The Dark Ascent

by Walter H Hunt

"He's here," she said, without turning around.

  "I know him," Byar acknowledged. "This is the one we met on the Plane of Sleep."

  He was already moving. Jackie turned and ran after him. Byar seemed to be following his own instincts—he had his chya in his hand and was flying at high speed through the corridor. Students were dodging out of the way, and at least two instructors had already joined him.

  The snarl from the gyaryu was like a bell ringing in her head.

  Such a pity to be wingless, she heard in her mind.

  Shut the hell up, she said to the voice, running with her hand on her sword. She wasn't confident that she could run very fast with the gyaryu in hand, and wasn't sure what she'd be doing with the blade when she got to their destination.

  They burst out of the building with Byar in the lead. They were on the parapet now, and the wind was kicking up dust all around them. Below, in the practice yard, most of the students had fled, but there were two zor in the middle of the field, blades drawn, circling for advantage.

  "esLi," Byar said under his breath. He rose a meter in the air, but then paused, as if hesitant to fly down and join the fight. One of the combatants was an adult zor, and clearly the source of the disturbing feeling that had moved them all into action.

  The other was Ch'en'ya.

  She held her wings in the Cloak of Challenge, which explained why no one else had entered into the area or joined in the combat: She had declared, in effect, that this was her fight to win or lose.

  "You little arrogant—" Jackie began, but felt Byar grasp her wrist gently. He had not looked away from the combat.

  "You have had a sSurch'a. What is it?"

  "This is a shNa'es'ri," she said. "The esGa'uYe has presented me with a dilemma."

  "What are your choices?" Byar asked.

  Ch'en'ya was feinting, trying to get in a blow against the other zor-who-was-no-zor.

  "If I stand by and do nothing and she is victorious, it will make her even more sure of her destiny and push her closer to the Destroyer. If I stand by and do nothing and she is killed, I will lose her, though I will know that my vision was false.

  "And if I intervene in a challenge of honor, we are both idju."

  "That is three choices," Byar said levelly, still not looking away from the fight. He let himself descend to the ground again and let go of her wrist. "What is the fourth?"

  "What?"

  The two zor charged, clashed and separated, chya and e'chya snarled and hissed. There was a distant rumble of thunder and the air held the metallic tang of an oncoming storm.

  "Four choices. This is a shNa'es'ri: two choices, or four. Not three. What is the fourth choice?"

  "I don't have time for Socratic bullshit, se Byar. What are you trying to say?"

  "se Jackie." Byar glanced at her for just a moment, as the esGa'uYe advanced quickly, swinging his e'chya in great arcs that Ch'en'ya was hard-pressed to dodge. "This is not a teaching. If there is a sSurch'a for this occasion, you must find it yourself. The esGa'uYe has left you one more choice and you must determine what it is."

  The alien was beginning to press now, executing fantastically acrobatic maneuvers, slashing at Ch'en'ya. The young zor was clearly skillful with her chya, but still was no match for her alien opponent. In a way, she seemed to be unable to look away, as if the entire universe was narrowing her vision down to the e'chya that waved and danced before her.

  "She's being mesmerized," Jackie said. "He's stepping beyond the boundaries of the duel. He's—"

  Help! she shouted to the gyaryu. I can't stop the fight, but—

  Suddenly the combatants parted and the esGa'uYe retreated, guard up, e'chya held before him. Another figure had appeared on the field, gyaryu in hand, half-opaque and half-transparent. His wing-markings made him recognizable to every zor present.

  "esLi," Byar uttered quietly.

  "I am Qu'u," the figure announced. It didn't need to be said; the e'chya snarled, making Jackie's stomach churn. "Your sorceries have no place here, creature of Despite."

  "This is not your fight!" Ch'en'ya shouted, looking from the esGa'uYe to Qu'u, to the balcony above. "By esLi, this is my fight! This is a challenge of honor and I will fight it or be idju! How dare you deny me this?"

  "No," Qu'u said. "No, Younger Sister, you will not be denied this challenge. But you will fight in a clear sky."

