The Great Wheel of Existence exploded.
It was not the Big Bang which began this phase of the Great Wheel's existence, but a grander and more powerful forerunner. The expanding wave front of its explosion hurled itself outward, overtook the fleeing Serathin, and passed them; and when it had passed, the Serathin found themselves trapped for all eternity inside the Great Wheel they had fashioned as a prison for the Chained One. Far faster than the Serathin could follow its expansion, the Great Wheel of Existence spread outward in an explosion of matter and anti-matter based timelines, expanding into both Time and Space.
On the individual timelines, life arose; life unlike the Chaotic beings called Serathin, unlike the bound Envoy of Balance, but containing elements of both. And the Great Wheel continued its expansion; and civilizations rose, and fell, and rose again. And with the passage of time, the Great Wheel expanded more slowly; until there came a moment when the energy that had fueled the Great Wheel's expansion had been expended. The Great Wheel hung upon a momentary equilibrium, and then began to contract; in the instant of its contraction, the sky throughout all the Great Wheel's timelines began at once to blaze white.
The Wheel shrunk back in upon itself, to the moment when the spacetime continuum would briefly cease to exist, when the Great Wheel would exist as nothing more than a timeless, spaceless point of transfinite energy--
--and then expand again.
How many times this has happened I cannot tell you.
I do not know.
I opened my eyes to silence.
Trent stood motionless, watching me. The muzzle of his rifle had dropped slightly, now pointed at a spot just over Neil Corona's solar plexus--Neil didn't like that. A head shot is a chancy thing; a maser blast to the stomach is not.
Finally Trent said, "Is that it? That's what you wanted to tell me?"
"Yes."
His smile was a slow bemused thing. "That's the whole story, is it?"
"No. If I were to tell you the whole story, so far as I know it, we would grow old together. Does what I have told you seem familiar to you? Does it stir any memory?"
Trent shook his head. The distant smile did not leave him. "Can't say that it does. Possibly it reminds me of a bad fantasy sensable I once played."
"You have never heard of the Serathin, of the Envoy of Balance?"
"No."
"Of the Chained One?"
He shook his head again, and I knew he was not lying. "No."
"Then you are very fortunate, Trent the Uncatchable. If you are another Envoy, and do not yet know it, then--" I paused, willed him to meet my eyes; concentrated my attention upon the person of Trent the Uncatchable, raised my voice until it echoed against the walls of Marc Packard's office, and Spoke. "Listen well, Trent the Uncatchable: we are watching you, and if you are not a fraud, if you are an Envoy such as the one whose Chaining created this universe, then know that among the ten Great Gods you have nine Great Enemies; and nobody, not even the renegade God of Players, will protect you from the massed strength of the Serathin. We will cease the truce, loose our Time Wars upon this continuum once more, and when we are done, you will not only not exist, you will never have existed."
He shook himself slightly when I was done. A Speaking will do that to you. "All this because I walked through a wall once?"
"Did you?"
Trent said gently, "That would be telling."
"Ah." I took a deep breath, relaxed, and said quietly, "Perhaps I am seeing meaning where there is none. It's a problem of mine, you know."
"Is it."
"You are probably a fraud, Trent. I do often find myself imposing narrative order on unrelated events. Randomness occurs in the universe; it's just that it makes for bad storytelling. If you are merely a thief, Trent the Uncatchable, we will never meet again. When I remember this moment, it will be as the memory of a dream. I regret that, for you interest me."
"Neil, you are the strangest man I have ever met."
"I am not Neil Corona. I am Chai'ell November, the Name Storyteller, and I am leaving. Goodbye, Trent the Uncatchable."
I let go of my avatar.
There was not much time left, and I had other business to attend.
It was not long after that date in 2076 when my avatar Neil Corona spoke to Trent, that Trent the Uncatchable died, and rose again, and then vanished from the Continuing Time, perhaps forever.
* * *
60.
Silence.
