The battle-cruiser had accelerated inbound at superluminal, having found the hyper gradient dropping off precipitously as they moved away from the Barrier. Now, having leapt three light-years from the Pinhole to the immediate vicinity of the rosette, her forward big eye filled with the ever-growing glare of the ejection jet. With initial repairs complete and Command fully staffed again, Kosho watched the plot unfold with a weather eye. The near edge of the vast shoal of debris was quickly approaching and she was on edge. There were more spectators on hand than she was used to. Prince Xochitl was still camped out in Secondary Command, and a v-pane showing his handsome but worn face had acquired a permanent-and unwelcome-place on her console.
The camera displays revealed static undulations of deep purple hue, crested with orange from the glare of the plasma stream, which gradually resolved into strings of gigantic beads, and then into enormous individual entities drifting in a black soup of smaller, irregular material. Ship’s comp began scanning, trying to pattern-match the jagged shapes.
Susan stood up slowly, both eyes on the screen, one hand on the edge of her console. She had already recognized what lay before them and the sheer scale of it held her speechless for a moment.
At the XO’s console, Oc Chac stiffened as the first models began to flow onto his display from the comp analysis. “Ships!” he exclaimed. “They’re starships.”
“All wrecked.” Holloway started to bite at a fingernail, before forcing his hands to the console.
“A fleet of hundreds-no, thousands!” Prince Xochitl’s expression was a study in mingled awe and excitement. He looked off-screen, and then said: “Initial analysis detects four thousand, thirty-four objects in this debris field which are likely starships of some provenance.”
“The Prince is impressed,” Susan said without emotion. What will he want to do with an armada of leviathans that perished deep in the abyss of time, leaving us only traces of their titanic struggle? And Queen of Heaven, four thousand ships? There might not be four thousand starships of this size in the entire Empire!
Oc Chac sat down again, spreading his hands to indicate the spectra telemetry duly generated by ship-comp. “This is all old. Ancient. Who were they, Gensui?”
Xochitl did not respond, seemingly lost in his own thoughts. Kosho stirred herself, saying: “We have more pressing concerns, Sho-sa. Radiation levels from that accretion disc are climbing by the hour. Reconfigure the shipskin for maximum protection and pull in any sensor booms or nodes which may be adversely affected.”
In his v-pane, the Prince stirred, anger shading his expression.
“However,” Susan continued, shooting Xochitl a quelling look. “We want as detailed a scan as we can manage, while maintaining hull integrity and our protection, as we pass through the wreckage. Pay close attention for energy sources! Thai-i Holloway, please find us a path through with as little debris as possible.”
The Naniwa edged through the ancient armada, her engines at one-quarter, booms extended, and the shipskin deployed for maximum data absorption in those parts of the battle-cruiser which were not inhabited. Kosho was back on the bridge, a great feeling of unease riding her shoulders, as the massive shapes drifted past on the camera displays. The alien vessels were enormous-far larger than even the Tlemitl -and formed of three “wings” joined at a central core. Most were shattered, showing gaping wounds in the unknown metal, but despite this-to her eye-Susan was gaining the uncomfortable impression that all of the ships were of a very similar kind.
“Even the smallest is the size of one of our colony stations,” the Prince mused. He had not left Secondary Command in almost thirty-six hours, obsessively reviewing every data-point as it flowed across the sensor network.
“ Chu-sa.” Konev’s voice barely concealed his eagerness. “Should we dispatch an exploration team? We could board one of the smaller wrecks! Maybe there is something useful to be gleaned, like a memory core or a switch capable of controlling the thread-barrier? Even a training manual?”
Prince Xochitl interrupted before Susan could reply. “A waste of time! I need something in operation, Chu-sa. This is all”-he made an angry motion towards the wraparound v-display configured in Secondary Command-“a diversion.”
That would be “no,” thought Kosho, hiding her reaction behind an impassive, cool mask.
“ Hai, Lord Prince,” she replied, then shook her head at the Russian. “Not one energy source has cropped up in the scan data, Thai-i. We’d need a proper science team to evaluate all of this.”
Xochitl nodded, satisfied, and then turned away to stare at the vista playing out on his screens.
Susan was not pleased. So we leave Chekov’s famous pistol lying beside the road at our backs. What can the man want with an “operating mechanism?” Does he believe that we can divine or control something of this magnitude without any technical resources to draw on?
