"I'm afraid the Imperial bureaucracy puts little emphasis on personal comfort," the consul answered. She took her seat behind the desk, stacked with piles of documents. "I can offer you a drink, though, Hansie."
"No, quite all right," he answered, taking a chair opposite. He looked nervous and on edge. "It's true, then."
"What's true?"
"The Empire is pulling out of Cle'eru."
"I wouldn't exactly say that. It's more a question of changing to wartime status."
"'Wartime status.' And with whom are we at war?"
"You know I'm not at liberty—"
"Ann, my dear," Hansie interrupted. "Do me the courtesy of dropping diplomatic pretense. We've known each other and—I thought—been friends since you came to Cle'eru six, or was it seven, years ago?"
"Six."
"Six, then. I think you would have to acknowledge that I am among the leading citizens of this world, and as such have a right to know at what risk the colony is being placed."
"I suppose you do." She folded her hands in front of her on the desk. "However, I am under orders not to volunteer any information. You're not looking to set our longtime friendship against my duty to His Imperial Majesty, are you, Hansie? Because you must know my choice."
"I . . . accept that, Ann. On the other hand, if you could confirm or deny information I already possessed, you wouldn't be violating your orders not to volunteer anything, would you?"
"Well, I . . ."
"I thought you might see it that way," he said, beaming as if he'd scored a debating point. "Now, Ann, dear, you needn't tell me anything—merely answer yes or no. Fair?"
"I . . . suppose so." It'll be the easiest way to get him out of my hair, she thought.
"Now." He adjusted his sprawl in her chair. "We are presently at war, correct?"
"Yes."
"And our opponent . . . is not some faction within the Empire, nor is it bandits outside our borders. It's someone—no, something else. A new alien race."
". . . Yes, though I'd like to know your source."
"Ah." Hansie gave a carnivorous smile. "That would be telling. May I continue?"
"Please do."
"Our zor friends have their wings all aflutter about this business and I understand they knew something about it long before it began to happen."
"Yes," she answered.
"Excellent." He sat forward and placed his carefully manicured hands palms-down on her desk. "Now, tell me, Ann, my dear: Isn't it true that the naval officer that passed through here only a few weeks ago—Commodore Laperriere—is wrapped up in this, too?"
The question was so out of character with the previous line of inquiry that it caught her completely by surprise. She remembered the woman as well: a career-officer type, Regular Navy . . . except that she was working closely with the zor. Ann had had a bit of an exchange with her.
Hansie knew something. What was it?
"That's classified, Hansie. I'm afraid I can't go into it."
"I knew it. I knew it!" He flopped back into the chair. "I smelled something." He tapped the side of his nose. "Never fails, my dear. All right, let me take this a step further. Even the old zor sage S'reth is gone, bag and baggage. We both know how insular the zor are here and how proud they are of their development"—he jerked a thumb in the air—"up there. S'reth has been here practically since the world was settled, more than seventy years ago, and it looks like he's not coming back.
"Everything I hear says that S'reth is not the only such zor to have departed this planet. Most of the ones that left seemed to be heading for the zor Core Stars, clear to the other side of the Empire.
"I know for a fact"—he tapped a finger on Ann Sorenson's desk—"that Laperriere met with S'reth less than three days before she left. Now she's gone, he's gone, and you're going home as well. Something's going to happen here on Cle'eru, isn't it? There's going to be some kind of attack."
"I don't know that to be true."
"Ann, my entire life is here. Everything I own is here. Everything I am is here. I must know.
"Are we going to be attacked? Is Cle'eru safe?"
"Hansie." Ann looked away, at a pile of papers—anything to not meet his eyes. "I don't know if Cle'eru is safe; I don't know if anywhere is safe. We're—" She looked at him then, a pained look in her eyes. "We're all in danger."
"What are you telling me?"
"More than I should. Look here, Hansie, I have a lot of work to do—"
"What about the defense squadron, Ann?" Hansie stood up, turned away, and then seemed to round on her. "They jumped out of here. Where did they go? Has the Empire abandoned Cle'eru already?"