Trent's voice broke it, a rasping unpleasant thing that grated at my ears. "Are you all right?"
Darkness.
I opened my eyes to a glare of light that I could not reconcile with the gentle glowpaint that I knew was in use in Marc's office. With the opening of my eyes it all flooded in on me, like a sensable with the volume control pumped all the way up. Everything was intolerably bright and loud and the soft linen of my security uniform was made of sandpaper.
I shook my head, winced at the sudden surge of pain. "No. No," I said carefully, voice booming in my ears, "I am not okay." Suddenly Trent snapped into focus, the only clear thing in the world; standing several meters away from me, laser rifle cradled at ready, simply watching without making any motion to help me. I started to struggle to my feet, found my right hand chained to the seat. My head pounded as though it were about to come off; I felt as though I might vomit at any moment.
I sat back down abruptly.
"Would you like a drink?"
My head swam. I leaned forward and put my head between my knees. "Yes. Yes, I would. And I'd like this damn snake taken off too."
I don't even remember how old I was the first time this happened to me. Eight, maybe. Nine. When I was young it happened more often; in the last thirty, forty years, only twice.
Every now and again I kid myself that it's stopped.
A bulb was pushed into my hand, and without opening my eyes I cycled it open and sucked it back. It was cold and it cleared my head a bit. I was aware of Trent standing immediately to my right; suddenly the snake released my wrist and dropped loose, fell to the floor.
Trent moved back, said, "How often does this happen to you?"
"What makes you think it's happened before?"
"I took the snake off, Neil. I could have left it on."
Fair enough. "Not often."
"Ever seen a doctor about it?"
Even chuckling hurt. "The first time was fifty years before you were born." I sat up and opened my eyes again. Better this time; the glare had lessened, and I could make out the shapes of most of the objects in Marc's office.
Trent's voice was gentle, persistent. "When was the last time you had an episode?"
He seemed genuinely interested, I don't know why; I made an effort to think back. "Last time? Visiting New York City with Marc. He was negotiating with the Castanaveras telepaths for some work they were going to do for him--I figured it was probably the gravity stress; that trip downside was the longest period either of us had spent in a full gee in a couple decades."
"Do you remember anything about them?"
I said shortly, "No. Not that there's much to remember, is there? I just stare at things like a drooling idiot."
"You talked to me."
Trent moved so fast I didn't even catch it; suddenly he was a meter further away from me, the rifle coming up so that he looked at me over the sight. I didn't realize until then how fast I'd come to my feet. "I what?"
Trent didn't lower the laser. He said carefully, "You talked to me. Seven, eight minutes."
"What did I say?"
"Strange things, Neil. Have you ever heard of the Chained One? The Envoy of Balance?"
"What?"
"How about the Continuing Time?"
"The what time?"
"I said the same thing. Have you ever heard of the Serathin?"
"No."
"Well." He lowered the rifle just a bit. "That's what you talked about."
I sat down again, moving slowly, and buried my face in my
hands. "I can't wait until this is all over."
Trent nodded, lowered the laser a bit more. "It's getting a little weird for me, too. Still, it won't be much longer."
"No?"
"It's a quarter past midnight, Neil. And I was supposed to see 'Selle Altaloma fifteen minute ago. I'm late. Of course I'm late a lot, everybody knows that. So she probably isn't surprised."
"It's midnight?"
"Past. Yes."
"Oh. So it is." 12:17 a.m., according to my handheld, the morning of July 3, 2076.
* * *
61.
Ichabod Martin waited with Douglass Ripper, in Ripper's office; waited for Secretary General Eddore to return Ripper's call.
They did not speak to one another while they waited.
There was no background holograph today; they waited in the midst of a huge, dark gray empty space.
Toward late morning, July 3, 2076, the holofield flickered into existence in front of Ripper's desk. Eddore spoke as his image took shape. "Councilor Ripper."
"Sir."
Eddore said, "I'm in a bit of a hurry, Councilor; what can I do for you?"
