by Sharon Lee
Hyacinth stuttered and things seemed to slide a little out of focus for a moment, then the gyros kicked in and reality steadied once more.
Corbinye held her breath, neither daring to look up or to a side. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anjemalti raise his cup, then put it down.
"Corbinye."
Still she dared not raise her eyes and kept her face bent toward her bowl, like a child discovered in wrongdoing. "Anjemalti."
"That was secondary transition, was it not?"
"Secondary transition, yes." Gods, gods, let him not . . .
"I wonder if you might share with me, cousin, an overview of our itinerary."
Mild as milk—and able to flash into fury in a heartbeat, if he in anywise resembled his uncle. Corbinye called on her courage and raised her face to look squarely into his eyes, as befitted a Worldwalker addressing her Captain.
"Anjemalti, since we had first met, it was my avowed purpose to return you to the Ship. I have made no secrets of this; I have asked you enough times to accompany me of your own heart. Had your—had your friend been in need of succor, then most assuredly I should have targeted Cheyenne." She drew a breath and kept her eyes steady on his, which were blue and unreadable. "Since that was not the case, and in the absence of orders from the Captain, I set course for Gardenspot."
"In the absence of orders from the Captain," Gem repeated softly, and sighed. He was tired, suddenly; bone weary and lethargic. Corbinye's duplicity—no, he reminded himself: her single-minded adherence to her duty—failed to raise even a spark of annoyance in him. He sipped lukewarm tea and pushed back from the table.
"So, then," he said, and noted how relief loosened the muscles around her eyes, around her mouth. "We to Gardenspot, as predicted by the First Captain." He stood. "Witness should find The Tomorrow Log fascinating."
He took up the Trident before he walked out, leaving half a cup of tea and nearly all his rations behind.
"Now where to?" Corbinye cried, loud enough for him to hear, except that he chose not to.
"Perhaps to meditate," said Witness, rising as well and heading for the door. "Anjemalti the Chief has plans to make, now that he is certain of the Smiter's favor."
"And you?" she snarled. "Where are you going that you can't even finish your rations?"
"I am Witness for the Telios," he said, and stepped into the hallway an instant before a bowl of cold gruel hit the wall where his head had been.
Chapter Forty-Three
The cabin he had chosen for his own smelled faintly of flowers and the bed he had rumpled showed signs of having once been lovingly ordered. The locker, obedient to a tweak from Number Fifteen, opened to display a Spartan wardrobe of trousers and shirts, all meticulously clean, several carefully patched—all sized to fit a Corbinye who was no more. Gem stared at them, dry-mouthed and heart-stopped, for several frozen seconds, before shutting the door and turning away to sit on the bed.
He pulled the Trident across his lap and bent his head to study the whirls and whys of the old, alien circuitry. Absently, he patted his pocket and pulled out the little urn that held the Fearstone. He laid that aside and groped in the pocket again, barely looking up from the Trident long enough to screw the loupe into his eye.
It was there: Blasted bits of wiring; broken transistors; the remains of capacitors—Yet all was not destruction, he saw as he bent closer. Here and there whole systems remained coherent, connected. And who was to say whether the nuts, shells and gemstones were not also part of a system or systems, independent of or integrated with the bits of system he very nearly recognized?
He put his attention on one seemingly whole system of wires, tracing the route through the rubble, noting where it made connection with a capacitor, where it crossed another system of wires, where it wound tightly, over and under, a faceted gem, where—
Gem sat back and pulled the loupe from his eye.
"How long has it been since the Smiter was damaged?" he asked, not bothering to turn, knowing that the other would be standing near, attentive to all.
"There are several Memories which show that the Smiter did—overreach event, Anjemalti. One of those was during the time of Chief Ral Ean Te, who brought the ships of the Bindalche's enemy—"
"Down from the skies," Gem finished, and twisted 'round on the bed so that he could see Witness where he sat in the doorway. "Was that the most recent time?"
Witness blinked.
