by P. K. Lentz
Glumly, Leimya reported, “Tomiris. Memnon. Andromache.”
The first name prompted Arixa to curse, for Vaspa’s sake as much as her own.
“How long did I sleep? Where are we going?”
“Barely an hour—”
Leimya stopped when an iris opened behind her. Vax entered with Baako and Cinnea in tow. They joined Leimya at the transparent pane.
“I apologize, Arixa,” Vax said. “I felt compelled to act before you—”
“I know. What’s our destination?”
Arixa prayed his answer would not be the worst one possible, Tabit-1, which would mean that one of her people had shared the location with him. Vax was not to be trusted with that information, which he would surely pass on to the Administrators of his passive, nameless non-resistance, who were to be trusted even less.
“We’re underway to a place called Kaleb Sha. It is presently seat to those Adminstrators whose invitation I presented to you.”
“Invitation, or are you abducting me on their behalf?”
“No. I’ll take you where you wish to go. If that is back to the Sagaris, then yes, you will need to share its whereabouts, which your followers have insisted on keeping from me.”
Arixa shifted her gaze briefly to Cinnea, who was not Dawn, to silently convey gratitude.
“I sincerely hope you won’t consider attempting to seize control of this ship,” Vax went on. “I can’t honestly say what the outcome would be, but I know it’s pointless for conflict to exist between us when—”
“Could I choose a neutral destination?”
“You could,” Vax conceded. “But if I may make a new case for Kaleb Sha, there are skilled doctors there. I believe they may be able to help Ivar.”
“What kind of help?”
“No promises, but I feel confident that some one of their number could make him more whole than he is at present. If so, I would be pleased to facilitate it.”
“Are there not doctors elsewhere?”
“Yes. But—”
“But we would be on our own to obtain their services.”
“Correct.”
“May I have time to consider?”
Vax smiled. “Arixa, if I recall, the time it took you to declare war on the Jir was measured in minutes. Your mind is made up. It’s no admission of defeat to choose Kaleb Sha. But if you feel that taking more time would let it seem—”
“Just let me out, Vax. I’ll meet your Administrators. You get Ivar help. I promise not to take your ship.”
Behind the pane Leimya smiled. Vax caused the iris of Arixa’s cell to open, freeing her.
“It’s the right choice, Arixa,” he said. “You won’t regret it.”
Twenty-Two
“This is a momentous day!” Phoris exclaimed.
Trisma walked beside him in the corridor leading to Fizzbik’s lair on the Sagaris.
“Or night,” he corrected. “Who can tell?”
Trisma didn’t like the warrior-turned-priest very much, but he shared her loyalty to Arixa as well as the important task with which the Captain had entrusted them.
The momentous occasion of which Phoris spoke was Fizzbik’s revival of the first three Sleepers. Kidnapped by the Jir from some now-ruined city of Earth, they had slumbered away in the holds ever since.
Fizzbik’s job was to make them able to walk and talk again instead of being curled up in pots of soup. Phoris’s was to persuade them to join the Dawn—not the war band, but the horde Arixa planned to raise in rebellion against the Pentarchy.
Trisma’s own job was at least twofold. Part of it, an honor more than a duty, had been discharged prior to Arixa’s departure on the Red Branch III. Trisma’s mind, her freely chosen devotion to Arixa’s cause, was to act as template for an imprint given by Fizzbik to the awakened Sleepers in addition to the ability to speak and understand Nexus-G.
The present and ongoing part of her job was to see that Phoris did his properly. Having come to know him, it was easy to see how the ex-preacher might not only overstep his mandate but in doing so come into conflict with the two star-folk, Fizzbik and Zhi.
Phoris could lose sight of how much the Dawn needed those two—or of how much of a threat they might become if made into enemies. Trisma was determined not to let that happen.
It was difficult for any human to ‘get along’ with the dog-man. Rather, one mostly just stayed out of his way. Likewise, Trisma’s contact with Zhi, who also preferred solitude, had not been extensive. But what time she had spent with the star-woman had been agreeable. Trisma understood, perhaps better than Arixa, how to communicate with Zhi: reasonably and without resort to threats and demands.