"I can't tell you where they've gone."
"Can't? Or won't?"
"I don't see as it matters. That information is classified, Hansie, and you knew that when you came in the door. If your sources are so damned good, maybe you should tell me. Now, I really do have work to do and I don't have much time to do it." She returned her attention to her desk.
"Not much time."
She looked up at him. She didn't really know what to say to Hansie Sharpe; she'd always been a gracious host, pleasant company on a distant posting. She wanted to reassure him somehow, even though it was annoying to have to deal with him at all. Ann didn't really feel she owed him anything, but still . . .
"No. Not much time at all."
Hansie looked down at the floor and seemed about to reply. He started, stopped again and finally said, "Well, I suppose some information is better than none. I suppose I have a lot to do, as well."
Chapter 6
The navcomp guided the small ship into Center System. The ship's ID was recognized by traffic control without Jackie's intervention; it slid into the surprisingly busy pattern headed into the gravity well. The majority of the vessels were small ones moving at high g—clearly robot ships—doing mining and materials transport in the outer system. It fit with what she'd read in the ship's database about Center: a society based on the veneration of mechanization and automation. It explained why there were so many ships in the pattern.
As the ship found its way into the inner system, she could feel a dark and hollow rhythm: presences, powerful and malign, lurking just within perceptible range.
The esGa'uYal are here, she thought. The ones who took Cicero.
Minus one.
The navcomp gave her a good fix on the location of the primary; she was somewhere over two hundred parsecs from Sol System, and at least thirty from her departure point at Crossover. Right ascension and declination placed her near the galactic equator, a quarter-turn spinward from galactic center. From Sol System, Center's star would appear in the constellation of Orion. She could locate Betelgeuse, Alnitak, Rigel, Alnilam and other bright stars in that constellation; Center was just another anonymous, dim star as seen from Sol System—or Dieron System, for that matter.
It is on the Perilous Stair, the voice admonished her.
Oh, shut up, she told it, as the ship descended into the gravity well.
The ship was able to enter the atmosphere and had landing clearance already approved; it was clearly expected. Navcomp informed her that this had been its last port of call before departing for Crossover nine days ago—four days before R'se and Ch'k'te had both died there.
She was expected, and right about now.
The ship settled onto the tarmac. An accessway extended out from the terminal and secured itself to the airlock hatch.
"What now?" she asked Th'an'ya.
They are expecting R'se, Th'an'ya answered, without appearing as if she had been expecting the question. They will assume that you are the esGa'uYe who slew li Ch'k'te.
"How do I convince them of that?"
There is a way, Th'an'ya answered. Jackie heard the outer airlock door cycle as the pressure equalized. If you are feared, none will question. I will help you.
I thought Sensitives didn't like to do that, she thought in response.
The need is great, T
h'an'ya said, with a brief image of a wing-position that corresponded to a zor's shrugging of the shoulders. Jackie remembered a scene from Cicero Down, which seemed a century ago: a young Marine feeling the fear that Ch'k'te had projected.
It's not going to work, Jackie answered. They'll see right through it.
They will see what they expect to see, se Jackie.
The airlock door slid aside, and a man entered the main compartment of the little ship. He was a tall, thin man with deep-sunken eyes and long arms, who seemed to be wearing clothes that hardly fit him. He made a gesture to Jackie with both hands, touching each thumb together and spreading the fingers wide, and inclined his head.
"Honored One," he said. He looked around, as if expecting to see something—or someone—else. "I am K'na, of the Ninth Sept of E'esh. Your choice of guise is . . . curious."
Arrogance, Th'an'ya reminded her.
"My guise is no concern of yours," Jackie snapped. "The other one was no longer of any use."
"And the prisoners . . .?"
"Are also none of your concern."
"They are on board, I presume?" The man looked around, bowing again. "If I can be of any assistance—"
"The attempt was unsuccessful."
