by Spoor,Ryk E
“Yes. And some conflicts that weren’t, strictly speaking, Challenges. But like you said, we came here for a reason, so I’d like you to answer a question or two, instead of just me talking.”
“Ask away, Arrie. Can’t absolutely guarantee an answer, but won’t hurt to ask.”
Here goes nothing. “Do you know how to teach someone to use the powers of the Shadeweavers or the Faith?”
The imitation-Grandaddy didn’t answer right away; he gazed at her with a faint smile on his face, taking an occasional sip of his beer as he studied her. Then, just as she was about to speak again, he said, “Why would you need anyone to do that? Both of those groups’ll gladly teach anyone who gets the initiation. Hell, they keep the initiation tight so that they’re the only game in town.”
“Usually, yes. But…” She concentrated, and in a flash of silver-gold light, swapped her current clothes for the uniform that had been created in the moment of her apotheosis.
The entire simulation flickered, and for a moment she stood again in a shadowed gray room, facing a simulation of her grandfather that stood rigid and blank-eyed. It was a full second or three before the farmhouse reformed around her with its scents of old wood and coffee and barbeque. “Well, dye me pink and call me a pig. You’ve got the power without being either? I will be dipped. Absolutely dipped. That shouldn’t be possible.” Another chuckle, touched with the alien tone. “And that is the second impossible thing I have seen this day. Fearsome indeed.”
I’ll bet he’s talking about DuQuesne. “So are you going to answer my question?”
A slow smile spread across Grandaddy’s face, a smile like the one he’d worn when she first convinced him to take her for a ride in one of his antiques. “Answer it? All right, Arrie. Yes, Vindatri knows how to teach someone about those powers. He’s got the data, archives going back millennia. Maybe not the Encyclopedia Galactica, but good enough. That what you’re here for?”
“Mainly, yes. And paying a debt and a promise we made to Orphan.”
“Well, now, that’s fine. Good to know Orphan managed to make himself a few friends. Lord knows he needs ’em in his line of work.” While the words were very much Grandaddy, the motion was still a little off, and his next words showed that Vindatri must be aware of it. “I have to say, I’m still a little shellshocked by that trick you pulled. Never happened before. Never heard of it happening before. I …Vindatri …will need to think a bit on this. Your other friends, they’ve had their surprises too, but yours takes the cake. Put your glass in the sink and run along, Arrie—you’ll find your friends waitin’ for you just down the road.”
“Are they all right?”
“Be a poor host who hurt his guests the first hour they were in his house, wouldn’t it? They’re just fine, Arrie. Maybe a bit peeved and confused—like you—but no real harm done. Go talk it over with ’em, and we’ll talk again later, without all the different masks.”
She rose and put the glass into the old stainless-steel sink, then looked over at the illusion of her grandfather. “Vindatri …this was a very well done illusion. And …I guess a part of me really wanted to see Grandaddy again. So …it’s okay. Thank you, even.”
The smile, also, seemed to have two people behind it. “Then you’re very welcome, Ariane Stephanie Austin. Now go meet up with your friends. See, time goes by differently for each of you in these interviews, so they’ve been waiting a bit.”
That makes sense, actually; he probably wanted to devote most of his attention to each person as he interviewed them, so he had to stretch out the perceptions of the others during that time. Which meant she’d been here at least three, maybe four or more times as long as she’d thought. “On my way!”
As she walked, the sun faded, the landscape went ghostly and disappeared, and she found herself striding quickly down a brightly-lit passageway that ended in a trapezoidal door. The door slid open as she approached, and she saw, seated around a table, DuQuesne, Wu Kung, and Orphan. “Good to see all of you!”
The others leapt to their feet, even Orphan. “Captain! Glad to see you’re okay too,” DuQuesne said.
“Indeed!” Orphan’s voice was emphatic. “I did not, of course, expect Vindatri to do anything …extreme, but as you realize I do not know him well, so there was a degree of concern.”
Wu had already made his way over to her and surveyed her, sniffing. “You were upset, but you are not hurt. Good.”