Perhaps it was having been swept up in Daraz’s failed mutiny that had taught Trisma the wisdom of seeking another path.
Zhi waited for her and Phoris in the corridor near Fizzbik’s lair. Trisma gave her a slight smile of greeting, neither false nor overly warm. Zhi returned a curt nod.
“I have considered,” Zhi said. “I cannot agree to the use of Arixa’s recording in the first session. The awakened must be allowed time to acclimate prior to... attempts at recruitment”
Phoris growled subtly. Trisma stepped in front of him and spoke first.
“Thank you for considering it. The Dawn accepts your decision. But we will show them Arixa’s image. On this, we won’t bend.”
“Agreed.”
Together they entered Fizzbik’s lair, where the Gaboon barked a sharp, less-than-friendly sounding greeting in their direction. The place was a mess of equipment and clear vessels containing liquids of various frightening colors.
“You’re early,” Fizzbik said.
“We are several seconds late,” Zhi countered without ire.
“Well, lucky for you, they’re ready anyway.”
The alien set down whatever he’d been doing at a cluttered workstation and started out from behind it. His shiny, canine eyes found Trisma and demanded, “Still? As if you don’t look stupid enough as it is.”
Trisma wiped away the grin she hadn’t realized was on her face. She had spent a fair amount of time with Fizzbik while acting as the pattern for his Sleeper imprint, but it hadn’t helped her learn not to grin like a child every time she saw the walking, talking, grumpy dog. Even now, as soon as Fizzbik’s back was turned to lead the three through his lair, her smile returned.
In time for Fizzbik to usher them into a second chamber, she suppressed it again, without difficulty, since this was, as Phoris claimed, a momentous day—or night.
Here, harnessed into three Jir-sized couches with serenely shut eyes, were the first three Sleepers to be revived. It was Arixa’s wish that the former occupants of no single Devastated city be awakened in large enough quantity that they would quickly outnumber Scythians. But Zhi had advised, and Trisma agreed, that the first batch should come from a single pod. The thinking was that adjustment to their new surroundings would be easier if a Sleeper didn’t awaken alone but rather had tribemates with whom the experience was shared.
It thus stood to reason that the three who lay in the couches in Fizzbik’s lair, two males and one female, shared a common appearance—besides the hairless heads that were common to all human Sleepers. Compared to Scythians, their skin had a yellowish cast, and their facial features, in particular the noses, were flatter and broader. They bore a vague similarity to the Han, in Trisma’s eye, but at the same time they were clearly not of the same stock as Zhi.
Purely by coincidence, they had at least one thing in common with Scythians: two of the three were tattooed on their arms and legs. Not as extensively as most Dawners, and in a vastly different style, even if the designs, like Scythian tattoos, did largely appear to depict animals. One might have even been a panther.
In the stasis pods, the three had been naked. Fizzbik would have happily let them awaken that way if not for Zhi’s and Trisma’s joint insistence that nudity would not likely be conducive to the Sleepers’ smooth entry into an incomprehen
sible new reality. And so the three were dressed in plain star-folk garments from among the goods brought aboard at Nemoora.
Fizzbik went along the couches applying a stimulant. By the time he finished and strolled indifferently toward the exit, the first Sleeper had begun to stir.
“Doctor, if you please...” Zhi prompted.
All three humans involved in this project readily agreed that a Gaboon’s furry face should not be the first that any Sleeper saw.
“I’m moving, grim lady,” the dog-man said, making exactly zero haste. “I’m not as fast as I once was.”
“Unless there is distellent waiting,” Zhi said.
“There always is.”
While Fizzbik dawdled in the hatch, Trisma saw the first Sleeper’s eyes flutter open. Taking a few long strides, she gave the doctor the gentle encouragement of a shove, but it was too late.
The Sleeper screamed. The others’ eyes shot open, and they too stared at Fizzbik, who turned back to look at them and gave a playfully menacing bark before the door slid shut to cover him.