More troubling was the intuition that the Prince believed exactly that. Kosho tried to put the issue from her mind, tapping up the latest data from the remote she’d dropped at the Pinhole. Nothing had yet appeared from out of the Barrier, but she didn’t believe her luck would hold in that respect either. Wish we’d had more mines left…
Six hours later, they had completed their passage of the wrecked fleet and come within viewing range of the structure, which stood at a resonance point formed by the gravity wells of the three brown dwarves-now huge, distorted discs on the display, shedding a ruddy glare which the v-panes automatically blocked out-and the swirling vortex of the accretion disc hiding the singularity. Each sun was distended, extruding a long tail of mass corkscrewing down into the black hole.
“ Kyo? We’ve lost hyper gradient-the local g field is tremendously distorted.” Thai-i Olin licked his lips nervously. “Something emanating from that-object-is maintaining field equilibrium. While we’re inside its influence… there’s no way we can punch through to superluminal.”
At this close range, the Naniwa ’s hull was completely locked down, all booms drawn inboard. Hull temperature was rising as well, for the ambient radiation storm in this area of space was intense. Their external sensors were now limited to a set of battle-hardened scanners built to operate during a bomb-pod storm. Despite stepping down the fidelity of their data capture by orders of magnitude, the “structure” was of such colossal size they could not help but make out some detail.
General silence prevailed in Command as they watched the visuals unspool. Nothing in the natural world contrived this, Kosho thought, trying to wrap her mind around the sheer scale of what they beheld. Nothing in the world of men could have built it. It cannot even hail from this eon in time. Why aren’t we dead right now?
She tore her gaze away, looking to the Prince for fresh orders. He was silent, eyes hooded, fingertips steepled beneath his noble nose. Now which way will Sayu jump?
Presently, Prince Xochitl frowned hugely at Susan and grumbled, “I agree that caution is required in dealing with… with this relic. Dispatch an exploratory team in a combat shuttle as soon as possible. They can perform a short-range scan and begin detailed mapping of the surface.”
“ Hai, Lord Prince.”
Kosho gestured for Konev to join her at the command station. When the weapons officer was within range of a quiet conversation, his hands clasped behind his back and veritably vibrating with desire, she looked him up and down, troubled by the eager expression on the Russian’s face.
“If you wish to try your luck-out there-find two other volunteers and refit one of the cargo shuttles to fly by wire. We’ll run the boat out, and you can fly in on camera.” She raised her hand sharply, cutting off the boy before he could protest. “If you’re successful with a close-in approach, and can drop some sensor packs onto the surface with the shuttle’s cargo arm-then we’ll work up a manned landing. But until then-you’ve your orders.”
“ Domo arigato, Chu-sa! I know just who to ask.”
Bowing, he left. Kosho stared after him for a moment, and then flicked the Prince’s v-pane away from her display. Now the Prince owes me a shuttle, she thought, suppressing a wave of irritation. Unable to sit any longer, she rose and paced over to Oc Chac’s station, where the Sho-sa, Pucatli, and Holloway were poring over the detailed model of the structure being assembled by the ship’s comp as measurements flowed in from the shipskin.
The Mayan’s face was filled with delight as he shifted views, drilling down to successive levels of detail. “Looks like a Chimalacatl -the shield-reed, doesn’t it, Chu-sa?” he remarked, looking up as she approached.
Susan nodded. If the Gods made sunflowers as big as a large moon, and gave them long, spiked metallic petals, and a center formed from triangles within triangles…
Xochitl’s face was visible on Chac’s console as well, his visage equally bright-though not with the joy of exploration or curiosity, but naked greed. “Each petal is comprised of hundreds of thousands of folds-do you see them? Set one within another… such scale! We’re still waiting for an estimate of age, but surely this is something from the First Sun!”
Kosho felt her gut clench. She looked to Pucatli. “No erosion rates from the surface?”
“Nothing, kyo. The skin should be pitted by micrometeoroids or cosmic ray impacts-but we’re seeing nothing at all-just like it came from the fab yesterday.”
“ Chu-sa.” Oc Chac’s voice shaded into awe. He was indicating a fresh set of scan data, from shipborne receptors pointed towards the singularity itself. “Look at this… A tether or beanstalk of some kind?”
Something with barely any cross section at all traced a hard, straight line down from the “flower” towards the boiling fury of the accretion disk and-one supposed-the event horizon of the black hole.
The Mayan rubbed a hand across the back of his head. “Could they be powering this structure from the electromagnetic field generated by the infall? Gods, that would give them almost unlimited capacity!”
“It is possible,” Susan replied, resisting the urge to fold her arms. Instead, she kept both hands clasped behind her back, forcing her mind to consider the implications of such a place to her ship. Her gut churned, triggering her med-band to dispense antianxiety meds in a sharp, cold burst.
