Erita and I wake up at fifth hour of Rah—synchronized to Poseidon time—grab food and force it down, then get ready for my role in the complex process that will take place. This includes putting on our space suits with the viatoios safety layer underneath, activating our interstellar communication system linkups, and carrying our helmets with us at all times (clipping them to our suits to free up our hands is an option) as we head toward the Resonance Chamber where we’ll basically spend the rest of the day.
The rest of the day. . . .
What does that even mean? How will the day end? An ending to all things?
War-2 is already on high alert all round us, battle-ready and in constant communication mode with Aeson’s ship and the others in the alignment. In fact, it’s been battle-ready since the night before. Fleet officers and crew are at their stations, weapon systems are on standby, and everyone is wearing space suits as a precaution—it’s one of the procedure requirements for a mobilized Atlantean vessel at such a high alert level.
The same thing is happening all around the system at the six coordinate points, plus Atlantis itself, which is on alert and ready for planetary defense.
All this time, I go over the voice command sequences in my mind, over and over, until it becomes a crazy litany of music in my head. And I can only imagine what the others are doing—the other five Logos voice wielders. Aeson, Gordie, Manala, Anen Qur, Sheolaat Heru.
I will know soon enough—our multi-person comm linkup is about to go into effect.
But first, the Resonance Chamber awaits.
The Resonance Chamber is located at the heart of the ship, and it is truly immense. It is even somewhat larger than the one at Atlantis Station—which I thought was unbelievably huge—possibly by about 20% in additional cubic volume.
Command Pilot Uluatl meets us at the doors—since he will be assisting me in the process by granting temporary security access to the resonance system—and we enter a grandiose, spherical interior space of homogeneous color and hue, a mind-bending vision of cream-gold light seeping in from the very walls.
The whole thing is constructed of orichalcum panels, their true acoustic-sensitive layer exposed, but it’s also backlit from within somehow, which I don’t understand. Hence, the otherworldly cream glow.
A soon as the doors open, we step onto a small protruding ledge and pause. . . .
There are no other walkways, nothing else apparent in the chamber. The orichalcum panels line the sphere seamlessly.
And suddenly, far below, in the very midpoint, the floor parts. A tech console station rises, levitating upward from the center. It consists of a podium on top of a disk-shaped platform, about twenty feet in diameter. The disk platform with the operating station stops at the height level of the doors (located at the sphere’s “equatorial belt”) and then glides toward us. Meanwhile the panels on the floor far below are closed over by another set of identical panels that emerge and rise from underneath, so that the sphere is again seamless.
All this time, there is absolute silence in the grand, spherical chamber. I’ve been warned ahead to be very quiet while inside, to be careful not to speak unnecessarily, especially while certain acoustic connection modes are enabled.
I stand, almost afraid to breathe in case I make too much noise, and watch Erita who stands next to me, appearing composed.
When the gliding platform station nears us, Command Pilot Uluatl steps across the abyss onto the platform and motions silently for us to follow.
As soon as the three of us are standing on the platform, it registers our presence and starts to move back to the distant center of the sphere, revealing a dizzying abyss all around us. Meanwhile the doors close, and the small ledge retracts, so that there is no sign of a previous opening and the area is as seamless as the rest of the sphere.
And just like that, I feel a weird stab of vertigo, and my head starts to spin. The optical illusion that is created by the perfect homogeneity of our surroundings must have an effect on the brain which cannot properly grasp what the eyes are seeing. . . .
We’re inside a ball of light.
There is nothing tangible, only the console station platform underneath us.
Erita notices my moment of disorientation and offers me her arm encased in the space suit sleeve. Quickly I grab her arm to steady myself and nod in gratitude.
We are still being perfectly quiet and saying nothing.
Command Pilot Uluatl raises one finger for attention and then starts manipulating the console. I see different color lights go on. And then suddenly a series of gentle crystalline tones sound from some invisible speakers on the nether side of the platform directly under our feet.
