Spheres of Influence

by Ryk E. Spoor

  That sparked an important memory. “A question about that, Sethrik,” Ariane said. “Why don’t they routinely do this loyalty renewal treatment? Not that I’m complaining, mind you—without you helping we’d have been totally screwed—but I’m wondering why the Minds don’t just do that every year, or six months, or whatever, making sure that you guys never get to the point that you start thinking outside whatever box they have around you.”

  “The short answer is that they do . . . over fairly long periods. But . . .” Sethrik’s wings scissored as Orphan’s often did when he was uncertain how to respond. Somewhat to her surprise, Orphan spoke—and with a startlingly gentle tone. “Sethrik, I will answer—if I may?”

  At the Blessed’s gesture of assent, Orphan faced them. “To some of you, such as Doctor DuQuesne, the answer may be obvious. But it is a matter of compromise, as with many things.

  “You know that the Minds were forced to give the Blessed at least some independence, or they would be unable to function at all in the Arena. And in fact, that independence must include the ability to evaluate, adapt, change, or the Blessed would be hopelessly crippled in the Arena. They would be . . . what was the phrase you once used? Ah, yes, the eternal ‘clueless newbies’ of the Arena, programmed perhaps with a wide array of facts and techniques but unable to encompass the fluid life of the Arena.

  “So the Minds must compromise and balance between allowing their people to develop these capabilities, learn from others, forging alliances, building . . . a rapport with other species, and keeping them from developing,” he gestured to himself, “an unfortunate longing for even more independent thinking.”

  “It is somewhat more than that,” Sethrik said. “Even the Minds . . . have limits. One of those limits is that it is effectively impossible for them to restructure someone’s entire manner of thinking, eliminating the independence of thought, and still leave them with not merely the memories but the experiences that brought them to that point. They can give to one so processed the facts, the sequences of events, but if they were to leave in the emotional and event context . . . the processing would be self-reversing in extremely short order. This means that to do so—especially to the Leader of the Blessed or others who frequently interact with outsiders of high rank and importance—risks severely damaging any such connections; one of us who is so . . . changed cannot conceal that they no longer have the same affection—or, in truth, even animus or curiosity—towards those with whom they have had extensive contact.”

  “So they have to guess when things are about to go south and order—or drag—you in at the last minute?” she asked. It was a horrific thought. “Have you . . .”

  “Once before, yes. I can now deduce what I lost.” He looked to Orphan. “And understand from whence came the Liberated.”

  “So you are the Leader of the Blessed to Serve still,” Ariane said, continuing.

  “As far as I am aware, yes. They had certainly not performed the usual procedure to remove a Leader, and I do not believe they would have set such a thing in motion unless they had reason to believe their plans had failed and that nothing could be recovered—a conclusion that they will only now be reaching.”

  “All right.” She looked at DuQuesne and Simon, who was now thankfully looking somewhat better; during the journey to drop off the Blessed prisoners they’d enforced bed rest on the scientist, and his medical nanos had taken the chance to do some real work. It would still be awhile before Simon Sandrisson was really back to his former self, but he no longer looked like someone incompetently raised from the dead. “The first step is to get Sethrik back to the Arena and let him get to the Blessed Faction House. I think we have an excellent plan to do that.”

  “Simple ruse,” DuQuesne agreed with a grin. “We just apparently arrive after having completed our ship-transport gig. The only people who could possibly put that into question are people on our Sphere who’d be able to figure out that the timing was a little off.”

  “Hopefully they won’t look too hard at Zounin-Ginjou itself,” Simon said. “I know you’ve done miracles on covering up the damage in the last week or so, but anyone who looks at the wrong areas carefully will know there’s something wrong.”

  “You’re right, Simon,” Ariane said. “But the deception doesn’t have to last too long.”

  “I have every intention of making that part as short as possible,” Orphan said. “That is why we will transport Sethrik—and Captain Austin and Sun Wu Kung—to my Embassy first in standard cargo containers. Sethrik can then leave by a somewhat more concealed exit that I had constructed some years ago, while I publicly depart for my ship and leave—bringing her back for repairs.”

