Though proper quarters had been provided for him, Prince Xochitl remained in Secondary Command, staring fixedly at the incomprehensibly large shape of the artifact four thousand kilometers from their bow, and doodling on his console. Doctor Anderssen and a rotating set of sensor techs and weapons officers had been working through all of the data captured by Konev’s shuttle before its destruction, along with everything else flowing into their limited set of radiation-hardened sensors.
Chu-sa Kosho, who seemed to have taken up permanent residence in Main Command, had directed the technical team to modify one of the remotely controlled bots used for hull repairs and use the resulting “probe” to plumb the convoluted architecture of the structure without loss of life.
Xochitl found it interesting, in a nasty way, that the Nisei officer was concerned for the life of even the least of her crewmen. Yakka won’t last long in the Fleet, he decided, without someone to sponsor her. I wonder… He paused a moment, half expecting his exo to kick in and present a list of advantages and disadvantages accrued by his patronage. When nothing happened, Xochitl felt the absence as a kind of unquenchable hunger, twisting his stomach into emptiness. He had not realized, having the exo present his entire adult life, how heavily he relied on the device.
My eyes are flawless, the Prince reminded himself, but how do I see when the world around me is not annotated, described, outlined? It was difficult for him to even navigate the hallways of the ship-no map presented itself, directing his steps, and the kanji -lettered signs and warnings were unreadable. Xochitl was a little stunned to realize that he did not actually know the meanings of all of the rank badges, flashes, and glyphs which informed the knowing observer of all of the hierarchies and authorities within the Fleet. Exo had always been whispering in his mind, guiding his interactions with the military, with the provincial governors, with-with everyone in his life.
I’m a cripple. The thought was bitter ash in his mouth. While the Hjo remains in my proximity.
This, Xochitl realized, was both the core of the problem and the obvious solution. He stood up abruptly and paced over to the xenoarchaeologist at the comm station.
“Follow me,” he said before turning away, scanning the doors leading off of Secondary Command for a room which would suffice. There! Thank Yacatecuhtli, Guide of the Lost, that someone’s put up a sign in Nahuatl!
Xochitl gestured for Anderssen to enter the conference room, and then closed the door lightly behind them. She sat on the edge of a fine-looking red mahogany table which made a hollow circle. The base apparatus for a holocast projector filled the center of the room. Gretchen looked the Prince up and down with open interest, wondering what was on his mind. Something is, for certain. Then she narrowed her eyes, trying to gain a sense of him, wondering if her gift-if it was a gift, and not the product of drugs or the unknown influence of the Adh’atr -would work on a person as well as a potsherd.
Xochitl said nothing, leaning against a cedar-paneled wall ornamented with recessed watercolor paintings of flowers-they looked like pansies to Anderssen’s eye, but she was no expert on the flora of old Earth-and scowling at her with a disturbingly unblinking gaze.
This is very strange, Gretchen thought-but she played along, saying nothing, idly kicking her feet and trying not to fidget. She felt the desire to be back at her console, digging through the reams of 3-v data, or the spatial model, or measurements of the enormous structure, as a physical pain. But still, she waited.
After quite a long time, the door recessed into the wall with a soft chuff and Chu-sa Kosho stepped in, her white dress uniform as immaculate as ever, her fine-boned face perfectly composed.
Seeing her, the Prince snorted rather rudely in amusement and then lifted his chin at Anderssen.
“This is the one who led you through the Barrier?”
Kosho paused at the edge of the conference table, regarding him levelly, and then nodded slightly.
“Then we have a problem,” he declared. “The Naniwa must leave this area immediately. My noble guest, the sian-fengh, has made his desire to flee very clear. I cannot refuse him. Yakka, I need you to keep a close eye on him for me. He’s truculent, difficult and, as you saw-unexpectedly dangerous, but I don’t think he’ll give you much trouble if you put a nargile and some opium back in his hands.”
“Where are you going?” Kosho clasped both hands behind her back, falling into an easy parade rest.
