by Ryk E. Spoor
“Hm. You know, I hadn’t thought about that, Marc,” Simon said, “but that’s yet another of those subtle but impossible effects we keep coming across. In an atmosphere that extends so far, the light should be more diffuse, and there should be no true night.” He shrugged. “Now, if we could finish getting set up . . . ?”
A few minutes sufficed to get all the equipment assembled—and pitch a tent nearby. “You’re sure about this, Simon?”
“It’s almost like camping in the backyard, Marc. Someone’s coming up here at least once a day, and as I understand it the first group of newcomers will be arriving tomorrow or the day after. I’ll be fine.”
“So your probe-things are already up there in the sky?”
“They should be, Wu. We’ll find out if they all made it and if they’re all ready in a moment.”
“How many did you make?”
Simon bent over the console and pulled out a hardwired interface connection, locked it into the connector port at the base of his skull. The system went live; while DuQuesne could see displays on the field controls, he knew Simon would now be seeing much more. “Fifteen units—as many as Tom could manage in two days with the materials input we could scavenge from Holy Grail.” A pause. “I am getting operational responses from twelve; number six probe is at altitude but the instrument package is showing no operation, and two others are simply not responding.”
“Is that enough?”
“Oh, I think so. Lined up side by side, I’m confident they can each cover a hundred-kilometer radius, so together they cover the equivalent of twenty-four hundred kilometers of the projected area in a sweep. A few weeks, perhaps a month or two at the outside, should give us contact with most if not all of our Gates.”
“How about knowing where they go?” Wu Kung asked sensibly. “It will be fine to have many doors in the sky, but you would like to know what waits on the other side.”
“Oh, most certainly. Tom is making some additional probes for that; once we locate the gates, two-stage probes will be sent up. The second stage will enter the gates, and each will have enough energy for a double jump at such a small size. They will jump, take readings for a few seconds, and jump back, relaying the data back here.”
“You’re going to check all of them?” DuQuesne asked.
Simon seesawed his hand. “Maybe, maybe not. The goal, after all, is to find out if we have a Gateway to Nexus Arena. So I will send probes through until either I have found Nexus Arena on the other side, or I have run out of Gates to check. I would prefer not to send probes through the others if I could avoid it, as we have no idea what might be on the other side—including a hostile Molothos colony.” He tapped controls on the console before him. “That may seem improbable in the extreme . . . but I think we can all agree that the improbable has become the commonplace for us here.”
“Amen; I read you to nine decimals on that. Find Nexus Arena and then stop until we have ourselves set up, courtesy of Orphan.” He saw Wu starting to follow the river. “Okay. You set for now?”
“Marc, go,” the white-haired scientist said with an honest grin. “I may look like an academic, but I am not entirely unable to survive outside of the laboratory for a few moments. It will be a novelty, at least for a while, and if I find it wearing, the elevator is, what, fifteen minutes’ hike away.”
DuQuesne chuckled. He does have something bothering him, but this isn’t the time to push. “Okay, then, I’m off. Let us know as soon as you find something.”
“I assure you, I will sprint home with that news.”
By the time DuQuesne caught up with Wu Kung, the Monkey King was hanging over the side of the waterfall. “Wow! This is almost as far as Seven Devils’ Torrent!”
He thought back and managed to remember that part of Wu’s own world in Hyperion. “Yeah, just about. Seven Devils would’ve been maybe thirty meters higher.”
“It’s really beautiful. The color of those plants is so bright—and different!” Wu let go, slid down the sheer cliff face so quickly that DuQuesne found himself frozen, reaching out for a figure that had already dropped far out of reach. Clawed hands contracted, dug indestructible claws in, found purchase in stone. The Hyperion Monkey King now dangled by one hand from the cliff-face, sniffing at a flower that grew from a blue-green clump of leaves in the middle of an otherwise barren span of rock. He sneezed. “Spicy! I’ll bet you could use that as a flavor.”
“We’ve barely begun categorizing stuff here, Wu.” Not that warning him would do any good, but he had to try. “So anything could be poisonous or—”
“Worry worry worry, you haven’t changed, DuQuesne! I will know if these are dangerous!”