The man smiled—rather unpleasantly, Jackie thought— baring his teeth ferally. "I don't expect that First Drone H'mr will be happy with that."
"He will not have a choice. The situation did not develop as I expected. H'mr will have to accept it."
"I'm sure he will. You'll get a chance to explain it to him yourself when he arrives."
"He's coming . . . here?"
"In a few vx*tori," he answered, making a sort of glottal choke-swallow sound in the middle of the alien word. "I imagine you'll have time to arrange your n'n'eth before he comes. You'd better: H'mr is not patient with failure, as you know. Especially among N'nr Deathguard."
She shot an angry "Iron Maiden" look at him and he visibly cringed. "The N'nr Deathguard generally judge their own," she ventured. "I will remind you of that. I'm sure that H'mr is not patient with meddlers, either."
That retort seemed to work. "I meant no offense, Honored One," K'na replied, "I—"
"I will need accommodations while I am here," she interrupted him. "Can you arrange this, or must I find a capable functionary?"
If the man actually had been human, Jackie suspected he would be flushing with anger. Instead, whatever resentment he felt, simply came out in his voice.
"No, Honored One," he hissed. "It will be arranged." K'na made the gesture to her again, then turned away and walked toward the airlock. He looked over his shoulder once, as if he intended to add something but thought better of it, and stalked away and off the ship.
When he was well away, Jackie let out a long breath, grabbing hold of the nearest wall for support. "I've made an enemy," she said.
If I am correct, se Jackie, Th'an'ya answered, you have not earned the enmity of anyone of importance. What is more, he believed you to be R'se.
"For the moment."
Thus is the Perilous Stair climbed: one step at a time.
"Thanks for reminding me."
"se Admiral."
Hsien's eyes were closed, but he felt his nose wrinkle at a faint antiseptic smell, mixed with a musky, sharp odor. But even the prenomen before his rank—indicating that a zor had addressed him—failed to prepare him for the first sight he had from a bed in sickbay: an ancient zor with nearly transparent wings perched on a stool beside the bed, its wings held elevated and partially encircling a tiny, frail body. He also noticed a sword at the creature's belt, though it seemed somehow different than any zor blade he had seen.
"Who—?" he managed, and realized his throat was as dry as a deck-plate. The zor reached over to- a side-table and picked up a squeeze bottle, placing the straw to Hsien's lips. Despite his reluctance, the admiral drank. After a few moments he felt better.
"Who the hell are you?" he asked in a whisper.
"Your distaste for my kind is as great as rumor suggests," the zor answered. His face betrayed no expression, of course, and the admiral couldn't make much of his tone of voice, either. "Nonetheless, I would have expected a trifle more civility toward the one who has saved your life. I am S'reth. There is more to my genealogy but I suspect that you would not be truly interested at this time."
"Saved—"
"It was the will of the Lord esLi that our ship arrived insystem before the alien aboard your vessel was able to crush your mind like a cthi-fruit, se Admiral. With Sensitives trained to combat such attacks, we were able to force—it—off the Gibraltar and allow your ship and several other vessels to jump outsystem."
"What about . . . Adrianople?"
"I do not completely understand the question."
"Did we abandon Adrianople?"
"It makes no sense to attempt to defend something already lost, se Admiral. There are no friendly vessels at Adrianople System, including this one, if that is what you ask."
"That was . . . the biggest starbase on the Imperial frontier."
S'reth rearranged his wings. "It is proper to use the past tense, se Admiral."
Hsien tried to sit up but was overcome by a wave of vertigo and nausea so strong that he was forced to lie back. He waited for the room to stop moving and then looked at the zor again.
"What happened to it? What happened to me?"
"You were overcome by superior force. On your orders, your squadron launched an attack on the alien vessels in Adrianople System."
