—The seer Sumunda, Visions in a Glass
When Sogol spoke, no one was more surprised than the woman who had the snake-shaped AI wrapped around her left biceps. She reacted by tearing the serpent off and tossing it onto the table, where it wiggled, rolled over, and slid to a stop. And that was the point when Logos 1.2 coiled her body as if to strike and hissed.
The master-at-arms looked from the snake to the woman and back again. That was the moment when he realized that rather than turn the snake in, as the security officer was supposed to do in situations like that one, the female had been about to steal it. Even worse was the fact that the other members of her team were willing to tolerate such behavior! His jaw tightened, orders flew, and all three of the miscreants were led away.
Though not particularly interested in the details surroundingthe way in which the security officers would be disciplined, Mayor Pontho was interested in floating guns, talking snakes, and the prisoners suspended in front of her. Especially since they were looking for the island of Buru, a place currently occupied by a force of wings on behalf of the norms. “Release the prisoners,” she ordered. “And bring some chairs. . . . I have no idea what’s going on here—but it should be interesting to find out.”
Though not especially pleased by the manner in which the mayor had taken control of the interrogation process, the master-at-arms had no choice but to acquiesce. Ten minutes later, both Norr and Rebo were seated at the table and, much to the sensitive’s delight, were clutching mugs of tea. “Okay,” Pontho began. “Start at the beginning. Who are you? Where are you from? And why are you interested in Buru?”
Norr looked at Rebo, saw the runner shrug, and knew it was up to her. And, given the fact that Sogol had already spoken, she saw no alternative but to tell a truthful but abbreviated version of their adventures, starting on the Planet Seros and culminating in their recent arrival on Zeen.
It took more than an hour to tell the tale, and when it finally came to an end, Pontho shook her head in amazement. “That’s quite a story. . . . One that’s pretty hard to believe.
Especially the part about your snake, the so-called star gates, and our moon. But who knows? Strange tales are true at times. I will ask one of our scholars to look into the matter—and perhaps he or she will find a way to authenticate your tale. In the meantime I think it would be best to keep both you, and, ah Sogol, under lock and key.”
“No!” Norr objected. “That would be a terrible mistake! Techno Society operatives may already be on Zeen, but if they aren’t, they soon will be. And when they arrive, they will bring professional killers, metal men, and killing machines with them. Then they’ll head for Buru.”
“Wait a minute,” the mayor interrupted. “Did you say ‘killing machines’? Describe one.”
So Rebo began to describe what a raptor looked like, and was only halfway through, when the master-at-arms came to his feet. “That’s it!” he proclaimed. “That sounds like the machine that attacked our forces in Wattl!”
Pontho experienced a sudden sense of exultation mixed with an equal measure of fear. While she was glad to hear that Arbuk and his cronies weren’t in the process of building two-legged killing machines, it was clear the land-lords had a new ally, and a dangerous one at that.
For the first time, the mayor forced herself to address the snake. She felt silly, talking to what looked like a piece of jewelry, but what if the creature was real? What if it really could control the moon, open star gates, and whisk people from one planet to another? “So tell me, Sogol,” she said, as she made eye contact with the object in front of her, “what will happen next?”
“That depends on you,” the AI replied unhesitatingly. “Lonni is correct. An earlier iteration of myself entered into an alliance with the Techno Society. If allowed to do so, Logos and his human functionaries will travel to Buru, where they will enter a star gate and transfer to Socket. Once aboard the satellite, Logos 1 will reinstall himself, seize control of the star gates that remain in operation, and begin the process of reseeding the planets that were served in the past. Once that process is complete, they will control humanity rather than serve it. But only if you let them. . . . If you take us to the island of Buru, we will board Socket and block the Techno Society.”
“It sounds good,” Pontho allowed cautiously, “but here’s the problem . . . No, two problems. The first problem is that all we have is your word for what’s going on. Maybe you and your companions are the ones we should be worried about— and the other people are trying to chase you down.”
“What about the killing machine?” the AI countered. “And the casualties you suffered?”
“Maybe they didn’t know who we were,” the politician replied warily, “and fired in self-defense.”
“That’s a fair question,” Norr put in, “but we have a character witness. Someone you trust—and will vouch for the truth of what we say.”
Pontho lacked eyebrows, but she had large double-lidded eyes, and they widened slightly. “Really?” she inquired skeptically. “And who would that be?”
Norr’s features went slack, and Rebo looked worried as a spirit entity took control of the sensitive’s body. “Hello, honey,” a female voice said. “It’s Aunt Cyn. . . . Remember the toothfish? And how it nipped your calf when you were seven? I had a hard time explaining that one to your mother! She never let me take you outside the dome again. These people are real, hon. . . . They aren’t perfect, none of us are, but they’re trying to make things better. And remember, those who wind up in control of Socket will have the power to move the satellite, which would eliminate the tides.”
“The generators,” Pontho put in. “That would shut them down.”
“Exactly,” the disincarnate agreed. “So do what you can to help them. You won’t be sorry.”
