“It’s not always about you, Çrom.”
“I know. I know,” he sighed, then smiled sheepishly. “It’s often about me, though.”
Gabriel snorted. Çrom was silent for a while, and they passed into the impound which was empty except for a rusted-out carrier-hopper, a battered old pair of mag-shuttles and the gleaming, extraordinarily beautiful shape of the Highwayman. In the darkness of Eden Road night and under the drab lights of the impound security perimeter, she glowed.
“So,” Gabriel said, “she got you there and back.”
“Was there ever any doubt?”
“And Greyblade – you found the Godfangs?”
“Of course we did,” Çrom said, then added less challengingly, “I appreciate you waiting until now to ask me.”
“I was too busy getting punched in the face before.”
“Hah.”
They stood and looked at the ship for a while.
“Are they–?”
“They’re on their way back,” Çrom said. “We agreed to meet on Declivitorion.”
“Huh,” Gabriel grunted. “That’s where we were considering evacuating the Milkies.”
“Evacuating them with what?” Çrom asked, and pointed. “Mag-shuttles?”
“We paid your bail with passenger chits for the Elevator,” Gabriel said. “Let the Eden Roaders keep them as a charitable donation.”
“Are you serious? Will any of them go for that?”
“I guess we’ll find out.”
They stood in silence a few moments longer.
“Is she alright?” Çrom asked quietly.
“She’s … to be honest, I don’t know,” Gabriel said. “She’s always been – always been an odd one, hasn’t she? But she – whatever has happened, she’s still her. We’re looking after her. She knew you were here,” he added.
“She did?”
Gabriel nodded. “She could have mentioned it sooner, but when the cops came to tell us you wanted to talk, she was the only one who wasn’t surprised.”
“Huh,” Çrom echoed Gabriel’s grunt from a little while ago. “Oh,” he visibly shook himself, and grinned. “That reminds me. I’ve got something for you on board.”
He trotted over to the ship, the elegant ramp extended under her nose and he vanished inside. Gabriel loped forward uncertainly, but before he could approach the ramp Çrom was trotting back down, holding a pale glowing bar of white crystal.
“What is that? Is that Bharriom?” Gabriel spluttered.
“A broken piece of refined Bharriom from the wreck of a Category 9 we found on our travels, to be precise,” Çrom agreed, hefting the bar in his hands.
“A wreck? And why is it white?” Gabriel demanded, narrowing his eyes. “Bharriom only goes white–”
“Yes,” Çrom said, “there was a bit of an interesting complication as we crossed the Boundary and realigned with zaz-space.”
“With what space?”
“Not important. When we crossed from Beyond the Walls and back into Dimensions infused with the power of the Ghååla … you know how it is. Aliens get a bit of extra spring in their step. Jank here seems to have gone … a little bit God.”
“I’m going to need you to unpack that entire last statement you just made.”
“Alright,” Çrom said. “Gabriel, Jank. Jank, Gabriel.”
“Hello Gabriel,” a voice said out of nowhere.
“That’s Jank,” Çrom reiterated unnecessarily.
“Hello Jank,” Gabriel said, and continued to stare narrowly at Çrom. “What exactly–”
“Jank was a fairly harmless discorporeal entity,” Çrom explained, “who was drawn into this broken Bharriom rod while we were exploring a wreck site. Then we crossed the Ghåålus line and She became a fairly harmless divine entity, at least as far as my exhaustive ‘was purple, now it’s white’ examination of the Bharriom was able to establish. And the ‘harmless’ bit is based solidly on the fact that She hasn’t harmed anyone that I know of, yet,” he added.
“You smuggled an Alien God across the Boundary,” Gabriel said.
“Not really,” Çrom said, “since She only became a God when She crossed over, and it’s still only by technicality. She doesn’t appear to have power as such, She’s still just a voice. Neither She nor the Bharriom can be used for anything else. And Limbo didn’t stop us at the Boundary.”
“Why are you giving Her to me?” Gabriel asked as Çrom extended the bar towards him.