Gretchen was standing in a portal, her tripartite shadow thrown sharp on a glassy floor by a harsh, brassy glare at her back. Before her, a massive chamber stretched off into a hazy distance, the room spined with endless ranks of sharp vaults. Everywhere there was motion-long streams of the white-garbed Chosen flowed up from the vaults below, and then passed out through the triangular exits, shepherded by guardsmen who loomed above them, armor glinting black and crimson. The air reverberated with the sound of their feet on the floor, their bright, carefree chatter, and heavy tread of the protectors watching over them. With stately grace, she descended a phalanx of steps. As she moved, the nearest of the Chosen looked up, their faces emerging from the haze like flowers opening before the rays of the first sun. Three of them cried out, seeing her, raising their hands in greeting. Now she was close enough to touch Isabelle’s hair, see Tristan’s bright blue eyes shining. Duncan was looking away, his attention caught by something speaking in enormous, earth-shaking tones. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he turned. Anderssen saw – the roof of the medbay as she blinked away tears. Anderssen gasped, drawing a ragged breath into lungs starved for air. A queer humming died away, replaced by the sound of someone drinking soup and the distant rattle and clink of men and women working in an enclosed space. The smell of the soup-picken, she guessed-struck her hard, turning her stomach into a twisted ball of hunger.
“Oh sweet Jesus.” Gretchen rolled sideways, feeling utterly drained. A parchment envelope slipped from her hands, landing amongst the blankets. “There had better be a liter of that for me, Crow, or I’ll murder you where you stand.”
Hummingbird looked back at her, dark green eyes curious over the edge of his bowl. “There has been a full breakfast the last two days, Anderssen, but you have been sleeping-so I’ve done you the favor of cleaning the plate.”
Lacking even the moisture to spit, Gretchen managed to sit up and found that-indeed-there was a full tray set beside her bed. More soup, a bowl of red gelatin, kaffe, two bottles of hydrofast. Fingers shaking a little, she popped the top from the first of the orange bottles and began sipping carefully.
After a few minutes, Hummingbird set down the bowl and Anderssen drained the last of her bottle.
“So, Hummingbird-I confess confusion about the purpose of the Judges. Once you said to me your duty was to protect humanity from those powers or even ideas which could destroy us, particularly alien influences we might encounter in the depths of space.”
He nodded minutely, watching her with an impassive face. Gretchen drifted her fingertips over the parchment envelope and the block hidden within. “What is this, then? An experiment with my mind, my physiology? Do you even know what this is?”
“A tool.” The old Nahuatl stood up, leaning heavily on the bed. “One you can operate, where others cannot-where I cannot.”
“Really?” The Swedish woman looked up at him sidelong, tasting deception in the air. “A tool that you needed working when you came-here, to this hidden place.”
He nodded, face somber. “My powers are not infinite, Dr. Anderssen. Even beyond your professional skills-which are well regarded, you should know-your other talents have not escaped notice.”
“By who?!” Gretchen felt chilled at the thought. How long have I been under surveillance? Another part of her mind answered, mockingly, Always, idiot!
“Not all of the nauallis are… are Judges,” he said, framing his words carefully. “There are those who collate data, who watch for trends-not the trivial ones of concern to the Emperor or the Mirror-but who sift for changes in who we are.”
“Humanity, you mean?” Anderssen frowned, gaining an unmistakable impression he was skirting around a deep and slippery pit. “What kind of changes?”
Hummingbird did not answer immediately, pursing his lips and watching her with a steady, unwavering gaze. At last he said: “It is not well known, Doctor, but there are-in broad strokes-three perceptual capacities expressed within the human species. There are those who accept the conceptual framework of cultural memes, who perceive only the nahualli, the disguise or mask of the world; they live and work and bear their children happily within this house of paintings. What they perceive is ahnelli, unrooted, inauthentic, a montage of lies and expectations, merely the replication and self-deception of contagious beliefs. There are those-to take a specific example-who express a belief in the Heavenly Creator, in the Risen Lord, in God-if they are asked. These are the people who attend religious services because everyone else does-who find a sense of community there, a sense of sharing which comforts them, or an avenue to power over their fellow men.” He raised one finger.
“Then there are those who do not partake of these collective memetic frameworks, who must question, seek out for themselves the nelli -the rooted, true, authentic cosmos. They must look beyond the world of dreams and illusion towards the teotl -the heart of things. They seek, but few succeed. A tlamatini instructs and teaches his pupil, but he cannot lead them beyond the disguise unless their heart opens of itself to become neltiliztli -well-rooted, authentic. When the second group express their belief it is not because they are infected by communal memes. When they worship, they do not do so because all around them do, but because of their own undiluted vision, whether it be false or true. If they do not believe in a thing, you cannot make them. For them the Mother of Tepeyac is seen to come down Her hill, roses rising with each footstep, to lift their chin and pour mercy into their eyes, or She does not. You cannot make them become believers, though they may tell you that they are believers-but if they are not, they cannot become so, even under the lash or when put in irons.” A second finger raised.
