Spheres of Influence

by Ryk E. Spoor

  Ariane decides to have the Blessed foot the bill for having Humanity’s Sphere secured by the Faith, something which is necessary for peace of mind if and when they leave someone behind. This choice, while sensible, causes considerable conflict when revealed, partly due to the disappointment that they are not yet going home, and partly due to the fact that Ariane made this decision on her own. Ariane points out—correctly—that it was her decision to make, and if they didn’t want a captain in charge they shouldn’t have made her one.

  DuQuesne is aware that she is correct, and leaves to cool off so he doesn’t argue any further. Amas-Garao takes this opportunity to contact DuQuesne, and shows him around the Shadeweaver headquarters in an attempt to recruit DuQuesne to join their ranks; during this tour, he witnesses part of the induction ritual for a new member of the Shadeweavers. When DuQuesne declines the invitation, Amas-Garao reveals that this was “an offer you can’t refuse.” The Shadeweaver is stunned to discover that he cannot control DuQuesne’s mind (due to particular design work done by the Hyperion Project), but demonstrates vast, apparently supernatural power, eventually cornering DuQuesne before he can leave the Faction House.

  But Ariane received a very short transmission from DuQuesne, enough to know he was in trouble, and has Orphan lead them to the Shadeweaver Faction House . . . just in time. In the subsequent battle, Orphan surprises everyone by first choosing not to abandon Humanity, despite his belief that they have no real chance against the Shadeweavers, and second, by revealing that he has some sort of device that inhibits the Shadeweavers’ powers.

  The combination of Orphan with the humans’ luck and skill allows the group to escape the Shadeweaver compound, at which point the Adjudicators—enforcers of Nexus Arena itself—show up to prevent pursuit by Amas-Garao.

  However, the Shadeweaver Faction itself then declares “Anathema” against the Faction of Humanity, making most members of the Arena avoid doing business with them at all. Only the Analytic and the Faith stand with Humanity, which does at least allow them to continue to operate. During this time, Ariane and the others get to observe another Challenge, a maze-combat race that culminates with one contestant, Sivvis Lassituras, honorably ceding the Challenge to his opponent, Tunuvun, after Tunuvun prevents him from being injured or killed in a fall.

  Shortly thereafter, Orphan mysteriously abandons Gabrielle Wolf during a shopping expedition to retrieve basic supplies for the group, and she encounters a group of the Blessed to Serve who begin to systematically bully her in a strangely uncharacteristic way. By the time Ariane arrives, she sees Gabrielle injured and bleeding, and the exchange of heated words culminates in her issuing a Challenge to Sethrik, leader of the Blessed . . .

  . . . who turns out to have been merely acting as the agent for Amas-Garao. The Shadeweaver accepts the Challenge and says the venue will be single combat . . . with the prize being either Marc DuQuesne or Ariane Austin herself joining the Shadeweavers. While DuQuesne is much more formidable, Ariane refuses to allow him to risk himself, feeling that he—as a full-functional Hyperion whose capabilities have saved them more than once—is much more valuable than she is. Also, by making herself both the prize and the opponent, she forces Amas-Garao to have to be careful to not kill the very thing he’s fighting for.

  Despite this, and considerable preparation for the battle, the duel is clearly one-sided; even when Ariane succeeds in striking Amas-Garao, the effect is temporary, and eventually Amas-Garao stops even playing with her and uses his powers to systematically smash her back and forth into the walls and floor of the Challenge ring until she is beaten nearly unconscious.

  But just as she is about to collapse, her drifting mind makes connections between multiple events—the ritual of the Faith she observed, the fragments of Shadeweaver ritual DuQuesne saw, an injury Amas-Garao took during the fight to rescue DuQuesne, and other things said by Arena residents—and tries one last desperate throw of the dice by invoking the same ritual that awakened Mandallon’s powers.

