Celestial Matters

by Garfinkle, Richard

  “You may be right, Aias,” Yellow Hare said. “But how can both sides believe they are losing?”

  “Consider what Phan said. He said the Middle Kingdom was losing battles and territory. That proved to him that the Son of Heaven has lost the mandate to rule, so the Middle Kingdom is bound to lose the war unless the Son of Heaven is replaced. They need to buy time for a new emperor to be found, so they engage in the desperate act of killing our leaders. The League’s view, on the other hand, is that its leaders are being killed, so we will not have the heroes we need to win victories, so we are bound to lose unless we can strike quickly and decisively.”

  Her eyes widened, gold reflecting the silver light of the cave. Athena stirred in her mind and the Aigis gleamed through Yellow Hare’s eyes. “Both sides believe they are losing,” she said, “so as you say, both sides engage in desperate actions. The Middlers assassinate and the League creates the Prometheus Projects. Both sides are taking desperate gambles that are not necessary.”

  She gripped the hilt of her sword. “Neither side has acted in accord with the proper conduct of war,” she said.

  “Neither side is acting in accord with the Good,” I said, and the words of ’Elios flared again in my heart.

  O

  Kleio, I prayed after the revelation of Ssu-ma’s writings, you have shown me your mystery, shown me how you can grip the hearts of men and nations and draw them down paths so disparate that the men of one people cannot speak to the men of the other. But goddess of history, inspirer of a lost study, what am I to do with your blessing?

  And in the shadows of my heart Kleio and Athena together answered me. History bridged the chasm Wisdom had shown, and a new place grew in my heart near where my understanding of science dwelled. It was a dark cavern, as yet unformed and unfilled with the light of knowledge. But in that umbral grotto I heard a sound, an echoing chord, the song of the Xi flow that spanned the air between Ares and ’Elios.

  Then the chord fell silent and a voice resounding with heavenly thunder roared through the darkness: Fill this place!

  I will, Father Zeus, I will.

  “Yellow Hare,” I said, opening my eyes to the sight of the more familiar cave I called home, “would you have one of the guards find Phan and ask him to join me on top of the hill.”

  “Yes, Aias,” she said.

  The old Taoist met me half an hour later beside the stumps of Alexander’s legs.

  “I need to know more about your science,” I said to Phan.

  “Tell me how to teach you,” he said. There was a quiet glow in his dark eyes and something lay on his shoulders that made his seventy-year-old frame look younger and stronger. “If you can learn to learn, then perhaps I can as well.”

  “What do you mean?” I said.

  “I need to know your science, also,” he said, and his eyes grew brighter. “But where do we begin?”

  “At the weakest point in the barrier between us,” I said. “The walls of theory are too high; let us start with practice. Show me your equipment. Pretend that I am not a scientist. Pretend that I am some ignorant bureaucrat who wants an explanation of your work so he can make out reports.”

  The old man smiled and bowed. “Will you do the same for me?”

  “Of course.”

  Over the next week, Phan and I gave each other basic introductions to the paraphernalia of our sciences. I showed him how we used rare and dense air to create forced motion, and he showed me how gold, silver, and cinnabar placed along Xi flow could modify or control natural motion. Slowly, the dark cavern in my heart began to grow bright with a second vision of the universe, one of change and flow instead of matter and form. And as the light of practical work grew from a flickering candle to a solar beacon, it illuminated the bewildering Taoist texts I had studied over the years but had gained nothing from.

  Memories boiled up in my mind of days spent poring over rice paper scrolls with block-printed characters, words in the Middle Kingdom language I had learned but not understood. There had been nights when the pictographs had seemed to dance before my eyes, mocking me with their hidden meanings. In those dark hours I had prayed long and hard to Athena and to ’Ermes, lord of translators, to help me penetrate the enemy’s mysteries. And now at last they had answered me, and the texts that I had memorized began to unravel themselves in the light of my new-made mental cavern.

