Prime- The Summons

by Maeve Sleibhin

  Xai stared at him. She was having a great deal of trouble coping with the fact that he was treating the entire burdensome quest that had been tormenting her for two months, now, like something approximating a lark.

  “The nearest Weakness Point is K’e Txatllt’ at .0032 parsecs distance,” Annabel told him.

  “What class is it?” Joaquim asked, forestalling her replying at further length.

  “It is a Rydian Class F Weakness Point.”

  “What does that mean?” Xai asked.

  Joaquim turned to look at her. He seemed almost dismayed. “You really don’t know very much about space travel, do you?” he asked finally.

  Xai shook her head.

  “Well,” Joaquim said firmly, turning back to his keyboards, “we’ll have to do something about that. T’lasians are expected to know everything about space travel. Annabel, give us a definition of Weakness Points—with,” he added hastily, “as little historical detail as possible.”

  “Processing,” the Tellorian replied. Joaquim winked at Xai. Xai flushed. The Me’xeit hit her when she was ignorant. This man winked. It was confusing.

  “Weakness Points,” the Tellorian said finally, “are points in space, generally several kilometers wide, where the inter-dimensional filigree is thinner than in other parts of space. Cyclical phenomena in other planes generate regular weaknesses in the filigree, making it permeable. By using the Q-matrix to maintain the relationships between quarks, and the Quantum Drive to manipulate the charges of the quarks themselves, inter-plane travel is possible.”

  “I know that,” Xai said, affronted. The Tellorian continued, ignoring her.

  “Colloquially, this is known as ‘surfing’. Three things are necessary for the appropriately equipped ship to surf. First, the pilot must know the location of the Weakness Point. Second, the pilot must know when the Weakness will appear. Finally, the ship must have momentum with which to enter the Point.

  “If those three aspects exist, and the ship is equipped with a Quantum Drive, the ship can change planes. Left to its own devices, the quarks of a ship will fall back to their regular charges in approximately fifteen minutes. At that time the ship will return to this plane. This is commonly called degradation. The function of the pilot is to prevent the ship from degrading for as long as possible. This is accomplished by surfing the filigree—preventing full degradation by using the momentum of the degradation to deflect off the base charge of the plane.

  “The longest time known of prevented degradation—predicated on a successful return—is three days. Any time over fifteen hours is considered detrimental to the health of the crew.

  “Weakness Points are named after the individual who discovers them. Isabella Cotto, the great Allorian explorer, was the first individual to place a beacon at a Weakness Point. Annabel Tellorian—”

  “Give us modern beacon tech,” Joaquim interjected.

  “Currently,” the Tellorian said, changing topic in mid-sentence, “most beacons have the following capacity. When a ship has logged on, the beacon will calculate the distance between the ship and the Weakness Point, as well as the time until the next wave. Based on this the beacon will determine the speed one must take to arrive at the Weakness Point with the appropriate amount of momentum. At the busier Weakness Points, the beacons also maintain entry order.”

  “What if there are too many ships for the wave?” Xai asked.

  “Then you have to wait till the next one,” Joaquim told her. “That’s why some of the heavily used trade routes are so strangely mapped—they go through Weakness Points with frequent cycles. One of the hardest things for the charters to do was to stop thinking in a linear fashion. The shortest linear distance between Malta and Rydia One, for example, takes you to a Weakness Point with a fifty-seven day cycle and one with one of almost three hundred days. Do you have any money?” he asked, changing subjects with alarming speed.

  Xai shook her head.

  “Given Weakness Points—”

  “That’s enough for now, Annabel,” Joaquim said.

  “Why do I need money?” Xai asked.

  “Most Weakness Points charge a toll,” Joaquim explained. “Makes the explorers some money so they can keep exploring. Or the people who fund them, or buy them out.”

  “Does it cost a lot?” Xai asked anxiously. She didn’t have a microcredit to her name.

  “It depends,” Joaquim replied. “Primers don’t charge much—Rydians charge as much as they can get away with. The rest fall somewhere in between.”

  “What are we going to do?” Xai said almost plaintively.

  “I left some money in the bank,” Joaquim told her, grinning. “It should be enough.”

