by Ryk E. Spoor
“Excellent. More fissionables.” Simon placed the token on the board. “And right here near my city, so I can develop the mines.”
“By the Minds, I swear you cannot possibly be so fortunate,” Orphan said casually. “Still, it will take you some time to get those fissionable mines in play. I will remove one of your laborers.”
“How did you get—”
Marc grinned. “Sneaky. Should’ve seen that misdirection coming, but I didn’t. Thought you were putting the research into something else.”
“Cautious and conservative play will usually win over the long haul, gentlemen,” Orphan reminded them.
And it did, once more, though in this case only by a turn or two. “My good friends, you are learning fast indeed. I may have to be cautious about playing at all, or possibly find myself losing.”
“One of these days? Yes. Soon…I’m afraid I don’t think so.”
“You are a pessimist,” Orphan said. “Or possibly still playing the game now that it is over!”
Simon grinned. “It doesn’t hurt to keep you underestimating us.”
“I see. I will have to re-evaluate my perception of you, Doctor Sandrisson; I had thought you less devious than the rest of your species.” Orphan stood and put the fold-box containing the anghas game away. “Shall we dine?”
Dinner passed swiftly, and Simon spent the next couple of hours in a lounge room with a blue-green theme like some deep alien forest, reading some of the notes he had taken on his last visit to the Analytic’s Archives. He had discovered that the strange…knowledge, perception, understanding? He wasn’t sure what to call it…was hardly a constant companion. After that initial surge of near-omniscience, his next visits had been exactly the way he would have expected originally; a lot of wandering around to see all sorts of fascinating things, but nothing he was directly looking for. But then, I wasn’t after something so vital, and not nearly so frustrated and angry. Initial hypothesis, then, is that only sufficient stress will bring out this capability.
That did imply that if he figured out the key, he should be able to trigger it more reliably…unless it was something mediated by the Arena, which could undoubtedly tell if he was just trying to mimic desperation or anger instead of being actually furious or frustrated at something. Something to think about and test when I have the chance. Perhaps with Ariane; I am sure there is a connection between her dormant powers and whatever I have, and she might be able to sense or trigger something, even in her current state.
He dismissed the musings from his mind—Simon hardly intended to test a mysterious access to the knowledge of the Arena here, in Orphan’s ship—and read the notes he’d accumulated and copies of entries he’d managed to make.
DuQuesne stuck his head through the lounge doorway. “Hey, Simon, we’re getting close.”
“I’ll be right there.”
A few minutes later the door rolled up before him and he saw the dark wall of Nexus Arena covering most of the forward port. Still, that’s deceptive. We’re probably still almost an hour out.
Now, though, there were signs of movement, lights and dots that moved in more purposeful manners in the sky. “Orphan, I appreciate your willingness to let me examine the way in which your ships work—”
“No need to thank me for that, Doctor Sandrisson,” Orphan said with the most casual hint of a bow. “After all, you would be able to examine those I have loaned to you in excruciating detail.”
“Of course, though with you to explain it was much more informative. But what I was going to ask is if you could show me how to operate your viewing mechanisms here? I would very much like to examine the other ships we are passing.”
“Oh, but certainly.”
Orphan, or the Tantimorcan he had employed, obviously had spent a very long time thinking about usability problems, because for manual controls these were some of the simplest and most effective he had ever used. Once Orphan explained, he was able to locate a ship and zoom in on it with ease, holding the target steady and tracking without difficulty.
“That’s a hell of a wingspan,” DuQuesne said, seeing a streamlined vessel with gossamer wings like a spectral albatross a kilometer across.
Orphan glanced over. “Ahh, now, that’s a Genasi Skyfarer. They developed their technology entirely on their own for use in the Arena. That design is often used for long-distance cruises; they glide down in the gentle gravity fields, occasionally spending time rising in the upwellings, and make their way across distances of hundreds of Spheres.” He flicked his wings in a humorous way. “Of course, this one undoubtedly has considerably more advanced aspects to it.”
