He nodded, still thinking about it. Suddenly Aubri grabbed his arm. “Look!”
Buzzing in the doorway was one of those odd little chrome insects that one saw sometimes. Tankers, Aubri had called them. Hayden reached out a hand. “Should I catch it?”
She shook her head. “I don't have my instruments with me, I couldn't study it now.” The little tanker spun around and zipped off. A sudden cloud of similar bugs flicked past the window.
“You were right,” Hayden said. “They're headed for Candesce.”
“Carrying fuel,” she said with a nod. “For the Farnsworth Fusors.”
* * * *
They floated together inside the hut, exhausted after making love, and were silent together. He was acutely aware that much had gone unspoken between him and Aubri.
At last he turned and laid his hand, gently, on her breastbone. “Does it listen?” he asked her. He had no need to say what it was.
She shrugged. “I need to be careful. But ... it doesn't care. Not really. It's just a dumb mechanism.”
He thought about that. Then he nodded to the window. “Was this your mission? To visit Candesce?”
She looked him in the eye and said, “No. In fact ... it's the opposite. If there's anywhere in Virga where I might find a way to free myself from this...” She tapped her throat. “Then it would be there.”
Hayden shook his head in confusion. “You don't need to be careful about telling me that?”
“No. The assassin-bug only cares whether I tell people what my real mission is. It's not able to care about anything else.”
“Not even its own life?”
“It's not alive. So, no.” She quirked a smile. “Look at it this way: some things trigger it, some don't. That's all.”
“So...” He mused. “You think we might find a way to kill it in Candesce?”
“It's why I pushed the Fannings to do this. A selfish reason, maybe.” She shrugged, grinning. “But it worked.”
He laughed. “Can I help?”
She kissed him. “Just keep guard. I'll do the rest.”
“You can help me, too,” he said seriously. Aubri cocked one eyebrow. “Both of us, really,” he added. “Aubri ... have you actually thought about what you'd do if you got free of that thing? Would you stay, or would you go?”
She hesitated. “Stay,” she said finally. “I would stay.”
Hayden sighed. He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I have a reason for going into Candesce too,” he told her. He felt his heart lifting as he described his plan to locate sun components in Candesce and return them to Aerie. “I want to finish my parents’ work. Light a new sun on the edge of Winter, that the people of Aerie can gather around. Let them leave Slipstream and the rest of Meridian behind. Save my people.”
It would have sounded like an arrogant, impossible dream to Hayden—had not his mother and father confidently pursued that same dream.
“I'll need an engineer,” he said. “You could be invaluable.”
“Oh.” She looked away. “Is that all you want me for? My engineering skills?”
“No!” He laughed and pulled her to him. “More. I want much more. We could found a new nation together, Aubri. Is that something you could want?”
She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his shoulder.
“More than anything,” she murmured, “I would want that.”
* * * *
They both woke with a start. It was the middle of the night, and absolutely black inside the hut. Somewhere, far in the distance, something had screamed.
“Did you hear that?” Hayden asked. He felt rather than saw Aubri's nod. They both listened in perfect stillness for a while; then she relaxed against him.
“Maybe Venera's cohabitation with Carrier is not so chaste as we'd been led to think,” she said.
“Ugh,” he said. “Don't say that. I—” He stopped, as a long, ululating sound crept through the night to enwrap the hut.
They were both at the window a second later, peering out into the gloom. “That wasn't any person,” said Aubri needlessly. There was nothing to see outside the hut, however—nothing at all, an extravagant blackness Hayden couldn't remember encountering even in Winter. For a moment he wondered if the hut had somehow slid backward into the depths of Leaf's Choir. How would they know, before they suffocated?
The cry came again, and this time it was accompanied by the sound of branches shattering. The roar built—it seemed that entire trees were being thrown aside by something huge that approached through the darkness. The hut began to shake.
Then as quickly as it began, the roaring ended.
