Wings of Creation

by Brenda Cooper

  I grunted, tempted to pour anyway. “Aren’t we safe here? At least tonight.”

  “We still have work to do.”

  “All I want to do is find Kayleen, then eat, and have a glass of wine, and sleep.”

  He looked at me as if I were a small child, which made me feel like one. “I’m sorry. But I’m tired.”

  “Me, too. But the longer it takes us to stop this war, the more people will die.”

  I poured a glass of water, being deliberately slow. “And hiding in a cave on a planet full of bird people will stop this war? And aren’t we only hiding from two people? How can they be such a threat?”

  Marcus sounded exasperated. “I’ll answer those backward. There are powerful people paying to have you killed. We can change that, but not immediately. And you and I are good, but we aren’t the only strong Wind Readers in the Five Worlds. Why do you think I’m warning you off the nets when you aren’t working?”

  He didn’t appear to want an answer so I took a bite of bread while he continued. “Lopali will make a difference in this war. We’re almost even, but without them . . . we might not win. If we can help them, earn their trust and get them to our side, we’ll have more power and a much, much better chance.”

  “If the people we’re trying to get them to fight alongside don’t kill us first.”

  “That’s right.” He picked up a grape and tossed it in the air, catching it easily. The next time he caught it in his mouth, completely breaking my anger. “Politics,” he said after he finished the grape, “very seldom makes any sense.” He plucked a slice of bread off the table and handed it to Sasha. She gobbled it up and stared at him for more. He picked out a few pieces of fruit.

  “So if politics doesn’t make any sense, how do you know when you’re doing the right thing?”

  “You trust yourself. Bring your plate. You need to see the war room.”

  Huh?

  We left the main room and walked down a wide hallway. Halfway down, Marcus waved his hand in front of a door, which opened for him. He stopped to let me pass, Sasha following at my heels.

  Inside, I stopped and stared. The far wall was entirely video, a view of space like I’d had from Creator. Only it wasn’t contiguous, it was chopped into squares, the edges visible primarily by the shifting of constellations and nebulae in the background. Here and there, ships appeared to fly in and out of the squares. As I looked closely, every square held a ship.

  The ships looked like the bigger ones we’d seen at Li Spaceport back on Silver’s Home, or at some of the space stations. Many had obvious weapons.

  I counted. Ten squares up, eleven or twelve across. Over a hundred.

  “That’s what’s at stake,” Marcus said. “And as much as Silver’s Home is often wrong, and as hard as I’m working to change the biggest wrongs, Islas is worse.”

  As if it were timed to his words, the view in front of us shifted to a widescreen picture of space with blinking yellow dots. “The Islan Fleet,” he murmured. “To stop the war completely. To make all those ships turn around. That’s what I want.”

  Lopali seemed really small compared to those fleets. “How many ships does Lopali have?”

  He grunted. “Two hundred or so. That’s the easiest way to stop this. The other two fleets are close in strength today, nearly a thousand ships each. But Islas’s command is more unified.” He glanced around and licked his lips. “The thing about Lopali’s fleet is that they’re very, very accurate. And agile. Small and fast. Also, the Islans look up to the fliers. They wouldn’t want to shoot at them. They’ve been working as hard to make them to stay neutral as I am to get them to take a side.”

  “What’s Silver’s Home working for?”

  He grimaced, and his voice sounded bitter. “It changes day to day. I’ve been working that angle since before your parents left for Fremont the first time. It’s like swimming upstream; futile from the beginning. Maybe we’ll get lucky, they won’t be able to agree long enough to go to war.”

  I glanced up at the wall of ships, which still showed the Islan fleet. “Isn’t that good?”

  “Not if it makes us lose.”

  The wall changed to show a view of both fleets. Dots in the sky—individual ships couldn’t be drawn at this scale. The Islan side looked more organized, even from this wide and far view. But I didn’t know enough to know if that was better. “But the fleets aren’t really that close to each other, right?”