  Had I been given the freedom to do so, I would have been content to let Rebuke of the Phoenix stay in that orbit, letting the combination of pure air and divine favor fill me up with comprehension, but I had other duties, and I had to carry them out. So Phan and I pulled ourselves away from our learning and teaching. In two languages with two visions we plotted out the ship’s passage through the riptides of Xi that flowed out from the body of ’Elios, carried by the light and the atomic fire of the solar wind.

  When we were satisfied with our calculations, I went to each of the crew in turn and spoke to them in private. We all knew that the flight through the sphere of ’Elios would be the most difficult test for the ship. If Rebuke of the Phoenix survived this leg of the journey we would have no difficulty flying back to Earth.

  I spoke to Clovix first, praising him for his service since the disaster, and he bowed to me in thanks.

  The soldiers I congratulated on their diligence, and I assured them that they had done honor to the army and the League.

  Ramonojon and I shared a brief moment of silence, and let it pass at that.

  Aeson and I spoke in quiet whispers of the mystery of Orpheus, then gripped hands and separated.

  Of what passed between Yellow Hare and me, let that remain locked in the lips of Aphrodite.

  Then Phan and I put on solar protective goggles and cooling cloaks and strapped ourselves into our pilots’ compartments, while the rest of the crew went below into the safety of the brig. The ship flew into the Xi flow between Ares and ’Elios; Phan activated the Xi strengtheners and I pulled the reins, banking Rebuke of the Phoenix down the paths of heaven toward the fire of the sun.

  Out the front window of my cabin I watched ’Elios grow and grow until he filled the sky with spears of red flame, and the words he burned into my heart caught fire once again.

  Am I not serving the Good? I prayed. Have I not crossed the chasm?

  Not yet! the sun god roared as Rebuke of the Phoenix passed through the crystal sphere and bore down on the celestial fire. God of the day, I prayed, let me go; I must steer the ship. ’Elios released my mind to once again calculate and pilot. The currents of Xi flowed out from the sun, invisible spirals pushing the Selenean part of my ship away from the fireball; but there was a single contrary flow that pulled on the sun fragment, trying to draw it back toward the body of fire from which it had been stolen.

  It was my task to keep the fireball away from that flow while Phan maneuvered us through the push of the main currents to reach the inner spheres. The Xi strengtheners hummed in a staccato rhythm as we darted from flow to flow, pulled to left and right by the riptides, but Phan’s sure hand kept us going downward, always downward. As we approached within five miles of ’Elios, I pulled on the port and up guide wires, drawing the fragment away from the sun, up and leftward. The sun disappeared beneath us, and the sky turned suddenly from the red of sunfire to the gold of sunlight as we flew over ’Elios.

  I released the wires and the sun fragment dipped down again, I hoped to pull us past the sun itself; but the fragment continued to dip down farther than I had planned. The inward current had caught hold of the fireball and was trying to drag it under the ship and back around toward the sun. I pulled the central rein, tugging the cord of Selenean wire with all my might to call back the fragment, to hold it for just a few seconds.

  I held on with all the strength that lay in my arms and all the will I could muster. I counted the heartbeats—five, ten, twenty—as we flew over the lamp that lit the universe. The ship turned pitch black from the wash of golden gleam that shone up from below. Tongues of fire da
nced beneath us, and then we were over the top of the sun, and the light shone from behind. The shadow of the hill fell across the bow of Phoenix, a long shadow as if the sun were setting directly behind me. We were past ’Elios, past the sphere of the sun god and away from the solar wind and the wild eddies of Xi that railed like the worst sea storms around that ball of celestial flame.

  I let go of the wire and the sun fragment resumed its normal pull on the ship. The Xi strengtheners stopped humming and we took up an orbit just a few tens of miles below the crystal sphere that held the sun.

  Thank you, lord of the day, I prayed. I give thanks to you, O ’Elios, for the safety of my people.

  Not yet! burned the words in my mind. Not yet!

  But despite this divine warning, my heart was filled with relief. We had passed through the fire and had entered the inhabited spheres. I left my cabin to join my crew in celebration. When I stepped out onto the surface of the ship, I saw a spot of silver in the sky off our port bow. As I watched, it grew larger and resolved itself into a glowing triangle. Then I realized what it was: the fore end of Chandra’s Tear, circling lazily in a slightly higher orbit than Rebuke of the Phoenix.