They stayed at the window for a long time, but nothing further happened. After an hour or so, a bobbing flashlight-beam meandered up the trunk of the tree, and Carrier and Venera appeared. Both looked grim.
“Any ideas?” Carrier asked without preamble. Hayden shook his head.
“Maybe we should stick together tonight,” he said. Then, with sudden urgency: “Where's the bike?”
Carrier waved a length of twine Hayden hadn't seen he was holding. It stretched off into the blackness. “I towed it over,” he said. “Thought it best.” Hayden nodded.
They all crowded into the little hut and sat there looking at one another for a while. “This is ridiculous,” Venera said after the uncomfortable interlude had stretched on for fifteen minutes. “We have to do something. Talk, at least.”
“I agree,” said Aubri.
There was another long silence.
“Let's tell stories,” said Venera brightly.
They all stared at her in the feeble glow of the flashlight. “Ghost stories,” amended Venera; then she laughed. “Oh, come on. Can you think of a better time to do it?”
Everyone laughed; and a minute later, Hayden found himself relating the story of the black pirate suns, and of the strange monsters reputed to live in Winter.
After his turn Venera spoke; and somehow Hayden wasn't surprised when it turned out that she knew lots of such stories, and relished telling them.
In one of Venera's stories, Candesce itself had gone roving one night; the sun had been hungry after shining for so many centuries, and it ate several of the neighboring principalities before being talked out of a further meal by a brash young farm boy. Venera tailored her description to the night's events: the unseen sun passing in majestic noise, a skyscape of sounds, no sign of what had caused its devastation after it returned to its station and lit again.
Aubri clapped her hands when the story ended. “You have hidden talents, Venera!”
The admiral's wife preened, examining her nails with ostentatious care. “I do, don't I?”
“I hope you don't mind my asking, but I've been wondering all along how you managed to convince Chaison to bring you on the expedition.” Aubri looked genuinely puzzled. “During our planning sessions he seemed adamant about leaving you behind.”
“Ah,” said Venera with a smile, “but that was before I blackmailed him.”
“Ah—what?” Aubri and Hayden both laughed nervously. Venera waved a hand dismissively.
“Back when he was a student, my Chaison wrote a few seditious pamphlets denouncing the Pilot. Nobody knows that, of course—no one who would talk about it.” She eyed Carrier, whose face was as wooden as always. “I found about it from an old drinking companion of his, and I held it over his head to get him to take me along. That's all.” She said this in a modest sort of way.
Hayden couldn't resist a grin. “Chaison Fanning ... denounced the Pilot?”
Carrier, however, was glaring at Venera. “You never told me about this,” he said.
She shrugged. “Why should I?” Venera looked at him archly. “In any case, it's your turn, Lyle. Don't you have any ghost stories to share?”
Carrier stammered something, then looked down. After a moment, he met Venera's eye and said, “Ghost stories are for kids. Things that really happened are far more harrowing than any story.”
Some line had been crossed, Hayden thought, but Venera didn't seem to have noticed. She pouted at Carrier and said, “For instance?”
“For instance,” he grated, “take the story of a man who discovers that his son doesn't have the stomach for the things that need to be done to protect his people. The boy joins the resistance of a conquered foe, and tries to convince his father to do it too.”
Venera arched an eyebrow. “What's so horrible about that?”
Carrier took a deep breath. “The father plays along with it. In the end the resistance comes to trust the boy, and of course he trusts his father—enough that one day he tells him the location of the new sun his friends are building. And the father,” he said with a grim smile. “He does what any loyal man would do. He tells the Pilot.”
Belatedly, Venera was realizing how angry Carrier was. “Youthful zeal,” she said. “They grow out of it.”
“Only if they live,” said Carrier. “Only if they live.”
Aubri shifted, half reaching out to Carrier. “What happened to your son?” she asked quietly.
“He died when the Aerie bastards blew up their new sun,” said Carrier; his voice carried no emotion, no inflection at all. “But you know what? If I had to do it all again, I would. Because a loyal citizen of Slipstream will do nothing against the Pilot; will do anything for his nation.” Again, he was watching Venera as he said this.