“He has to make everything more interesting...” Zhi muttered over the panicked sounds of the three humans struggling against their restraints. Then she addressed them directly, in clearly enunciated Nexus-G. “Have no fear! You are safe!”
When Phoris made to stride closer to the three, Zhi thrust out an arm to block him.
“They are frightened enough.”
“Wayob! Pek Yum Cimil!” one of the two males cried, among other rapidly uttered words in his native tongue. “K’uhul Xibalba!”
“Listen carefully,” Zhi spoke over him. “You understand me, do you not? I wish only—”
“Silence!” Trisma shouted.
Zhi threw her a look of frustration, but Trisma’s command had the intended effect. The Sleepers ceased in both their frenetic chatter and their struggles against the harnesses which they could easily unclip if they knew how.
Phoris succeeded in being the first to speak, in booming tones which only served to make the three cringe still more.
“Welcome unto new life!”
“Let me.” Trisma stepped in front of him and asked them, “Where do you think you are?”
She didn’t speak loudly, but with a voice of command for which she had a good model.
“Xibalba,” whispered the one who’d earlier uttered that word. The two others repeated it fearfully. Clearly this was a word of dread.
“Speak to me in the tongue that I use,” Trisma commanded. “We have planted its seed in you. The words will grow. Be calm and try.”
Again falling silent, the three cast terrified glances at one another. But mostly they could not keep their eyes off of their hosts and the door through which Fizzbik had gone.
It was the well-muscled male Sleeper on the right, the only one who lacked tattoos, who eventually spoke. The other two seemed inclined to yield to him.
“Lords... of Death,” he said haltingly. “Have we come... to your realm? To Xibalba?”
Now that the man spoke more than a few words, Trisma saw that his teeth were filed to points.
“We are not Lords of Death,” Zhi said. “We are neither Lords nor gods. We are people, like you.”
“We have spared you from death,” Trisma added.
Phoris’s sudden silence surprised her. She looked to find him staring darkly at the wakened Sleepers in a manner which did not escape the notice of its objects. Was this merely resentment at being pushed into a secondary role by Zhi, or something else?
“What are your names?” Trisma asked.
Again they appeared to reach consensus that the uninked male at right should answer first.
“Xoc,” that one said. In spite of how much it strained his Nexus imprint, he managed to add, “Blessed by Hunab Ku and hero of three sacred wars with the Marsh Folk.”
He looked to the man on his side, in the center couch, who took it as leave to give his own name: “Itzcal.”
“Nicte,” the woman answered last.
“I am Trisma. This is Phoris. And that is Zhi.”
The latter two remained silent. Although it was apparent that Zhi cared a great deal for the well-being of the Sleepers, Trisma got the impression that she would just as soon avoid a face-to-face role in their revival. Most likely, she only did so to ensure that the awakened were not subject to immediate and aggressive recruitment into Arixa’s horde.
That suited Trisma fine. Arixa, after all, desired only fully willing recruits.
The restriction didn’t seem to suit Phoris, however. Perhaps that was why he held his tongue now.
It fell to Trisma to continue the Sleepers’ orientation, which also suited her fine.
“You are not dead,” she said. “False gods called the Jir devastated your city and carried you off. Our war band, the Dawn, led by Captain Arixa, rescued you from death or slavery.”
“Yet you are free and our guests,” Zhi inserted, perhaps deciding that Trisma’s words veered to near to coercion.
Phoris’s dark silence persisted.
“Yes, you are free,” Trisma agreed. She took slow, deliberate steps toward the female, Nicte. “I will release you from your restraints.”
Staring up at Trisma, the woman shrunk subtly while her harness was unclipped. The male who was next, Itzcal, who was of slight build apart from a rounded belly, was no braver. Xoc, the muscled one with filed teeth, stood firmer, even if his dark eyes betrayed uncertainty.
Though they were enabled to rise, the three remained in their couches.
“What are your people called?” Trisma asked, looking at Nicte that she might have an answer from other than Xoc.
