by Spoor,Ryk E
“One Sphere of many, which would go to a species that deserves one. You of all people should understand and sympathize with these people, the worst victims of the Arena’s usual rules!” At her words, Tunuvun gave a complex look—both grateful and pained. He hates having to have others stand up for his people …but also is grateful if anyone does.
“I do.” There was actual pain in Selpa’s voice. “And were the Sphere truly mine to do with as I please, it would be different. But I am the Vengeance and I must do as the Vengeance requires. I cannot simply let this go on the word of the force that is—as it well knows—an agent of our Adversaries, and that of a still-new species which is not even fully understood. You must understand this, Captain Austin. I am sure you do.”
She sighed. “I wish I didn’t. But yes, I understand.” She looked up—even though that was silly, the Arena wasn’t really in any particular location. “Arena, if I refuse, what happens?”
“The results of the race will stand and the awarding of the prize will commence. There will be political and personal issues that you will be forced to confront due to this unusual event.”
Translated: there’d be a lot of people who suspected some kind of underhanded trickery, maybe even, now that she thought of it, believe she had somehow managed to do it using the powers that were still locked away inside her. And Wu Kung, who was now staring at her with pleading emerald eyes wide, would forever be under a shadow of suspicion.
And for him, honor’s one of the most important things in the universe.
It was that—and, possibly, a tiny bit of her own curiosity—that decided her. “All right, Wu. Arena, I give permission. With the restrictions mentioned, show us all the truth that Sun Wu Kung wants us to see.”
“By your command.”
Suddenly she floated in an omniscient void, looking down and through, as seven young people sat around a table, and joked and laughed, and one had an idea, and the others started discussing it…
…the same seven, and more people, both virtually and physically present, and the talk becoming something more serious, examining possibilities, designs which could be made, what could never be achieved, and what might be possible.
A shimmering tracery of girders, nanoassemblers and automated machines spinning a web, girdling it with cables and reinforcing ring-carbon, steel and aluminum and titanium, an immense shining colony…
And now images, so fast she could barely grasp them, yet could sense the emotions, the impressions, the gestalt that each image represented: a blond man in a gold uniform, stripes meaning “Captain” on his sleeve; the ebon skin and flowing indigo hair of Erision, facing the Unreality Effect for the first time; a familiar red-headed girl leaping from a building and gliding to safety on a parasail; DuQuesne staring up at the Skylark with his friend Richard Seaton; a tall, dark-haired figure in red and blue, streaking into the sky with a thought; her old virtual friend and first crush Tarellimade, staring through greenery at the woman he would one day marry; a blonde girl facing a monstrous vampire, wooden stake in her hand; Wu Kung, emerging from his sealed stone prison, startled to see a woman’s face beneath the hat of a monk; and dozens, hundreds more, each a figure of legend large or small.
Then the impression of rage, of betrayal, and shadow was cast over the brilliance, and the sound was of screaming and fighting, guns and swords and fists in the dark, and more flashes of single scenes: the red and blue standing back-to-back with one wearing red, white, and blue and holding a shield; the gold-uniformed man standing straight, holding a salute, as in the screen before him a woman, dark-haired, wearing a beret and eyepatch, saluted him, and then Maria-Susanna, screaming as she held the gold-uniformed man’s body; eighteen men, all different yet, somehow, all the same, poised for combat around a strange blue box.
And still more; four children in strange costumes fighting alongside an assortment of gray-skinned, orange-horned creatures that were, themselves, children, and the blood all around was purple, blue, green, brown, and even red; Wu Kung staggering forward, drugged and slow, to be beaten down to the ground; a tall, slender man sitting in a Victorian dressing-gown, immobile, waiting in a cluttered apartment with a strange pattern of bullet-holes on the wall, an apartment that suddenly disappeared, and in that moment the man raised a pistol he held in one hand…
Without warning they were back, the room now too bright, sterile and cold, and the glory and madness and anguish of those two decades compressed into moments almost brought her to her knees; she swayed and was caught by DuQuesne, whose face was white, with tears leaving shining streaks behind. “Not again,” he was murmuring. “Not again.” Nearby, Tunuvun was half-collapsed, his gaze flickering incredulously between Wu Kung and DuQuesne.
