Para rises, stretches, turns through a 360-degree circle, and lies down again to resume his watch.
In the streets of Yedo, and on the flat rooftops of the villages surrounding the city, colonists are watching the night sky. Glory is a naked-eye object resembling a golden dragonfly moving ever more swiftly across the distant starfields. The returning mass-depletion ships are like bright beads dropping from the hand of the Archer, the brightest constellation in the Yamatan sky. The eye of the Archer is the star Alpha Carinae, which the Yamatans call Ryukotsu. The Archer is a spring constellation, and his presence in the sky is regarded as a good omen for enterprises begun at this time of year.
But there is something else in the Yamatan sky, something resembling a visitation of the infrequent aurora borealis. On Yamato the auroras, north and south, paint the sky with faint curtains of violet light that dance and ripple across the polar latitudes. This is something different, and the people viewing Glory's departure ask one another if it is somehow related to the presence of the Goldenwing.
With increasing frequency, millisecond bursts of blood-red light flash above a bank of the familiar thunderhead clouds that populate the sky over the Yamatan ocean. To observers on land and on ships at sea, the red bursts appear to be hardly higher than the anvilheads of the cumulonimbus cloud formations. But in the observatories on Hokkaido, alert for a glimpse of their returning MD craft, measurements show that the bursts are taking place at a much greater height, well past the troposphere and actually deep into the ionosphere. Polar observers can make out a further phenomenon: The subliminal bursts of ruby light spawn purple tentacles that appear to dangle for an instant toward the ground, then vanish.
Yamatan astronomers and meteorologists turn immediately to the database available to their computers. No such phenomenon as this has ever occurred in the skies of Planet Yamato. But a continuing search produces accounts of a phenomenon known, long, long ago--on Earth.
What the Yamatan scientists are watching are “Red Sprites.” These manifestations, brilliant red bodies trailing purple “tentacles” reaching down into the planetary atmosphere, were seen and reported in space about the homeworld two thousand years ago. They were described as natural phenomena, cause undiscovered.
The Red Sprites vanished from Earth in the years before the Jihad, leaving only the accounts filed in the ancient databases.
One unusually persistent and energetic Yamatan astrophysical intern at the State Observatory in Hokkaido set in motion a search for recent similar anomalies. He found none. The destruction of a space station in the Earth year 2022 had been documented in detail, but records of the event were lost in the Luddite turmoil of the Jihad.
The Red Sprites are hidden from observers aboard Goldenwing Gloria Coelis by the limb of the planet they are leaving. But not for long.
MD pilot Baka Ie’s departure from the Goldenwing, accomplished with such panache, such bushido, had filled the young man with a soaring delight in his own skill and his good fortune. His brief conversation with his overlord, Genji Akagi, and the promise of a new and more exalted name for himself and all his family, had filled Baka with more sheer happiness than he had ever, in his short life, experienced.
The people of Hokkaido lived a cold and austere life, always trapped and struggling between extremes of weather and penury. For the Baka family, as with others of their social caste, the bitter conditions of existence on the northernmost island-continent of Yamato had been made more bitter still by the innate degradation of the name they bore. Like most Japanese, they had an ingrained respect, even reverence, for social approval. It was this reverence that had caused four generations of Bakas to seek the most difficult and dangerous duties in the service of the Lords of Hokkaido in the hope that opportunities for advancement would present themselves.
Such opportunities never had. Until now. The promised change of name was richly symbolic on Planet Yamato. It was a key in the lock of the door leading to affluence, respect and, above all, a deep and joyous satisfaction.
Such was Baka Ie’s joy that he found himself actually singing aloud as he tapped the required commands into the burn sequencer. His two crewmen, also Hokkaidans, regarded one another, grinning. They had, of course, heard of their pilot’s good fortune. It was conceivable that some of it might spill over onto them. Poor Lord Genji Akagi might be, but so noble was his ancestry that any evidence of friendship or appreciation bestowed upon a Hokkaidan might well be shared out among the fortunate clansman’s associates.