Then, just as quickly as the spirit had arrived, she was gone, and Norr was in control of her body once again. The mayor appeared stricken—and tears rolled down her face. “There are sensitives on land, so I have heard of such contacts, but never experienced one myself. A toothfish took a chunk out of my leg—and I have the scar to prove it. And, since there’s no way that you could have possibly been aware of that incident, I’m inclined to believe you.
"But I told you that two problems stand in the way of your plan. The first has been resolved—but the second is much more difficult. The land-lords, which is to say the people who control all of the landmasses, occupy the island of Buru, which means that you won’t be able to set foot on it.”
“That’s true,” the master-at-arms allowed. “But we control the sea all around them—so it’s a standoff.”
“Was a standoff,” Rebo said grimly. “Things are about to change.”
The city of Esperance
It was dark outside, and rain splattered against thick glass, as the two men stood in front of a huge wall-mounted map. “The island of Buru is right there,” Lord Arbuk said, as he covered a tiny dot with the tip of a pudgy finger. “About seventy-five miles off the coast.”
In spite of the fact that he and his subordinates qualified as prisoners, such were the freedoms allowed them that Tepho felt rather comfortable within the nobleman’s castle-like home. Because in spite of the rude comments made about him in Wattl, Arbuk had been extremely courteous since, and the two men had a great deal in common. Both were analytical, ambitious, and completely ruthless. All of which was likely to make for a good alliance, so long as they continued to desire the same things, and there was no shortage of loot. “And you control it,” the technologist commented, as he stared at the tiny brown blob.
“Yes,” Arbuk replied honestly, “I do. The surrounding waters are a different story however. The phibs control those.”
Tepho frowned. “Then how do you transport supplies to the island?”
“Wings,” the nobleman answered laconically. “A healthy wing can fly about a hundred miles without resting, so Buru is well within their range, so long as they aren’t overburdened. And
, since they grow most of their own food, my staff are quite self-sufficient.”
Logos had been listening intently and chose that moment to enter the conversation. Arbuk, who had grown accustomed to the AI by then, remained unperturbed. “What about the transfer station? Is it intact?”
“I honestly don’t know,” the land-lord replied, as he lumbered toward a massive armchair. “I’ve never been there. . . . Where is it?”
“Toward the center of the island.”
“Ah,” Arbuk replied, as he sank into the well-padded comfort of his favorite chair. “Then I think we’re in luck. . . . The wings believe that those who spend too much time in the island’s interior sicken and die. That’s superstitious nonsense of course, but variants aren’t as intelligent as we are, which makes them susceptible to ridiculous beliefs. Odds are that the transfer station is much as you left it.”
Both Tepho and Logos knew good news when it was placed in front of them. If wings who ventured in toward the center of Buru became ill, it was probably because the star gate’s power core was up and running, but neither entity saw any reason to share that piece of intelligence with the local.
“Good,” Tepho said blandly, as he stood with his back to the crackling fire. “So, given the fact that the phibs control the waters around Buru, how should we proceed?”
Arbuk had already given the matter some thought. Because if the weird little cripple and his talking shirt really could transport themselves up to the moon and reactivate a network of star gates, then he intended not only to benefit from the technology but control it. So, as the land-lord locked his hands together across the vast expanse of his belly, the essence of a plan had already been formed in his mind. “It’s dangerous to build ships in coastal towns,” the nobleman explained, “because the phibs have a tendency to come ashore and burn them.
“However, unbeknownst to the degenerate freaks, three steam-powered ironclads are nearing completion about twenty miles inland from Esperance. Within days, a week at most, we can bring those ships west by rail. Then, before the phibs can stop us, we will set sail for Buru. What do you think of that?”
Planning was best of course, but Tepho was grateful whenever good luck came his way, and he smiled crookedly as he spoke. “I think you’re brilliant.”
The city of Shimmer
The water at the center of the council chamber was chest deep, which made it difficult to walk around, but allowed the phib politicians to sit half-supported by the water, float on their backs, or, in the case of those who felt the need to move about, swim out into the deep end and tread water.
In the meantime, Mayor Pontho and representatives from the other city-states were seated on a stage above the deep end, where they were three hours and twenty minutes into a discussion of whether the city of Shimmer would be left to tackle Arbuk’s forces alone or would receive assistance from the other communities. The subject was rather controversial because the other mayors, who were understandably reluctant to upset the delicate status quo, had their doubts regarding the entire notion of star gates and wanted to know what was in it for them and their constituencies.
Rebo, who had been forced to remain immersed in the water while waiting for the seemingly endless debate to end, was busy looking at his pruny hands when Pontho finally called his name. Norr, who was half-floating beside him, had to jab the runner in the ribs in order to get his attention. “Jak . . . she called your name!”
The phibs watched in amusement as Rebo churned his way across the deep end of the chamber to a set of stairs that led up onto the stage. The runner was wearing a pair of cutoffs, but still felt naked as he padded across the platform and left a trail of wet footprints to mark his progress.