Wu Kung was standing now, shaking, glaring at Selpa and Byto; the Leader of the Vengeance had sagged to the floor, his legs vibrating, and the rhinoceros-like Byto uttered a gasp of disbelief and pain. “What do you say now, Vengeance-ones? What of my honor now?”
Trembling still, Selpa rose and then bobbed before Sun Wu Kung. “I …retract the implication.” The translated voice was raw with horror, disbelief, revulsion. “You …your people …this was true?”
“Every last bit,” DuQuesne said, voice rough. “And you didn’t see the half of it.”
“Do you understand?” the Arena asked.
“Yes,” Byto spoke finally, with the same disbelieving horror in his voice. “These …people. They …those were their native worlds. So whatever enhancements were made to them …were natural. By the Arena’s own decrees, they retain all they were made with …for they did not know they were made, or even that there was another world in which they could have been made.”
“Then do you withdraw the objection?”
Selpa rocked so his eyes stared full at DuQuesne and Wu Kung, horror still writ large in that pose. “Yes. It is withdrawn.” The tilted gaze turned to her, and Selpa tightened with what had to be not merely horror but revulsion. Why?
Even as she asked the question, she understood. Because now he knows that we were capable of creating Hyperion. He knows just how far human beings can go even in their own system, against their own species.
“You will retain this knowledge, Selpa’A’At and Byto of the Vengeance, as well as you, Tunuvun of the Genasi, but you will be incapable of conveying this knowledge to any others. You will also recognize that none of those responsible for Hyperion are present, or likely to be present in the Arena.”
“Understood.” Selpa’s voice was finally dropping to its normal controlled register; Byto echoed the agreement. Tunuvun simply bowed.
Instantly they were back in the amphitheatre. Once more the golden light cleared a path, and this time Ariane could see that a tall raised platform lay before them, with a stairway winding to the top. “Sun Wu Kung,” the Arena intoned, “the objection has been withdrawn, your victory untainted and uncontested; step forward, and receive the prize.”
That’s right, she remembered. The selected champion claims the prize first.
Since the prize was an entire Sphere, she wasn’t sure how this was going to be handed out; strong as Wu was, she suspected lifting twenty thousand kilometer-wide Spheres was a little out of his range.
The cheers had begun again as Wu Kung, once more proud and happy, stepped jauntily forward, barely keeping himself to a semi-dignified walk rather than the all-out sprint she could tell he would prefer. Strains of music echoed around them, a fanfare or tribute to a winner that, while alien, still managed to evoke a kinship with other, similar ceremonies on Earth, including her own experiences in the Winner’s Circle back home.
Finally the four of them—Wu Kung, DuQuesne, herself, and Tunuvun—reached the top of the platform. A beam of pure white light touched Wu Kung as he stretched out a hand, and something glittered within, a something that floated steadily downward, sparkling like a jewel, until she could see that it was a perfect crystal sphere, with a white-glowing symbol within.
“You have won
Racing Chance in Challenge, Sun Wu Kung, and thus the prize is yours. This token is yours. Whoever presents it to the Vengeance, they shall be given a Sphere and all the privileges of the Arena that are the right of every Citizen of the Arena.”
Wu Kung caught the jewel and held it in wonder. “A Sphere…”
She saw DuQuesne stiffen.
“A Sphere that becomes a home,” Wu murmured, staring at the sparkling crystal, enraptured. “DuQuesne! It could be …it could be our home!”
Oh, no. No, Wu. But she understood exactly what Wu Kung was thinking: a home for the Hyperions. Perhaps, just possibly, a home for their friends, too, the friends locked away as patterns in quantum states. Wu came from a place that believed in such miracles, and with the power of the Arena …was it entirely impossible?