“Friend Baka.” Izu Matsushira, the small craft’s Navigator, spoke with mock solemnity. “Will you still remember us when your name is Akagi or some such noble thing?”
The Engineer, a reedy and malnourished twenty-year-old from the most northern reaches of Hokkaido, far above the arctic circle, made the slurping noises that were, he and his mates believed, the mark of high-breeding at the great banquets he was certain took place daily in the mansion of the Lord Genji. “Hear me, Baka? I am practicing my good manners so that I may be a credit to you as you rise among the mighty.”
“I hear you and can say that no one makes better eating-noises than you do, Tokichiro.”
The three men shouted with delighted laughter.
Their small spacecraft, shedding velocity, began to drop toward the coppery planet below. The onboard computer presented line after line of code, confirming the polished skill with which their ship was being handled.
The Goldenwing, which had been accelerating ever since Baka Ie’s MD craft had left the hangar-ramp, had vanished over the rim of Yamato a third of an hour ago. Baka activated the rearward-facing imagers. Glory would soon be reappearing over the horizon behind them, having completed an orbit while the Hokkaidan vessel slowed to reentry speed.
Baka’s fingers raced nimbly over the control console. It seemed to him that he had never flown better, had never taken more delight in his skill. He realized that it was immodest and probably impolite to be so ecstatic about his own abilities. His mother would surely caution him about the dangers of hubris, but it was impossible to curb himself. There may be other times, he told himself, other joys. But this day, this moment, was surely unique. His joy and sense of good fortune surrounded him like a cloud.
The truth was that he was even reluctant to continue with the reentry, reluctant to consign himself to the darkness of the high-latitudes storm he could see covering most of Hokkaido. Another orbit, surely? But no, one of the most appealing things about this moment was that Lord Genji Akagi and the members of his court, all far more gently born than Baka, would be waiting for him on the frozen landing-ground. His family had been notified by radio that they were to be there to greet their kinsman, and there was no doubt but that they would be. He doubted that they had been warned of the auspiciousness of the occasion. That was the way things were done on the frozen island. But once the MD was down, steaming in the ice, everyone would know that the Baka name was no more.
The rearward imagers began to pick up the shimmering streaks of ionic disturbance that almost always preceded the appearance of a vessel in orbit. Goldenwing Gloria Coelis was so enormous that she disturbed the planet’s ionosphere with a bow-wave extending fifty kilometers along the ship’s intended track. Baka Ie could see the first signs of it, a distortion of the starfields far beyond, and a subtle change of color in the individual stars. Glory had made almost one full orbit while Baka’s ship shed delta-V.
Tokichiro, the Engineer, flashed the attention light above Baka’s pilot’s console.
“Ie-san. Look at that. What is it? Look ahead.”
Baka changed views on his screen.
Ahead and above he could see a flattened reddish area of light against the dark sky. Not what preceded the Goldenwing. Not at all.
It was difficult to estimate the size of the phenomenon. There was nothing against which one could measure scale. But it was large, very large. And at first it appeared to ripple and flicker, as though it were trying to stabilize itself in the ion
osphere above the arctic storm raging over Hokkaido. As he watched, the image grew more distinct. It was still insubstantial, electric, but clear and growing clearer with each passing moment.
“What is it, Ie-san?” The Navigator laughed, but nervously. “The way it moves--the thing seems to be searching, Ie-san.”
“Or hunting,” the Engineer said.
As they watched, odd electric tentacles of bright lavender formed and were hanging--Baka Ie had no other way of expressing the situation--were hanging from the shimmering disk. Stranger still, they appeared to be alive, writhing like the limbs of some insubstantial sea creature.
“Look. There’s another,” the Engineer said.
The forward imaging cameras had caught another of the things rising from the cyclonic clouds over the planet’s polar cap.
“Maybe we should evade,” the Navigator said uneasily.
“It’s too big,” Baka Ie said, his throat suddenly dry. And it was too big. It was enormous. Both of the manifestations were gargantuan. Together the two objects reached from horizon to horizon.