The silence that followed was long and awkward. Aubri tried to salvage the mood by telling a humorous anecdote about her brief days in Rush, but her delivery was wooden and it fell flat.
The damage had been done; all they could do now was sit in silence and wait for dawn. This was just fine as far as Hayden was concerned; he didn't want to talk any more. He just sat in the corner, nursing his shock.
The man he had sworn to kill sat next to him. For the moment, nothing else mattered.
But then a curious thing happened. As the hours dragged on, Hayden's anger lessened. When Candesce finally ignited in a stuttering dawn Hayden even allowed himself to exchange a wondering glance with Carrier as they gazed out at a vast gash that had opened up in the miles-long trunks of the dead forest.
“It's like some monster was grazing on the trees,” said Aubri.
“Capitol bug?” asked Carrier, but clearly he didn't believe it. Capitol bugs were big, the way clouds were big, but they were not strong. Whatever had done this could eat whole cities.
“Candesce, walking,” said Venera smugly. They all laughed, and the tension of the night broke.
Later, he watched Carrier and Venera fly back to their hut. Hayden felt curiously light, as if some huge responsibility had been lifted from his shoulders. Lyle Carrier was just a man, after all, and a sad one at that.
What had drained his anger? He wondered about that for a while, seeing Aubri, and Candesce burning at the center of the sky, there was really no doubt. Somehow in the past weeks Hayden had learned to look past yesterday and today. It was the possibility of a future that had changed him.
Maybe he could fulfill his promise to Chaison Fanning after all.
* * * *
A swarm of bikes spiraled through Winter. Each flyer had a large magnesium lamp mounted in front of his saddle and great spears of light pierced the gloom as they searched for safe passage. Behind them, recklessly fast, came the expeditionary force itself. Dew beaded on the sleek hulls of the ships and tumbled away in their wakes. Their contrails could have been followed by anyone who cared to pursue them; but the Gehellen navy had given up at the border. The chase had been halfhearted anyway, since the Slipstream ships had gone many miles under cover of night before they were spotted.
Giant multi-limbed clouds reared out of the black, too big to circumnavigate. The bikers’ flight leader leaned down to let off a sounding rocket and watched as its yellow eye receded into the mist. If it hit anything it would explode in a shower of phosphorous. He watched the contours of the cloud intently, heedless of the icy air tumbling past his limbs. After a moment he waved an all-clear and underscored the rocket's contrail with his own.
* * * *
Some miles behind the bikes, Chaison Fanning climbed out a side hatch of the Rook and hooked his feet through a ring on the hull. He stared out across a hundred miles of cloud-dotted air at the hint of silver in the darkness that identified Mavery's sun. Faint flickers and flashes lit the sky far up and to one side of that silver area.
It could just be a lightning storm—but the colors were wrong. Some of those pinpricks were red, some vivid orange. The light came from the border between Mavery and Winter. It was too far away for Chaison to hear the explosions, of course—but the battle must be huge, and fierce. He should be there.
After a while Travis clambered through the hatch with a blanket fluttering in his good hand. “Begging your pardon, Admiral sir, but you'll freeze out here,” he shouted as he tried to drape the blanket one-handed over Chaison's shoulders.
“Look at it,” said Chaison. The tiny stars that signaled explosions had only been able to keep his attention for so long, despite what imagination and reason had told him must be happening there. His gaze had inevitably drifted forward and eventually he'd realized that framed by the cross-hatch lines of bike contrails was the collected light of nations. Half the sky was awash with luminescence in circles too broad to encompass with out-thrown arms. Their outer edges faded to dusk and black, their centers shone sky-blue and here and there a sun appeared for seconds at a time. There were a dozen such realms of light in the cluster of nations known as Meridian, but the farthest countries were hidden behind the nearer.
The pearlescent zone of sky next to Mavery was Slipstream—had been Aerie, once. Obscured behind the Rook's hull was multi-sunned Falcon Formation. Chaison had climbed around the hull several times to look at it.