Xochitl smiled, showing a large number of perfectly formed white teeth. “I’ve been thinking about what you said before, about my father-I’m going to do exactly as he asked. I’m taking that little merchant ship in the rear cargo hold and staying behind, while you return to the Barrier wall. I understand she’s well shielded, and won’t cost you something off your manifest if we suffer the same fate as that cargo shuttle.”
He tapped the side of his head sharply. “Find us a way out, Yakka. We have to get out of here before we starve or are baked inside the shipskin, and there’s no sense in you wasting time here while we poke and pry.”
“Thus your problem,” Kosho said coolly. “I’ll need Anderssentzin and her comp models to find a way out, but you can’t get inside the artifact without her. She can’t be in both places at once, can she?”
The Prince nodded, clapping his hands lightly together. “That would seem a puzzle, save I have an answer.” He smiled tightly at the Chu-sa, an expression which made the little hairs on Gretchen’s neck rise.
“That pale, nervous Anglishman you’ve got stowed away in Engineering-yes, I know where he is-give him the telemetry from your passage through the Pinhole and he can reconfigure your sensors to reveal the spiderweb trapping us.”
Beyond a slight nostril flare, Kosho showed no reaction. But Gretchen could feel the woman’s entire body stiffen from across the room, and the answering surge of pleasure in the Prince. What a foul dog he is, she thought, watching the two of them as from a great distance.
“Helsdon is not wholly himself-”
“All the better,” Xochitl snapped, “near-mad as he is may prove to your advantage! I am taking Anderssen here into the artifact, Chu-sa, while you find us a way out of this hole. Is that perfectly clear?”
“ Hai, Gensui.”
Anderssen felt an enormous surge of delight, like golden honey welling up within her, suffusing her arms, legs-even her thoughts-with anticipation.
Two hours later, Kosho looked up at a soft tapping at the door to her private office. “Enter.”
The door slid open and Green Hummingbird stepped in, his feet bare, attired in a simple Fleet undershirt and off-duty trousers. Without his usual cloak and hood, he seemed surprisingly small-until one met his dusky green eyes and then his true stature asserted itself.
“ Chu-sa Kosho,” he said politely. “A word with you, if I may.”
“I believe,” she said, rising and stepping to the door, “that you were confined to the brig, by order of the Prince Imperial himself.”
No one was in the corridor, though Susan was unpleasantly aware that nearly every centimeter of the Naniwa was under surveillance by some kind of recording device.
The old Nahuatl nodded. “I am. Thank you for your concern for my comfort. Your hospitality has been most adequate, but I am on my way to pay respects to the Esteemed One and shall not keep you further.”
With that, he made a polite bow and then slipped out the door again. Kosho stared after him, wondering if she should summon the marine ready squad, have the nauallis clapped in chains and then, perhaps, locked in a room for which there was no key. But then, she thought, starting to feel rising amusement at the thought of seeing the Prince’s face when the escape was discovered, he would wrinkle his way out of that, too. I wonder… Another thought brought her up short. Does Hummingbird believe he will cheat death, too, in the end?
Juggling the possibilities in her mind, Kosho came to the unpleasant conclusion that letting the nauallis go about his business without interference was less dangerous than following the Prince’s orders. Particularly since she was quite certain that Hummingbird knew what he was doing, even if she couldn’t stand him personally. However, she thought, I do need to keep an eye on the future.
Susan then went to her console and tapped open a channel to the brig. The marine officer on duty responded immediately, his young face intent and dutiful.
“ Heicho Adamsky, has someone thought to provide the prisoner in cell one with something to eat?”
Then while she waited for the alarms to sound, most of her attention was on the supply manifests Thai-i Goroemon had forwarded up from Logistics for her review. They were desperately low on every kind of munitions, and only marginally better off for parts, meds, and food. Six months of supplies left, eh? Only if you don’t get a quarter of your stowage vented by a penetrator.
Some time later, the tramp freighter Moulins maneuvered out of the rear cargo hold under its own power. The ship had been hurriedly resupplied with water, food, and other perishables. Reaction mass for the engines had been topped off and Prince Xochitl, his remaining Jaguar Knight, Doctor Anderssen, and a handful of marines borrowed from the Naniwa were on board. In the cramped Command space, Captain Locke and his pilot were watching the external cameras and docking control status with a weather eye. The Prince and his bodyguard had appropriated the Navigator and Comm officer’s seats and were glowering at the backs of the Europeans during the delicate maneuver.