  “No. They’re months away. It’s just how we’re displaying them. This wall is a simulation. The only real vid we have is our fleet.” He was shifting back and forth on his feet, as if the sight of the powerful armies infused him with energy.

  I’d forgotten the plate in my hand.

  A blocky man with short dark hair and swarthy skin came up to me and Marcus. “Introduce us?”

  “Of course. This is Joseph the infamous.”

  I looked. He was grinning. I managed not to drop the plate while I extended my other hand. “Pleased. And you are?”

  “Stark.”

  Well, the name fit him. Everything was angles. His clothes were simple, and black, all the way down to his shoes. In a room this dark, he’d disappear if he wasn’t looking at you or smiling.

  Marcus elaborated. “Stark is an old friend. He’s responsible for the security here, and for getting all of us information if anything changes.”

  I wondered briefly if he worked for Marcus or with him. No matter.

  Stark smiled at me. “I hope I get to visit with you. In the meantime, it looks like you’re planning on dinner. I’ll leave you to it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you soon.” He walked away, fast, heading toward a tall man in the corner.

  Marcus looked after him with a rather fond look on his face. “Don’t mind Stark. He has a short attention span, but that’s just because you’re not broken right now. If you ever need anything, he’ll be there for you.”

  Good enough. The room was pretty dim except for the wall, although I could see ten or twelve figures walking around, and in two places—far in the corners, away from the screens, smaller displays threw light onto the faces of watchers. I looked for Kayleen. Marcus took my elbow. “She’s over here.”

  We walked to the back wall, which was lined with dark lumps in the dark room . . . the lumps turned out to be comfortable chairs, easy to sink into. Kayleen was the only inhabitant; her dark hair faded into the general darkness so only the contrasting whiteness of her face and arms showed. Her eyes were closed.

  Marcus whispered, as if afraid he’d wake her, “Sit down and eat, then drop your shields.” He walked off and left me with my plate on my lap, my friend nearly comatose by my side, and my eyes glued to the display wall.

  Sasha stared at my plate until I gave her a bit of bread, then settled at my feet. I mentally thanked Seeyan again. My world was better when Sasha was around, my bit of home, my success story from the war (battle!) with the Star Mercenaries.

  I barely tasted my food as I watched the ever-changing display in front of me. So many ships, and although real relative size was impossible to tell, all of them were bigger—by far—than anything I’d been in.

  How many pilots did they take? How many crew? What were the weapons like? What would it be like to fight in a ship?

  I’d rescued, and I’d fled, and I’d flown, but I’d never driven a ship that was itself a weapon. The closest we’d come was the Burning Void, back on Fremont, and I wasn’t even there. Kayleen piloted her, and Liam and Chelo threw bombs out the door at the Star Mercenaries.

  This was a different scale altogether.

  Next to me, Kayleen breathed harder, making small moaning sounds. I needed to go down and see where she had gone, especially after I spoke so harshly to her. But I couldn’t quite tear my eyes away from the screen.

  This convergence of fleets was so much bigger than us. Changing flier genetics was nothing, and by the same token, couldn’t be enough to change the trajectory of so many things already
in motion. No matter what Marcus thought, how could we be any more than spectators?

  At least Chelo wasn’t here. She’d hate seeing this. It would frighten her and make her angry all at once.

  But me? I wanted to fly them. I felt surprised at how much the powerful space ships spoke to my heart, my blood, my breath. This was not what Marcus had been teaching me; not how he’d want me to feel. That, I knew. Marcus had been more father to me than David Lee ever had been, had taught me more, pinned more of his hopes on me. He’d rescued me, and helped me rescue Chelo. He wanted to stop the war, not fly the ships. Chelo would feel the same. I should.

  But to fly such a beast!

  I set the plate down and lay back, opening to whatever data might be here.

  Immediately I was wrapped in the familiar. This was like Silver’s Home, like Creator, like the New Making. All of the sweet seductive slowness of Lopali was gone, and here information flooded my whole being, chaotic and confusing and welcome. I belonged here. It steadied me, feeling the threads, choosing some and rejecting others. I heard myself laugh—my self deep in the data hearing my physical laughter, and then I dove deeper, letting go of the physical, losing the sound of my laughter and leaving behind the flat pictures on the wall.