That’s an impressive nose he has. “But you look …a little scuffed up, Wu,” she answered. And it was true; the Hyperion Monkey King’s costume was somewhat askew in areas, and she thought she saw darkening under the fur of one cheek.
“Ha! This Vindatri’s version of Sha Wujing and I had a discussion …sometimes with our fists!”
“Of course you did. Look, can I sit down and we can all talk about what happened?”
“Sure,” DuQuesne said. “Though remember that whether he’s here or not, Vindatri’s probably listening in.”
“Yes, I’d expect he must be,” Ariane said, pulling out a chair at the table and sitting down. There were three platters of various snacks on the table, one obviously for Orphan and the other two apparently meant for human consumption. “This stuff all checks out?”
“One hundred percent,” DuQuesne affirmed, “which tells us one hell of a lot about Vindatri’s abilities. He obviously didn’t know much about us before talking to us, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t know squat before we got to his area of space, otherwise he wouldn’t need Orphan to go playing messenger boy. So he managed to get a read on us and whip up quite a spread in the time he was interviewing us—and I’m pretty sure most of his attention was focused on us, not setting up a snack bar.”
That did emphasize that Vindatri’s powers went considerably beyond making quick sims and having a very impressive and distant secret base. “So he evaluated us, matched biochemistries, and somehow figured out something about our palates in that period of time. That is pretty impressive.” She looked at the others. “So what happened to the rest of you? What was your private conference like? Orphan?”
“Mine? I would suspect the least entertaining of us all. I saw Vindatri again and he asked me a few questions about you—after instructing me to tell him nothing other than the precise and most limited answers to his questions.”
“So he didn’t want you supplying any more information than he asked for?” That actually made some sense. “He wanted to evaluate us as much as possible without having any preconceived notions. So what did he ask you?”
“Hm. First he asked if all of you were part of the same Faction, to which I answered yes. Then he asked if you were part of the same species, to which—after some hesitation—I answered that I believed so, but was unsure.” Orphan paused, then gave one of his decisive handtaps and continued. “He then asked if I was here to fulfill both of my conditions, to which I also answered yes. And that, I am afraid, was the entire substance of my interview.”
DuQuesne studied him. “And you still can’t tell us the second condition or requirement he had on you?”
“Not as of this moment, no. I am hoping that restriction will be eased soon.”
She turned to Wu Kung. “So, did you actually keep your temper?”
“Well…” Wu Kung shifted in his seat. “Mostly. As I told you, I met Sha Wujing, or really an imitation of him. The imitation was …good, but not perfect. At first I could smell it was not him, but then the smell got closer.”
“Hmm. Tells me that Vindatri’s not scent-oriented,” DuQuesne said. “Visually and audibly his illusions or sims were spot-on from the start, and the only bobbles I noticed were when things weren’t going the way Vindatri expected or was used to.”
“Most people like you don’t use your noses much,” Wu pointed out.
“Althought there are quite a few species with excellent scent capabilities,” Orphan said, “and I concur with Doctor DuQuesne’s conclusion; Vindatri must not be one of these, or he would have h
ad scent as a focus of your sim from the start.”
“Anyway, after I told him I knew he was a fake, I asked him why he was too much of a coward to show his real face.”
“This was your idea of behaving?” DuQuesne demanded.
“I didn’t even try to punch him then! I was behaving really well!” Wu Kung said defensively. “He laughed and said he just wanted to take a form that I was more comfortable with and that I could understand. So I said that I could understand any form he took well enough, and that all he needed to understand was that I was your bodyguard and I needed to get back to you.”
Wu’s face shifted into a scowl. “But instead he started asking me questions about you and why I wanted to be your bodyguard, and at first I told him about DuQuesne but then I said I liked doing it, and he asked why, and I told him how important you were to Humanity and all that, and then that fake Sha Wujing snorted at me and said that the real reason was that I couldn’t handle myself alone so I’d found a cheap substitute Sanzo! So THEN I hit him!”
Of course we were going to get to the hitting sooner or later. “And did he hit back?”