  “Well,” Xai said with a sigh, “let’s get going then.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “ALL RIGHT,” Joaquim said, rubbing his hands together with something very close to relish, “Annabel, throw up an estimated course to Rydia IV for me. Ship specifications—Malloxian Tow.”

  “State Class,” the Tellorian said.

  Xai and Joaquim shared a glance. “Whatever’s towing us at the moment,” Joaquim said finally.

  The Tellorian flashed a projected course into the air before them, a series of angles heading toward the star system close to two light years away.

  “Estimate the time before the next re-adjustment,” Joaquim asked.

  “Fifteen minutes.”

  Joaquim looked up at the hull hanging over them. “Show me the nearest Weakness Point.”

  The Tellorian projected the Weakness Point, off to the side of their current course.

  “Excellent,” Joaquim murmured. “They’re deliberately changing course to avoid the Weakness Point. If we get the right angle we can catapult right into it.”

  “Um… Isn’t the hull we’re anchored to in the way?” Xai asked uncertainly.

  “Quite right,” Joaquim said approvingly. “If we want to head toward the Weakness Point we have to be on the other side of this hull. Any idea how to get there?”

  Xai thought about it for a short moment and then gave up with an untoward amount of enthusiasm, extremely happy that someone else was going to be doing all the hard thinking, at least for the next couple of days. She thought she’d done just about all the independent thinking she hoped to do for some time. “No,” she said.

  Joaquim’s fingers danced across the keyboard, and the ship rolled over once along the surface of the bigger ship.

  Xai’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know you could do that,” she said softly.

  “I’m rotating the anchor along the magnetic belt,” Joaquim told her, doing it again. “It’s quite an uncomplicated procedure. You simply have to be careful you don’t do it too fast—you might de-anchor. And, of course, sometimes passengers take it poorly.” Xai laughed. “Here,” he said. “You try it.” Carefully Xai ran her fingers over the board before her. They rolled the ship around until it was on the other side of the big hull.

  “Annabel,” Joaquim said, “log onto to the beacon.”

  “Logging on,” the Tellorian murmured. “Connection established. State your request.”

  “This is Joaquim Salazar Syng, T’lasian pilot, requesting passage.”

  “This is K’e Txatllt’ VI,” a strange, neutral voice said. “Please present retina for credit check. Cost of transit: fifteen credits.” Joaquim made a face.

  “Trust a Rydian to charge as much as he can,” he murmured sourly. “Where do I look?” he asked.

  “Here please,” the Tellorian said. A small red beacon flashed on the edge of the nearest Strip. Joaquim looked at it.

  “Credit Agency,” K’e Txatllt’ VI prompted.

  “Joaquim Salazar Syng, T’lasia Credit,” Joaquim replied. There was a moment’s pause.

  “Credit denied,” the beacon said.

  Joaquim’s gaunt, dark features flushed a mottled red. He didn’t seem embarrassed or uncertain. He seemed profoundly insulted.

  Xai stayed very q
uiet. Joaquim drummed his fingers angrily on the panel before him.

  “Joaquim Salazar Syng, Rydia Sic Teor,” Joaquim snarled.

  “Credit denied,” the beacon told him.

  Joaquim’s brow beetled. “Julian Te,” he said finally, “Rydia, Feor Matt.”

  “Processing,” the beacon replied.

  Joaquim shook his head, his expression changing from anger to something close to worry. “We’re going to have to take a small detour,” he told Xai. “I need to visit someone before we go to the Salak.”

  “What’s wrong?” Xai asked.

  Joaquim frowned. “Perhaps nothing,” he said, staring out at the great yardarm to which they were anchored. “But, you see, traditionally we don’t say our people die—T’lasians only die on T’lasia. Out here, we are lost in space. It’s a conceit, but an important one.” He shook his head then, worried. “A T’lasian’s credit is always kept open. Prama herself could still get credit, were she to come back to life. To cut off a T’lasian’s credit… Something must be very wrong.” He fell silent, preoccupied.

  “Credit confirmed,” the beacon said. “State destination.”

  “The Davonian Asteroid belt,” Joaquim said firmly.

  “Course projected,” the beacon replied.