"This Executive Action your people submitted to the Council; it's going to cause an uproar, sir, and it's not necessary."
Eddore said mildly, "To which Executive Action are you referring? I've issued three in the last weeks."
"You know which one," Ripper snapped. "Yesterday's, the one declaring martial law, suspending elections for the duration, and reducing the two-thirds majority required to modify the Statement of Principles to a simple plurality. None of these steps are necessary to deal with the crisis in Japan, a mess that wouldn't exist in the first place if you and the PKF hadn't encouraged them by dogging it in dealing with the Johnny Rebs."
"I disagree with you, Douglass. Is that all?"
"In the history of the Unification, only three Executive Actions have ever been overturned in Council session. This is going to be the fourth, sir. I'm offering you the opportunity to withdraw this from Council consideration before I humiliate you over it."
Eddore sighed. "Martial law is temporary, Douglass. You know that. Once we've put down this insurrection, we'll go ahead with the elections. You must realize I have no interest in turning the position of Secretary General into a dictatorship."
"You can't do this. I have the votes to veto this Action, and if you--"
Charles Eddore cut Douglass Ripper off in a voice that was soft and even. "School's in, sucker. Stop me. Give it your best shot." His smile grew slightly and he leaned forward. "You rank fucking amateur ex-United States Senator. I can't?"
Ripper said slowly, controlling the fury that threatened to creep into his voice, "You're making a terrible mistake, not just with me, but with Occupied America at large."
Eddore shrugged dismissively. "We'll see."
"Damn it, Eddore, they'll riot over this, and you know it. It'll mean blood in the streets."
Charles Eddore moved his lips in an easy, generous smile. "Well, it won't be the first time, will it?" He nodded in dismissal. "Good day, Douglass."
His image vanished.
Shortly after lunch Ripper sat at his table in the Council Chamber, three floors below ground, protected from the rebel laser cannon by three different twenty-meter thick layers of ferrocrete. He sat alone at the table reserved for New York Metro, watching the debate progress. Considering that there were almost six hundred Unification Councilors--approximately one to every twelve and a half million humans on the planet--it was going acceptably quickly. First term Councilors had been informed that they would not be allowed to speak, merely to vote; others had been asked, cajoled, and begged, to move forward with all speed. Those who insisted on speaking were given only five minutes.
Progress was acceptable. Ripper sat with his handheld plugged into the table, monitoring--like most of the other Unification Councilors--battle coverage from both NewsBoard and the Electronic Times. The third holo floating over his desk was from NewsBoard's coverage of the Unification Council proceedings.
About fifty-eight percent of those present--and all but the twelve Japanese Unification Councilors, and one who was in the hospital with a stroke, were present; a modern record--were, by Ripper's head count, inclined to vote against the most recent Executive Action. Against were all of the American, Canadian, and English Councilors; most of the Australian delegation, India, the bulk of Pan-Africa, most of Northern Africa, most of the Russian and RussoAsian republics. In favor were most of the South American countries--the Unification had been good to South America--China, and much of Europe. France, of course. Israel, Spain, Greece, most of the Baltic countries, New Zealand.
China, France, and Brazil, as founding members, had extra votes. They trimmed Ripper's real 58%-42% edge closer than Ripper liked, to about 53%-47%.
In question were the Arab and Muslim countries; the Asian countries, most of which did not like the Unification, but disliked Japan worse; a scattering of the Scandinavian countries. And the Lunar Councilors, but Unification Luna held only thirty-three million people, and they had only three representatives. Though they occasionally showed surprising streaks of independence, on this issue they would probably vote Eddore's way. Ripper did not let himself worry about it, as he had ten to twelve votes more than he needed.