Gretchen snorted. “I know both of those sets of people!”
“Then there is the third group who are born with the potential for full wisdom and revelation,” and now the old Nahuatl’s voice shaded into an unconscious gravity. “Who need neither a church, nor a sermon, nor a book. They know the truth, the flower-and-song of reality, the constant becoming and motion of the world, and only the confusion of men and machines and the roar and tumult of society drives this sight from their minds.” The third finger joined the first two. “And these men and women are whence the saints and prophets come, the greatest artists and poets, the worst madmen and monsters without conscience or humanity-for they see that which most cannot, finding either everlasting splendor or unending horror behind the placid mask of the universe.”
Anderssen made a face, drawing back from Hummingbird, whose face had contorted into a tight forbidding expression. “You,” he continued, “are among a minute fraction of the third population-a genetic pool which is quite small to begin with-but then hidden among them, are those with the propensity to see.”
“You have got to be-”
“I am not joking, Doctor Anderssen.” The Crow’s voice was hard and flat, cutting her off. “I may be able to focus my mind, attain clarity of vision which eludes other men, perform feats which seem miraculous-but I am only a Second, not a Third. I was taught the arts of intuition to perceive the authentic world. And thus…” He gestured at the parchment envelope. “Such mechanisms are beyond my capacity to understand.”
“That,” Gretchen said, drawing a breath to steady herself, “is the kind of insanity which gives rise to racial genocide, and forced breeding, and tyranny! Human beings are all the same at the genetic level, Crow! That’s been shown thousands of times, on multiple worlds! Our differences are minute, one or two pairs of chromosomes fallen out in some random coupling of mitochondrial mitosis!”
The old Nahuatl shook his head in disagreement. Anderssen found herself reduced to glaring at him in outrage.
“This,” he said at last, “is not so. There are distinct and identifiable differences between the Firsts, Seconds, and Thirds. There is-” Hummingbird paused, jaw clenched against what he had almost said. “I cannot provide you proof out here, Doctor. But it does exist. You are a Third and the only one with your specific gift we have yet found amongst the current human population.”
“Current?” Anderssen gave him a mocking look. “What about the past, then? Who falls into your special society that I might, say, know from a history book? Or have seen on the 3-d, or perused in some wet-dream manga peddled by evil old meddlers like yourself!”
Her shout echoed from the walls of the medbay and Gretchen was suddenly aware that all of the noise outside, in the main sickbay, had stopped. She felt furious-used and deceived-and it was an effort to keep from picking up her breakfast tray and smashing it across Hummingbird’s masklike face.
In the moment before the door opened, the old Nahuatl said: “One of your distant relatives had a similar power-she could see what other men intended, sometimes even before they decided a course of action themselves. You would know her-the brightest star in the firmament of your people’s history-for she saved mankind from a truly dark path. But over seven hundred years have passed since-”
One of the medical orderlies opened the door and poked his head in, a professionally cheerful smile on his olive-skinned face. “Up and around, are we? Feeling better? Excellent- Chu-sa Kosho has been comming me for your status, Doctor Anderssen, at regular intervals.”
“Great.” Gretchen looked around for her jacket, fingering the medical tunic they’d put on her. “Where did my clothes go?”
The orderly was about to answer when a sudden noise erupted in the corridor outside. Someone shouted: “Ho there! Corpsman, secure quarters for the ambassador immediately!”
Gretchen peered out to see a pair of marines escorting a wretched-looking creature-obviously nonhuman, nose deep in a white plastic bucket-into the adjoining medbay. Medical staff converged on the alien from all directions, though most of them were taken aback by its peculiar appearance. To Anderssen it seemed most closely to resemble a grayish black anteater or perhaps a kind of erect sloth or tapir. A cloud of alcohol fumes drifted in their door and she grimaced at the smell of regurgitated rum. Then Hummingbird quietly closed the door, his head tilted in an attitude of listening.
“A heavy guard for such a pitiful-looking specimen,” the Crow said after a moment.
“It doesn’t look particularly dangerous. What species is it?”
Hummingbird gave her a considering look. “You heard the soldiers-an ambassador.”
“From where? Out here?” Gretchen’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Wait a moment… is this whole business an embassy to-whatever is hiding in this place?”
