The Dark Ascent

by Walter H Hunt

  "So," Boyd said. "Whose side are they on?"

  "I would suspect that they are on their own side," the High Lord answered. "The most dangerous position for an unknown foe."

  "Where do we go from here?" the High Chamberlain asked, and it was not clear, either from his voice or by his wings, whether he was addressing the High Lord or Jackie.

  Jackie assumed it was the High Lord being addressed, but Sa'a did not answer except to place her wings in the Posture of Polite Resignation.

  "I . . . get the feeling," Jackie said at last, "that there's something you haven't told me."

  "There is." The High Lord took a deep breath, "se Jackie, your contribution to our understanding is much appreciated—but you should know that the description you give of this tunnel is something we have already heard about."

  "From who?" She knew the answer, but was waiting for someone to confirm it.

  "From se Owen Garrett," Sa'a said, placing her wings in a position Jackie didn't recognize, but which clearly disturbed T'te'e. "He claimed to have been rescued from the esGa'uYal by similar colored bands of light.

  "He took Negri Sembilan back from the enemy and returned it to Imperial space, se Garrett is now on his way here "

  "He made it back."

  "The ship reached Stanton," the High Lord added. "Imperial Intelligence is reviewing the Negri comps."

  "Abbas told me about Garrett's escape from the vuhl ship. It was like my own experience, except they apparently talked to him . . .

  "All right, I give: Why is he coming here?" she asked.

  "It is a Dsen'yen'ch'a, se Jackie," the High Chamberlain said, "se Commander Garrett has demonstrated an unusual Sensitive ability—"

  "Now, wait just a minute," Jackie said, frowning. "The last time the High Nest decided to conduct a Dsen'yen'ch'a, it was to let Shrnu'u HeGa'u loose on the World That Is. If I'm not mistaken, Owen Garrett is even less likely to know what the hell is going on than I was."

  "We will not summon an esGa'uYe this time, se Jackie."

  "I will stand by him during the ceremony, se T'te'e," Jackie said. "And I expect you to keep your word. What is the ability he has shown?"

  "anGa'riSsa," T'te'e answered. "The Shield of Hatred."

  "That's not part of the Qu'u legend."

  "No. It belongs to seLi'e'Yan—Standing Within the Circle. It is an earlier tradition."

  "'If you step onto it you have committed an irreversible act, one that ends with you standing within the Circle.' I was told that by the Abbas-zor at Crossover. A shNa'es'ri, he called it."

  "A crossroads," the High Lord said.

  "I'm part of that legend, too, though I'm not sure how. si . . . Th'an'ya told me about it. But what has Owen got to do with it?"

  "The story tells of a young warrior who rouses the inhabitants of Sharia'a against the minions of esGa'u. If se Commander Garrett has developed this talent or somehow obtained it, then the Law of Similar Conjunction—"

  "I believe that's how you got me into this mess in the first place," Jackie interrupted.

  "—Similar Conjunction," the High Lord repeated, "suggests that he might be flying the path of Dri'i, the young warrior who taught anGa'riSsa to the warriors of Sharia'a—"

  "'Taught.'"

  "That is correct."

  "Owen told Abbas that the . . . colored bands had given him this power, and that he was supposed to teach it to someone."

  "Do you know who?"

  "No. That's die question everyone wants answered, hi Sa'a. That's what this Dsen'yen'ch'a has to be about."

  Antares dipped low over the mountains in the distance, spreading deep-orange light through the glass of the balcony doors. Jackie sat on a low cushion in Sergei's—no, her—suite, the gyaryu placed across her lap. Somewhere in the courtyard, two zor conversed in the Highspeech; there was the occasional flap of wings or scratch of talons on flagstone, the distant hum of an aircar, the breeze passing through an eleven-tone windchime, the faint sound of fte'e music. Mostly, though, it was quiet and peaceful.