  The energy detonates around her and Amas-Garao is barely able to defend himself, so shocked is he. It takes his concession, followed by assistance from six other Shadeweavers and Initiate Guides, to shut down the energy radiating from Ariane. Before Ariane can make her demand of the Shadeweavers, DuQuesne lets her know that he made a side bet that, now that she’s won, will get them the energy they need to get home; Ariane then takes, as her prize for victory, the requirement that no Shadeweaver shall ever in any way use their mind-affecting powers on any member of Humanity or their immediate allies unless directly requested to by the leader of the Faction. Amas-Garao hesitates, but the Arena itself states that this is a fair and reasonable demand and that the Shadeweavers will accept it.

  The Shadeweavers and Faith then visit Ariane, saying she is now one of them—either a Shadeweaver or an Initiate Guide. She refuses to join either, feeling her responsibility for Humanity outweighs their factional leanings, and not trusting the Shadeweavers at all in any case. They then say that her powers must be sealed more permanently, since if she will not join either one, she will not have proper instruction on how to control it—and Ariane, despite not wanting to believe, sees all too clearly a demonstration of how her own emotions trigger dangerous reactions.

  The sealing ritual requires seven members of Humanity’s Faction. Ariane gets the Arena to allow them to temporarily empty Humanity’s Sphere to perform the ritual. During that ritual, a momentary disruption causes all of the power—of Shadeweaver, Faith, and Ariane—to converge for an instant on Dr. Simon Sandrisson; it seems to have no lasting effect, but for a moment Dr. Sandrisson feels that he can see, and understand . . . everything.

  Returning Steve Franceschetti and Thomas Cussler to Humanity’s Sphere after the ritual, Steve, Tom, Ariane, and DuQuesne are suddenly confronted with all of the Gateways that would usually be available for the trip being occupied—thousands of Gateways all simultaneously in use . . .

  . . . By the Molothos, who had deduced that Humanity’s Sphere was temporarily abandoned, and knew that if they failed to return to their Sphere within a reasonable time they would forfeit their citizenship. This trick is not a Challenge, but is potentially worse. However, Steve Franceschetti figures out a way past the apparently-impossible blockade and is successfully returned to Humanity’s Sphere.

  Energy now provided, the Holy Grail preps to return, many months after departure, carrying Ariane, Marc DuQuesne, Simon Sandrisson, and Gabrielle Wolfe . . . and evidence of the impossible. “Kanzaki-Three, this is Experimental Vessel 2112FTL, Holy Grail, reporting back.” She grinned at the others, as she continued, “Control, you will not believe where we’ve been!”

  . . . WHAT HAS COME AFTER

  The Space Security Council and Combined Space Forces have been forced to accept the reality of the preposterous story told by the Holy Grail crew. It becomes evident, however, that they feel the Holy Grail crew—and especially “Captain” Ariane Austin—are not the proper people to be representing humanity going forward; the opposition to their ally Saul Maginot is led by Councillor Oscar Naraj, who has been maneuvering for the top spots in both the CSF and SSC for many, many years.

  Ariane and the others have no intention of letting people who do not understand the Arena go charging in and trying to run things themselves . . . especially when there is one key factor they don’t know: that the Arena itself has designated Captain Ariane Austin “Leader of the Faction of Humanity”—and that title is one that even all the governments of Earth cannot take from her. Only she can yield it—and she won’t until she finds someone both willing to take it and able to understand just what they’ll be dealing with!

  Simon and Gabrielle return to Holy Grail to prepare it for a return as fast as possible—with needed cargo and trading materials—while DuQuesne takes Ariane on a secretive but, he assures them, desperately important mission, one they have to complete before the SSC and CSF can construct their own Sandrisson Drive craft.

  DuQuesne’s
mission turns out to be seeking out the few remaining Hyperions who might be willing to help them; some turn out to be dead, while one is revealed to be an old acquaintance of Ariane’s as well—Velocity Celes, top driver for the Unlimited Ground Racing circuit.

  But all their initial movements were also blinds, tricks to shake off a pursuit that DuQuesne would not name, but clearly fears, so they could arrive at one particular location . . .

  CHAPTER 1

  The slender blond man glanced up from his desk, startled—DuQuesne had, of course, been suppressing the station security systems. Couldn’t take a chance that someone would be warned, if things had gone bad, DuQuesne thought.