As they continued towards the Docks, Simon examined other ships; a wedge-shaped cargo vessel Orphan thought was of Vengeance design, a dandelion-seed drifter that no one recognized, vessels similar to Zounin-Ginjou in general outline.
Another ship caught his attention, clean sharp lines with few curves, guide-fins but little else breaking the flow of the design. “Who owns that? Do you know, Orphan?”
The sole member of the Liberated glanced up from adjusting their course. “Know? Nearly as well as I know Zounin-Ginjou, though far less fondly. That is Sethrik’s, or rather, the Blessed’s, flagship, Thilomon.”
“Really?” Simon found that very interesting. He had expected the Blessed and the Liberated to have very similar vessel designs—after all, where else would the Liberated have gotten their originals—but now that he thought of it, that was a silly idea. Orphan is—if we take his word for it—three thousand years old. He was born while ancient Greece was at its height, before Rome was founded. And he was not the first of the Liberated. Obviously they have had more than enough time to drift entirely away from the Blessed in aesthetics as well as politics.
Thilomon was, to Simon’s eye, a beautiful ship; there was a mathematical precision to her design that spoke of efficiency, economy, and power. The patterns on her hull…there are indeed Sandrisson Coils inlaid there. And she’s made such that I could imagine her in our space. Both Arena and real-space capable, then.
He blinked. Was there…something moving on the hull?
Not impossible, remember. We pass living creatures of all sizes and types regularly. A zikki even hitched a ride on Ariane’s Skylark during her race with Sethrik. He juggled the controls, zoomed in closer.
The figure was tiny, even at full magnification…yet the glint of gold from the staff on the figure’s back, the entirely humanoid outline, the spectacular glint of color…bakana. “Marc…”
His tone brought DuQuesne instantly to his side. “What is it, Simon?”
Simon pointed wordlessly.
DuQuesne squinted, then stiffened. “God-damn. That’s Wu!”
Orphan glanced around. “What?”
“But Marc, why in the world would Wu be…” he trailed off, as the only explanation struck him like a bucket of ice water.
“Only one reason, Simon. Ariane’s got to be inside. And if she’s inside, and Wu’s outside while that ship’s accelerating towards Mach speeds, then there’s something rotten in the state of Denmark.”
“Can we call them?” Simon asked. He spoke to the empty air. “Ariane! Ariane Austin! Arena, connect me to Captain Ariane Austin!”
No green sphere appeared, and DuQuesne shook his head. “Doesn’t work outside of Nexus Arena and maybe your own Spheres. Outside, never works.”
Simon stared at the little figure, now pressing itself down to the hull behind one of the few protrusions available. “Great Kami. Marc, they’re going to kill him.”
“Maybe. I sure don’t envy him.”
“At Mach speeds? Marc, he—”
“Dammit, I know! All I can hope is that he’s as tough as I think he is—and the clothes he’s wearing will help, they were made to mimic the legends he was made from…if he remembers that in time. But that’s not the question.” He turned to Orphan. “Orphan…”
The alien was not looking at them; he was staring resolutely forward, st
ill maneuvering Zounin-Ginjou towards one of the Docks.
“Dammit, Orphan!”
The green and black figure contracted slightly, then straightened. “Yes, Doctor DuQuesne?”
“You just heard. Don’t tell me you didn’t.”
A buzzing sigh. “Yes. They have captured Captain Austin and Sun Wu Kung is on the Thilomon’s hull.”
Simon restrained himself from shouting. There’s diplomacy here. We have to approach this right. He touched Marc’s arm, and the other man glanced at him. Their eyes met and he could see Marc understood.
DuQuesne took an audible breath, let it out. “Look, Orphan…Zounin-Ginjou is your ship. We can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do. I’m not going to try to force you. But…that’s the Blessed yanking our friend—and I hope, your friend—out from under our noses. Are you going to let that happen?”