  Jackie knew this was the destination toward which she had been guided since her own Dsen'yen'ch'a, perhaps since the first zor contact with the vuhls, years ago, before they knew who she was. Neither T'te'e nor the Envoy's Office truly knew how to deal with her; both had participated in the complex process that had brought this moment about. Both had gotten what they wanted, but perhaps not what they expected. Now it looked as if they were moving Owen Garrett into place, like some sort of chesspiece.

  There were still some questions that neither envoy nor High Chamberlain could answer. But there was another source of information available to her. So, with the peaceful sounds of the High Nest in her ears and the sun of Antares warming her shoulders, she closed her eyes and let her hands rest on the ancient zor sword of state. Before she was able to make any meaningful progress, though, the chime at her door rang.

  Reluctantly she opened her eyes. "Come."

  The door slid open and Randall Boyd was standing there. "I do not mean to intrude, se Gyaryu'har."

  "No. No problem." She stood up and rebelted the gyaryu's scabbard around her. "Can I offer you refreshment?"

  "No, thank you." He walked into the room. "You had said the gyaryu was given to you by a man named Stone."

  "That's right."

  "After our meeting I ran an inquiry, and turned up something curious." He placed a small comp on the table beside her and gestured at it. An image appeared in the air: a wiry, spare man in an Imperial Navy captain's uniform, almost a century out of date.

  Jackie's hand dropped to rest on the hilt of the gyaryu.

  "Stone."

  "Captain Thomas Stone, taken 2305. Admiral Marais' adjutant during most of the final war between the Solar Empire and the People."

  Jackie made an adjustment. The picture zoomed to a head-shot, showing the same tight expression, the same sardonic half-smile Jackie had seen just hours earlier while the storm raged outside the Fortress of Despite.

  "That's him." She looked at the image and then dismissed it, as if she didn't want it to share the conversation. "Except that it's ninety years out of date.

  "There must be more, Mr. Boyd, or you wouldn't be here."

  "Oh, there is." He looked at the console, or, rather, away from her. "Captain Stone disappeared mysteriously and then reappeared during si Marais' trial at Grimaldi Base. He attempted to kill the Admiral but died in the attempt.

  "If this is the same person"—he seemed to studiously avoid the word man—"then he is not only long-lived, but also able to return from the dead."

  "He couldn't be the same person, then." She rubbed her head. "Still . . . What do you mean, he 'disappeared mysteriously'?"

  "I accessed the logs of the starship Lancaster, the fleet flagship during Admiral Marais' campaign. While it was in jump between A'anenu and Hu'ueru, partway across the Antares Rift, Stone left the ship somehow."

  "That's impossible."

  "Apparently not. Chandrasekhar Wells—at that time, executive officer of Lancaster—presented a paper to the Science Collegium in esYen six years later, in which he laid the mathematical foundation for the energy flux that accompanied Captain Stone's departure. It was all considered completely theoretical, of course, though some of the math has been used in improving jump capabilities during the last fifty or sixty years.

  "It is true we have no explanation for what happened aboard the Lancaster more than eighty-five years ago. I confess that the official logs tell very little."

  Jackie didn't answer.

  "Oh—there was one other interesting tidbit." He frowned for a moment, as if trying to decide upon a choice of paths.

  "As you know, my great-grandfather was aboard Lancaster as well. He later went to Zor'a to study—and became the High Nest's first envoy to the court of the Solar Emperor. He had not learned to shield; he was occasionally sharing dreams with the High Lord.

  "He recounted a dream in which the Deceiver told him—or, rather, told hi'i Sse'e—
that he would have no more prescient dreams, and that there was a power greater than either zor or human could resist. It was esGa'u the Deceiver with a human face." He touched the comp so that it displayed the headshot again. "That face."

  "His mysterious 'employers.' The supposed authors of the Qu'u legend. The people who ordered him to give me the gyaryu."

  "I believe so. But how could they have known that you would be there to claim the sword?"

  "If they arranged it. If they made sure that the vuhls were wrong about who was Qu'u. If they got me from Crossover to Center. If they sent Damien Abbas to meet me . . . No, it's even more devious than that: If they set up the conditions by which the High Nest would carry out the whole plan . . . Damn." She looked away from Boyd and watched the last of the sun disappear behind the western mountains. "It's fitting, somehow: the High Nest being played, just like they played me."