The tones ring out with perfect purity in the immense expanse and the amazing echoes they create fill the chamber until it rings like an immense bell.
In moments it gets so painfully loud that I find I have to cover my ears.
The Command Pilot continues entering something on the console and then, just like that, the tones and even reverbs and echoes are cut off in mid-sound, and perfect silence is almost preternaturally restored.
I watch the console and see a steady red light go on, while the cream-and-gold backlit panels of the chamber dim slightly.
“It is now safe to talk and make noise,” Amaiar Uluatl says to us in his crisp, low voice—which immediately sends up a series of instant echoes around the chamber, and the sound waves rebound like a flock of startled birds. “But, not too much noise,” he adds with minor amusement. He then reaches in his suit pocket for a small pouch of noise-dampening earplugs, offering me a pair.
“Oh, what an amazing place!” I say, putting the earplugs in my ears and sending up another flock of acoustics to echo everywhere. The moment the earplugs are in place, there is immediate relief—I can still hear clearly enough to sing the voice commands properly, but it is no longer painful.
“Let me bring up a seating area,” he says, tapping the console, and suddenly a flat ring detaches from the floor of our platform at the outer edges and lifts up a few feet, forming a hovering bench, shaped like a donut, all around us, which also serves as a safety barrier to keep us from the edge.
“Take a seat, Imperial Lady Gwen,” Erita says, putting in her own earplugs, and now her voice goes echoing all over.
I sit down, and in the next few minutes the Command Pilot explains some of the controls and what the light indicators mean. It’s generally similar to the workings of that small resonance chamber on Mar-Yan where I sang the voice sequences of our first astroctadra.
Placing one’s hand on the control panel activates the primary resonance function (which, among other things, is used to propel the ship), and for as long as you maintain physical contact with the panel, any voice commands you sing are relayed into the chamber. The comm system then takes over and transmits the voice sequences to the remote interstellar coordinates.
As for the person-to-person linkup portion, the steady green light means the interstellar comm system is active and is transmitting, while the red light means the transmission link is disabled and it is safe to talk off-line without having your words shared with the others in the linkup.
“Press and hold this control here,” he says and points to a raised button, “if you want to speak to the entire mission team via secure linkup between the six astroctadra alignment points.”
“Is this how I amplify the transmission to include everyone? During our voice sequence, I have to make sure that the other Logos voices in their own Resonance Chambers get picked up by the equipment here in this Resonance Chamber—and vice versa.”
“Correct. You will need to do two things while you sing. First, keep your hand on the console to transmit your sequence to this Resonance Chamber and onward. Second, hold this button for a two-way audio connection so that your singing is heard at all the other five coordinates, even as their singing is heard here.”
I nod. “Understood.”
“Good.” Command Pilot Uluatl c
hecks his sleeve wrist comm on his space suit and then looks up. “I’ve just been notified by the Commander that our multi-ship, multi-person interstellar conference link-up is ready to be connected. Which means that as soon as I call up the Resonance Grid on this console, we can go live. Once the grid is up, you will be able to transmit and receive in plurality and perform all the commands we’ve just discussed.”
“One more thing—with apologies, Command Pilot,” Erita adds, handing me a small digital tablet that she’s been carrying. “My Imperial Lady, this is another redundancy, as per our orders. This unit has been programmed to connect securely to the interstellar linkup in a full live feed, video and audio two-way transmission. You will be able to connect to the camera live feeds inside all of our suits, and any ship camera that’s local to the receiver on each end. The linkup includes the six astroctadra mission members, plus Ark-Ship AS-1999 near Earth, and the Imperator himself on his special solo mission to the Rim.”
And Erita shows me quickly how to cycle through the different windows and feeds on the tablet, as needed. As soon as she is done, I attach the tablet to the waist clip on my space suit for later, as needed. It is next to my suit helmet that I’ve clipped there too, in order to free up my hands.