  The room’s data pulsed all around me, kept me from becoming lost out in the fleet, kept me from seeing too many details. Besides, I was here for Kayleen. I had an apology to make. I brushed her energy, sent her soothing thoughts. She felt thin and fluttery, virtually far away.

  The room’s data folded me, gave me structure, reminded me of where I was. At the same time, the data flowing into it—from space, of course—demanded attention. Trajectories. Weights and fuels and star systems and a thousand possible strategies, none of them decided. Some rejected, some gone because of one choice or another.

  This was the data of impending war.

  The details of hundreds of specifications and weapons, the hope and despair of possibilities. The ships’ computers sending to this very room the calculations and recalculations they made over and over in preparation. The limited dreaming of ships’ AIs.

  So many choices meant the fleet, our fleet, had room still. Time could change the outcome.

  In a way, the ships were like demon dogs. The captains and the AIs chattered across space and time, all of the conversation now hours old due to the lag between there and here, but urgent and awake and aware. Intense.

  An incredible counterpoint to the calmness here, making both seem so outrageous they must be lies. Two truths so different they should not exist so close together.

  I stayed close to Kayleen, kept one bit of awareness on her, while I followed other threads. Kayleen was easy to feel, familiar, even though I could tell we were far apart in the data streams. Being physically close probably helped. Knowing her helped. Still, the ships demanded attention, the raw purpose of this room as a place to watch the engines of war pulling me, almost the way Lopali data pulled me serene.

  The ships’ chatter rode the top of all the data, noisy and demanding; it took bandwidth to draw them on the wall. But there was more below. And Kayleen was below. I shrugged away the fascinating detail and dove, sensing when she and I were seeing the same thing. She felt curious and appalled, but she reached for me, sent me a greeting and pulled me into the part of the data threads or streams she inhabited.

  Are you okay? I asked.

  Mostly. These aren’t the Lopali data streams. They scare me.

  That’s good. They’re more likely to be real.

  It’s so fast. What if I get lost in here? What if I get lost?

  I’m here. I’ll help you if you need anything. I sent her peace and calm, a feeling of being present. I waited until she felt smoother. What are you looking at? Show me. I’m here for you.

  I’m glad. Come see!

  There were piles of data from all the planets’ newsfeeds. I let her lead me, knowing I should come back and look and see the details. Metadata streamed past. Islans demonstrating against Silver’s Home. Riots on Silver’s Home—some for, some against. People in both places being sent to war. Mothers and fathers crying at being split from their children, men and women angry or proud or scared when one part of a family left. Spaceports with remembrance stones around the edges.

  Eventually, what Kayleen brought me to see: A newsfeed from Silver’s Home had our pictures and unrecognizable descriptions of us. Joseph the big and brave, Joseph the powerful. Some truth: Joseph who could fling ships into the sea. I flinched. The Star Mercenaries stories, real, but realer than life. I had done that, but it had not been a starship, just a skimmer, and four people I killed in anger, but not by cold-blooded plotting. It almost threw me up and out, my heart pounding with anger.

  If I could have clutched Kayleen’s hand I would have. I stayed near her, following the threads she fed me, seeing stories about my sister having a real choice, and all by herself setting the starships in motion.

  I had not been there but, from what she said, she might herself believe that. She should never see this story.

  Marcus, angry and powerful instead of full of humor. The threads of bad stories branched to history rewritten, to the bounty on our heads, to rumors that we were here, on Lopali.

  I’m not mentioned in the main stories, Kayleen sent.

  Good.

  She returned slightly miffed energy, a moment of laughter. Good for her. Let me show you. The first ones are the official stories, repeated and repeated and repeated, like we should believe them because we hear them more than once. Some people on Silver’s Home blaming us for the war, as if we wanted it or even knew the players. But there are other stories.