The old Nahuatl tilted his hand this way and that. “The Flowery Prince brought this one along at another’s command. But despite his poor appearance, the ambassador is quite dangerous-to us, to humanity. He is Hjogadim and they are quite rare in Imperial space.”
To Anderssen’s eye the Crow seemed to hop from one foot to the other, wings rustling nervously, before he took hold of the door latch again. “I need to speak to the ambassador-find your clothes, get dressed, and packed up. The Chu-sa needs you, remember?”
Then he slipped out quietly, the door barely making a noise as he passed over the threshold.
“Huh!” Gretchen began digging through the storage bins. Now I do truly need Magdalena and Parker and even Dai Bandao, if he were available. I need backup. I should not have lost my temper with the Crow. She sighed, suddenly weary. I am an idiot. I could have done this just as easily back home on New Aberdeen. But no-I have to come haring out here to the back of beyond, just on the off-chance I’ll touch the face of the unknown one more time.
Finding a shirt, spare field pants, and the leather jacket, Anderssen had managed to get herself together by the time Hummingbird reappeared, radiating pleased satisfaction. “Quickly now, Doctor Anderssen-we are accompanying the Esteemed Sahane to the bridge.”
Gretchen was holding the parchment envelope by her fingertips, careful not to actually press against the bronze-colored block inside. She shook her head angrily. “Why do you think I’ll come anywhere with you? You’ve used me as an experimental test subject to see if this… tool… would do me harm. Do you really think I would continue helping you, once I found out?”
Hummingbird paused in the doorway, watching her with an inscrutable expression. “If you do not come, Anderssen- tzin, then you will not see what they have found.” Then he nodded to the envelope. “Bring the device-one text I have seen names it the Adh’atr , which is the easiest for us to say-I think you will need its capabilities soon.”
Goddamnit. Gretchen tossed the block from hand to hand, then stowed it in her backpack. Dragging everything with her, she hustled out into the corridor, where she found the Esteemed One clinging to Hummingbird’s shoulder, its face a ghastly hue. The plastic bucket had disappeared, but the z-suit-or armor or carapace-was liberally streaked with regurgitated fluids. Together, they were shuffling towards the nearest lift.
“I will compel action,” the Hjo declared loudly, long gray nose raised in defiance. “Someone will be Instructed for this. There is a Certainty!”
“If I may suggest-” Hummingbird said, his voice low, “there is a small but well-equipped ship aboard that could easily receive your person and take you to a safer location…”
“No!” The creature’s reaction was abrupt and violent, though for the moment it lacked the strength to do more than flail one arm. “Order and harmony must be restored without resort to flight! Flight in a tiny, ill-equipped cylinder, crowded with apes and their acrid stench…” Sahane muttered. “ They will try again to destroy me, the last of a noble and laudatory descent. No… Take me to the place of authority!”
“But Esteemed One, the Prince is at the focus of action, in Secondary Command…” Gretchen started to speak-seeing Hummingbird gesture towards the glyph for deck thirty-nine on the lift controls-but kept her peace, wondering what the old Nahuatl intended.
“Yes. There shall be a confrontation.” The creature was mumbling again. “And explanation!”
Hummingbird bowed obediently and pressed the call button for the lift. When the doors cycled open, the Hjo lurched inside-making a snuffling whine upon seeing the confined space-and then Hummingbird and Gretchen slipped inside as well, keeping to the corners and out of the way of the long, furred arms. The creature swung its head from side to side as the lift raced between decks.
By the time the blast-doors to Secondary Command irised open, the ambassador had managed to straighten up to his full height and-somehow-his z-suit and exposed fur had shed the vomit. Anderssen found the creature tremendously interesting; when first she’d set eyes upon it, the Hjo seemed shrunken and withered. He-yes, this is a male, I’m sure of it-felt incomplete. But now it is filling out, becoming more sure of itself. She eyed the armored suit curiously. Was a med-band at play here, injecting some kind of confidence-building med into the creature?
“Account for this wretched treat-” Sahane stopped, long mouth yawning open, his dark eyes reflecting a hot white glow. All of his newly won assurance staggered, quailed, and then fled. A pained whimper emerged from his throat. Gretchen looked away from the creature in surprise and then her own eyes went wide with delight.
Secondary Command had been reconfigured to create one massive v-display which stretched from floor to ceiling and wrapped around three-quarters of the chamber. The Command consoles had been relocated to the sides and back of the room, their smaller v-displays filled with ever-changing data. On the vast canvas, a live camera feed of the Sunflower filled the room with the hot white glare of the ejection jet boiling up out of the singularity. The three bloated orbs of the brown dwarves studded the sky and the dark mass of the accretion disc formed a backdrop for the tri-lobed structure. Those surfaces at an angle to the jet glared with reflected light, throwing the Chimalacatl into high relief.