Baka’s ecstasy of moments ago translated with terrifying swiftness to alarm. Another orbit, he thought, one more while we take steps--
To do what? He did not know.
The MD’s speed had carried it almost to the edge of the thing. The sky reddened as light from the stars and from the distant moons, shone through it.
Great Buddha, Baka thought, what can it be?
The MD slipped lower and more pointedly under the vast apparition.
Was this the Terror of whom the Starmen spoke?
But it was nothing at all like the thing in the Deep Space encounters they had described. They had said nothing of any monstrous red shapes materializing inside the ionosphere.
Baka’s hand was descending on the reaction engine’s firing controls when the first of the hanging tentacles brushed his ship. The air inside crackled with electricity. Paper tapes were magnetized and drawn in wild, scrolling streams from the ship’s recording computer. The smell of ozone burned in the crew’s nostrils.
Baka Ie no longer thought about his joy or his good fortune. He thought only that he wanted, most desperately, to live.
As Glory, now at an altitude of 430 kilometers, cleared the eastern limb of the planet, the Wired syndics in the bridge and the Cybersurgeon in the sick bay were struck by a tidal wave of emotion and fear originating ahead and below.
The cats probing ahead of the ship were the first affected and the most disturbed. Para, unwisely questing ahead of the others, was overwhelmed with a primal terror of the vast red disk hovering just over the highest cloud-tops of the cyclonic storm over Yamato’s polar region. Physically near to the Wired Cybersurgeon, Para had stiffened into an attitude of extreme fear and rage. His back arched, his coat rose to make him look twice his normal size. His tail stood erect and brushed out to its very limit.
Dietr Krieg felt the psychic blow from the Red Sprite, followed swiftly and sharply by the pain of Para’s claws digging into his flesh. The cat was trying to merge with his syndic, instinctively seeking to pool the inner terror that fuelled his fight-or-flee instinct, young Para’s immature response to the wave of rage that engulfed the ship.
Dietr Krieg felt Para’s claws strike into his shoulder. He reacted to that before he could react to the other, somehow dreadfully familiar, assault.
With an effort he projected himself into the closed circle of the Gloria Coelis’s Starmen, all of whom were reeling with the impact of the attack.
On the bridge, Broni and Amaya cried out in agony before Glory could act to shield them from the worst of the dark anger flowing around the ship.
Duncan’s response was the most controlled. Mira had warned him microseconds before the blast of rage and hatred smashed through the ship. Instantly, Duncan was ranging through the bridge-crew stations, testing responses and resistance to the attack.
“Glory, give me a holograph! “
Duncan’s command was harsh and comforting. Glory’s people responded to his authority instinctively.
‘‘Broni, Buele, Damon! Bring them back inside, now!”
There was no question who was meant. Clavius, Big and Pronker had been mind-probing Outside, ahead of the ship. Two of the three cats were wildly agitated, and Pronker lay next to Damon, stiff with shock and terror.
Mira released her hold on Duncan and leaped across the bridge to Damon’s pod, where Pronker lay shivering in the gel. Damon seemed more frightened by what had happened to his feline companion than by what was happening Outside. He offered a stunned hand to Mira, who snarled and cuffed it aside as she crouched to groom and comfort Pronker, who responded by uttering a piteous howl.
The broad-spectrum holo materialized in the bridge. Seen from above, the red disk looked menacing. Lightning played through the clouds below it. Purple, searching tendrils were questing.
Duncan saw to his dismay that a small spacecraft, the last mass-depletion ship to leave Glory, was being savagely tom apart. Between the lashing, electrically charged tentacles of the red object Duncan could catch glimpses of a blackness so deep it seemed infinite.
This was the familiar Terror at work; Duncan’s own savaged instincts confirmed it. But the great red disk, kilometers across, and the questing tendrils of purple light reaching down into the storm, were things he had never seen--or even imagined.
Amaya made contact. “Duncan, what is that?”