"The most recent Memory of the Smiter's overreaching dates from the War Against The Combine, where Seeker-to-be-Chosen Vin Ean Li called upon the powers residing within her secret heart to join with the powers of the Smiter to blast the minions of foulness and destroy their unholy dam, which was a blasphemy upon the world and a hardship to the Bindalche, who live in the world."
Gem waited, then, when it seemed no more information was forthcoming, asked, "And did she succeed, Seeker Vin Ean Li?"
"Alas," said Witness, "but she did not, which is the reason the Bindalche find themselves shackled and contained to the home worlds. But it was a glorious striving, Anjemalti, full of rage and righteousness and worthy of any of the great Chiefs of the past. Many of The Combine's men went mad and drowned themselves before event cast forth its net and the Smiter was caught."
"How?" Gem asked. And, when Witness only looked at him with those sleepy, unexpressive eyes: "How was the Smiter caught?"
"By treachery, so teach the Telios. Event is not to be trusted, Anjemalti; recall it."
"Be certain that I shall," Gem returned. "But what was the physical experience of the Smiter's capture like? Was there no Witness—"
"Assuredly there was," this Witness said, almost sharply. "A glow was Witnessed, about both Smiter and Seeker, as will happen when the greater magics are wrought." His voice had taken on a cadence of ritual, and his eyes were full closed. "But this intensified and moved through the spectrum to violet, where it hung, pulsing. On the field, there was felt a great dismay of the spirit, so that several of the younger warriors among the Bindalche dropped their weapons. Some wept openly, with neither shame nor thought of shame. Screams came from among those who served the evil Combine, and at least one there turned her weapon upon herself, while more cast their weapons away and flung themselves into the trapped waters, which already were choked with dead.
"The Seeker stood apart, limned in light, the Smiter raised in beautiful defiance above her head, tines pointed at the enemy of the Bindalche. She gave voice to the war cry and in that moment the light contracted and terror crushed the hearts of all upon the field. None could look upon the Seeker; many shielded their faces from the sudden blast of heat. There was a high, keening cry, followed by a small popping sound and the field was released from terror.
"Where the Seeker Vin Ean Li had been, there was glassed sand. The Smiter lay quiet beside the spot." Witness opened his eyes.
"What happened then?" Gem whispered.
Witness sighed and shook his head, wearily. "There was a rout, Anjemalti, though it shames me to say it. The Bindalche ran and The Combine pursued and eventually were victorious. One from the rank of warriors was bold enough to lift the Smiter and run with it to the Telios, who replaced it within its Center. That one was not a Seeker, you understand, but the Smiter relishes boldness. He carried the marks of the Goddess' favor, burned into palms of both hands, until his death." He sighed again.
"Vin Ean Li was the last of the great Seekers. Her death ended an epoch."
"How long ago?" demanded Gem.
Witness frowned. "Forty of your standardized years, Anjemalti, as closely as I am able to cipher."
"Forty years." Gem closed his eyes, rubbed them and blinked at the Smiter, quiescent across his lap. "And now it wakens. Why?"
Witness did not answer.
Gem sat looking at the Smiter, thinking that wiring could be replaced; thinking that electronics could be rebuilt, reorganized, empowered. Thinking that—
"A great dismay of the spirit . . ." he murmured, and reac
hed for the Fearstone's urn.
He paused with his hand on the stopper, staring intently at the wall, Witness thought. Or perhaps beyond the wall, to the place only Chiefs and gods can see.
Slowly, Gem set aside the sealed urn. Then, movements growing ever more precise, he laid the Trident across the bed, and began to touch various studs on his wristlet.
Spiders streamed from his sleeves, from beneath his collar, from within his pockets, from under his hair. Eyes of purple, yellow and green glowed as they approached the Smiter and scrambled up among the various protrusions and took position.
Each of the nine was given a section to walk and map and probe. Each was required to report every finding, every detail, no matter how minute. Gem fiddled with the wristcomp, dumping backup systems ruthlessly, to make room for the incoming data. Then he walked over to the doorway and sat down by the Witness.