Long moments passed, and Thilomon accelerated farther away. Simon could no longer make out Sun Wu Kung; whether he had been ripped off the hull or not was now something they might never know.
Finally, Orphan rose slowly from his seat, turned to face them, and spoke. “No.”
“No?”
“No, Doctor DuQuesne. I am not going to let that happen.”
Simon saw a grin matching his own blaze out on DuQuesne’s face. “Then turn this tub around!”
“Patience, my friends. Cautious and conservative play, remember. I have no doubt that Thilomon remarked our passage. They will undoubtedly be watching me for any sign of unusual behavior. I must proceed onward, as though we were oblivious to our friends’ plight. You understand?”
Simon saw DuQuesne’s fists clench, but the big man said nothing. Simon felt tension like edged wire around his heart, but forced himself to speak. “Yes. We understand.”
“I truly regret that we cannot simply turn and chase, but we must gain the advantage of surprise in some fashion. Even were we to turn immediately, I am afraid your friend Wu…well, he will have suffered whatever fate awaits him.”
DuQuesne’s face went stony-blank at that. Wu Kung was something very special to him, and I really don’t know what will happen to Marc if Wu dies. “But what if we lose sight of them?”
Orphan flicked his hands outward, his equivalent of a shake of the head. “Not a difficulty. You see, I am very much familiar with the major Sky Gates and routes used by the Blessed, and given the circumstances, there is only one route Thilomon will take: directly to the homeworld and the Minds themselves. Homesphere has no direct connection to Nexus Arena, unlike most species’ home systems, and thus in this we are fortunate. Two Gates in quick succession they must traverse, but then they must travel across a considerable gap to reach the next.” His face might not be expressive, but Orphan’s tone more than made up for it. “And it is there, my friends, in the empty sky, that we shall catch them.”
Chapter 31.
The airlock door slammed shut behind her, even as she tried to lunge back out. “Wu!”
“No, Captain Austin!” Sethrik said, not unkindly. “He is doing his job.”
“But—”
“It will be over one way or—”
Sethrik broke off. With consternation she realized the deck below her was moving.
Even as that registered, the inner lock door slid open. Four Blessed stood there, two on either side, all four with weapons drawn and aimed at the two in the airlock. Vantak stood some distance back, watching.
Sethrik stared for a moment, obviously stunned—as was she, too. “What the hell is going on here?” she demanded.
“Lower those weapons!” commanded Sethrik. “Vantak, what is the meaning of this?”
The four Blessed soldiers did not lower their weapons a fraction, and Ariane could hear the faint sideband hum that was associated with the species’ peculiar semi-hivemind capabilities. They’re working as a close-knit unit. All four will coordinate a lot better than four human beings. And they’re not going to underestimate me like they did the first time we met, either.
“Explanations, if any, will follow only after you are secured,” Vantak said coldly. He reached into one of his bandolier pouches and tossed what were obviously a form of handcuffs onto the floor in front of them. “Captain Austin, you will move slowly forward, pick up both sets of restraints, and give one to Sethrik. Sethrik will then put his on, and you will follow his example.”
Damn. It was starting to dawn on her that the attack on her outside had simply been a clever ploy, to separate her from the bodyguard whose capabilities they didn’t fully understand and therefore wanted to take no chances with. This still seems insane. But Vantak never sounded crazy, so there’s got to be some reason behind this.
She complied with Vantak’s instructions. The binders looped around the wrists and held lightly, but—as Vantak demonstrated—they would tighten and retract strongly if she made sudden moves, or if Vantak triggered that reaction by remote. Two of the guards then fell back to near Vantak, about fifteen meters away, and the other two gestured for them to come out of the airlock, and then stopped and searched the two prisoners.