“Glory. Search.” Duncan ignored the Sailing Master’s question and made his sending as brief and as urgent as he could manage. “A red disk, fifty to one hundred kilometers in diameter. Mean altitude, one-fifty to two hundred kilometers. Multiple discharges from the ventral surface resembling tentacles. These extend into the lower atmosphere. It appears that they, or some other force, have produced structural failures in a penetrating spacecraft. “ He paused, dry-mouthed. Glory was now passing over the edge of the red disk. The purple discharges from the underside of the phenomenon were invisible.
“Oh, God,” Amaya said aloud. The fragments of the Hokkaidan MD vessel were reentering the atmosphere in a display like a meteor shower.
“Duncan, what can we do?” That was Broni, still child enough to seek hope where there was none. The crew of the mass-depletion ship were burning to cinders as the fragments of their craft fell through the curtain of light the color of rotting blood.
The tension in the bridge deck was raw, a palpable presence. From time to time one of the cats, overcome by anxiety, would raise a yowling cry of protest. Glory's search of the database was under way. If only we could do more, Duncan thought. But Glory was rapidly picking up delta now; the tachyon pressure on the mains and courses was adding speed enough to be felt as gravity aboard the ship. The fabric walls bowed and throbbed as the air aboard was moved as if by a tide.
Duncan sent a brief message to Dietr in the sick bay a half kilometer from the bridge. The response was slow,, and when it came Duncan had a swift impression of a huge dog or wolf looking up at Glory from within the shimmering auroral construct below. Dietr came through less sharply than did Para’s fearsome images.
“Duncan ... it’s the Outsider again . . . did you see it?”
What Duncan had seen, or rather sensed, was Paracelsus’s interpretation of the ultimate enemy. Duncan received a jumble of images from the cats. Mira saw a thing of fire, tooth and claw. Big and Black Clavius snarled at a leaping dogpack, all felt the Outsider’s rage as Glory swept over and beyond the red apparition.
Broni sent, “It’s bound to the red thing, whatever it is. It can't rise above it. “
Duncan gave an order to Damon: “Make more sail. “
More skylar appeared on the yards, bowed to the tachyon wind. Duncan swivelled the mast-mounted imaging cameras to keep the Red Sprite in view and duplicated in miniature inside the bridge.
At once he reacted to the term Red Sprite. It had come through the drogue from Glory's data bank. Swiftly, the mainframe filled in the sending.
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“Red Sprites were first observed on Earth in the last decade of the Twentieth Century by geophysical researchers at Stanford University. The fanciful name was given them by Professor Umran S. Inan and his assistants, Victor Pasko and Timothy Bell. Sprites appeared intermittently in and over Earth’s atmosphere with increasing frequency over the next two hundred years. The phenomenon reaching a peak in the middle years of the Jihad. “
Glory’s sending reached each syndic simultaneously.
The implications of Glory's statement were stunning. If, as Broni sensed, the red construct was bound in some way to the Terror, the Jihad must have drawn the horror to Earth. Who could guess how many of the reputed atrocities committed in those years were the work of the Outsider?
“Specifics, Glory,” Duncan commanded.
“The disk is a plasma, as are the tentacles that appear to descend into the planetary atmosphere, “ Glory complied. “There is no confirmed information in the database, but the observed evidence suggests that the Sprite is used to draw energy from powerful planetary storm systems.
“Hypothesis: While the Outsider is absorbing energy from planetary weather systems, it is unable to disengage until the transfer is complete or until an unspecified percentage of capacity is reached. The degree of local cosmic-ray bombardment is probably a factor in the planetary-Outsider exchange. What this means in terms of actual elapsed time is unknown, and given my resources, probably unknowable. It is a valid supposition that the presence of a Red Sprite is a sure indication of the intimate proximity of an Outsider, and it is also a valid supposition that given the assumed purpose of the Outsider-Sprite relationship, Red Sprites are a creation of the Outsider and can exist only in the low stratosphere of an atmosphere-bearing planet.
“I suggest, Duncan, that we put as much distance as possible between ourselves and Planet Yamato. “
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