  The startled look immediately gave way to caution. “Hold it right there, please.”

  DuQuesne stopped immediately; Ariane did the same. He saw Ariane looking around, and could tell she’d recognized that they had not in fact entered the reception area, but were in a sealed and—from the click behind them—locked separate chamber.

  “If you are Marc DuQuesne, you gave me some very specific instructions prior to leaving me. You will now prove to me that you are Dr. Marc DuQuesne.”

  DuQuesne turned towards the left side of the room, strode over, and placed his hand against it for a moment. Then he looked at the other man. Make damn sure I get this part right . . . “Let’s see . . . it’s a Tuesday. Ninety-seven rows, tungsten, and a nurse who wasn’t a robot,” he said enigmatically.

  The man looked down at a display in front of him, and the suspicion dissolved to a cheerful smile. “Dr. DuQuesne! I did not expect you to be visiting at all!”

  “I said I’d be here regularly when I could.” He grinned down at the doctor, who was only barely shorter than Ariane but looked petite next to the massive Hyperion. “How’re things going?”

  “Well enough, I suppose. There hasn’t been any significant change in the past months—any more, I gather, than there was in my predecessors’.”

  “Good.” DuQuesne glanced to his side apologetically. “I’m forgetting my manners. Captain Austin, this is Doctor Davison. He’s . . . been watching over a few friends for me.”

  Davison’s expression held a bit of speculation. “Captain Austin of the Holy Grail expedition, of course. And you’ve brought her with you. I’m . . . startled, given the extreme measures you took to make sure no one else even knew where this was.”

  “It’s . . . necessary, now.” The tension was back, his shoulders now rigid as steel, aching with anticipation and, he admitted, fear and doubt. “And I appreciate the fact you’ve been willing to keep to those extreme measures.”

  “It hasn’t been easy at all. No outside contact, even electronic contact only through your methods . . . but I’ve kept my end of that bargain.”

  DuQuesne smiled, trying to ignore the tension. “I know you have . . . and believe me, you and my friends are probably alive because of that.”

  He looked down at the blond-haired doctor levelly. “Can I see . . . him?”

  “Naturally. You’re paying the bills, so to speak.” Davison led them to one of the other doors, which opened at their approach.

  Within was a top-of-the-line nanosupport facility, a medical setup he suspected that Ariane had only seen a couple of times for pilots who had been so badly injured that they needed their brains regrown and personalities re-engraved from backups. But this was a permanent installation . . . and the figure lying on the bed was also wired to something that was not one tiny bit like ordinary monitoring equipment.

  “I need an inductor, Doctor.”

  Davison froze in the middle of starting the typical “patient condition review” speech. “I beg your pardon?”

  “An inductor. I’m going in. I have to talk to him.”

  Davison stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, turning to a nearby cabinet. “It’s your call, of course,” Davison conceded. “But as with the four others, this subject has been in sim-induction for the entire time of my tenure and, I must presume, that of my predecessors as well. I really do not know how he will react to an intrusion at this time.”

  DuQuesne nodded slowly. He saw Ariane still gazing with amazement and consternation at the figure on the bed—humanoid, very humanoid, yet . . . clearly not human, stout clawlike nails on each hand, gold-brown fur on the body, the head adorned with red-black unruly hair that was a bit too stiff and rough for human, a face subtly changed with some features broadened and shifted, sharp, long canines just visible in the slightly opened mouth, and, folded around the body, a long tail. “He’ll talk to me. I don’t know if it will do any good . . . but it’s been way too long since I tried. And things are different now. Maybe . . . just maybe . . .”

  He found he couldn’t bring himself to actually verbalize the hope. It had been too long, too much pain and regret. He almost snatched the induction connector from Davison’s hands. “I’d better do this now, before I lose my nerve.” He took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded. Never let myself realize how much this mattered . . . how much I felt guilty about the whole thing. He sat down next to the bed. “Ariane . . . could you and the Doc wait outside?”