The scowl turned into a grin. “Oh, yes! We had a fine sparring match, and I got to kick him through some of his simulated trees and he mashed my face in his phony dirt.” His green gaze was suddenly sharp and focused on her. “But I remembered to do it just like when I sparred with Orphan, so neither of us got really hurt.”
That look had a lot more meaning in it than just the words, and in a moment she’d fished it out. He’s not just saying he didn’t fight to kill; he’s saying he held back a lot to hide what he can really do. Orphan might blow that lie out of the water, of course, but it’s still the right move overall. She smiled. “Well, that’s good, Wu,” she said, catching his eye and nodding for emphasis to show she understood. “Wouldn’t want to hurt our host. Go on, though.”
“So we traded a lot of punches—and kicks and throws and all—but finally he admitted he might have sounded a little insulting, and he apologized, so we stopped fighting. He asked me about why I didn’t seem to be quite the same species, and,” another glance at both her and DuQuesne, “I told him I’d been genemodded a lot before I was born.”
He’s saying he kept presence of mind enough to not talk about Hyperion. Good work, Wu. “Well, that’s certainly the truth. Then what?”
“Well, he said he had a lot to think about and was still busy with the rest of you, so he sent me on to this room. That’s it.”
“Suggestive,” DuQuesne said after a moment. “He probably learned a lot about you by getting you fighting mad, but you surprised him with a couple things too.”
Wu looked smug. “I also learned he isn’t a fighter.”
“Really?”
“His simulation kept …what’s the word? Glitching, that’s it. It kept glitching for tiny fractions of a second during the fight.”
“Might be that he’s a fighter, but not your kind of fighter,” DuQuesne said. “Remember, he was trying to simulate Sha Wujing, who’d going to be fighting a damn sight different than Vindatri would, no matter what he’s really like. So the sim had to keep making split-second adjustments to keep things working anything like the way you’d expect.”
“Maybe. But I think he wasn’t used to lots of real combat.”
“Still, either way it’s interesting,” Ariane said. “How about you, Marc?”
DuQuesne nodded. “I’ll sum up in words, but since I recorded mine in headware, I’ll dump the whole thing to you.”
She opened a connection, felt DuQuesne access it and braced herself for the flood.
And then she found herself staring in open-mouthed disbelief at DuQuesne.
He noticed immediately. “Ariane? Ariane, what’s wrong?”
For several long moments, she still couldn’t speak. Finally, she got a grip on herself. Of all the things …This can’t be coincidence …but what else could it be? “Marc …take a look at this.” She sent him a quick clip of her own experiences.
He went pale beneath his olive skin. “Holy Mother of God. What in hell—”
“I don’t know either, Marc,” she said, voice shaking with disbelief. “But your ‘Professor Bryson’ …is my grandfather.”
Chapter 25
Dajzail ripple-walked from the airlock down the ramp; Alztanza himself waited there, holding his fighting-claws rigid in salute. “Guard not,” he said to Alztanza, who immediately relaxed his stance. “It is good to see you again, ‘Tanza.”
The Fleet Master clattered a smile at him and they briefly clasped claws. “And you, Daj. How was your journey?”
“Well enough, though it took me homeyears, it seemed, to extricate myself from the Embassy. I have selected temporary representatives, but they all needed individual instruction …so in any event it took me a while to get here.”
Alztanza rattled his claws in sympathy. “I do not envy you the administrative duties, Daj. For my part, it took me some time to reach here as well, as I traveled with my ships, and it takes no fewer than three Sky-Gate transitions to get here, one of them quite a long ride. Oh, greetings to you, Kanjstall,” he said as Dajzail’s Salutant stepped up near them, carrying the most vital of Dajzail’s luggage. “But in some ways, Daj, the time was well spent. I was able to complete arranging the basic strategy and drill our forces prior to your arrival, which is good. You know how the presence of an actual ruler can disrupt perfectly good training exercises.”
“True enough. So the entire two Forces are assembled?”