  “I admit, I don’t exactly like the idea you’ll be gone,” DuQuesne said, and she smiled. We really used to distrust Orphan . . . and he gave us plenty of reasons to. I still think he’s got other agendas. But he sure demonstrated what side he was on this time. “But you’ve got the right idea. That way if no one notices the damage to Zounin-Ginjou in about an hour, they’ll never have a chance to see it, and our story will be pretty close to airtight.”

  “If we’re right,” Ariane continued, “once in the Faction House, Sethrik will be able to find Vantak’s contact protocols with whoever was behind it, and get them called in for a meeting. We will deal with them privately—in-Faction—once we get the evidence. Externally,” she said, looking directly into Sethrik’s black eyes, “we will state that the Blessed acted to protect me from an unknown assassination attempt, and encountered difficulties which required a roundabout route to return me. I will thank the Blessed for their prompt action and efforts on our behalf.”

  She then gave a momentary humorless grin. “You will convey these . . . thanks to the Minds, via a courier, along with this message. Are you ready?” she asked of Orphan.

  “Recording now, Captain Austin,” Orphan said. “We can edit when you are done.”

  She took a breath, then read from the speech she’d prepared along with Simon and DuQuesne.

  “This is Captain Ariane Austin of Humanity. Your attempt to kidnap me, and to extract the knowledge of how to use the powers of Shadeweaver and/or the Faith which are sealed within me, has failed, as you no doubt are already aware.

  “The details of that plan are now known to us, and you have no knowledge of how your plan failed—nor will you. But you should be aware that while your initial attempt to capture me succeeded, we deliberately and completely destroyed the Thilomon and the entire task force sent to bring me in.”

  She glared into the recorder, and her voice sharpened. “We are a very small Faction. We are a single world already at war with one of the Great Factions, the Molothos. But we are not to be trifled with, and you have made a very grave mistake in trying something that you couldn’t finish.”

  She pointed at the recorder, an accusatory finger that she knew would have the same effect on the Blessed that it would to humans, for a pointed finger meant very much the same thing to both. “You are going to pay for that mistake, Minds. You will pay because with the full details—both of what you attempted, and how your attempt failed—we can make it so that the Faction of the Blessed loses face, loses respect, and loses trust. More than this, however, is the main reason you chose to kidnap me. If you do not accede to my demands, Minds of the Blessed, I will go to both the Shadeweavers and the Faith and tell them precisely what you planned. I do not think they will look kindly upon this attempt of yours to seize that which both have kept to themselves for so long, and I also do not believe that you could afford the wrath of even one, let alone both of them.

  “Our demands are simple: three Spheres, given to us exactly as they would be had this been a formal Challenge and you had lost. One Sphere for capturing me, one Sphere for those who endangered themselves to rescue me, and one extra to remind you that if you ever, ever try anything against us, you will always regret it. You have thousands upon thousands of Spheres; this will not significantly harm you. But it will alwa
ys remind you of what it costs to take on Humanity. You try it, you damn well better win, because if you don’t, it will hurt.

  “In return for this, we will not only not accuse the Blessed of these crimes, but will instead put forth a public story showing that the Blessed acted to protect the leader of another Faction, and made sure that she was safe before returning her home. As a sign of our good faith, this particular account of the events will have been released by the time you receive this message. I hope that you will not give us cause to withdraw that story.

  “Ariane Stephanie Austin, Leader of the Faction of Humanity—out.”

  She saw DuQuesne and Simon grinning fiercely, and Simon applauded. “Now that is a message I would dearly wish to observe being delivered,” Simon said. “Though not enough so to risk going to the Homesphere of the Blessed.”