Some pretty decent speech making transpired during the course of the long afternoon. The senior French Councilor, leading the session off, made an impassioned speech in defense of the Unification, imploring any undecided Councilors to vote in favor of Eddore's Executive Action. By tradition, voting went in order of membership. The founding Unification countries voted first, followed by those who had joined quickly, followed by those who had been coerced, followed by those who had fought: the republics that had arisen out of the old Soviet empire, and then Japan, and then--last, because it was the last country to surrender to the Unification--Occupied America.
The historical accident that had led to Capitol City being placed in Manhattan, surrounding the ancient United Nations buildings, often bemused Ripper. Sarah Almundsen had probably thought it would be a gesture of healing toward the conquered American republic; even now, fifty years later, it was simply a reminder that they had been conquered.
Ripper would have put Capitol City in orbit, himself. Given a choice.
At the speed things were going, Ripper expected to reach the podium sometime around nine or ten the following morning.
Occasionally other Councilors came by and spoke with Ripper, asking or offering favors; one, a relatively young first term Councilor from Chile, was actually considering breaking away from her bloc and voting with Ripper on what she claimed were moral grounds. Ripper had spoken with her at length in the privacy of her office, just the night prior. He tended to think she was sincere, and found it both sad and rather grimly amusing. If she made the mistake and voted with him, this would be her last term in the Council; her own people would vote her out of office pretty quick.
Though he had attempted to persuade her to vote with him--that was his job--a part of him hoped she would vote against. Councilors capable of entertaining ethical considerations in their voting--even if they chose to ignore the considerations--were a rarity. It would be pleasant to have another one in the Council.
Toward dinner Ichabod came in through the main entrance, carrying a boxed dinner with him, and made his slow way down through the descending rows of tables, to the next-to-innermost circle facing the podium, where Ripper's table sat.
Ripper popped the stasis bubble and examined what he'd been brought. Not bad; largish shrimp on brown rice, pasta salad, orange juice. He ate while listening to Ichabod.
"There is, so far, no evidence that the Rebs are involved. It looks to be pretty much just the Japanese."
Ripper grunted. "Don't count on it. It's not the Fourth yet. Let's see if we get through tomorrow."
"Spacecraft used in the attacks on the laser cannon were primarily Collective, troops primarily Japanese; maybe a few
private craft, maybe a few Rebs and Claw, but no confirmation on either point. Collective PR issued a statement denying involvement, said that the craft involved were renegades."
"Of course."
"Might be true, Councilor. Your average SpaceFarer will do anything for a Credit."
Ripper nodded, chewing. "Probably is true. It's not a good call for the Collective to get involved in this. But it won't change the damage it does them with the Unification."
"Fighting is ongoing; want a list of what they've used the laser cannon on?"
"No. Still military targets?"
"So far. Mostly ports; Unification Spaceport is a bad place to be right now. They've shot down about thirty Space Force craft as they took off, another dozen incoming. No cities yet, though the Japanese are saying Paris first, and then Capitol City. Space Force is targeting Hiroshima."
Ripper drank his orange juice in one long pull. "How wonderfully symbolic. Let's hope neither side decides to start shooting at civilians until after the voting is over. That'd screw us good."
"Fighting is cannon to cannon, and we're taking them back, but it's slowed down a lot. We've stopped using Elite in the attacks."
Ripper looked up. "Really?"
"The pumped lasers they're using work," said Ichabod quietly. "Nine Elite dead so far. The PKF have pulled out their Elite, Commissioner Vance's call apparently. Space Force is on its own as of about an hour ago. And another thing--"
"Yes?"
"They recovered one of the bodies, at one of the cannon they took back. A Japanese cyborg."
Ripper scowled. "Damn. That's very bad. They think we're winning right now--"
"We are."
"--but if they think we're even struggling upstairs we're going to have a lot of undecided voting go over to Eddore."
"I'm surprised the voting's so close," Ichabod commented. "This is such a blatant power grab on Eddore's part."
"Most of the world doesn't have democratic traditions to speak of, Ichabod. Certainly not three hundred years worth. To them this simply looks like good business; it makes Eddore look strong. How generally is this business upstairs known?"
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