  Poor ghost ship, I thought, I hope your dead are resting.

  As if in answer four small spots of silver flew out from the back end of the broken ship. Moon sleds, but piloted by whom?

  Whoever they were, I could not let them find Phan before I had time to explain his presence and our circumstances. Assuming I could explain.

  I turned and ran aft toward my copilot’s cabin. A hundred yards from my goal, I smelled rarefied air and heard the clear moonstone-on-moonstone clang of a sled landing behind me.

  “Aias, halt!” said an all-too-familiar voice.

  I stopped and turned around, hardly daring to believe what I had heard. There, dressed in scorched armor and wearing a tattered air-cooling cloak, his skin blistered, scarred, and browner than an Aethiopian’s, was Anaxamander, pointing an evac thrower at my chest.

  At that moment I cursed the gods and the Fates; I railed against heaven for letting this man survive. For that blasphemy, I beg the forgiveness of the gods.

  “Anaxamander,” I said, “put down that weapon and surrender yourself. Enough of my crew have died because of you.”

  He laughed and his pinprick-pupiled eyes gleamed as he raised the thrower. “Did you think you had escaped retribution, traitor?”

  “Fool,” I replied, “Mihradarius was the traitor, he who advised you and set you on this course to ruin. I say again, put down your weapon.”

  He stood there waiting, not heeding my words, posed like a military statue. Behind him on the open deck of Rebuke of the Phoenix three more moon sleds landed, and two dozen of my old ship’s soldiers stepped off. They too showed signs of prolonged exposure to the sun: scorched clothes, darkly tanned skin, and pupils small as the eyes of needles.

  “How?” I said. “How did you survive?”

  “I prepared,” Anaxamander said, looking up toward the heavens. “A true soldier always prepares. I knew that you and Ramonojon might have sabotaged the ship, so I provisioned four moon sleds and detailed my most loyal soldiers to pilot them. I was not on Chandra’s Tear when your treasonous acts destroyed it. After the disaster I and my surviving crew flew back into the near half of the ship. We have waited weeks for rescue. Then we saw you returning with the prize of your treachery. What was your plan, Aias, to use the sun fragment against Delos? Against Athens? Against Sparta?”

  I said nothing, knowing that no reason, no evidence, would penetrate the solid wall of folly in Anaxamander’s mind.

  “Search this vessel,” Anaxamander said as his soldiers gathered around him. “Everyone on board is a traitor. Take prisoners if you can; kill if you have to.”

  The soldiers broke up into four squads of six. Three of the groups spread out across the ship; one remained as a guard for Anaxamander. I prayed Yellow Hare, Aeson, and our own three soldiers would be able to deal with the small squadrons.

  “Now, traitor,” the security chief said to me, “what is that?”

  He pointed at Phan’s control cabin. I said nothing.

  “Bring him,” Anaxamander growled, and two of the soldiers walked behind me and grabbed my arms, twisting them behind my back. I bit back the pain, not wanting to show any weakness in front of the imbecile who had destroyed my ship. The guards force-marched me after their lunatic leader to the secondary control cabin. Two men went inside and a few moments later dragged Phan out. His face was a mass of bruises, and he stumbled as they pushed him.

  He looked up at me with sad, dead eyes and started to speak. Anaxamander hit him on the shoulder with the barrel of his evac thrower. “Silence, Middler!”

  Phan groaned and slumped against one of the guards. The soldier pushed him away and watched smiling as the old man fell to the ground, tearing his silk robe at the knees.

  “Enough!” I said.

  “Be quiet, traitor,” Anaxamander said. He slapped me across the face with his gauntleted fist. I felt blood flowing from my cheek, but I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

  The guards pulled Phan to his feet, and we stood waiting at the base of the hill while Anaxamander surveyed our new ship and scowled at us.