“Because Greyblade told me a little bit about what you’re trying to do,” Çrom said, “and it’s not the sort of thing you want to find out doesn’t work when it’s too late to do anything about it, and Jank here wants to die. Seems to me, you can use each other,” he pushed the bar at Gabriel again. “Plus, I’m not coming back. To Earth,” he added when Gabriel scowled. “Screw all that noise. I’m done.”
“Not yet you’re not,” Gabriel said.
“Gabe–”
“I need you to come back,” Gabriel said. “One last time, then you can take your silly, beautiful spaceship and fly away forever, if that’s still what you want. When Greyblade gets to Declivitorion with the Godfangs, I need you to come back home one more time, Çrom.”
Çrom scowled, once again echoing Gabriel’s expression. “Why?”
“You remember that job I had for you? We talked about it, must have been, oh … it was a wedding, you remember. Jalahame – Homecoming, sometime in the Twenty-Fifth Century, give or take.”
“Is this your idea of narrowing it down?”
“You plucked a feather out of my wing and put it between that bridesmaid’s teeth so you could tango.”
“Ohhh,” Çrom grinned. “Why didn’t you say? Tango achieved, by the way.”
“I know. But you remember the job we talked about? Remember what I asked you to steal?”
Çrom blinked. “Really? You want me to steal–?” Gabriel nodded. “That was just drunk-talk though,” he said, his face going a little bit wistful. “Wasn’t it?”
“Before this all goes down,” Gabriel said, “you’re going to come back here and make it happen. No more drunk-talk. You wanted your myth to change? You wanted to show Blacknettle something? Here it is. Çrom Skelliglyph, making Prometheus look like a small-time clown running a cup-and-ball scam.”
Çrom shook his head, but he was grinning. “This is why you always get away with shit and I come across looking like the crazy one,” he said, then reached out and patted the bar of glowing white Bharriom. “So long, Jank,” he added. “I hope my brother and his friends can help you. Lord knows I only ever seemed to make things worse. If they mess it up, you can always ask Blacknettle. She’s sworn off that sort of thing but they’ve apparently got her caught up in all this so she might make an exception.”
“Goodbye, Çrom,” Jank’s strange disembodied voice replied. “It doesn’t look like your brother is any better at dying than you are, but perhaps this is a step in the right direction.”
“Don’t worry, Jank,” Gabriel said as he exchanged a purposeful nod with Çrom and turned to head back to the nearest step-edge that wasn’t surrounded by security markers. “I can introduce you to some real specialists.”
HATE
“She’s gone,” Frogsalt reported.
Ludi, Galatine and Magna were enjoying one of the rare breakfasts they jokingly referred to as ‘just us monkeys’ breakfasts, with no Angels or Ogres or miscellaneous mythical creatures to complicate matters. Or talking crystals, for that matter – Galatine usually brought Jank down to lie on the table and chat with them, even though nobody was quite sure this was a good idea. Although She seemed to enjoy their company and conversation, the strange Alien Goddess remained more than a little unreadable. Especially, Ludi had often noted, before the humans had had their coffee.
Furthermore, for the past couple of years they had all been excruciatingly aware that Jank was here to die in Galatine’s experimental worldwide God-slaying machine. Indeed, it was an unusu
al breakfast conversation that didn’t start with Her reminding them of this fact, and asking how the whole thing was coming along. Ludi had found herself helpless to avoid coming to know and like the eccentric Being, and she knew she wasn’t alone in this, and it was increasingly saddening to think of Her dying no matter how much She seemed to be looking forward to it.
Galatine had told them he was almost ready to test the system. The problem was, the fountains still needed to be distributed, and everything else prepared – and he was still concerned that a live test of the system would either fail and bring everything to a head too soon, or succeed and bring everything to a head too soon. So Jank, until that time, was acting as a paperweight in his study, except when he brought her down to – often figuratively, and always literally – brighten up meal times.
Now, though, Jank was upstairs and the humans all turned to look at the tiny, blazing-mad figure of Frogsalt standing in the kitchen doorway.