The woman replied at first in her native language, “Tzuk-kaan.” Then in Nexus: “The people... of the snake.”
“Kaan?” Trisma repeated. “I regret to tell you, tzuk-kaan, that you’ll probably never see your homeland again.”
“Our city was... devastated?” Itzcal, with the tattooed arms, asked. “By false gods?”
“Yes. Even if your city survived, you are farther away from it than you can imagine. We cannot return you.” Trisma found herself taking to the role of instructor more naturally than she might have expected.
“I saw an animal who walks like a man, an ah uaay,” said sharp-toothed Xoc, the hero of three sacred wars. “My last memories are of the sun being swallowed. Surely, this is Xibalba and you its Lords.”
Phoris picked this moment to speak again, and his utterance struck Trisma as strange. “What do you think you know of Xibalba?” he asked.
Xoc replied, “It is the world under the world, the place where the dead face endless trials and exist in servitude to its dark lords.”
“As I told you, we are no Lords and you are not dead,” Zhi said emphatically.
Phoris calmly accepted the interruption. He pursed his lips and resumed his intense stare. Trisma felt certain now that his silence reflected calculation rather than sulking.
“The being whom you saw means no harm,” Zhi explained. “He is merely of a different race than ours. In time, you will learn about and accept such things.”
She looked over at Trisma, hopeful of passing back the role of speaker to the one Scythian present who had earned her trust.
Trisma was glad to accept. “Yes, much is different here,” she said. “We’ll aid you in adjusting to your new surroundings. We will teach you. We will awaken many more like you. And we will offer you choices. Perhaps you and others will join our war against the false gods who destroyed your city.” Trisma half-expected Zhi to interrupt, but she didn’t. “Or you may simply wish to find a new home. You are free.”
“War?”
This word piqued the interest of Xoc, who had already proclaimed himself a veteran of battle, even if it seemed odd by Scythian standards that a warrior would lack tattoos while others had them.
“You are in no present danger,” Zhi answered, in a total failure to understand Xoc in spite of a shared language.
Xoc thr
ew his legs from the couch and set bare feet on the floor, where he immediately sank into a low crouch with downcast eyes.
“If it is warriors which you seek, Lords, then Xoc is at your service.”
Trisma suppressed a smirk. Perhaps recruitment would prove even easier than expected. Phoris clearly had the same thought; his eyes gleamed.
Zhi frowned. “You each may make your own decision,” she said, looking at the other two. “I advise you to wait and learn more before making it.”
The session went on for a short while. It was explained to the Kaan that they presently stood aboard a vessel capable of traveling beyond what they had known as the sky. They were made to understand that their many of their friends and loved ones were likely dead, while others might sleep in the holds, as they had.
At the three’s request, Fizzbik was called back in. Naturally he snarled at them just to amuse himself, but all managed to exist in the alien’s presence without screaming or cowering.
They were shown an image of Arixa on a screen, a means which was in itself a wonder to them. When they got past the idea that Arixa was not truly present, nor a ghost, Trisma studied their expressions as they looked upon Arixa’s face. If Fizzbik’s imprint was successful, they would view the Captain as Trisma did, as someone whom they wished to please.
Throughout this time, Phoris remained mostly quiet, even declining to heap excessive praise on Arixa.
Eventually some synthesized food was brought in, and the three were left to share it alone. Trisma had no idea what snake-people ate, but she chose the simplest items and the ones which most resembled Earth vegetables and fruits. The Kaan tested it and found it agreeable, although they ate sparingly.
From outside the hatch, in Fizzbik’s lair, Trisma and the others listened electronically to the Kaan’s private conversation—pointless, since it was conducted in their native tongue. Snake-tongue.
Over the sounds of excited and distressed Kaan chatter, Zhi conceded not-quite-defeat.
“I am one person,” she said. “I cannot hope to monitor every interaction the Dawn has with every Sleeper. Being Goros-born, you will possess a far superior understanding of them. I see also how likely it is that you will succeed in swaying many to Arixa’s cause.” She hesitated. “I am willing to trust you... until you give me reason not to.”