“The men want to go,” said Travis, nodding at the sparkling battle. “They know we have another destination, but they're not happy.”
Chaison sighed. “I'm not happy either. The fleet will be cursing my name that I'm not there. All of us—we've probably been branded traitors by now. If we don't bring back the figureheads of Falcon's flagship, the Pilot will have me publicly flogged. At the very least.”
He made sure his feet were anchored, then stood up into the Rook's headwind. “That's where we go,” he yelled, pointing to the vast span of light that was Falcon Formation. “And chances are we'll never see the light of Slipstream again. So enjoy the view while you can, Travis!”
“Come inside, sir!”
He shook his head. “When I'm good and ready. Leave me alone.”
Travis retreated, a concerned frown on his face.
Chaison Fanning stood alone on the hull of his ship, feeling alone. Venera wasn't with him, and he didn't know how he felt about that. Did he even miss her? She was a constant presence, but he didn't understand her; and love was probably not the right name for what passed between them.
He didn't think she understood him either; but she thought she did.
Maybe, if they both lived through this, there would be time to get to know one another properly. He smiled, as the wind tore salty droplets from his eyes and cast them into the vortex of the Rook's contrail.
* * * *
Candesce was fading like an ember when the four travelers climbed into their saddles and Hayden lit the fanjet's burners. Back became down, and they shot away from the threadlike trees of Leaf's Choir, seemingly straight up toward the sun. Hayden turned for a last look at the harvester's hut, and smiled. Then he adjusted the goggles on his nose, and opened the throttle.
They weren't leaving a contrail, he'd noticed. That was probably due to the heat of the air near the sun of suns; whatever the reason, they would be less noticeable to the Gehellen cruisers that still patrolled the air here.
—Or so he was able to tell himself for the first ten minutes of the flight; then he saw Carrier's hand waving from the opposite side of the bike.
Hayden craned his neck around
the metal cylinder and at first saw only the normal traffic of funeral ships and scroungers cautiously edging towards the sun. After a moment he saw what Carrier had spotted: eight sparks of light rising over the black furze of the sargasso. They were the color of the sun, their backdrop the mauve air of dusk.
Carrier leaned past Venera to shout, “Bigger than bikes!” But smaller than commercial vessels; Hayden nodded. These looked like catamarans—twin engined, with both pilot and gunner. They'd be fast, and they could reduce the bike and its riders to splinters in seconds if they got close enough.
Hayden tapped the throttle, feeling for the bike's response. Then he leaned in as close to the hot metal as he dared and kicked in the afterburner. The women on either side of him pressed their noses to the hull as well while the air began to thunder past and Candesce seemed to get perceptibly brighter.
For a few minutes, that is; then the sun of suns began to go out.
It didn't do so all at once. In fact, as Hayden squinted past the handlebars he began to make out structure to the radiance ahead. Candesce, he realized with a start, wasn't one sun but rather a cloud of them. He tried to count them, but they were guttering faster than he could keep up. Each one left a fading red spot and, in the eye, a lozenge of retinal overload.
But the heat remained. He could feel it first in the places where the wind didn't penetrate: in the hollow of this throat; along his calfs. As the minutes passed heat piled up against the bike as if they were pressing into a resilient surface made of exhaust and fire. They crossed fifty miles of air and were swaddled in it; a hundred miles and it was becoming hard to breathe. The commercial ships had fallen behind but the catamarans still followed, their gem-like highlights wavering in the rippling air.
Little flashes started to appear in the corner of Hayden's eye. He was alarmed—was he about to pass out?—and then saw the contrails that were sketching across the sky like meridian lines.
Venera waved frantically. When he caught her eye she held up her hand in a gun-shape. He nodded and began slaloming the bike from side to side, gently at first so as not to shake off his passengers—then more and more violently as bullets stitched the air to all sides.
Analog SFF, March 2006 Page 19