  She felt angry. There is no sound when you speak the way we spoke inside the world of data, but there is cadence and speed and choice of words. Of course there are other stories.

  We showed each other.

  Kayleen was rumored later. A few people said she was my sister. One said she was my sweetheart. No reports suggested she and my sister and Liam were a family. A few reports mentioned Bryan—as bodyguard or fighter. Ming was Ming the Traitor or Ming the Hero. Someone had even figured out Sasha’s existence.

  Chelo had asked me to find the stories Dianne had referenced, and I hadn’t really done it. Kayleen, which stories are ours?

  Ours?

  From Marcus or Dianne?

  I can’t tell.

  Which ones say we’re good?

  Oh!

  Now that we looked together, our own story machine emerged slowly. Counter to the official one from Silver’s Home. Sort of. Chelo the savior of the world, she and I the hands-down winners—solo—in the battle for Artistos. I didn’t recognize how good I was at Reading the Wind. Try as I might, I couldn’t track it back to us—couldn’t prove Dianne or Tiala or Marcus originated anything. Marcus himself was featured as often as me—characterized as a rich, powerful, eccentric loner who’d gone beyond the law, and become the hero who would save the worlds.

  The stories that I thought came from us didn’t mention Alicia or Bryan, Kayleen or Liam. Just me and Chelo. Good. I didn’t want anyone else compromised. The sheer volume of data made me angry, the number of people who must be working to add to the legends of us, good and bad. Back on Silver’s Home, Marcus had called this buzz, but I no longer thought it arose spontaneously. Maybe sometimes. But we had been gone for years, and we should have been forgotten. Marcus and Dianne and the others were manipulating the stories. How much of that was to manipulate us, even though they almost never talked about it? The pressure was there, anyway.

  How was I supposed to tell?

  Beside me, Kayleen tugged. I need a break.

  She’d been here longer than I had. I tucked away all I could remember. My own exhaustion was beginning to slow my thinking down; even here, the physical melded to the world of data. It must be worse for Kayleen who had spent very little time this immersed. No single ship had this variety.

  I could come back later. Okay! Surface.


  She laughed at my wording, her laughter a little off, but reassuring anyway, and I heard it with my physical ears.

  I blinked in the bright lights. One of my feet tingled from being held at an odd angle. I must have spent more time down than I’d thought.

  Sasha immediately sensed my presence and popped her head up, nosing my hand until I petted her.

  I looked around for Marcus but didn’t see him. The vid wall still flashed pictures, but the room had at least partly emptied out. I only noticed a few people moving around.

  Kayleen started whispering. “All those stories. That’s so weird. I mean, I know there’re some people who end up in stories, but it’s never supposed to be you.” Her voice shifted from thoughtful to a little angry. “I don’t like how people are lying about you.”

  “People have lied about us all of our lives.”

  “This is on a different scale.” She glared at the screen full of impending war, and swallowed. She didn’t say anything for so long I began to worry, since Kayleen is never quiet. But then she looked back at me and said the characteristic, “I’m hungry.”

  “Let’s take Sasha out, and then look for food.”

  As we went out the door, I realized Marcus had needed to open it and we might not get back in. A cool breeze blew down the hallway, illustrating how controlled the environment we’d been in had been. After the door closed behind us, I dipped into the data, sampling the surface threads, and found only the Lopali norm of everything in soft rhythm. Wow.

  Doors within doors.

  After we entered the night and felt the breeze outside, I looked behind me to see the blackness of an empty cave. There had been no attempt to hide the cave itself, but from outside, there might have been no one else for kilometers. Just me and Kayleen and the dog.

  Sasha trotted off into the darkness, probably hungry. Stars hung above us in a brilliant tapestry, and here and there the brighter orbs of the other planets swinging around Lopali’s sun. Kayleen stood close to me, not touching. She whispered, “I miss the moons. They used to tell us how the time would go. Three moons for luck and all of that. Most of the roamer wagons had three moons painted on them. Do you remember that?”