  As if in answer, the thunder rumbled, closer now. The sultry afternoon had given way to dark clouds in a matter of minutes.

  "It shall be a battle of blades—no more and no less. None shall take this honor or this duty from you, since you have chosen it. But no deceit of the Enemy will be used. I swear this by the gyaryu."

  "I swear this by the gyaryu," Jackie repeated, under her breath.

  Qu'u looked at the blade held before him and then up at Jackie. He arranged his wings in the Stance of Honor to esLi.

  "The Crawler would interrupt a challenge? How do I know you will not intervene, Servant?"

  "My oath," Qu'u replied. "If that is insufficient for you, then you have no place in a field of challenge. Choose now."

  "I choose to fight," the Servant said immediately. Qu'u nodded, and moved the gyaryu to rest position.

  The battle was now truly joined. Without sorcerous aid, the esGa'uYe seemed to be diminished, while Ch'en'ya's confidence grew with every volley. She radiated hatred. It was more than just a challenge of honor: This foe was a scion of the race that had killed her father, deceived her mother and made her an exile.

  She had had the mold of her life shattered and re-formed by an alien race. Ch'en'ya understood that while the current of events was beyond her ability to control, she could affect the outcome of this battle, at this moment.

  It was insanity. It was a terrible, fierce, emotion-driven power. It was enGa'e'Li: the Strength of Madness in full force. Blow after blow, heedless of counterattack, Ch'en'ya drove her opponent farther and farther off-guard.

  The rain began to pelt down and the fight continued, combatants and onlookers heedless of the weather. Qu'u's image remained, observing all that had happened, while Jackie maintained her concentration to keep him there.

  At last the alien stumbled, landing on his side, his e'chya flying from his grasp. Ch'en'ya was on him in a moment, her chya poised for the kill. He was nearly unconscious, bleeding heavily, his image starting to waver.

  "Will you spare him?" Qu'u asked.

  Ch'en'ya looked away from the prone figure, drifting from zor-form to vuhl-form to human-form, to look at Jackie and Byar and then back to Qu'u.

  "No," she said, and drove the chya through the creature's midsection.

  Chapter 26

  The great naval base at Zor'a was teeming with activity. More than two dozen ships were insystem, assembling in preparation for action against the aliens.

  Jackie had taken a shuttle from the surface earlier in the day. It had been a busy few weeks at Sanctuary, since Ch'en'ya had killed the intruder in the challenge; she had been impossible to live with since then—bloodied and wounded, she had still been absolutely triumphant, insisting that killing the creature outright had been the right thing to do. It was her right, but it was still nothing more than killing a body—just as when Jackie had killed the Drew Sabah creature; just as when the intelligence agent had killed Stone more than eighty-five years ago. It was no more than an inconvenience for the es-Ga'uYal.

  They should have spared the alien, but Ch'en'ya was stubborn in this, as in all things.

  She had wanted to accompany Jackie to the naval base, but Jackie wouldn't hear of it. Putting some distance between the two of them might be the best thing at this stage, Destroyer or no Destroyer.

  She had told Ch'en'ya that, and her response had been, "Pah." It was her favorite word.

  As ever, her status as Gyaryu'har commanded deference and perhaps some fear among those Jackie passed on the station. She walked (actually, she stalked) through the corridors, making her way toward the naval docks. As she appr
oached, she picked out a familiar figure in a familiar setting. She could hear the voice before she could see its owner, but it stopped when she came around the curve of the dock.

  "Now, there's a sight," Barbara MacEwan said, interrupting her angry conversation with another human naval officer. She walked toward Jackie, stopped and smiled. Barbara executed a perfect salute and then extended her hand; Jackie took it warmly and smiled back.

  "Are those commodore's bars on your uniform?" Jackie asked.

  "Seems so," she answered. "I guess that's the standard award in His Majesty's Navy for crippling a ship. Wonder what I have to do to get an admiral's flag?"

  "Abandon a naval base," Jackie shot back, and Barbara's face fell. "And get roped into a zor legend," Jackie added.