“Who’s gone?” Ludi asked the obvious question.
“The Drake,” Frogsalt exclaimed. “Her main trove has been gutted, that giant HarvCorp machine is gone, and I can’t even figure out how she got it all out of there. She might have just piled it all into a side-chamber and sealed it up behind her, but there’s no way we’re going to be able to find it.”
“She’s … gone?” Galatine looked from Frogsalt to Ludi to Magna, his face pale. “Her – all her network and devices too?”
“The Drake, and her entire trove,” Frogsalt repeated. “Sister Bazinard went down there, and the whole place is scorched bare. Not even slag left.”
“You don’t think she might have … killed herself?” Magna asked in a hushed voice, looking at Ludi. Ludi’s brain, as usual, failed to tell her anything useful. “I’ve heard stories of Dragons self-immolating–”
“Or the authorities finally caught up with her,” Galatine said, “but we would have heard something, wouldn’t we?”
“She didn’t kill herself,” Frogsalt said, “and we definitely would have heard if they’d gone in there with guns. No, I think she just packed up and left, and I think she didn’t trust any of us enough to tell us where she was going, and I suspect she had help from Lucifer.”
“Lucifer?” Ludi blinked. “Why Lucifer?”
“Because she’s been tunnelling and collapsing and messing around for years in the Overhell,” Frogsalt said. “Even after we sorted out the equipment transport from Good Intentions and we didn’t need the caves anymore, she was messing around.”
“She’s been helping lay power node and cascade hawsers,” Galatine said valiantly, “to stabilise the network as much as possible before and after the changeover events.”
“Well it wouldn’t be difficult to add in a bit of an escape tunnel for the Drake at the same time,” Frogsalt declared. “And all her gear.”
“Good for her,” Magna said suddenly. Frogsalt stared. “You saw what happened to her in Warakurna,” she went on, her tone fierce. “I’m amazed she let us into her nest as freely as she did after that. This has obviously been a long time coming. And now – Galatine, would you say her trove is vital to the effort any longer?”
“No,” Galatine admitted. “Nice to have, certainly, but Osrai and I can handle future data and logistics. It’s not like there’s much left to do there.”
Magna spread her hands. “She tolerated us for as long as she needed to,” she said, “and now she has gone into seclusion. If all goes well, maybe the day will come when she will let us back in. Dragons are long-lived, and have long memories.”
“What if all doesn’t go well?” Ludi couldn’t help asking.
Magna shrugged and picked up her coffee cup. “You’re the one with the insight,” she said. “You tell us. But I’m going to guess we’re not going to be around to worry about it.”
“I still think Lucifer’s–” Frog started, then turned to look at the ceiling. “Oh,” she went on, her head moving as though tracking something. This, Ludi realised, was exactly what it was doing. “Interesting,” she concluded, and turned back to the humans. “You have a guest,” she said with an enigmatic twitch of her eyebrows.
They hurried to the main doors of the warehouse, which Frogsalt had already flitted across to and rumbled open. Ludi blinked in the harsh sunlight, then stared at the looming white shape that curved and swelled above the cracked paving in front of the building like an enormous balloon.
Galatine, who had evidently come to the same conclusion as Ludi, whispered, “No … no, we’re not ready.”
Magna, however, was more clear-headed. “It’s not a Godfang,” she said, and pointed. “It’s too small. Probably one of the Elevator’s transports.”
“That’s still not good news,” Ludi said. “That thing looks like it’s about a kilometre tall.”
Frogsalt shook her head. “Only a couple of hundred metres,” she said. “It’s in compact configuration.”
“And sitting right in front of our supposedly nothing-particularly-important-here warehouse,” Ludi pointed out. “You can’t tell me that’s not going to get someone’s attention. Even here in the Sacred City.”
“Especially here in the Sacred City,” Galatine amended. “We’re not ready to show our hand, Frog.”
“Show me an Elevator Person who cares about the little problems of the rock-crawlers,” Frogsalt said with a shrug of her wings. “I’m amazed they’ve even decided to turn up.”