  "I'm not sure I understand."

  "I'm sure I don't." She turned back to the envoy. "Thanks for providing the clue. I'll have to consider it."

  Boyd had clearly expected the conversation to go differently, but he was trained well enough as a diplomat to recognize a dismissal when he heard it. "Call upon me anytime," he said, and bowed slightly as he went to the door and left the suite.

  Jackie looked at Stone's image again for a moment and then dismissed it and went back to the cushion. The far horizon was aflame with the sunset behind the mountains, but she closed her eyes to it, and concentrated.

  With little effort, she again found herself standing upon the black engraving of the gyaryu construct.

  "si Sergei?" she asked. Sergei Torrijos emerged from the darkness and approached where she stood, sword in hand.

  "I am here, se Jackie."

  "I need some guidance."

  "I admire your courage." Sergei smiled and stepped forward. "It was weeks before I dared to step into the gyaryu after it was first placed in my hands. How may I assist you?"

  She sheathed the sword in its scabbard. "I haven't assimilated all of what's happened yet, but I'm fairly sure the enemy isn't going to give me much time for on-the-job training."

  "I expect not"

  "Are you . . ." She waved her hand toward the darkness beyond the image of Sergei. "All of you—are you aware how I came into possession of the sword?"

  "Only to the extent you tell us."

  "But you have the knowledge and experience that you had when you were alive."

  "That's right."

  "Tell me about Captain Stone."

  Sergei looked at her curiously. "Why do you want to know about him? He died almost a century ago."

  "He gave me the sword."

  "Stone?"

  "That's right—Stone. Scrawny fellow. He was Marais' adjutant, I understand, until—"

  "Until he disappeared in jump." Sergei looked off into the darkness, as if he were dying to pick something out in the distance. "A mystery we never solved. He was a cipher, like a stage holo, something you can see but can't touch. The closer we looked, the less we saw.

  "He helped the Admiral write The Absolute Victory. His agenda was aimed at destroying the People, not conquering them. Remember, se Jackie, we would have eradicated them if they had not changed their flight and made peace.

  "When it became apparent that Admiral Marais' mission and intentions had changed, and that the Admiral had turned away from simply exterminating the People, Stone attempted to thwart the effort. He even tried to kill Marais. Twice."

  "I know he attempted to kill Marais once, during the trial—"

  "Twice during the trial," Sergei replied. "Once while it was being held on Earth, and a second time on Luna. There was an Imperial Intelligence agent that had tracked him to the site of the court-martial and prevented Stone from killing Admiral Marais."

  "What happened to this agent?"

  "He was—" Sergei looked away, into the distance again. "He was killed. Stone had a weapon that . . . everted the agent's body. Turned it inside out. When Stone was shot, the weapon broke into a thousand pieces."

  Jackie considered the idea and shuddered. Sergei's image wavered for a moment and then became solid again. "All the loose ends were neatly tied up," he said. "Even the everting weapon. All except the explanation.

  "If I may be permitted a bit of unsolicited advice," Sergei said.

  Jackie smiled and nodded.

  "You are most capable, se Jackie, both as warrior and as Gyaryu'har. There is no doubt you can serve admirably as the bearer of the sword.

  "Your wing has now brushed against the servant of the Lord of Despite. I implore you: Do not underestimate Stone. He is more dangerous than anyone you may have yet faced. I don't know why he left the Lancaster, but he had threatened me and others in the fleet. I'm sure that if he had killed Marais with his everting weapon, he certainly would have done the same to me. If there is a pattern to the actions, I'm unaware of it."

  "So . . . watch my step."

  "That's essentially it, yes."

  "All right, then, si Sergei. Tell me what you'd do if you were still Gyaryu'har."

  "se Jackie, I'm no longer in that position. It's your decision. I am here merely to advise you."

  "So, advise me, damn it. Tell me what you'd do."

  Sergei sighed, and smiled. "I'd go and gather information. There must be additional data on Stone: Imperial Intelligence must have some record of the events."