And could anyone in Wu’s position not be tempted—terribly tempted—by that possibility?
DuQuesne swallowed hard. “Yes. Yes, Wu. It could.” She could tell that Marc did not dare push Wu Kung one way or the other. The Arena had given Wu Kung this treasure, and it was his, and his alone …and pushing Sun Wu Kung would probably end poorly anyway.
Tunuvun stood, rigid as steel, staring in mute fear. The Monkey King is also known for his caprice…
And then Wu grinned. “We have to get one for ourselves!” he shouted, and then tossed the priceless gemstone into the air, so it came down perfectly into a stunned Tunuvun’s hands. “Now—we have a celebration!”
The cheers that erupted around them were nearly deafening, and a swarm of Genasi sprinted up the column and caught up Wu, lifting him high. “A celebration for our rights and our victory, Sun Wu Kung,” Tunuvun said, and his translated voice was thick with near-tears of joy, “and for you, who gave it to us when we thought all lost. And you, who I now know never had a true home …You were my brother before, now you are brother to us all. You are Genasi now and forever, no matter what else you may be, and forever will our home be your home as well!”
Wu Kung laughed as they flung him high and caught him again. “Then I have gained many brothers and sisters today! A wonderful thing to celebrate!” He grinned down at the rest of them. “Time for a party!”
“Yes, Wu,” she agreed, smiling her relief and echoing his excitement. “It is definitely time for a big party!”
Chapter 12
“As always, a fine celebration,” Orphan said, observing Wu Kung trying to imitate a whirling dance by three of the Genasi, while a laughing crowd of a dozen species watched the performance. “Afterward, however, would I be correct to hope that you and Captain Austin will be free?”
“You mean, to go on your little jaunt into the back end of nowhere? That’s the plan,” DuQuesne answered. He had noticed the tall alien had a particularly cheerful demeanor—even more, in his estimation, than the simple fact of the victory would have been expected to cause. He’s definitely got another secret that’s amusing the hell out of him. “Barring someone else throwing an emergency curveball at us. Which I hope won’t happen for a few days, so that we’ll be well gone and leave the others to deal with it.”
“So you have already made most of the necessary arrangements? Excellent. Might I ask who will be serving as Faction Leader in Ariane’s absence?”
DuQuesne thought a moment, but didn’t see any harm in telling him; it wasn’t as though the information wouldn’t be general knowledge soon enough. “Carl Edlund and Laila Canning,” he said, reaching out and grabbing a mini-sandwich from a nearby platter. “Simon’s going to advise them, too, but he’s got other work to do that we don’t want interrupted.”
“Research in the Analytic Archives being a large part of it, I would presume,” Orphan said with a handtap, and helped himself to a crustacean of some sort.
DuQuesne ignored the faint but audible crunch as whatever piercing mechanism Orphan hid inside his mouth-proboscis penetrated the shell, and looked narrowly at the green and black alien. “Just how did you know about that?”
“Oh, I was able to deduce it from conversations with both Researcher Relgof and Simon himself. An extremely interesting situation, if I guess aright. How long does he have access?”
“Sorry, that’s need-to-know, and you don’t need to know,” DuQuesne said with a grin.
“Of course. No harm in asking, however.”
“None at all, as long as you drop it like that whenever we say it’s off limits—and to your credit, you always have, so far.”
Orphan laughed and gestured vaguely around him. “But of course, Doctor DuQuesne; as I told you when first we met, the Arena is built on secrets; asking about them, and knowing when to stop asking, is the true lifeblood of Arena interactions.” His wide black eyes studied Wu Kung. “For instance, I would dearly like to know what was discussed in that interim when the five of you vanished, when old Selpa first objected, and then withdrew his objection. But I know for certainty that that secret must be one of considerable value, and if you ever wish to convey it to me, you will decide it on your own.”
Yeah. More value than you know. “Just like I’d be real interested to know what’s got you looking like a cat that just busted into the cream warehouse, but I figure you’re telling no one until you’re ready.”