Gretchen watched them all from the hatchway while the ship was decoupling, then left them all to stew and banged downdeck to the cargo area where all of their luggage had been piled by the middies from the Naniwa. Her duffle had disappeared, to her disgust, under an enormous quantity of marine gear.
And, she thought, rather morosely, here I am again on this damned tiny ship with these fanatics.
Locke had accepted this new commission without protest, having apparently spent his time in the brig playing cards and smoking a succession of foul Novo French cigarettes. Now free of the battle-cruiser and at the helm of his own ship again, his hostility towards the Prince and the Fleet marines cluttering up his decks was banked, but simmering. Lojtnant Piet was doing less well at hiding his antipathy, but Xochitl apparently did not care, showing not the slightest awareness of their anger.
They’ll find a way to get along, Anderssen thought cheerfully, dragging olive-gray duffels aside. “There’s my-oh, what the hell are you doing in there?”
Beneath the pile of luggage, with his head resting on Gretchen’s field pack, Green Hummingbird had made himself a bit of a nest using a pair of folding kitchen tables. As she moved aside the last of the ammunition crates with a grunt, his lips fluttered with a soft snore.
“Does the Prince know you’ve come along, Crow?” Anderssen pinched his brown old ear as hard as she could. The old Nahuatl opened one eye, squinting at her, then sat up carefully and eased out of the tiny space under the tables.
Briskly chafing his wrists and ankles, he observed: “ Tlatocapilli Xochitl is noted for his admirable qualities in battle, not for his legendary acumen. Chu-sa Kosho, on the other hand, is beginning to understand how to operate in the wide world, as befits a gifted student with an excellent master.”
Gretchen shook her head, retrieving her pack. She began digging through the compartments, confirming that everything she’d stowed was still in place and undamaged. “Why did they send him then? They knew what was out here, right?”
Hummingbird shrugged. “I believe he was judged the most expendable of the Emperor’s sons.”
“More so than the one that’s always on the 3-v? Tezozomoc the Glorious?” Anderssen was appalled.
“Not all stone flakes the right way,” the old man replied, pulling on a pair of boots he’d lifted from one of the other duffels. “What use is a pretty piece of flint if it cannot take an edge?”
“And Tezozomoc can?”
Hummingbird did not reply, instead he dug around in the bottom of his gear and came up with a plastic container filled with cheesecloth. Holding the jar up, the old Nahuatl turned it this way and that, checking the contents. Then he turned back the lid, smelling the small egg-sized rounds inside.
“Lady of Light!” Gretchen coughed, eyes smarting. “Those are strong! Is that opium? What the devil are you doing with a basket of knuckles?”
He smiled serenely at her, tucking the container inside a field jacket he’d stolen from someone, somewhere. “My traveling companion needs a little coaxing to leave his shipping container.”
Anderssen shook her head in dismay. “You know, Crow, I had a friend who had a fascination for doing archaeology in the ancient home of the Chichimecas. It was always dangerous, uncomfortable work. The land is harsh, the people were poor, running contraband was the only way to make money. All social hierarchies began and ended with some pilli in his fortified house surrounded by an army of goons. Not the kind of lord who likes strangers-particularly inquisitive ones-to come knocking around.
“But Harriet especially liked taking a gaggle of impressionable students out to do big ground surveys and to excavate just enough of an old city to intrigue the historical agencies, who would then give her more money and permits to do whatever she wanted so they could learn the next bit of the story she was telling. I think the reason she did it was because the challenge of facing sudden death and coming home with the bacon got her out of bed in the morning.
“As long as I knew her, she specialized in visiting the resident gang lord with a gift bottle of uisge-beatha. By the time she’d spent an hour chatting with him in an entirely charming manner, the fearsome and despicable toad had been transformed into her special, professional chum. I never knew her to break any laws, and somehow she always brought her crew home with all their fingers and toes.”