"Will you wake the Smiter to fullness, Anjemalti?" asked that one.
Gem glanced sideways, humor glinting. "Are you allowed to ask such things?"
"Information offered from those who knowingly challenge event can only enhance the Witnessing, thus enlarging the Memory," returned Witness, deadpan as always. He met Gem's eyes. "You ask of me, do you not?"
"Most assuredly I do," Gem said, surprised at his own sudden laugh. "And likely to ask more of you, since Corbinye has set us for her ship—and nothing but trouble to come of it, either." He sighed and waved a hand at the Trident, or at the spiders, so busy and so bold.
"It distresses me to see a device ill-used and badly kept. The thing was meant to do something, after all. Why should it not be returned to a state wherein it may function according to its design?"
"Have you powerful enemies, Anjemalti?"
He started, then shook his head. "It would seem so. The Vornet—it must have been a Vornet warwagon, hidden among the port vehicles, that blasted Dart out of the sky. The port has nothing like that mobile. And if the Vornet chooses to follow us off-planet . . ." He moved his shoulders, as if to throw off the worry plain on his face.
"Corbinye took us into primary transition quickly. I doubt any could have traced her coords. Even if they had, extrapolating destination from preliminary transition is—" He stopped, turned to stare, wide-eyed at Witness.
"Why did the Bindalche tithe Jarge Menlin in hesernym?"
"Anjemalti, it was what he asked of them. The Bindalche are sworn to serve the Seeker of the Smiter in whatever manner such Seeker demands. In return, the Seeker and the Smiter work to alter event to the benefit of the Bindalche."
"Saxony Belaconto wanted the Trident so she could control the hesernym trade," Gem nearly whispered. "It's the only reason she ever wanted it—the only reason she thinks anyone would want it."
"Then she will gather her minions to her and set forth immediately for Spangiln and for Bindal," said Witness, calmly. "She and hers will face you and Corbinye Faztherot, Death's Warrior, and the Smiter, which you have sworn to restore to glory." He smiled then. It was the first time Gem had seen him smile—slow and sweet. Childlike. "It will be a Memory to outshine all Memories, Anjemalti. The Bindalche will recall you in the Rolls of the Chiefs forever."
Chapter Forty-Four
"Back-up System Six?" Corbinye blinked at him in bafflement. "It is what it says it is, Anjemalti—the backup for Ship System Six, should there be failure."
Gem stifled his burst of annoyance. "Certainly. But my question, cousin, is: How vital is this system to the safety of ship, crew and passengers? What is the effect if System Six should fail, and there be no backup to immediately take over its function?"
She frowned and leaned a hip against the panel-ledge, arms crossed under her breasts. "Effect on safety of personnel, should there be no backup of System Six, is minimal," she said finally, speaking slowly and distinctly, as if he were a child—or a half-wit. "System Six is itself a redundant protocol, responsible for powering outer hatches, docking lights, hold environment and pallets. It is most likely to be used when the ship is on a coldpad and there is cargo to unload. Otherwise, MainComp orders those functions." She shrugged.
"So the backup for that system is unlikely to missed, even if there should be failure," Gem concluded. "Good." He began to ply his wristband.
Corbinye watched with trepidation as the spiders scrambled down Anjemalti's trouser-legs and started purposefully toward her.
"Perhaps you should rethink your strategy," she said. "This is a sealed bank."
"Ah," he returned, not even looking up from his wrist.
The first spider, smaller than Number Fifteen and green-eyed, reached her boot, detoured around and vanished through the seam where wall met floor.
"How . . ." she breathed and then gasped as a second spider—larger, with its eyes glowing violet, also vanished behind the panel.
"Anjemalti!" she cried sharply, to capture his attention. "What are you doing to my ship?"
He did glance up at that, with a glint of grim humor that she mistrusted. "But I thought that I was the Captain, and that the Ship and all ships dependent upon the Ship, and all the Crew, belonged to the care of the Captain."