A door opened in the tapering point of the huge inverted teardrop, and the point itself curved sinuously into a flattened tongue that almost touched the ground. A tall, stern-looking human man dressed in pristine white wrappings appeared in the arched doorway and stood looking down on them, like an unfeasibly handsome and well-preserved mummy emerging from an inordinately tasteful minimalist tomb.
Ludi waved.
The man’s lips visibly thinned, as though she’d turned around and flashed her bottom at him. Nevertheless, he descended the ramp and approached the little group of humans and the Angel standing in the warehouse doorway. Behind him, the vessel sealed seamlessly and rose up into the hard blue sky without a sound. The man passed them, and entered the warehouse in a sweep of mild, pleasantly spicy scent.
“I have set the Flesh-Eater to perform several such landings around the Sacred City,” he said without looking back, “in accordance with my desire to study the historic landmarks hereabouts. It is understandable that you should step out to see such an unusual sight, but by all means come back inside and close the doors. I enjoy diplomatic immunity from scrutiny, but it is the scrutiny of the undiplomatic that we should be concerned about and my disembarkation may have been noted.”
Ludi, Galatine and Magna exchanged glances, but duly shuffled back inside. Frogsalt closed the doors behind them.
“Welcome to Earth,” Magna said. “I am Cara-Magna Áqui, this is Paraludi Aptidocles and Galatine Gazmouth. And Mehapmiamariel, our Angelic ally.”
“Call me Frogsalt,” Frog requested.
The Elevator Person had turned, and studied all four of them in silence for a short time. Then he nodded, stepped forward and shook hands with each of them in turn.
“My name is Paracelsus Hate,” he said. “I am glad to know you. The Archangel Gabriel has mentioned you – and your quest, of course.”
Paracelsus Hate? Ludi thought, but didn’t question it. She was, after all, standing next to an Angel called Frogsalt so she could hardly afford to point fingers. “How is the evacuation of the Eden Road coming along?” she asked instead.
“The so-called Stair People are stubborn and prideful,” Paracelsus replied, “but no more so than the rest of us. They also have an ingrained opposition to my own kind, but it is less an ideological difference than it is a cultural misconception. We are actually finding a certain amount of common cause, and several Flesh-Eater-loads of evacuees have been transferred to the Destarion with … minimal incident,” he smiled thinly. “We are working slowly, so as to avoid a general panic on the stairs or e
lsewhere. To the casual observer, it might even resemble a natural demographic shift and attrition of population among the … Milky Way movement.”
Galatine nodded. “Osrai said it would help with that,” he said. “Census data and everything.”
Paracelsus returned the nod. “It is an accustomed role for the Elevator,” he said, “although it has been some generations since we last helped to fulfil it. I consider it a welcome return to old ways.”
Ludi’s senses, usually dormant or sluggish at best, gave a slow tingle of recognition at this. She knew the story of the Destarion, and could recognise it as it began to set forth buds once more. Not her entire story, of course – that was simply too bloody and filled with horror. But its most recent chapters, perhaps.
After the lifting of the veil and the beginning of the Exposed Earth, humanity had been positively battered by that exposure. Out of respect for the shock, and humanity’s understandable trust issues in the aftermath of recent events, the Pinians had loosened their theocratic manacles a little.
This had probably been a mistake in the long run, but Ludi understood the importance of the gesture. After their brush with extermination, humans had earned the right to choose their own destinies. It was possible she’d spent too much time with Gabriel, but Ludi was convinced that everyone above the human level had known it was a terrible idea to put humans in charge and that it would end badly, but that they’d had a number of solutions prepared and would use the inevitable disaster as a reason to never let humans choose their own destinies again.
It was also possible that these wise and lofty heads had managed to dramatically underestimate humanity’s ability to punch itself in the face.
Which left them in their current situation. An out-of-work Burning Knight Commander was just about the only Pinian authority still willing to go to war on their behalf. And even then it seemed like the beginning and end of his plan was to use the blazing garbage fire of Earth to burn an enemy God on his way to an honourable – nay, legendary – retirement.
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