  "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

  "No, and I didn't interpret it that way. Alvarez promoted me to admiral so he could retire me. Remember, a few monthsago I was facing a general court-martial for giving up Cicero. Who knew where that would lead?"

  "I remember," Barbara said. They walked along the corridor together. "And the last time we talked, you were on your way into some kind of trap. Looks like you got out of it."

  "Or into it." Jackie ran a hand through her hair. She suddenly felt tired, as if all the events of the past several weeks were descending on her shoulders. "We were pointed at an unexplored system and found some zor who had been stranded there. One of them was Ch'k'te's daughter."

  "Ch'k'te? Our Ch'k'te?"

  "Yes, our Ch'k'te. Apparently, Th'an'ya, his teacher and . . . mate . . . was pregnant when she went off with the expedition. She apparently knew, or had some premonition, that they'd never see home again . . . but she left most of her hsi, her life- energy, with Ch'k'te so that he could pass it on to me.

  "Th'an'ya was my guide"—she tapped her temple—"and advisor during the entire time I was looking for the sword. She arranged it so that she would be available to whoever turned up to recover it."

  "How'd she know?"

  "They knew." Jackie stopped, hands on hips, and looked at Barbara. "It's complicated, but it looks like the High Nest intentionally placed Sergei and the sword in harm's way because they'd foreseen the invasion. At some point I was picked out as the person to go and get it back. And here we are."

  "And what does—Ch'en'ya?—have to do with all of this?"

  "I'm not sure. She's self-willed, uncooperative and full of anger. She wants the aliens dead—every one of them—and is willing to do it with her own sword if necessary. A few weeks ago she fought a duel with an alien at Sanctuary—"

  "A vuhl?"

  ". . . Not exactly." They began to walk again. "No, it's even more complicated than that. The vuhls are our enemy, but they're not the most dangerous participants in this game. There's another group out there, scheming and manipulating. They've been involved with us for a long time, nudging us toward some conclusion."

  "When you say 'a long time' . . ."

  "At least since before we encountered the zor. Likely, longer than that." A lot longer, she thought to herself. Hesya and Sharnu. What else have they done? Who else have they been?

  "How do you fight an enemy like that? The vuhls, I can understand—more than most, which explains these." Barbara pointed to the bars on her shoulders. "Josephson cost us a lot of fine officers; those of us who survived have to pick up the slack."

  "What's your mission? Or can you tell me?"

  "I haven't been ordered not to. I've still got Mauritius—I'd rather have Duc, but she's in dry-dock for a few months more—and my squadron's going to take some more of your trained Sensitives and jump to Cicero."

  "Whose crazy idea is that?"

  "Hsien's. And the First Lord's. Just like at Adrianople, we have orders to jump in and make a quick decision about the feasibility of taking back the base, and to get the hell out if we can't. It's only a mildly crazy mission—and they found someone mildly crazy enough to lead it."

  "It's suicide."

  "No, damn it, it's not." Barbara's face took on a serious look. "We don't know how to win this war yet. We don't even know if it can be won. But we have to start somewhere. At Thon's Well we destroyed the invaders, and it cost us plenty; at Josephson, the same. At Adrianople we actually took the war to the enemy—"

  "There were no hive-ships there, and they blew up whatever tech would have let them use their mental powers on your ships. They've had Cicero ever since we left it behind."

  "I know all that, but it's got to be done anyway. How badly did we hurt them there? I don't know. You don't know, either, unless you've held back information. All I know is that we can't possibly win if we shy away from fighting. We can't retreat forever."

  "I know that, but we won't win by squandering our resources, either. You've been in combat against the vuhls: You know what they can do."

  "And what they can't do. We can't have you everywhere; we have to see if we can win a battle without the secret weapon." She pointed at the gyaryu; from within, Jackie heard something that might have been a faint chuckle. "We MacEwans have always been soldiers; it's my job, and it's got to be done."

  "You want to die in battle."

  "No, I want to die during sex. I just want to have an Empire survive long enough for me to have shore leave in it." Barbara smiled and took Jackie's hand, then offered her another salute.