“How big…” whispered Anderssen, fumbling in her jacket pockets for a hand-comp. “My god, it’s five thousand kilometers on a side!”
A Jaguar Knight in combat armor suddenly blocked her view, a gauntleted hand crushing her fingers and plucking the comp from her grasp. Another Ocelotl had moved in on the other side, immobilizing Hummingbird, who was standing quite still, all of his attention focused on the Hjo and a slim, handsome man of middle age rising from a shockchair placed at the center of the room. Seeing him in the flesh, Gretchen felt a pang of disappointment- he’s not nearly so pretty in real life -but then caught sight of the Prince’s face and felt a bolt of adrenaline flush through her limbs. He is furious, though!
The Jaguars picked up the wave of displeasure radiating from Xochitl as well, and the one holding Anderssen seized her neck with an armored hand. Servos whined in her ear and the metallic grip dug into her flesh. Oh god, he’ll just twist and “Esteemed One.” With a visible effort, the Prince halted his angry pace and bowed, face contorted with the effort of mouthing peaceful words. “I am relieved to see you are feeling better, but I urge you to return to Medical. You will be safe there and your diverse stomachs set in order.”
The Hjo trembled from head to toe, but managed to squeak out: “Turn us about, mad creature! The radiation levels in this sector must be immense. Have you no care for your offspring to come? We must depart immediately!”
Anderssen experienced a strange sensation, watching the ambassador swaying before the Prince. The jolt of fear which had struck the alien dumb now seemed to supplement the earlier sense of assurance. She could taste a stark, unadulterated desire to live, and wondered if the creature had ever felt that particular spike of self-awareness before. Then Gretchen blinked rapidly, half-blinded by the glare from the v-display, and wondered if she was hallucinating. The air around the creature seemed to be flickering or twisting with tiny fleeting gleams of light. A reflection? But of what?
As she turned her head-feeling the armored fingers still digging into her neck-the spectacle on the v-display drew her eye like a magnet. The panorama seemed terribly familiar-something she’d seen, or read in a book, or- What is it? Those triliths are… damn, but it’s just beyond reach!
Behind her, Hummingbird had somehow moved closer to the Hjo, a supportive hand under one arm, and she could hear him whispering: “Departure, yes. An excellent idea, Esteemed One.”
Anderssen and the Prince spoke simultaneously: “It is not!”
Xochitl turned towards her with a scowl, jaw tight. “Get her out-”
“This object can only be a First Sun artifact,” she blurted, catching his eye. “The Ik-Hu-Huillane tablets speak of an ‘abode of the waking mind’ which is formed in threes and multiples of three-this structure is the very image the Yithians speak of!”
“Yes… At last.” The Prince’s face cleared, the words striking a chord in him. “I’ve a remote going aboard that structure within moments, and we’ll-”
Out of the corner of her eye, Gretchen caught sight of an entire console filled with v-panes wink out. The comm officer sitting at the station cried out in alarm.
“ Chu-sa! My Lord Prince!” A man’s voice echoed in the air. “We’ve lost contact with the shuttle.”
A section of the Prince’s console unfolded into a large v-pane, showing Chu-sa Kosho’s face, which was now cold and alert, her eyes flickering from side to side. Xochitl stepped back to his shockchair, intent on the Nisei officer.
“Well?” he demanded.
“The cargo shuttle has exploded, Gensui.” Susan’s lips were a tight line, her brow furrowed. “No warning, no energy emissions… we’re rewinding the telemetry, but I don’t believe there is anything left to recover.”
The Prince cursed, unable to keep rein on his temper a moment longer, and slammed a fist into the side of the shockchair. The Hjo recoiled, though Hummingbird’s grip was tight enough to keep the creature from falling down. “We must flee,” Sahane wailed, “reverse your course, human. Reverse now!”
Without considering the ramifications, Gretchen slipped free of the Jaguar’s grip-the Knight was staring at the console display, his attention distracted for a moment-and slid into a shockchair beside the horrified comm-tech.
“Roll that feed back, my dear,” she said, voice calm and commanding. “Frame by frame.”
The parchment envelope was opened and one of the octopus arms snaked from her pocket into a socket on the console without anyone noticing. Gretchen snugged her earbug tight against the background noise. The Prince and Kosho were disputing the merits of sending another shuttle towards the Sunflower. “Give me broad-spectrum passive scan at 20X for surface of the structure directly adjacent to the explosion…” Should be some impact scarring now, from the debris. Crude-but I’ll take the infopoints.