“All four thousand eight hundred and two vessels are here, yes. Of the original Force there were five not really suited for deployment, but I have received fine replacements for them. I would be honored if you would take Claws of Vengeance as your personal warship.”
“Claws of Vengeance? That would be a Twinscabbard vessel, yes?”
“It would,” said the Fleet Master, clearly pleased he remembered naming conventions well enough to make that deduction.
“Then I accept. A fine symbolism to lead from a vessel of the same class they destroyed, and such ships are excellent combinations of firepower and speed.” He saw Alztanza’s eye flickering in its scan. “No, I have no one else in my party.”
“Really? I had expected the Master of Forces, at the least.”
“Malvchait remains on the Homeworld, and is directing the assembly of the Fleet which will take their lowspace system, once we have secured their Sky Gates. That will be a matter of several turnings, I think.”
“I would expect so.” For a few moments Alztanza was quiet as they walked towards the military docking areas. “Faction Leader, might I ask if the secondary force is necessary?”
“In truth, I hope not,” he answered after a moment. “It will mean diverting a significant portion of our current military resources to one target which cannot be engaged for several homeyears at least, depending on how close we can Transition. That Fleet will have to come here and deploy, and deploying it will take a long time as well. If by terrible chance we are defeated here in Arenaspace, we would prefer to merely send near-lightspeed projectiles to destroy their worlds, but…”
Alztanza nodded. No military member of the Molothos could be unaware of the limitations the Arena imposed even in lowspace, including eliminating in one fashion or another any cataclysmic-level weapons or simply negating their effects. Fractional-lightspeed projectiles were one such weapon. “Still …if I may speak with all bluntness?”
Dajzail felt his head tilt, in the manner of a savaziene trying to find the best viewpoint. He and Alztanza had been second-nest friends, and even though they had been separated for a long time, he was startled that his friend would be so formal with him, especially in person rather than via official communications such as the one that had started this venture. “Always, ‘Tanza. Quicksand, friend, do you need to be so nervous around me?”
“You are not just Dajzail, the lightweight moltling that I kept from being pushed around by my nestmates. You�
��re the Leader of the Faction of the Molothos, and that means that yes, I have reason to be nervous—as you will probably see.” Alztanza took a breath so deep that Dajzail could hear it, and then spoke. “Daj …I am not sure this is a wise thing that we do.”
Dajzail stopped so suddenly that Kanjstall almost ran into him. He studied his friend and Fleet Master carefully with the full regard of his eye. “Kanjstall, please carry the luggage ahead and arrange transfer of the rest to Claws of Vengeance.”
Kanjstall, flicking his attention between them, asked no questions. “As you command,” he said, and ripple-walked away as fast as he could.
Once he was gone, Dajzail surveyed the quiet corridor carefully before turning back to Alztanza. “Explain your statement, ‘Tanza.”
His friend’s tension was—just slightly—less, realizing that by ensuring no witnesses Dajzail was also ensuring that there would be no one to tell him that he had failed to act properly. “Daj …first, the lowspace intrusion will reduce our ability to project force elsewhere. Especially in lowspace, since the majority of our forces are highspace-focused. We may be taking only a seventh of our total forces—which still is nothing to take lightly—but closer to fifty percent of our lowspace forces.”
Dajzail restrained an annoyed retort that of course he knew these things. Alztanza would realize that, and so there had to be more to it than that. “Say onward.”
“A lot of the undercreatures in our various systems may become restive if they believe we no longer have sufficient resources to control them,” Alztanza said bluntly. “Our lowspace military resources are outfitted for invasion, yes, but pacification and security are their other two missions, and we’re cutting those forces in half for a significant period of time for this mission.”
“But even if our current attack succeeds, ‘Tanza, we’ll need a lot of forces to send in and pacify the humans’ star system. Perhaps, I’ll grant you, not nearly this many, but it is also a statement, one that we will want to make known. But you’re right—we could at least wait until we know the outcome of this first strike mission. We’ll keep the forces assembling but they won’t deploy until we’ve secured the Upper Sphere and destroyed all exterior resistance. Better?”