  "I'll get us home again. Count on it."

  "You'd better," Jackie said, returning the salute. "That's an order."

  "Aye-aye, Admiral." Barbara turned on her heel then, and walked back along the docks, singing some old Earth-tune to herself, something about the "Highland Brigade."

  Jackie watched her go, wondering if she'd see Barbara MacEwan again. It was true that they were better-equipped to fight this war than they had been a few months ago, when Adrianople was first taken; but there was still no way of telling what their chances might be if they went up against the vuhls in combat.

  At Josephson, Hesya and Sharnu—Stone and Drew Sabah—had nearly killed her, and nearly cost them the battle. And that was a battle where she'd had the gyaryu in hand and had been able to protect most of the ships in the fleet with its help. What chance did Barbara MacEwan have without it?

  A fighting chance, she answered herself. It wasn't much to count on, but with Barbara in command, it was at least something to hope for.

  More than a thousand light-years away, in a very different, very alien place that no human or zor had ever seen firsthand, an insectoid creature was making her way through a smooth, dimly lit corridor. It was a part of a huge, hivelike structure that extended for kilometers in every direction—up several levels, downward below the surface of the planet, and outward to every point of the compass. It grew constantly and irregularly, with regular renovations and alterations in its structure. Only smell- and taste-markers provided any clue as to the arrangement and function of its thousands of chambers, corridors and passageways, for no overall map existed.

  It was brighter than zor or even human eyes would find comfortable, and even the most well-adjusted person of those two races would find it claustrophobic. The acrid, damp smells and the constant noise would be unnerving to any but the members of the race that inhabited the place, but for them it was quite comforting.

  The corridor along which the creature was moving was quite near the center of the hive, below the ground and approximately the same distance from all of the outlying areas where her servants labored to extend it. Unlike most passages, this one was nearly empty; she could only see the occasional servant. Even these lesser-beings opened side-portals and removed themselves from her path as she passed; her great size made it almost impossible for them to remain, in any case. None even dared to extend a feeler or a mandible to touch the warm fluid that glistened on her hide: What might be socially permissible between equals, or even a mark of obsequious deference from a lesser to a greater, was tantamount to sacrilege in this case. No one dared touch the body, or the bodily fluids, of the Great Queen without lea
ve.

  If she had wished, the Great Queen could have commanded that some of these servants convey her in state through this corridor, but she had chosen not to bother with this ceremony. Among her chief Drones and other officials of First Hive, this queen was considered somewhat unusual: In her brief time upon the Seat of Majesty, Great Queen K'da had been diligent in making sure she was unpredictable.

  The best way to avoid an impalement stake, K'da mused to herself, as she moved through the corridor. In the back of her mind she remembered the faintest taste of one of her predecessor's vital organs, brought to her by a loyal Drone.

  After a few dozen meters, she had reached a part of the complex where there were no servants to get out of her way. Even the fierce, fanatical P'cn Deathguard that kept posts at regular intervals anywhere the Great Queen went, were nowhere to be seen. This was a part of the hive-complex where only Great Queens went. As hard as it was to imagine, this was a place where Deathguard—even her own P'cn— feared to tread.

  A seam appeared at the end of the corridor and the Great Queen moved through it, the sides of the opening caressing her slightly as she passed between them. As the seam closed after her passage, the sounds of the hive became suddenly muffled. That, along with the spaciousness of the chamber in which she now stood, were as unnerving as the sight of the object that stood in its center.

  It was a transparent cube, filled with swirling, sparkling luminescent mist that caught the light in the chamber and reflected it in weird rainbow patterns on the curving walls. The mist did not completely fill the cube; there was a space of about twenty u'n'klii below the top of the cube that was clear. Half-submerged, half-visible above the swirling mist, was a silver sphere. It moved slowly up and down, changing its position gradually with the eddies in the mist.

  =Great Queen,= the Ór said, in her mind. She tasted the faintest bit of obeisance, but the mind-voice was impossibly distant, completely alien. There was nothing to read but what was being spoken.

  "You have counsel to offer," K'da said. "We are ready to receive it."