There were nine mayors, including Pontho, and all had seats at the oval table. None wore anything more elaborate than a genital pouch, and some were completely naked. Five of the politicians were female, which meant that four were male, all of whom appeared to be older rather than younger. There was a raised bench on which guests could sit, but the norm chose to stand. “It’s my pleasure to introduce Jak Rebo,” Pontho said. “Some of you have expressed concerns where Lord Arbuk’s new ironclads are concerned. They are by all reports powerful vessels that could interfere with an attack on Buru. . . . However, thanks to military expertise acquired on other planets, Citizen Rebo is ready with a plan that could neutralize the threat. Citizen Rebo?”
Rebo didn’t have any military expertise, not really, but knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to say that. So, with all eyes upon him, the runner proceeded to outline his plan. “As you know, Mayor Pontho’s agents report that three steam-powered warships are presently being constructed about twenty miles inland from the coastal city of Esperance, and will be ready within a matter of days.”
That was the projectionist’s cue, and the map appeared on the ceiling, where those who were floating on their backs could see it, as well as on all three of the walls around the stage. But unlike the maps used ashore, this one ignored all but the most important roads to focus on the capillary-like network of streams and rivers that fed the oceans.
A pistol-shaped electronic pointer had been left for Rebo’s use. After pointing the device at the wall, the runner pressed the firing stud and was immediately rewarded with a red dot. It slid up to the point where the name ESPERANCE marked a large bay. And there, flowing into the harbor, was a narrow finger of blue. “This is the Otero River,” the off-worlder said. “What I propose to do is lead a party of raiders upstream, march a mile overland to the point where the ironclads are being constructed, and destroy them before the locals can transport them to Esperance. Then, with the steamships out of the way, we can attack Buru.”
It was a simple plan, but still worthy of another hour’s debate, and Rebo was back in the water floating on his back when the final decision was made. A finding that ultimately had more to do with a widely shared desire to destroy Arbuk’s warships than any particular enthusiasm for the off-worlders, their talking snake, or the system of star gates they were so obsessed with. “Thank you,” Pontho said sincerely, as the results of the unanimous vote were announced. “You won’t be sorry.”
Rebo wasn’t so sure about that, but hoped it was true, and let his hand stray to the good luck amulet that he wore around his neck. Except that the object wasn’t there, and hadn’t been for some time, even though he was going to need it more than ever.
Norr, who knew the runner pretty well by then, and could “see” the doubts that swirled around Rebo, took his hand in hers. Nothing was said, and nothing needed to be. The end of the journey was near, and if they could survive the trials ahead, a much more pleasant journey was about to begin.
The village of Wattl
Inu Harluck was drunk, or had been, back before he stumbled out of the Evil Eye tavern, entered the adjacent stable, and passed out. It was a blissful state, and one that the fisherman-pirate preferred to remain in for as long as possible, which made the pain that much more annoying. But there was no escaping it, so Harluck was forced to surface and open his eyes.
Shaz saw the man’s eyelids flutter, uttered a grunt of satisfaction, and removed the knife tip from the local’s neck. A single drop of blood welled up to mark the point where the surface of the drunk’s skin had been broken. “It’s time to wake up,” the combat variant said contemptuously. “There’s money to be made.”
What little light there was emanated from a lantern that was hanging a good ten feet away. So, as the fisherman looked upward, and saw the man-shaped image shimmer, he began to flail his arms and kick with his legs in a futile attempt to escape what could only be a spirit. A murdered phib, perhaps, returned from the depths, ready to cut his throat. But when Phan threw a full bucket of water in his face, Harluck’s head began to clear. “Who are you people?” the pirate spluttered. “And why pick on me? I ain’t done nothin’ to you.”
“No,” Shaz agreed, “you haven’t. But this is your lucky day. . . . We want to hire you, your crew, and
your boat. Not the cutter—but the sailboat. The one you stole from the phibs.”
“I didn’t steal it,” the local objected hotly, “I found her. Empty she was, just drifting, pretty as you please.”
“That’s not what your brother-in-law told us,” the combat variant responded. “But save it for the local constable. We don’t care how you came into possession of the boat. What we do care about is an early start. So stand up, pull yourself together, and round up your crew.”
Harluck stood, made a futile attempt to brush some of the filth off his clothes, and looked from one person to the other. He had scraggly hair, furtive eyes, and a pointy chin. “I don’t believe I caught your names.”
“I’m Shaz,” the variant replied, “and this is Phan.”
“Well, Citizen Shaz,” the fisherman said officiously, “my services don’t come cheap.”
“No,” Shaz agreed sardonically, “I’m sure they don’t. This coin was minted elsewhere, but it’s solid gold and worth more than you would normally make in a year.”
Lanternlight reflected off the crono as it arced through the air. Harluck intercepted the gold piece and weighed the object in the palm of a callused hand, before running a cracked nail across the face of a man who had been dead for more than two hundred years. Then, not having detected any lead, the pirate tucked the coin away. “So what kind of contraband are you smuggling?” he wanted to know. “And where are we headed?”
“There isn’t any contraband,” Shaz replied evenly. “As for our destination, that’s the island of Buru.”
The pirate turned pale. “Buru? No, way! The phibs will kill us.”
“Maybe,” the combat variant allowed. “But that’s the chance we take.”
Harluck looked from one hard face to the other. “What if I say ‘no’?”
“Then I’ll kill you,” Phan replied cheerfully. “Take your pick!”
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