Green Hummingbird raised an eyebrow. “An enviable record, Doctor Anderssen.” He stood up, patting his pockets. “I believe you are going to need all of your equipment in a very short time.”
Six hours later, the Moulins had reached the edge of the Chimalacatl.
Gretchen had appropriated the Comm station from the Jaguar Knight and now watched her v-displays eagerly. Endless ranks of jagged architectural forms glided past as the freighter plowed along at right-angles to the surface of the artifact. The structure was apparently composed entirely of triangular sections, each holding a second inverted triangle recessed within. The bronze block was tucked into a pocket of her equipment rig, now strapped on over her z-suit. Her field comp and secondary equipment were tacked to the console, all components recording at maximum fidelity. Just for good measure, her interface to the Moulin ’s shipskin, cameras, and the single sensor boom was running bidirectional-which allowed her to offload some processing to the shipnet itself when needed.
For the moment, she had not connected the bronze block to anything. Despite this measure, it seemed heavy against her chest, and warm to the touch, as though some internal process was underway.
Even without node 3^3 3 in operation, however, enough data was flowing into her conceptual models and analysis matrices to leave her feeling slightly drunk. Fingers trembling, she unwrapped an oliohuiqui packet and pressed the acidic tablet beneath her tongue. Her skin was singing with the tension congealing in the Command compartment, but the promise of so many wonders to come pushed all of her concerns away.
“Radiation levels are rising,” Piet reported, tapping a winking glyph on his display to expand the warning message. “Captain?”
“Reconfigure the shipskin for maximum protection,” Locke replied without bothering to consult with the Prince. “Let’s try not to fry!”
Anderssen paid them little attention, though part of her mind wondered what had happened to the shipskin, for the flow of data into her analysis array did not diminish at all. The exterior configuration of the ship had changed however, shifting into an unfamiliar alignment.
But for the moment, Gretchen didn’t care about the crew’s machinations. As long as we’re capturing clean data… wait a moment. A subtle change had occurred in the visual flow of the artifact. Nothing obvious-the intersecting triangles had a vertiginous effect on the eye-but the consistency of the shadows pooling in their depths had begun to thicken. “There!” Anderssen suddenly spoke, half-rising from her seat. “Quadrant six by sixteen-that’s a lock entrance.”
“How can you tell?” Xochitl glared over her shoulder in disgust at the flurry of bizarre glyphs and patterns dancing across her v-displays. “What is all of this static?”
“Our eyes in the darkness, Lord Prince,” she replied distantly. “Lojtnant-slow a bit…” Her stylus danced across a v-pane cross-connected to the comm system. A burst of indecipherable noise flooded from the ship’s tachyon array. “Now, wait… wait… there!”
One of the triliths moved-its motion obvious even to the naked eye-receding into sudden darkness. The constellation of other triliths around the missing triangle followed, sliding backward into shadow without evident mechanism. An opening emerged with fluid suddenness-a channel or corridor leading into the interior of the structure. Measurements popped up on Gretchen’s console and she whistled softly, breaking into a huge grin. “Six kilometers on a side, Lord Prince. I think the Moulins will make easy passage.”
“This was built for truly giant ships,” Xochitl said, his voice tinged with awe. “Like the thousands of wrecks in the debris cloud.”
No one replied. Locke and Piet were motionless, their faces settled into expressionless masks. Gretchen felt a current of raw fear circulate among the men in Command, but the taste was distant and of little consequence. “Go on, enter,” she directed. “We’ll be shielded from the radiation storm inside.”
The freighter passed in, maneuvering drives flaring, and was swiftly enveloped by abyssal darkness. Behind them, the constellation of triliths reformed with admirable speed, abruptly cutting off sight of the hot, glowing sky outside.
“It seems the artifact is not entirely dead,” Gretchen said cheerfully. “No matter. I believe we can open the passage again, when the need arises.”
In the suddenly dim bridge, Xochitl scratched his nose and-taking a deep breath-began to compose a series of numbers in his thoughts. Zero, one, one, two, three, five, eight, thirteen, twenty-one…