  "They're not likely to talk to me."

  "Oh? As an official representative of the High Nest you carry considerable authority. What is likely is that you will learn more from what they do not say than by what they do."

  Chapter 13

  The lift slowly carried Jonathan Durant and Arlen Mustafa up to the command deck of Adrianople Starbase. Durant had been summoned—it was no less than that: He was supervising the installation of a new compressor rig on the base's outer ring, and his comp had sent a signal requesting Durant's presence in his own office.

  It could only mean that First Drone H'mr—who hadn't even bothered to speak to Durant when he'd come aboard, three watches earlier—had some questions he wanted answered.

  In fact, it meant something more serious for Durant himself. If H'mr wanted him dead, his life had about twenty minutes left to run.

  To Durant's surprise, as he stepped off the walkway that connected the outer and inner rings of the station, Arlen Mustafa had been waiting for him. Even though Arlen had been excused from duty since the surrender of the base, he was still second in command; his comp had evidently picked up the comm signal, and he'd used the station comp to find Durant.

  "I'm going to—" Durant began.

  "I know where you're going, Commodore. I'm going with you."

  "No." Durant put his hand on Arlen's arm. "No, you don't want to do this."

  "If they kill you," Arlen said quietly, "I'll be senior officer aboard. I . . . don't want to be in that position."

  Without another word, he looked down at his uniform jacket. There was a very slight, almost indiscernible bulge in one pocket.

  "You have no chance to do this. It's suicidal."

  "We'll see."

  "I could order you not to. I could confine you to quarters."

  "You can stick me in a life-pod and jettison it from the station if you want to, sir. But unless you do that, I'll do what I have to do."

  Durant didn't say anything, but looked at his exec, who met his gaze, more steadily than he'd been able to manage for the last several days. The alien thing—the Ór—had literally frightened him nearly to death, and he hadn't been standing up straight or meeting anyone's gaze since then.

  "All right," Durant said at last. "Let's go."

  Second Drone H'tt and First Drone H'mr were both waiting when Durant arrived. Mustafa was two steps behind; the two aliens exchanged glances in a remarkably human manner, though Durant wasn't sure if it was meaningful or just caricature.

  "Please sit," H'tt said, gesturing to a chair. He stared at Mustafa, who, to his cre
dit, didn't look away.

  "I'd rather stand."

  "As you wish. I suppose you know why you are here." H'tt looked to H'mr, who stood beside Durant's desk, his arms folded.

  "Please enlighten me."

  "I wish to know why you sent Trebizond out of Adrianople System, and what orders you provided to Abramowicz."

  "I'll bet you would."

  "This is dangerous ground, Commodore," H'tt said. "I suggest you tread carefully."

  "Because you can kill me with a thought," Durant answered, leaning on the back of the proffered chair. "That's a powerful threat, sir, I know. The only problem is, it loses its punch if the person being threatened doesn't give a damn anymore."

  "You've decided your life doesn't mean anything?"

  "No, that's not it at all. I've decided that my life has been very meaningful; but the moment you summoned me up here to be disciplined by this guy"—he gestured toward H'mr—"my life was as good as over"

  "What about your executive officer?" H'mr said. "Does he value his life?"

  Mustafa went to answer but Durant raised his hand. "I'm sure he does, and I value it as well. But he's here because he's not afraid of you taking it away."

  "Did you not prevent the Ór from ending that life?" H'mr said, frowning. "I do not understand. Nothing has changed"

  "We've both had a chance to think."

  "You are ready to die now," H'mr said, as if reaching a conclusion. He looked at H'tt. "Explain," he commanded.

  H'tt looked from his superior to the former commander of his captured station and back.

  "I lack an explanation," H'tt said.

  "That is not the answer I wished to hear." H'mr stood upright and approached Durant and Mustafa. Without further comment, he slowly walked around and behind each man, as if he were examining them—measuring them somehow—for some impenetrable alien reason. When he had finished with this stroll, he came around to stand before Durant, who stood up straight, at parade rest.