“Doctor DuQuesne, you have some most refreshing turns of phrase, though I have a great suspicion that what I heard there bears relatively little relation to what you actually said. And yes, I am not yet ready to discuss that issue with you. But soon, I promise. Very soon indeed, with luck.”
A movement caught his eye and he turned to see the rhino-like Byto coming to a stop nearby. “Byto? I’m a little surprised to see you here.”
The shift of the head and body was somehow equivalent to a nod. “I had not originally expected to come …but I wished to speak with you for at least a moment.”
Orphan maintained his position, and while Byto glanced at the Leader of the Liberated, he made no indication that Orphan should leave. “Well,” said DuQuesne, “I’ve got no objections to that. What about?”
“I wished to say that you played an extremely good game—with, as far as I could tell, absolutely terrible alignment of chance against you.”
DuQuesne grinned. “And you played a hell of a game yourself, with the devil’s own luck.”
The massive form relaxed fractionally, and a snort was translated as a laugh. “DuQuesne, I have never had such a run of fortune in all my years. I was certain we would win …and at the same time, I felt it was almost unfair. If you have the opportunity …I would very much like to play you again, hopefully when the random factors are more equally distributed…” another snort, “…and you have no impossibilities waiting to save you at the end.”
“I’d like that, Byto. Tell you what, I’m going to be busy for a while, but as soon as I get a chance we’ll set up a game and choose some matched racers, and maybe do some less-apocalyptic-sized betting on the outcome.”
“So let it happen!” Byto bobbed his huge head in what seemed the rough parallel of a bow, and moved off.
“That was auspicious,” Orphan observed. “Byto is one of the best players of most games of skill and chance combined in the Arena. Having him on friendly terms with you cannot help but be a good thing.”
“That’s my take on it. He’s still wound up over exactly what happened there, but I guess the game’s more important to him. Selpa didn’t come, and I’m not sure we’ll see him for a while.”
“Someday,” Orphan said with that tilt that indicated a wry smile, “I would very much like to know what the objection was (though I could guess that much), and how, precisely, you managed to counter it.”
Given that it’s one of our biggest secrets? Not likely. “Don’t hold your breath, Orphan. That’s a secret worth more than you’re likely to offer.”
“Unsurprising,” he said with equanimity. “The objection being what I suspect, anything that could counter it would be …extraordinary.”
Across the room, DuQuesne saw Ariane finally disengage from what
had been a long conversation with Nyanthus and Mandallon and start making her way towards DuQuesne.
“Orphan,” she said with a cheerful nod. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Greatly, yes,” Orphan replied. “But I noticed your most direct approach to our location, and suspect you wish to speak to Doctor DuQuesne rather than myself.”
Good eyes as usual; that’s what I figured.
Ariane gave a half-smile. “As usual, you’re right. But you don’t have to move. Come on, Marc, I want to talk with you somewhere quieter.”
DuQuesne nodded and followed her out of the Embassy ballroom and down a hall that led to one of the smaller conference rooms. “What’s up, Captain?” he asked, as the door slid shut.
“Hold on.” She went around the room with a device in her hand, scanning carefully. DuQuesne, recognizing what she was doing, stayed quiet.
Finally, she straightened, then gave instructions to the Embassy directly that included both electronic and sound insulation, as well as physical security (i.e., locking the door against intrusion).
“That secure, huh?”
“Did I do the job right?”
“You mean checking? Yeah, looks like you should have covered pretty much everything. You’re a quick learner. So, what’s the deal?”
She sat down, gesturing him to join her. “Marc, this is one of the few times I’m separated from Wu without having to order him away, so I wanted to get a few answers from you now.”
Right. I kinda expected this. “Go ahead, Captain.”
“I think I’ve finally put two and two together. What happened today—what Wu had the Arena show us—and the discussion afterwards, plus a couple other things, tells me what that secret is you were telling Oasis—“K”—in private.”
“And that is …? ”