And now, Command Pilot Uluatl takes over. He calls up a holo-grid in purple lights, and then enables our connection.
“Calling Astroctadra Mission Control, this is War-2 with Lark on board. We are ready, please acknowledge,” he says, holding down the comm button.
“This is Mission Control,” Aeson’s low, resonant voice responds a moment later. “War-2, you are now in the linkup. Please stand by.”
We wait.
After several long minutes, Aeson’s voice returns. “This is Mission Control to Astroctadra Mission members. You are all confirmed on line. The status here at Ishtar is unchanged. The Ishtar Station and War-7 are continuing to scan local space for anomalies. There has been no sign of enemy light grid formation—yet.”
My husband’s voice pauses momentarily, even as my pulse speeds up with nerves, with worry for him. And then he resumes.
“It is now sixth hour, fifty-seven daydreams, four heartbeats of Ra, synchronized to Poseidon Time. Full astroctadra planetary alignment is predicted for tenth hour, fourteen daydreams, and two heartbeats of Ra. That is our critical time. As soon as we have an update you will be notified. Be ready for action on behalf of all of us—all of humanity. Be vigilant of your own surrounding space.”
There is a brief pause, and a tiny crackle of sound.
And then Aeson resumes. “I want to hear your voices in tandem to test our connection. Please name yourself and your location.”
Command Pilot Uluatl nods to me and I step forward and press the comm button, turning it a steady green.
“Gwenevere Kassiopei, on War-2 in deep space outside the system orbital plane,” I say, keeping my voice steady—and at the same time I hear a sudden echoing chaos of five other voices, as we all test our comm lines. . . .
“This is Manala Kassiopei . . .”
“Gordon Lark here, on War-8 . . .”
“Anen Qur at Septu on board . . .”
“I am Sheolaat Heru on board War-5 . . .” an unfamiliar female voice comes in on a pleasant alto note, as the Princess of New Deshret joins our Logos voice circle.
“. . . on board War-6 somewhere in remote space, I am sorry I don’t know where exactly. . .”
“. . . around Tammuz. Yeah, ready to go.”
“. . . War-3.”
“. . . in orbit around Rah.”
The simultaneous words echo and reverb into silence.
“This is Mission Control, our test is confirmed,” Aeson says. “As of this moment, we are ready to execute our mission. You will wait for my next communication. It may take hours, or it may take a few moments. This is a difficult time of uncertainty, so you must find the strength within you to maintain focus. Your Logos voices depend on it. Good luck to all of us and to Atlantis. And now, be prepared to act. Stand by.”
And there is silence.
In that terrible, uncertain silence, we wait.
And wait.
Minutes go by, then hours.
I look around the Resonance Chamber, then stare at the control panel, at Amaiar Uluatl standing dutifully before it, at Erita, who waits stoically sitting next to me.
Eighth hour.
Periodically I stand up to restore circulation in my frozen limbs.
Ninth hour.
We speak very softly, very occasionally, so as not to disturb the acoustics in the chamber. Erita stands and flexes her fingers, bends her knees a few times, then sits down, but her gaze remains sharp. The Command Pilot sits down, checks his wrist comm for various SPC notifications and statuses for the millionth time, and his expression remains equally focused. I am reminded that both of these members of the armed forces are consummate professionals, and how much of military action consists of simply waiting.
My thoughts wander and I think of my Dad, my siblings, everything random. How is Gracie doing, back on Atlantis, somewhere in orbit or aboard War-1? Is Dad feeling okay and has he eaten this morning?
Is George going nuts with the waiting somewhere next to Manala, and has Gordie completely spaced out and forgotten his reasons for being there and the mission itself?
Are the pegasei still flying next to the velo-cruiser carrying the body of Arlenari and the Imperator toward the Rim of Ae-Leiterra? Have they Jumped already, or do they prepare to Jump even now?
The Imperator is going to die, isn’t he. . . .
I am not entirely sure how I feel about that. Even after all the dark, conflicted, plain malicious actions that he’s done, I don’t know. . . .