The searchers were very thorough, Ariane admitted to herself. They got pretty much every piece of useful equipment that isn’t embedded in me. The searchers had even taken what little jewelry she normally wore. Sethrik also proved to have had an impressive cache of weaponry on his person, concealed in various pouches—some of which Ariane hadn’t even realized existed, such as the hidden pouch under one of his wingcases.
“Follow.”
Sethrik had obviously decided to not waste words until Vantak was ready to talk, so Ariane kept silent. It was good practice in controlling herself anyway, and if there was any chance of getting out of this situation alive, she’d damn well better stay controlled. Lose my head here and I probably will literally lose my head.
Sethrik had apparently decided to also bide his time, given that even the other Blessed weren’t obeying his orders.
Through subtly-alien corridors they were led, the four Blessed maintaining perfect separation; when the group entered a large elevator, Vantak had them kneel on the floor in two corners.
At one point, Vantak paused, listening to what was obviously a signal from somewhere else. “What…? No. Later. Continue on course.”
Finally they reached another corridor with an open door to one side; the guards herded them through the door, which closed quickly; as soon as the door closed, the binders loosened and fell off, leaving them free to move. The closed door was transparent—Ariane guessed it was probably transparent ring-carbon composite—so that anything that went on inside would be visible from the outside. No ambushing the jailers when they open the door, then. Cameras would undoubtedly cover any blind spots.
“Are you going to explain yourself, Vantak?” she asked finally. “You’ve just kidnapped the head of another Faction—and apparently your own head of Faction as well. I can’t offhand imagine why, or what you think it’ll get you.”
Vantak studied her, and his expression was that of a scientist observing an experiment. “I have duties to attend to. There is food for you both, and a bed suited for each. It will be roughly twelve hours before I have time for you; any arguments or demands will be ignored until then.”
He turned and left, taking the guards with him. Probably being monitored from every angle; no need for guards.
She turned to Sethrik. “Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
Sethrik flicked his hands out in the same gesture Orphan often used. “No. I have not the smallest idea, except that I am quite certain he has a very clear idea. The assassination attempt—”
“—was meant to take Wu out of the picture, yeah. I figured that out pretty fast.” She glanced around. “Don’t you have any…I don’t know, override codes or something to get us out of here?”
Sethrik’s wingcases scissored uncomfortably. “Not from within a secure holding cell. They have removed any tools I might have used to attempt an escape. I am afraid that there is
nothing to be done.”
She frowned. “I’m not giving up. Maybe this isn’t the right time, but you can bet the time will come.”
Sethrik was still for a moment, wearing that expression of confusion mixed with some little uncertainty, even fear, that often accompanied Arena natives when confronted by that attitude. Then he shrugged. “Perhaps, but that time is not now. Eating and rest are indicated.”
“I suppose. Why is it going to take so long for him to get back to us?”
“Vantak is going somewhere, and he will not relax until after successfully making a jump out of Nexus Arena’s space.”
She remembered the journey to the jump point to Humanity’s Sphere. “That makes sense. Can you tell which jump he’s making?”
“There are many Sky Gates which could be reached in that period of time—and some even closer,” Sethrik answered. “So no. I cannot tell. We will know when we reach our destination.”
Realizing Sethrik was right about the futility of attempting anything right now, Ariane went over and inspected the small table on her side of the room. There was a bowl of fruits of types she knew had been cleared by her people for human consumption, some sort of dried meat she didn’t recognize immediately, and some baked semicircular rolls. On Sethrik’s side were a number of different-colored globes and what appeared to be some very large insects, legs bound together rather as live lobsters’ claws would be. Remembering exactly how Orphan drank, she decided not to watch Sethrik if he was doing anything of the sort to the insects.
“Should I trust the food?”
Sethrik glanced at her, then gave a wing-shrug. “As we do not yet know his intentions, I cannot say for sure. Still, if he wished you injury he has ample opportunity, and we have not gained sufficient information on your species’ biology to know how to arrange more…subtle effects, even if such are possible for your people.”
“You mean conditioning and brainwashing?”