  He could see she had a thousand questions, but she didn’t even say anything. She just nodded and gestured to Davison, who followed her out after a long, worried glance. Good man, Davison. Worried about whether I’m going to hurt his patient, even though I’m the guy who’s been paying for his care for the last fifty years.

  Alone finally, he set his teeth. Into the illusion again. The original illusion. His skin literally seemed to crawl at the thought. He’d managed to break a lot of the old fear, the habits, learned to even enjoy the sim-adventure games that were one of the most popular forms of entertainment across the Solar System . . . but this was different. This was the honest-to-God, pure-quill, one hundred percent original Hyperion simulation, preserved after the fall for just this purpose—to give a life to those for whom the real world offered nothing.

  He forced his hands up and, with a convulsive movement, set the inductor on his head.

  The soft-lit, quiet extended-care ward vanished. Suddenly he stood in a mighty forest, cool green trees towering over him like brooding giants, a rush of brightly-colored birds streaking through the branches with song and chattering. It hasn’t changed.

  Of course, why should it? His world lives and grows, but stays the same, too. He chose this, begged for it even. Do I have a right to come here again? I promised to let him stay in the home he understands for as long as he lived.

  DuQuesne shook himself, then glanced around. There . . . that’s the mountain path.

  The path wound through lush undergrowth; behind him, DuQuesne knew, it ended at a deep pool of a mighty river. In the distance he could hear the sound of a cataract. He might be there even now, fishing. But the slant of the sun is late . . . I hope . . .

  He walked lightly, quietly. The forest was filled with life, but all shied away from him when they spied DuQuesne’s massive frame. No animal could mistake his movement for that of any prey, only of another hunter to be avoided.

  Suddenly, a second too late, he became aware that seemingly-random flutters of branches had been nothing of the kind. He started to turn, but too late, as something powerful smashed into his shoulders from behind, sending him crashing headlong into the brush. He rolled, striking out, but his opponent was already gone, vanished, no, behind again! Another strike, this one at his knees, another at his arms as he tried to roll, and he found himself flat on his back, gazing up . . .

  At a figure with a laughing, slightly-fanged face, hanging head-down from a branch above him by a strong tail, spinning a gold-capped staff idly between its fingers. “DuQuesne? DUQUESNE? Is it really you?”

  He couldn’t help but laugh in return at the simple joy on his old friend’s face. “Really me, Wu. It really is.”

  Wu Kung dropped from the trees above and threw slender but tremendously strong arms around him, lifting DuQuesne and spinning him around like a child. “Marc! This is won
derful! It’s been so long! I have to show you around! There’s so many things for me to tell you!” Wu let go and bounced into the tree again, pointing. “Up this way! I haven’t bothered to make a new path, but if we go straight up, we can get home much faster!”

  “And how many trees do I have to swing through, Wu? You know I’m not exactly as light as you are.”

  The Hyperion Monkey King laughed again. “No, no, just a steep run, no cliffs, follow me, come on, follow!”

  DuQuesne smiled and followed, hammering his way up the slope as Wu Kung bounded from ground to tree to stone with abandon, urging him onward.

  Abruptly they burst from the trees to a clearer space, a steep crest of the hill that afforded a view extending out to the horizon. Massive limestone hills, pillarlike, reared from the plains below, more brilliant and picturesque versions of their karst-born models in Yangshuo on Earth. DuQuesne paused, admiring the view and the shades of the setting sun. Simulation it may be . . . but it’s his home right now, and the simulation is breathtaking in its own way.

  “Sanzo! SANZO! It’s DuQuesne! He’s here to visit!”

  As always, it gave DuQuesne a major jolt of cognitive dissonance to see a slender, beautiful young woman answering to that name. They put every version of the Journey to the West ever made into a blender and came out with this. It was another jolt—somewhat smaller—to realize that in some ways Sanzo, with her long dark-blue hair and athletic martial monk’s figure, was not at all unlike Ariane. Very much like Ariane, actually. That’s an interesting coincidence.

  Sanzo smiled and bowed a welcome. “It has been far, far too long, Master DuQuesne,” she said. “I hope you may stay and eat with us?”