  “Course confirmed,” the Tellorian told them. “Estimated time until barrier crossing—six minutes.”

  Suddenly, the Tellorian’s hull began to quiver. “The Malloxian Tow is changing course,” the Tellorian noted in a neutral tone of voice. “Hull integrity currently stable.”

  The shaking got worse. “Shouldn’t we disengage?” Xai suggested.

  Joaquim lifted a hand for silence, watching their progress on the schematics.

  “Negative anchor pressure 60 percent and climbing,” the Tellorian said.

  Joaquim waited.

  “Negative anchor pressure 70 percent and climbing,” the Tellorian continued.

  The ship was shaking harder now.

  “Joaquim?” Xai suggested nervously.

  “Disengage the anchor,” Joaquim said suddenly. “Reverse magnetic fields.”

  “Confirmed,” the Tellorian said as they shot away from the side of the ancient Fleet destroyer.

  They catapulted over the edge of a Malatian freighter, darted between the wide arms of a Rydian refueling ship, shot straight through a crevice in a Fleet tanker and out into open space. Xai struggled vainly to breathe.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” she roared when she was finally able to do anything other than emit a high-pitched, fearful squeak.

  “What are you talking about?” Joaquim replied. “I had at least three meters of room each time.”

  “Three meters?” Xai cried apoplectically.

  “Estimated time till barrier crossing,” the Tellorian hummed, “four minutes. Three Malloxian D’maa drones disengaging from the Tow and coming in this direction.”

  “What’s a D’maa drone?” Xai asked nervously.

  Joaquim waved his hand again with that nonchalant gesture Xai was coming to regard as the harbinger of complete disaster. “They pick up the things that get away from the Tow,” he said calmly. “Deploy the rudder,” he added.

  “Rudder deployed,” the Tellorian told him.

  “They look a little small,” Xai said, turning to look back at them.

  Something bright shot away from the first drone and in their direction. Joaquim abruptly banked hard to left.

  “Laser fire detected,” the Tellorian said neutrally.

  “They’re famous for bringing things down to their size,” Joaquim said calmly, banking hard again, this time to the right. More laser fire darted out from the two drones in the front.

  “Estimated time until barrier crossing,” the Tellorian said, “three minutes.”

  “I thought space was supposed to be a nice, peaceful sort of place,” Xai said mournfully, watching as the drones slowly caught up with them. Joaquim snorted and pulled the nose of the Tellorian straight up.

  “Not with Malloxians around,” he said.

  “Malloxian fighter ship disengaging from the Tow,” the Tellorian pointed out.

  “What are those?” Xai asked nervously.

  “They use them to board ships,” Joaquim said. He turned the nose of Tellorian down and headed back toward the Weakness Point.

  “Ah, Joaquim,” Xai said nervously, “you’re heading right for that fighter ship.”

  “Entering firing range in fifteen seconds,” the Tellorian said.

  “Give me the Quantum Drive, Annabel,” Joaquim said calmly.

  “Confirmed,” the Tellorian said. “Firing range in five, four, three, two, one.”

  The Malloxian fighter ship sent out three sharp ionic blasts. Xai watched the telltale ripple in space speed toward them.

  “Activate the Drive,” Joaquim said.

  “Drive activated,” the Tellorian replied.

  For a moment time itself stopped, and Xai could see with perfect clarity the ripple of the ionic burst, the sharp streaks of light from the drone’s lasers, and the ships themselves, backlit by the beams emanating from the hard nose of the Malloxian Tow, followed like a comet by a wide tail of debris. Then space seemed to twist and fold and everything warped and abruptly disappeared. There was nothing, suddenly, no stars, no ships. Xai felt sweat break out all over her body as the most elemental and trustworthy aspects of her existence disappeared.

  “The barrier has been successfully crossed,” the Tellorian said triumphantly.

  Joaquim gave Xai a reassuring grin. “Current position,” he said.

  “12-12-6,” the Tellorian said calmly.

  “Not bad after 35 years,” Joaquim murmured in a rather self-satisfied tone of voice.

  “Do you always cut it that close?” Xai asked irritably. Joaquim laughed, totally relaxed.

  “Sometimes,” he replied. “Annabel, what was our speed at the moment of entry?”