Hsien was about to protest but a memory formed in his mind: sitting motionless in the ready-room of Gibraltar, hearing his own voice giving orders to close with the enemy. More fleeting scenes of destruction and death began to hurtle through his consciousness like reflections in a fractured mirror, half-formed and sharp-edged. He closed his eyes but the images continued to come, swirling around him as he lay immobile, as frozen as he had been in the ready-room—
"se Admiral."
His eyes snapped open. "It was not—I did not—"
The old zor fluttered down from his perch. "I shall obtain something warm to drink for both of us, se Admiral. Your ordeal has been difficult and unpleasant; but if we have any chance of defeating the esGa'uYal, we must learn as much as we can from you."
Without further words and without waiting for a reply, the zor walked out of his line of sight.
Admiral Hsien's colloquy with the old zor sage lasted three Standard days. He was being lodged in a residential-looking two-room hospital suite in the medical wing of Oberon Starbase, fifteen parsecs from Adrianople. After the first few sessions and some restless sleep, he found himself more able to get up and move about. It was difficult to admit failure: Even given what he knew about the events at Cicero, Hsien had trouble bringing himself to confront the possibility that there was an enemy he couldn't fight.
There was nothing to rely on but the experiences of those who had actually fought the aliens. Accordingly, he sent for someone who had just arrived insystem and had survived the escape from Cicero.
Anything that provided respite from the careful recollection of the incident at Adrianople was welcome. Collecting his thoughts, Hsien positioned himself at a workdesk in the outer of his two rooms and beckoned to the orderly to admit the officer.
"Admiral Hsien. Captain MacEwan of the carrier Duc d'Enghien reporting as ordered, sir."
"MacEwan," Hsien said. "You were a part of Cicero Task Force, weren't you?"
"Yes sir." Barbara MacEwan stood unmoving opposite him; Hsien detected the slightest change of expression, as if she had not been expecting the question.
"What is the status of your carrier, Captain?"
"We are at eighty-five-percent strength, sir. Our fighter wings have suffered minor casualties and I have not yet been assigned replacements."
"I see. Tell me, MacEwan: Do you have any experience fighting these"—he gestured vaguely—"these alien ships?"
"No sir. We did not engage the invading f
orce at Cicero, Admiral."
"I have read the report of your former superior—Commodore Laperriere. She indicated that engaging the invaders there would have been suicidal . . . Do you concur, Captain?"
"I . . . would not contravene the commodore's assessment, sir." MacEwan appeared to be choosing her words carefully.
"Very well." Hsien folded his hands in front of him on the table. "I need to have a clear understanding.
"Laperriere made a command decision several weeks ago to abandon Cicero Base. Whether that decision was justified or not, is up to her court-martial to decide, but in any case it was clearly in response to an enemy attack, perhaps similar to the one we just experienced at Adrianople." Hsien observed MacEwan carefully, but she betrayed nothing. "As I recall, the official report indicated that Commodore Laperriere redeployed the task force to Adrianople with all possible speed, contrary to established regulations regarding defense of sister ships. Have I gotten the measure of the situation to that point?"
"The commodore . . ." MacEwan looked away as if she were upset with herself. "Yes, Admiral, you are correct."
"You arrived in Adrianople short one fighter wing. Is that also correct?"
"Yes, Admiral." She was looking at him straight-on again, her eyes angry.
"Yet you followed the commodore's orders—you did not engage the enemy as you withdrew from Cicero. How did you come to lose this fighter wing?"
"I . . . They flew out of range, Admiral. They got in too close to the enemy, and . . ." MacEwan seemed unable or unwilling to continue.
"This is very important, Captain. The fighter wing flew out of range. What happened then?"
MacEwan stood roughly at attention. "I lost nine combat fighters in total, sir, including an entire fighter wing—and might have lost the Duc d'Enghien itself—if Commodore Laperriere hadn't ordered me to stay on course and leave them behind. While I watched, the fighters in one of my squadrons turned their weapons on each other, and blew each other out of the sky. All but one."
Hsien let the moment of silence stretch out after she said this; then he quietly asked, "What happened to that one?"
The Dark Ascent Page 10