Utterly hopeless. Why am I even trying?
As he watched Wu Kung swing himself back up to the top of the cliff and then start running precariously along it, back the way they’d come, he answered himself with a smile. Because he’s one of the few good things from my old life, and I want those things safe.
“Ah! There’s that path down!”
Naturally, Sun Wu Kung didn’t actually run back to the beginning of the path; he just dropped down twenty or so meters to the place where he’d noticed the path on the cliff-face.
DuQuesne swore good-naturedly. “Hold on, Wu!” I am not letting him drag me into some show-off “follow the leader” just so he can find out how out of shape I am even now.
Wu didn’t exactly wait, but he did slow down enough so that DuQuesne nearly caught up to him before he reached the winch that led to the forest below. “Oh, wonderful!” he exclaimed, and swung himself out and over, sliding down the cable that disappeared into the forest below.
“Dammit. Sun Wu Kung, I am going to . . .”
An explosion of colorful, glittering wings showed that Wu had just annoyed a stagfly nest—the giant insectoid things that DuQuesne had encountered on his first trip down. They weren’t dangerous to someone in armor, and that meant that Wu probably wouldn’t even pay them much mind, but there were other creatures down there . . .
Oh, stop worrying. You sound like my mother, Marc! He heard Seaton’s voice, with that humorous tone that always took the edge off the corrections or remonstrations when Marc DuQuesne found he wasn’t handling the situation as diplomatically as Seaton thought he should. A whole assault force of Molothos wasn’t enough to stop you, do you think there’s anything down there he can’t handle? No.
“Actually,” he muttered to himself, “I’m more worried about the native lifeforms.”
He could manage the slide down the cable too—his hands were, naturally, much tougher than any ordinary person’s—so down he went.
As he reached the bottom, having batted the odd stagfly aside, he heard burbling screeches some distance away. The sound was familiar from a recording. Carl called them splaywolves . . . Pack hunters, not top predators maybe but not harmless.
He jogged up cautiously. Sure enough, Wu was standing in a small clearing, ten or fifteen creatures with the sinuous bodies of weasels or ferrets circling him, running like lizards on wide-set legs. The heads were long yet flattened, almost crocodilian in a way, but covered with a ruffled material—something like scales crossed with hair; the same material covered the entire body in a close-woven pattern of pale browns and muted blue-greens. Each of the things was six feet long and stood a foot and a half off the ground at the shoulder.
One scuttled toward Wu, leaping slightly, snapping with backward-jagged teeth. Wu dodged effortlessly and smacked the creature on its rump, evading what looked like a bladed tail. The splaywolf gave a cooing shriek and fled to a distance of ten or fifteen meters. The others echoed the sound and shifted their patrol pattern slightly.
DuQuesne checked around to make sure there weren’t any of the predators trying to sneak up on him. No, not at the moment. But they’re pretty bright; they’re trying to adjust tactics, figure out this new animal.
Then Wu dropped to all fours, spun around on his hands and feet in a similar manner, and gave v
ent to a burbling call of his own.
What the . . . ?
The splaywolves froze. Then one answered, this time with a threatening call; Wu responded even more threateningly, and the largest of the group gave an unmistakable snarl, baring all its teeth, claws extending on the feet.
Wu did not move.
DuQuesne stayed where he was, unable to believe what he was seeing. It can’t be.
The large splaywolf leapt forward and Wu met it halfway, boxing its head like a punching bag. A cry of pain and shock, and the creature spun again, trying to catch Wu, but this time Sun Wu Kung bounded over its snapping, clawing attack and landed squarely on its back. The creature tried to claw and bite, but Wu shoved its head down to the ground and ignored the attacks.
A moment later the creature gave a whining sigh, and Wu immediately let it go. The splaywolf backed up, head down, whining, and Wu bobbed up and down, giving another burbling call.
Immediately the whole pack moved in and rubbed around Wu in an unmistakable greeting.
My . . . God.