  “.047 parsecs.”

  “And our angle?”

  “.02 off the suggested course.”

  “Excellent,” Joaquim said. He turned to Xai. “How about lunch?” he suggested.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “FIRST DEGRADATION in approximately fifteen minutes,” the Tellorian said.

  “Excellent,” Joaquim replied, rolling back the outer skin of another tella leaf. He’d been eating them consistently for an hour and a half—which, given the fact that he’d spent the past thirty-five years in stasis, wasn’t altogether surprising. Xai admired his technique in unrolling them, and surreptitiously imitated him when she thought he wasn’t looking. “Any obstacles?”

  “None noted.”

  “Good. Give me two minutes’ warning.”

  “Confirmed,” the Tellorian replied, for once remarkably succinct.

  “Xai,” Joaquim said gently, popping the first roll into his mouth, “are you all right?”

  Xai was looking at the tella leaf in her hands, trying not to see the space outside the ship. There was something horribly wrong with the world right now and it made her uncomfortable on a profoundly personal level. It was as if some very basic law had been broken and she could feel it, not merely in her mind, but in her body as well. “I feel queasy,” she said finally.

  “Plane sickness,” the Tellorian noted, “is a well-documented aspect of plane travel. The first known account—”

  “Thank you, Annabel,” Joaquim interjected. “That’s enough.” The Tellorian fell compliantly into silence. Joaquim examined Xai for a moment, his expression pensive. “How much do you really know about plane travel?” he asked.

  Xai shrugged. “It’s the primary mode of travel other than sailing. Based on Q-Matrices. Q-Matrices were found in Edoxia by—“

  “Stop!” Joaquim shouted, throwing up his hands. Xai stopped her rather orthodox dissertation on the nature of plane travel and waited, battling down a smile. She suspected Joaquim’s outrage was due to the fact that she wasn’t telling the story with the requi
site amount of pomp. “You have obviously,” Joaquim said, frowning, “been spending far too much time with Primers. Only they can turn the greatest of stories into a list of dull, dry, plodding inevitabilities.”

  “Prime History—” the Tellorian began, affronted. Xai laughed. Joaquim grinned.

  “Enough!” he interjected. “You must feel this,” Joaquim told Xai. “You must understand this not with your head but with your heart. When our ancestors left System Solaar we changed. We are no longer the same.”

  “I know that,” Xai said. “We’re smaller than they used to be, and—”

  “Don’t start listing facts!” Joaquim cried. “Listen. Listen carefully, with your heart,” he added. “This is what we share,” he said seriously. “These are our ancestors.”

  Xai fell quiet.

  “Why did we go to space?” Joaquim asked her. “No one knows. The Rydians believe it was for profit. Fleet theists say it is because their ancestors were called by God to escape before Solaar was destroyed. Most of us admit we simply do not know. The fragments on Rydia IX do not explain it—if anything they make it more impenetrable.” Joaquim paused far a moment. “I, for one,” he said gently, “along with most of my people, believe that from the moment man looked through a clear atmosphere and saw the brilliance of the stars he had no choice but to go to them. The heavens were his destiny.

  “What a terrible thing that must have been,” Joaquim added, “to long for the stars and never to be able to reach them, to be bound to one planet, watching the persistent wheeling of one sky! What courage they must have had, to be willing to live and learn and struggle to make a vehicle strong enough to leave their atmosphere, knowing most of them would never partake of it. Honor the ancestors,” Joaquim said, touching his forehead in an obviously ritualized gesture, his expression serious, “for their courage, for what they made possible.”

  Xai thought suddenly of a line of the Old Pragmatist, Xiang Wu. “We live because of the dead. If you would worship anything, worship them.” She nodded. She understood.

  Joaquim continued, his voice a strange mixture of reverence, amusement, and nostalgia. “Finally they take to the skies. Finally, they breach the barrier of their atmosphere and go into space. And there they are faced with one, insurmountable difficulty—the unavoidable problem of space—distance. The nearest star is over a light year away! From all accounts, with their technology, it would have taken them over a hundred years to get there. Full lifetimes, devoted merely to travel! Two whole generations sacrificed to reach a place they did not even know was habitable.