Quantum Shadows

by L. E. Modesitt Jr.

  Then he showered and dressed, before descending to the restaurant, where he had a modest breakfast of flattened rice with tomato and chilies along with some naan on the side and jasmine tea. After eating most, but not all, of his breakfast, he strolled from the hotel in the general direction of the Lanka Palace.

  Corvyn had no way of knowing what, if anything, Garuda had told Shiva, and Kartikeya would definitely be missed, sooner or later, considering that he was Shiva’s favorite son, although Kartikeya might not be considered missing just yet, especially if what Sunya told him about Kartikeya trying to enlist other war deities to his banner happened to be true. For those reasons, among others, Corvyn decided to visit the Lanka Palace sooner rather than later.

  He had walked some three blocks and was passing a row of shops when he saw a sign on one: RAJESH GOEL—SECURE TRANSACTIONS/COMMUNICATIONS.

  Corvyn couldn’t help but be intrigued, given how many ways he knew to unsecure transactions and communications, and a few moments were not likely to change anything. Besides, it might be amusing. As he entered the shop, no more than five meters wide, a young man collapsed an intricate spatial array and stood. Corvyn immediately sensed something about the array, not quite like the quantum shadows he employed, but related, he suspected.

  “How might I help you, sir?”

  “Tell me how you can guarantee secure transactions and communications. You’re Rajesh Goel, I take it?”

  “Yes, sir.” Goel cleared his throat. “I’d like to say that it’s simple, or that it’s guaranteed, but neither is precisely true. With time and expertise, any expert can break into any transaction or communication. What our equipment does is to limit the time so that it’s close to impossible to pick it out of a message stream. We compress the message or signal into the shortest time signature possible, encrypt it, and surround it with a random quantum flux, call it static with an embedded faux message, and then dispatch it. Upon receipt verification, the message uncompresses. The static conceals the real message in transit, and since the time in transit is almost infinitesimal…” The tech/proprietor shrugged.

  “That won’t stop someone from hacking into the receiving equipment.”

  “It will if they use our receivers. The best way of describing the system, sir, is that both our transmitters and receivers provide quantum static around the data field. The moment the faux message is touched or disturbed, the entanglement withdraws the data and compares it to the original. At the same time, the system entangles the intruder through the faux message, and uses chaos to scramble his probes or devices.”

  Corvyn smiled faintly, recalling the systems he would be required to visit if matters did not go well, for they had protocols that were not dissimilar in operation and intent. “Can you demonstrate it?”

  Goel frowned. “You won’t see anything.”

  “Humor me, if you will,” said Corvyn gently. “You don’t have any other customers at the moment, do you?”

  Goel offered an almost boyish smile, then gestured to the devices on a side table. “I can send something from one to the other, or I could send a message to our other office.”

  “Send something to the other office.”

  “I’ll call up a long report. Not that it will matter.”

  Corvyn watched as Goel transferred the report and then sent it. For all his sensitivities, Corvyn could barely sense the static, and only the hint of the false message, and he might just have been imagining that. Still, it was definitely ingenious.

  “You see, sir? There’s no sound, nothing.”

  “I do. Now … can you just create the static pattern for maybe ten seconds? No message. Just the static.”

  Goel frowned again.

  “Please.”

  Goel adjusted the equipment. “Ready. Here goes.”

  This time Corvyn sensed the pattern. After a moment, he said, “Could you call it a quantum fractal signal?”

  Goel looked surprised. “That’s essentially what it is. Except it’s not a signal.”

  “You’re right, of course. Thank you. What is your time worth?”

  “Sir … there’s no need.”

  Corvyn extended his card. “Charge me two hours’ worth. I’ll know if you undercharge. I appreciated the demonstration.”

  “Sir…”

  “I insist.”

  Once Corvyn was certain the funds had been transferred, he inclined his head. “Thank you.”

  When he left the shop, Corvyn knew that Rajesh Goel would be checking everything to make sure that Corvyn hadn’t somehow done something untoward, but, hopefully, the funds would cover that time, since Goel would find nothing.

  He continued walking toward the Lanka Palace, thinking and planning.

  While he could not personally generate a fractal quantum signal, not without certain technical devices that only existed within the realms of the Pearls of Heaven, he didn’t have to. All he had to do was create enough patterns of quantum movement through the shadows around the Lanka Palace that any entry through the shadows would be blurred or lost, inhibiting Shiva’s ability to focus or marshal forces at any one point in advance, although he would definitely know that someone was arriving.

  Corvyn continued toward the palace, at a pace neither leisurely nor rushed, but he did not approach any of the four gates, since he saw no point in entering in anything close to the normal fashion. In time, he reached the walls girding the artificial circular plateau dominated by the Lanka Palace, walls of golden stone that rose a good hundred meters above Varanasi, one of the reasons why no structures were taller than fifty meters, so that they did not challenge the palace.

  Once there, he began to shake the quantum shadows around and infusing the palace, before and while transforming himself into a raven to traverse the shadows and make his way inside. As he traveled, he attempted to see if he could discern a trident burned into stone anywhere. He did in fact find one in the inner chambers of the formal temple, and it was indeed no different from any of the others.

  That task completed, he traveled farther, on to Shiva’s study, where he appeared as a large raven. He decided against croaking before resuming his usual form, although the thought had occurred to him, as had a single word, given what he would find necessary.

  Shiva looked at Corvyn, but did not immediately speak.