“My lord…” Xochitl turned away from Susan’s impassive visage, feeling thwarted at every turn, and advanced on the Hjogadim with a fierce expression. “We must determine the provenance of this-object-and if it poses a threat to Mexica space! Then we can-”
“ Stand away, toy!” Sahane yelped, frightened by the Prince’s fierce movement, reflexively making a form of obedience with his hand, as though the human were a servant in the house of his fathers. Xochitl staggered, eyes wide, his face draining of color.
«Heart failure induced,» his exo said brightly. «Cortex shutdown expected within ten seconds.»
The Prince collapsed to his knees, and then tipped to one side when his arms failed to support his weight. A great rushing sound roared in his ears. He saw the two Jaguar Knights lunging forward, weapons out, striking at the Hjo with all the speed they could muster. Sahane’s exposed fur shifted color and tone, and the first bodyguard to reach him-butt of his shipgun reversed as a club-saw his knockout blow glance away from a sudden effusion of spiked scales which covered the Hjo’s z-suited arm in a blur.
The creature, furious and sick at the same time, backhanded the marine with a long, gray arm. There was a crack of electricity and the Jaguar Knight was flung back, armor coiling smoke, to strike the floor, limp and lifeless.
«Cortex shutdown in seven seconds.»
Everyone in Secondary Command froze. The other Jaguar fetched up, weapon raised, suddenly unsure of how to attack the fully armored apparition. Sahane stared down at his arm, the dark, rune-scribed z-suit now glittering with a spiked metallic shell, in astonished horror. “I did not do that,” he declared in a weak voice. “I could not. This is impossible.”
“Esteemed One, stay your merciful hand!” Hummingbird’s voice was clear and direct, ringing in the air as the nauallis prostrated himself on the deck. “These shiau har-e will not serve without their lord being shun tzing. If he bends to your will, then all will be harmonious and we may flee this accursed place in speed and safety!”
Xochitl, barely able to see, gasped for life on the deck. The exo’s implacable voice continued to count down the seconds left before his brain starved from oxygen deprivation. The Hjo loomed over him, blocking out the light of the overheads. A pair of black eyes stared down and the long mouth twisted in a snarl.
“Let this toy live, when it has raised a paw against me? Why should I?”
“Think, Esteemed One,” Hummingbird said, his voice controlled-persuasive-without a hint of disobedience, “Think of your offspring in their thousands to come-we must be away from this accursed place swiftly and this one ”-the nauallis’ boot toed the Prince’s side-“is their Authority. Through him, you control the others and may achieve a swift departure.”
«Four seconds to cortical failure.»
Xochitl fought to form a coherent thought, and found he could still command his conscious mind, despite the annoying overlay of the exo. Desperate, feeling his mentation slipping away, he brought to focus a string of numbers- three, five, five, seven, eleven, thirteen, seventeen, nineteen, twenty – nine and… the voice of the exo abruptly stopped. There was no audible sound, no flashing overlay informing his vision of the event-but the fail-safe tripped, shutting down his implant.
Wheezing, his chest thudding with pain, the Prince closed his eyes, hoping to avoid further agony. His mind, suddenly, seemed quiet and empty-desolate. His limbs weak, helpless. The Prince began to panic, realizing that his interface to the shipnet would now have to be managed manually-and he didn’t even have a hand-comp stowed in his luggage.
“Get us underway, nongmin.” The Hjogadim stepped away from Xochitl’s body, careful to keep his eyes averted from the vast panorama filling the v-display. Then he loped from Command, making a beeline for the lift a corridor away.
Gretchen looked up questioningly from her pirated console, trying to catch Hummingbird’s attention. The nauallis had tilted his head, watching with great interest as the Prince struggled to his feet. Xochitl’s skin had turned waxy and he blinked incessantly. Without the exo to refine his vision, he did not see well at all.
“My Lord?” The old Nahuatl offered the Prince his hand.
“We’re not leaving,” Xochitl rasped, his throat raw. He slumped weakly into the command shockchair. He pointed at Gretchen. “You-the one with the ugly hair-what happened to our probe?”
Turning slightly in her chair, Anderssen shrugged. “The relic is guarded by the same kind of protective lattice as the whole star system.” She caught the Prince’s eye and grinned. “But if we stay, I can get you inside.”
“We should leave,” Hummingbird snapped, glaring across at the Swedish woman.
Xochitl looked the nauallis up and down, realizing he did not know who the old man was or where he’d come from. “Who the devil are-wait, you’re one of the tlamatinime!” His face contorted in a snarl. “ Cuauhhuehueh Koris-get this old witch off my bridge! Put him in the brig-someplace locked tight! With nothing on him but his skin.”