He knew what had just happened. But . . . “Wu!”
“Oh! Hi, DuQuesne! Caught up as I was making some friends! They aren’t quite like the monkeys, but they aren’t completely stupid.” The splaywolves were backing up, showing their teeth as DuQuesne moved into view. Wu shook his head. “No! None of that! This is DuQuesne. He is my friend. You go, smell him, know friend!”
And as the creatures followed Wu Kung’s instructions, he had to accept what he saw. It shouldn’t be possible. But it is. What’s the Arena up to now?
CHAPTER 17
“May the Minds show favor on this meeting,” Sethrik said formally, as he seated himself before the conference table in one of the split-back seats designed for his species. “It is a pleasure to meet more of your people, Captain Austin.”
“It is a pleasure to meet with you as well, Sethrik of the Blessed,” Oscar Naraj said, and Michelle Ni Deng echoed the sentiment. Oasis Abrams was not present; the two diplomats had given her leave to spend a day out on her own, and the energetic redhead had instantly disappeared out the door.
Sethrik turned, to indicate one of his companions; this Blessed’s exoskeleton had a distinctive pattern, dark green for the crests and lighter green for the face. “I present to you Vantak, currently my second in command.”
Vantak performed the pushup-bow which was one of the few things shared between the Blessed and the Liberated. “I greet you, newcomers to the Arena. I hope the meeting in peace will become one of many.”
Ariane remembered Vantak without much warmth—her clearest memory of the other Blessed was of him assisting in the humiliation of Gabrielle to sucker her into the challenge of Amas-Garao—but to be fair, he had simply been following his own Faction’s directives. “Our hope as well.”
“It is in fact that very subject which caused me to have Captain Austin invite you here, Leader Sethrik,” Naraj said warmly. “I find it very gratifying and hopeful that you accepted so quickly.”
Sethrik glanced at him, and then back to Ariane. “Clarify, please, what this newcomer’s status is?”
“Ambassador Naraj and Deputy Ambassador Ni Deng are emissaries from the governing body of our solar system. They have been sent to assist us in establishing better relations with the various Factions, among other things.”
“Ah.” Sethrik gave a slightly deeper pushup-bow. “It is more of an honor, then. I greet you in the name of the Minds, Ambassadors.” He looked to Ariane. “Have they . . . your authority, Captain?”
“If you mean, have I ceded the leadership of our Faction to them, no. Decisions of any import will still have to be cleared through me in the end. However, they are certainly empowered to discuss many things and may arrive at tentative arrangements pending my final approval.” Ariane had given a lot of thought to the situation in the last few days, and the fact was that she had to concede some level of power to the ambassador, give him some amount of authority, or his reports would—rightly—lead inevitably to the conclusion that Ariane was a potential tin-pot dictator trying to keep all power to herself.
Still, in a sense that conclusion would be entirely correct; Ariane had no intention of giving away Humanity’s current advantage just for the sake of making things more comfortable back home. Thus she retained full authority over any final agreements. If this worked well, she’d have extended her negotiating reach via proxies who understood negotiation better than she did, while not losing the basic power of decision.
Sethrik’s wingcases relaxed fractionally. “Ah, very wise. I would advise against any sudden changes in leadership.” He addressed himself to Oscar and Michelle. “Captain Ariane Austin is an extremely formidable person, and the Arena and its Factions hold great respect for her. Delegation of authority from her shows great trust—and puts a grave burden upon you all to honor her properly.”
Naraj nodded. “I have been learning of this since my arrival, Leader Sethrik. Our initial impressions at home had . . . failed to grasp the entirety of the situation, but I am coming to understand the magnitude of the . . . challenges before us.”
“Good. What was it you wished to discuss?”
“First—do you require any refreshment?” the ambassador inquired, and made sure that appropriate materials were provided; Sethrik took a drinking sphere such as Orphan often favored, while Vantak sucked or nibbled on a sticklike confection which Ariane thought was his equivalent of potato chips or similar snack foods. “Excellent. Now, from what I have heard of you, Leader Sethrik—”
“No need of the honorific. You may call me Sethrik, if I may address you by one of your names.”