  “You are playing . . . a dangerous game there, Ariane Austin,” Sethrik said, “for the Minds do not take at all well to threats. But . . . I think you are probably right to do so. Such an affront must be met with great strength, or they will believe you are too afraid to talk, too weak to dare confront them even when their offenses are of so heinous a nature.”

  “Indeed,” Orphan said, and bowed deeply to her in the human fashion. “But I expected no less from the woman who was willing to face Amas-Garao in single combat . . . and won. Oh, this will be most amusing—and I agree with you, Doctor Sandrisson, that I would give much for a chance to observe the delivery of this message! For I assure you, the Minds will think hard on those truths—that the one speaking so to them has done the impossible, taking the power of a Shadeweaver to defeat one of the eldest of that brotherhood, beating one of their personally-designed own in a race of speed and courage, leading her people into Factionhood through her own personal will and courage . . . and surrounded by people who have personally defeated Molothos incursions. They will think long and hard on this, and on the fact that you admit to having been captured . . . and yet, somehow, escaped, and destroyed the entire task force sent to retrieve you . . . and I believe find that they have no answers save to agree, for they cannot afford the price they will pay otherwise.”

  “Good,” she said, and sat down heavily. “Because I’m scared as hell that it’s going to get us in a war with a second Great Faction.”

  “Not a chance,” DuQuesne said positively. “Orphan and Sethrik agree. They decided to go for kidnapping and brainwashing, so we’ve turned around and given ’em blackmail. They’ll probably pay, once. I don’t like blackmail, but I like what they did even less, and right now it’s the only option we’ve got for hitting back at a Faction that large. And Sethrik’s right that the one thing we can’t afford is to ignore it or pretend we’re too scared to fight back. Do that, and they’ll figure they can try again, someway, somehow.”

  “I would still gladly go and beat these Minds for you!” Wu Kung said.

  She smiled. “I think that’s asking a little much even of you, Wu. But honestly I’d prefer that route. Manipulation and blackmail, why, I’ve already started down the dirty road of politics with Oscar.” She took a breath, let it out. “But with luck, I won’t have to do anything like that again.”

  The alert buzzed, telling her that they were ready for the final jump to Nexus Arena’s space. “All right, everyone . . . let’s do this.”

  CHAPTER 43

  Simon restrained himself from taking breaths too large or small. We cannot betray nervousness yet. We have no reason to be nervous. We’ve simply finished our deliveries, had some very educational and entertaining weeks with our friend Orphan, and we’re finally home.

  DuQuesne strolled next to him, looking completely relaxed, as they walked the short distance to the Embassy of Humanity. He glanced over and said casually, “Good to be getting back, finally.”

  “Yes, indeed. While it was extraordinary to see so much of the greater Arena, and to travel with Orphan . . . it did begin to pall after a bit. Only three people in the ship, after all.”

  “Yeah, I was starting to get a little cabin fever myself. Well, here we are.”

  The door swung open before them and the two entered the main hall. For an instant they were alone in the entrance hall, quiet, deserted, and Simon had a chill go down his spine. Did something else happen while we were gone?

  But then one of the doors opened, and Laila stepped out, frowning down at some display in her hand, hair not quite as neat as its usual wont. She glanced up, glanced back down, and suddenly her eyes snapped back up. She froze, then ran forward. “Marc! Simon! Thank God!” She spoke to empty air, summoning a green sphere of light. “Carl! Gabrielle! Simon and Marc are back!”

  “You sound . . . agitated, Laila,” Marc said, a concerned look growing on his face. “What—”

  Another door popped open and Gabrielle Wolfe sprinted out, Carl Edlund at her heels; Oasis Abrams trailed behind. “Dang, but you boys chose a bad time to be incommunicado,” Gabrielle said.

  “What in the world’s happened?” Simon demanded. He thought the tone sounded sufficiently confused.

  “Ariane’s gone,” Carl said bluntly.

  “What do you mean, ‘gone’?” DuQuesne’s voice was hard and cold now.

  “Just what he said, and don’t you go glaring at him over it,” Gabrielle answered sharply. She gestured. “Let’s go talk.”