"But I pilot this ship! How if you render it incapable? How if you damage a primary system? What—"
"By cannibalizing the backup of a redundant system? After I was assured by the ship's pilot that no danger would maintain, should this specific system fail?" His shrugged. "Be easy, Corbinye. I may find nothing I need."
"May—" Movement by her boot drew her eye and she pounced, slapping her cupped hand over what marched, amber-eyed and courageous, in the wake of his fellows. "No!"
Gem froze, fingers hovering over the wrist-comm, and all the spiders froze as well, those within the panel as well as those without.
"Corbinye—"
"No!" she repeated, in no calmer tone, and straightened, holding her hand cupped against her breast, spider eyes gleaming yellow through her fingers.
"You shall not require it of him!" She cried and her eyes were damp, her face fevered. "After his courage and his loyalty you shall not force him into warfare with my ship, Anjemalti, and that I do swear!"
Gem stood with his fingers poised over the studs that would enable Number Fifteen to free itself, to clamber down and across the floor and enter the working behind the panel. He looked at Corbinye, who met his eyes plainly, though she trembled—he saw it. He thought of her as she had been, laying the ruined spider before him, and her knife; bending the knee and asking Captain's Mercy. . ..
"Very well," he said softly. "He is yours, Corbinye. I had not thought the matter through."
Her face relaxed somewhat, though she still kept her fingers caged about the spider. Gem bent back to his bracelet and started the spiders marching once more—all of those that remained his own.
* * *
In the end, the panel yielded wiring, and various electronic bits and bothers. Gem loaded his booty into a collapsible crate, checked the tally of spiders—eight with him, one elsewhere—stood and brushed at the knees of his trousers.
Corbinye had long since taken herself to another portion of the ship—perhaps even to the bridge; he resisted the temptation to query Number Fifteen regarding exact location. Instead, he hefted the box and bore it away down the hall, toward his cabin and Shlorba's Smiter.
The Smiter was where he had left it, across the bed in the dim room. From his post in the doorway, Witness glanced up, eyes focusing slowly into reality.
"Anjemalti," he said, by way, Gem supposed, of greeting.
"Witness for the Telios," he responded, and stepped over the threshold, placing the crate carefully in the middle of the limited floor space.
He fetched the Trident and the Fearstone's urn from the bed and sat, clumsily cross-legged, beside the crate before unfolding the printout he had coaxed from Hyacinth's antiquated system.
"What is that, Anjemalti?" Witness had drawn closer; sat facing him across the crate.
Gem turned the paper so the other could see the diagr
am and the microprinted lists of specifications. "The schematic," he said tiredly, "for the Smiter."
Witness for the Telios frowned. "You believe that Shlorba's Smiter is a—machine?"
Gem rubbed his forehead and tried to focus on the tiny print. "I think," he said, only half minding what he said, "that there are many sorts of devices, with many governing protocols, in the universe. To call something a machine is to limit its destiny. Form follows function, after all. This is a device which was designed with a specific purpose in mind. At one time, it fulfilled that purpose. It took damage and no longer functions. Logic would indicate that repair of the damage would allow it to function once again."
There was silence from the Witness, which was welcome. Gem bent close to the schematic, marking out the places where the original wiring was gone; hesitated a moment and glanced at the bounty Back-up System Six had provided.
"I intend," he said to the Witness, "to rewire the entire system, then repair the other damage. These places—" he held up the schematic again and touched the spots with his finger "—would seem to have once housed gemstones. Have you any Memory that would tell me what stones these were?"
The brown eyes filmed over, as if, Gem thought, the man had an inner eyelid, like a lizard. A minute passed, then two. Gem sighed and returned to the schematic. After a time, he put it aside and touched the wristcomp, ordering the tireless spiders out, and set Numbers Six and Twelve to the task of stripping complicated, ship-system wire down to simple pairs. Number Eleven and Fourteen he set to cleaning out the blasted receptors and transmitters along the Smiter's surface. Then he reached for the urn.
He had barely worked the stopper loose when Witness spoke.