The remaining Jaguar Knight rose from inspecting the body of his comrade. The master sergeant’s visor was opaque, having shifted into combat mode, but his voice boomed hollowly. “As you bid, Lord Prince.”
Hummingbird clasped his hands behind his head without a fuss and was escorted away. Gretchen watched him go with interest, wondering what the old Crow was up to now. He’ll be closeted with that alien in sixty seconds, she wagered with herself. He doesn’t really want us to leave-just nudge the Flowery One in some direction of his choosing. But, she thought, two can play that game.
Seeing the initial results from her analysis of the Chimalacatl ’s surface-even just on the battle-cruiser’s shipnet, much less after node 3^3 3 had taken the datastream apart and put it back together-had solidified a chaos of options vying for her attention. I need to set foot on this thing, if that can be managed safely; even a half-hour would make all of this worthwhile. Another certainty had formed in her heart, crystallizing out of a thousand points of long-held despair, anger, hatred, and delighted curiosity. Hummingbird needs to be there, too. Oh yes, he does.
“Now you, woman, what is your name?” Xochitl blinked owlishly at her, trying to glare in a properly Imperial manner.
“Doctor Gretchen Anderssen, xenoarchaeologist, University of New Aberdeen, Lord Prince.”
“Are you now?” The Prince sat up straight in his chair, surprised and pleased at the same time. “How did you get out here?”
Gretchen said the first thing that came to mind. “I was supposed to be with the others, but I missed the survey ship, so I came on this one.” She spread her hands, encompassing the whole of the Naniwa.
“How fortunate for you…” Xochitl’s attention, now that he still lived and breathed, was drawn inexorably back to the enormous shape of the Sunflower. He bit nervously at his thumb. “Do you… do you know what this thing is?”
Anderssen felt something like an electrical shock, a tingling jolt from crown to toe. In that instant, something blossomed in her mind and, for an instant, she was back under that overhang on Ephesus III, staring up at a rock-face which had grown so impossibly detailed and distinct in her vision that she could barely process the flood of sensation streaming into her from the totality of the world. But now there was a sensation of discrimination and all of the extraneous data could be discarded, leaving the Flowery Prince isolated in her perception and laid bare before her.
She absorbed all of the Prince’s frailty, fear, doubt, ignorance. She glimpsed a fading half-image of a peculiar, inhuman second self which had shrouded him like a ceremonial mask. A facade which had worn him, completing his persona, investing him with a thousand subtle cues to authority and rule. Without that, he was only a shadow, less than half himself.
“No, Tlatocapilli.” she said, supremely confident. “But if you give me leave, I will peel back all of its secrets for you-every last one. But… didn’t you tell the ambassador we were leaving? What will you do about him?”
Xochitl swallowed, blinking again, his hand trembling in physical memory of incandescent pain twisting in every nerve. “I’ll have to kill it-kill him-and atomize the body. Or, or cast it into the sun-or…” The Prince seemed paralyzed by the decisions before him. Without his exo providing summaries and risk-vectors, everything seemed suddenly gray and murky.
In Main Command, Chu-sa Kosho watched the Prince and Doctor Anderssen discussing the attributes of the Chimalacatl on her surveillance cameras. Though her mien was impassive and controlled, she was deeply troubled by what she’d seen. A command sequence was waiting on her console, constructed in great haste during the scuffle and now refined, to vent the entire compartment to the void, and flood the evacuated rooms with hard radiation. Would that be enough to kill this “ambassador” with the self-generating combat armor? She was furious with herself for not attaching more security to the alien.
Susan had never encountered a “Hjogadim” before, and shipnet had nothing for her-no detail, no rumors, and no warnings-despite the fact that the creature spoke passable Nahuatl and was obviously well known to both the Prince and the nauallis. The thought of Hummingbird loose upon her ship made Kosho’s stomach twist. Brow growing thunderous, she tapped up the security cameras for the ship’s brig.
The remaining Jaguar had brought the old Nahuatl to a primary security cell and stripped him naked before locking him inside. Oc Chac, at Susan’s direction, had already scrambled the codes and reviewed the list of those crewmen with access to the compartment.
His kind will not remain contained for long, Sayu.
Alone in the bare room, the old man looked up into the cameras and the faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips as he lowered himself gingerly into a cross-legged position on the floor.
Kosho sneered back, wishing once more that her sensei Hadeishi were on hand to deal with his “old friend” and all these intrigues. I am not cut out for this, she thought darkly. We should flee this place, not stay, poking at a dark hole in the cliff with sticks… no matter what the Emperor demands.