“But of course, Sethrik. Call me Oscar or Naraj, as you would.” Oscar did an excellent bob-bow, showing he had studied the movement and probably practiced it multiple times. “As I was saying, from what I have heard you would appreciate directness, so I shall try to be as direct as possible.
“You must of course be aware that we have already managed to offend the Molothos sufficiently that we are at war with their Faction.”
A whistling sound overlaid with a chuckle showed the Blessed Leader’s amusement. “Easily accomplished.”
“So I have learned. But I am also aware that Humanity has—sometimes inadvertently—offended the Blessed To Serve, and I would like to present apologies for any such offenses, and hope that we can move forward to a common ground and perhaps partnership.” The ambassador smiled. “After all, we are a new, and small, Faction and could use all the friends we can get.”
Sethrik leaned back, then bowed. “Your apology is accepted. As Leader of the Blessed to Serve, I in fact declare that any prior offenses are forgiven—if our own are forgiven as well.”
Sethrik was, of course, referring to that setup which had not only injured Gabrielle but nearly gotten Ariane killed, and which had not reflected well on the Blessed. Oscar looked at her with a raised eyebrow. Ariane smiled. “We spoke at a certain party afterwards, but I suppose it was not a formal forgiveness. So, yes, Sethrik, any offense both personal and Factional is forgiven.”
“Excellent,” Sethrik said, and she thought there was a note of genuine gratification in his voice. “Your approach, Oscar, is well-timed. For you should know that the Minds themselves, upon reviewing our encounters with Humanity, directed that we seek to lay aside even the natural opposition due to your alliance with the Liberated, and instead try to convince Humanity that the Blessed are worthy allies.”
That was something of a surprise. The super-AIs which ran the entire civilization of the Blessed were one of the more frightening things they had yet learned about, especially from the point of view of a humanity which had yet to give AIs the full rights of living people. I wonder what they’ve seen in those interactions that makes them willing to even ignore the fact that we’re obviously pretty much committed to our alliance with Orphan and the Liberated, their archenemy?
She made a mental note to go over this with DuQuesne at first opportunit
y. And maybe Orphan himself, too. Aloud, she said, “That’s wonderful news, Sethrik.”
“I am glad you accept this news in the spirit it is given, Captain Austin—”
“You can call me Ariane, if you’d rather.”
Sethrik laughed. “Indeed. Then I am glad, Ariane. And in that spirit, ambassadors, I would encourage negotiations of trade and knowledge. As any agreements will of course be subject to the ratification of the Leader of each Faction, allow me to suggest that such negotiations be carried out by you with Vantak, who—while not given precisely the same title—holds a position of power very similar to your own.” He turned to Ariane. “I have a few things to discuss which are, however, only the business of the Leaders.”
Oscar stood immediately. “Then—if it is agreeable to you, Vantak—I would continue our discussions outside, perhaps while travelling about the Grand Arcade. I must confess,” he said with a more open smile than his usual controlled expressions, “I am still enjoying the spectacle of Nexus Arena enough that I prefer being outside of the Embassy.” Left unsaid was the fact that Ariane would not leave the Embassy without Wu Kung.
“I have no objection, Ambassador,” Vantak said, sounding slightly nervous—second in command suddenly stuck with what could be a delicate duty, I’ll bet—but not reluctant.
After the other three had left, Sethrik vented air with a whistle that was overlaid with a sigh of relief—exactly in time with her own sigh.
The two looked at each other and burst out laughing. “What the heck have you got to be nervous about, Sethrik?”
Even though his face was virtually immobile, something in his posture, the way he leaned forward, gave her the impression of someone grinning. “Captain . . . that is, Ariane Austin . . . I was not exaggerating about the Minds’ directives. While I believed you held no grudge directly, you are of course still allied with Orphan and the Liberated, and we had performed a . . . quite offensive set of actions in order to entrap you at Amas-Garao’s direction.” He looked towards the door. “And I suspect you have had additional pressures since last we talked.”