  “She went out with Sethrik . . . about a week ago.” Carl said as they went into one of the conference rooms. “He was going to show her one of their ships, talking about getting the support of the Blessed against the Molothos—”

  “Yeah, I remember hearing something about that. So?” DuQuesne slowly seated himself. Simon did the same, and the others followed suit.

  “So,” Laila picked up, “they arrived on the Docks, that much we know. Then . . . something happened. There are no known direct records of the event and the few witnesses are not terribly clear on the exact sequence of events, but it appears that an attempt was made on Ariane’s life—or possibly Sethrik’s. The Blessed warship Thilomon departed shortly thereafter, but whether that was exactly at the same time or not we have no clear idea. We’ve heard nothing from Sethrik, and the Blessed Faction House says that he is away for some unknown period of time.” She looked at them both levelly. “I suspect they have kidnapped our captain.”

  “That . . . would be possible, I suppose,” Simon said, slowly, “but for what reason?”

  “That’s the problem,” Gabrielle answered. “We don’t know. Naraj and Ni Deng can’t get any more out of them, and they have no answers as to why they’d have done it—”

  “—Let’s be accurate,” Carl interrupted. “Our favorite diplomats don’t accept that it’s even possible the Blessed grabbed Ariane. And . . . well, there are some people who claim that they saw someone fall off the Dock during that time.”

  “Good God!” DuQuesne swore. “Did anyone search?”

  “Some people did,” Laila said, “but there was a very powerful storm only a hundred or so kilometers below the Docks at the time. If someone had fallen into that . . .”

  “What about Wu? Where’s he?”

  “Gone along with Ariane,” Oasis said quietly, and he could hear the sorrow in her voice. “One witness said he jumped off the edge of the Dock where the Blessed ship Thilomon had been berthed, another claims Wu ran up a nearby spire and disappeared; either way . . . no one’s seen him since.”

  “Dammit. Okay, where’s Ni Deng and Naraj?”

  “I am here, Doctor,” Oscar Naraj said heavily, entering. “I trust I am not intruding? No? Good. Michelle received a call and went out just shortly before you arrived, but I hope she will return soon; we have other engagements for later today.”

  He doesn’t look very happy, but then, I suppose he’d have to play along. “You haven’t any more ideas about what could have happened to her?”

  Oscar shook his head, sleek dark hair sprinkled with white throwing off highlights. “I have made as many inquiries as I can. No one seems able to t
hrow any light whatsoever on the situation, which I find absolutely outrageous. Whatever our differences, Captain Austin was the leader of our faction, and it should simply be impossible for a person of such importance to disappear.”

  Simon glanced quickly at DuQuesne, and he could see they had both caught the potential telltale “was” in Oscar’s reply. Not enough to accuse on, though. After a week, he could easily argue that he was assuming something had happened to her.

  “Well . . . we’re not all that important a Faction—”

  “Irrelevant and unacceptable,” Naraj said firmly. “There are at most a few thousand recognized Factions of any size, and even the smallest of them include billions of citizens. A Faction Leader is a member of, perhaps, the most exclusive elite in all the universe . . . or universes.”

  There was a knock on the conference room door. “Ambassador?” Michelle Ni Deng entered, stopped in startlement as she saw Simon and Marc, then hurried forward. “Oh . . . ! Welcome back, both of you. I . . . suppose you’ve heard the news.”

  “Yeah. No clues at all?”

  “None worth anything. I’m sure they’ve told you; contradictory eyewitnesses, no physical evidence.” Ni Deng brushed back her feathery hair in irritation. “And that Sun Wu Kung gone too.” She tried to smile, failed—or gave a very good performance of someone having that problem, Simon thought. “I am afraid this proves the point of needing bodyguards all too well.”

  “And if this continues . . .” Oscar sighed. “Gentlemen, I was somewhat dreading this moment, but with you back, I think we must discuss the possibility that we will never know what happened.”