What must poor Devora be feeling right now? Oh, God.
It is now tenth hour. In fourteen minutes—daydreams—the astroctadra alignment will be at its height, as Rah, Tammuz, Septu, and Ishtar square off against each other around Helios.
This is when the statistical probability of attack at Ishtar is at its highest.
Just in that moment, a bell tone alarm sounds from the tablet clipped to my waist.
Crap!
I nearly jump at the sound, and all of us grow alert, but Erita says. “It’s a private communication for you, Imperial Lady. Answer it.”
“Ah, right.” I nod and pick up the tablet, then swipe the screen to establish the linkup with the caller.
The blank screen comes alive and a window expands to take up the full screen.
It is the Imperator.
The Imperator stands leaning over some kind of ship console, with a strangely elevated expression on his normally closed-off features as he faces the camera. Just behind him I see what must be a holo-view of deep space outside. It is nothing more than a field of grey static.
At once I recognize the nature of that space—a milky soup of hurtling stars, a homogeneous visual blend of the cosmos at high velocity, which you only see at the fastest speed of Quantum Stream travel, just before a Jump is attempted.
So, he hasn’t Jumped yet. . . .
And in the next moment I notice the long, golden, gem-encrusted object that is the ancient sarcophagus, lying in the cramped space behind him. A nebulous cloud of rainbow color flickers all around the sarcophagus, as pegasei shapes of plasma blend and soar and pulse in the air . . . guarding it.
I perceive all this in an instant, while my first thought is, why is the Imperator calling me?
“Aeson, my Son.” The Imperator says into the camera, speaking with focused intent. “Manala, my child . . . Gwen, my new daughter.”
So, not just me.
“I’ve waited for as long as possible, counting down to the highest moment of alignment. The time has come,” Romhutat Kassiopei says, with a slow, peculiar smile.
“Father!” Suddenly I hear Aeson’s voice. A smaller window appears on in the lower right corner of my display, showing Aeson in close-up, peering at a tablet screen in his hands, while he’s
silhouetted against the golden cream glow of another Resonance Chamber behind him.
“I’m here, Father . . . oh, Father!” Manala’s faint voice sounds, and she appears in a second smaller window on the left. Manala’s great violet-blue eyes are wide open, and she seems to be trembling. She, too, stares into a tablet with an identical Resonance Chamber in the background.
As for Aeson—oh, my poor Aeson! His expression is stilled, well under control, but a world of emotion is reflected in his eyes as he watches his father.
“I’m here, Imperial Sovereign,” I say, probably appearing in a little window on all of their screens.
“Nothing happening yet on your end, I assume,” the Imperator says. “Eh? Well. You won’t have to wait much longer. I can sense it’s about to begin. I feel it. In the back of my head, where the real senses are. But first—I wanted to inform you of the moment we part.”
“Part? What do you mean, My Father?” Manala interrupts.
The Imperator’s face moves in closer as he says thoughtfully. “Remember, all of you—when the time comes, focus, focus. It all depends on your ability to retain concentration.”
“I understand, My Father,” Aeson responds, keeping his voice even. “We will perform the sequence as instructed.”
“Ah,” the Imperator sighs, almost tiredly. “I know you will, boy. You’ve always been good at such things. Duty, duty—your first love. Well done. . . . And you too, my little girl. Manala, tell your Mother she did a fine job with you, and I will always . . . appreciate her.”
“Tell her yourself when you come home!” Manala exclaims, her voice breaking.
But the Imperator continues, after throwing a quick glance behind him at the flickering rainbow aurora borealis. “Yes, yes, they say it’s time. Very well, but quickly now—a few more things to say to my children, just a few little things before I go. . . . Aeson. Yes, you, Aeson, my Son and Heir. As you can imagine, boy, I am abdicating now. Regardless of what happens, whether or not I come back, I am going to abdicate the Imperial Throne in your favor—”
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