  A few minutes later, surrounded by six guards, Yellow Hare was escorted up from the brig cells. She had been stripped naked except for a bloodstained linen bandage around her shoulder, but the gods of war had enveloped her in a cloak of dignity and none of the soldiers dared approach or taunt her. She turned her golden eyes toward me and I felt a spirit of quiet confidence grow in my heart. Then she looked at Anaxamander and I saw her swear to deliver his soul to ’Ades. At that moment, naked and injured, with six evac throwers pointed at her, Yellow Hare’s glare quelled Anaxamander. The Security Chief turned away. I saw the fear in his eyes, and I knew that he was about to have Yellow Hare shot.

  “Do not give that order,” I hissed to him. “Naked and dying she would still be able to kill you before the soul left her body.”

  “I am not afraid of that Xeroki,” he said, and in those words I saw how tightly madness had gripped his soul.

  “Then you are a greater fool than I thought,” I said, hoping that this one truth might reach him. “She is a Spartan, a warrior in body and soul.”

  “It is of no consequence,” he said, blustering for himself and for his guards. “We will bring this traitor back to Sparta and show them that they do not always choose their officers rightly.”

  He turned to the guards. “Was there anyone else below?”

  “Yes, Commander,” one of them said.

  Four more of Anaxamander’s guards emerged from the tunnel, escorting Ramonojon, Clovix, and our three soldiers; there was no sign of Aeson. Ramonojon seemed impassive. Clovix’s eyes gleamed as he saw Anaxamander; the slave almost licked his lips. But when the Security Chief’s gaze lit on Clovix, the Gaul resumed his long-abandoned servile posture.

  “What happened?” I whispered to Yellow Hare as the guards escorted her over to me. “How were you hurt?”

  She glowered and adjusted her bandage. “I was careless. They threatened to kill Ramonojon. I interfered. One of them shot me in the shoulder.”

  “Where is Aeson?” I whispered in Xeroki.

  “He left the brig when you and Phan stopped the ship. I do not know where he went.”

  “Good. Maybe he can do something about…” My voice trailed off as I saw six soldiers escorting my co-commander up from the storage cave. Aeson walked with the full solemnity of a Spartan general surrounded by a guard of honor, and the soldiers, basking in the glow of his reflected glory, grew larger than their comrades.

  “Security Chief!” Aeson shouted in his best parade ground voice. “What is the meaning of this?”

  The blood drained from Anaxamander’s sunburned face. “Commander?” he whispered.

  Aeson strode forward like Zeus deigning to be seen among mortals. “Security Chief Anaxamander, you
are relieved of command. Hand over your weapons.”

  For a moment, Anaxamander wavered under the pressure of Spartan authority. He looked down, avoiding the gaze of his commander, and his soul balanced on the edge of realization. The colossal error he had committed battered at him. All the self-justification, all the insinuations Mihradarius had poured into his ears, all the evidence he had compounded in his own mind against Ramonojon, Yellow Hare, and myself could not be turned against Aeson, his unsullied superior.

  Had Anaxamander possessed a warrior’s soul, a true Spartan spirit, he would have surrendered then and there and given himself over for punishment. But he was only a play soldier, a pretend Spartan, all appearance, no spirit. He could not accept that he had brought about the catastrophe that had befallen those under his command.

  His spine stiffened by hubris, he raised up eyes blinded by até and spoke: “Aeson of Sparta, I arrest you for the crime of treason against the League.”

  The madman turned his back on his own commander and on the true way of the warrior. “Guards, put him with the other prisoners.”

  The soldiers looked first at Aeson, then at Anaxamander. Slowly, tentatively, they raised their throwers and pointed them at Aeson.

  Aeson was herded over with the rest of us and forced to sit down on the side of the hill; he did so with quiet dignity. They kept us together in a circle, except for Phan, whom they isolated.

  “Why did they obey Anaxamander instead of you?” I whispered to Aeson.

  “Survival training,” he and Yellow Hare said simultaneously.

  I raised a questioning eyebrow.

  “It is done,” Yellow Hare said, “by sending a group of soldiers and a commander into long-term danger. If the commander keeps the soldiers alive, they learn to obey him instinctively. When they come out they will do anything he asks.”

  “And these soldiers,” Aeson said, “have been trapped orbiting near the sun with meager food and water for weeks. After that long even Anaxamander’s blustering manner could raise a man’s spirits to the point of loyalty.”