Gallians. But did the rebels seek to re-establish the rule of the priests? Or did they just want power for themselves? Was the empire returning to the old days, when generals endlessly battled each other for supreme rule, with no concern for the suffering of the people—or for the knowledge contained in books?
If so, she feared that chaos would result. And chaos was what she feared most. It was when the world was in chaos that the library was at most risk. Who cared about books and manuscripts when there was no food and no law? Better a dictator than anarchy.
And then, of course, there were the priests.
That night she paid a visit to Lamathe.
Thirty-Five
Larry
Larry set to work.
It didn’t seem
any easier, to begin with. You built it out of your very being, step by step, only to see it collapse like a house of cards if your concentration wandered or your confidence failed. You dreamed it, but then the dream dissolved with the snapping of a twig or a sudden memory. You moved your hands through space, but the movements felt rehearsed, unnatural. You groped for something, but it was just out of your reach, somewhere you couldn’t go.
The first day, he failed. And the second. And then he began to lose track of his failures.
People were sympathetic, understanding. Each day Lucia left a plate of food beside him in the woods. He never heard her come. He worked till after dark, as he had on Kravok-Li, then wandered back to his room by starlight, exhausted and perplexed.
“Why can’t I use someone else’s portal?” he asked Hieron. “Like on Terra.”
“No, Larry, you need to do this yourself,” Hieron replied. “There are things that only a creator can do with his portal. Don’t worry. It will come.”
And he knew that Hieron was right. Even if he could use someone else’s portal, he wouldn’t want to.
And after countless days and nights, it began to take shape, as it had before—an extension of his mind, an endless dream of endless worlds, a gateway to the multiverse, this time in the woods of Elysium.
When he thought it was complete he stood in front of it, alone in the dusk, in the silence.
He stepped into it and through it.
He was standing on a rocky shoreline looking out at a gray, swirling sea. The sky was overcast. Nearby, a few bearded men stood outside a tent, staring at him. They wore thick robes and brown headscarves. Curved swords gleamed in their hands. They pointed at him and shouted in a language he didn’t understand. He didn’t respond. Then they started walking towards him.
Well, this wasn’t Glanbury; this wasn’t the Earth he knew. Larry stepped back into his portal, pulled it out of this alien world, and returned to Elysium.
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