  Corvyn simply waited.

  “You didn’t have to rattle the fabric of the universe to announce your entry, Raven.”

  Shiva’s voice was clear, not quite melodic, and even, although his two normal eyes flashed, but not the closed one in the middle of his forehead, which was just as well.

  “Not the universe, just a bit of the space-time around your palace. I only shook it gently. I thought it made a better entrance.” As he spoke, Corvyn studied Shiva quickly, taking in his blue throat, his elaborately braided hair, as well as the third eye, and the crescent moon shining just above his head.

  “Why did you need to make an entrance at all?”

  “I thought it was fitting, especially since this time Parvati didn’t give the palace away.”

  Shiva’s face turned cold.

  “I also wanted to know why you burned images of your trishula into the places of faith of every hegemon in Heaven.” Since Corvyn doubted that Shiva was the one who had done that, for a number of reasons, he waited to see how Shiva replied.

  “I burned no trishulas anywhere. Still … if I had, I could say that each of the Houses of the Decalivre might be as a single arm of Durga.” Shiva’s hands made a dismissive gesture.

  “But the trishula is your weapon,” Corvyn pointed out. “Didn’t you give it to Durga, after cutting off the head of Ganesha, not that he turned out any the worse for wear?”

  “The trishula is everywhere, part of the fabric of reality. You might as well seek out all who drink water.”

  “But you know which hegemon planted the trishulas, don’t you? And you came up with the idea, knowing that the obviousness would assure that no one would belie
ve it was your thought.”

  “You would question me, Raven?”

  “Why not? Isn’t it my role to question?”

  “The Great Almighty didn’t give you that role.”

  “No. That’s true. I assumed it because the various gods in Heaven and before have this propensity not to question themselves, nor to allow their believers any great latitude in that, either. And deities who are unquestioned invariably grow complacent or arrogant, if not both.”

  “I suppose you’re an exception, then?”

  “I’m not a deity. You know that,” replied Corvyn.

  For several moments, Shiva did not speak. Finally, he said, “You dispatched Kartikeya to the depths of Hades. Was that necessary?”

  “It was. But I didn’t send him to Hades. I sent him to the depths and the core of Heaven.”

  Shiva’s third eye opened, and a wave of chaos and destruction washed over Corvyn, who used the shadows to channel both to the same place that he had sent Kartikeya. That raised the possibility that Shiva’s chaotic rage completed what Corvyn had begun. That didn’t trouble Corvyn unduly, not given what Shiva and his son had already done and what they’d tried to accomplish.

  In time, the third eye closed. A clearly shaken Shiva looked at an untouched Corvyn.

  “In addition, as I was about to say, I also sent some other assorted gods of battle and war to Limbo and Hades. Kartikeya seemed to be collecting them. Did he do this and kill the Valkyries on your account … or on his own initiative? And, one other thing. He seemed adamant that I not come to Varanasi, almost as if he didn’t want me to see you, Auspicious One. Neither did Garuda, apparently. I don’t sense him around, either.”

  “What Garuda and my son did should not concern you, shadowed one.”

  “In a way, it doesn’t. Not anymore. What I’d like to know, if you deign to tell me, is why you let it happen?”

  “It amuses me. I also wanted to see what you would do.”

  Corvyn had suspected that Shiva’s answer would be along those lines. “You’ve seen what I’ll do. Why did you do it? To see if One True Faith could arise again?”

  “Oh, given men and women, someone is bound to try. The only question is when it will next be successful.”

  “I can’t say I like your definition of success.”

  “Why not? All you do is stand in the way of the nature of the universe. And destroy my son and your betters.”

  “They started the destruction business. They’ve always started it. The only thing I’m standing in the way of is the basic nature of faith. Isn’t that more than what you do?”

  Corvyn waited for several moments.

  Shiva did not respond.

  When it was all too clear that Shiva would say no more, Corvyn then entered the deeper shadows.

  The raven and his shade

  are of the same stuff made,

  two linked so by the light

  that both or none take flight.

  41

  Corvyn dropped into the deepest levels of the shadows and struggled across the distances, back to Helios, but not back to his comfortable eyrie, but to a larger and more imposing black villa set at the north end of the Avenue Pierrot, a fitting name for the avenue, given that both his eyrie and the villa were located upon it.

  He emerged in the private study, taking on a larger and more imposing form than was his nature or wont, noting in passing, once more, that there was indeed a trident of the same nature as the others upon the black stone wall behind the black and empty table desk. Then he walked over to the desk and stood beside it, before summoning Attar.

  In moments, the black-clad seneschal of the villa appeared. “You’ve returned, sire?”

  “Only briefly.” Corvyn gestured to the trident. “I’ll be dealing with the source of that. Leave it. I’ll take care of it when I return.”

  Attar inclined his head. “Is there anything else you desire?”

  “Not at present. You may return to your duties.”

  Once the seneschal left the study, closing the black door noiselessly, Corvyn glanced around the spare space, shaking his head. There had never been a physical need for a deity of darkness and punishment, not given human nature. But he also knew that without at least a representation of such a deity, people would have invented one even worse, one that would have represented all too accurately the true depths of human depravity, if only to have an entity to blame other than themselves and those around them.

  Better an almost empty, seldom-present deity of darkness than an active agent of baseness and self-interest.

  With a faint and tired smile, ignoring the sweat and fatigue from the long transit from the north, he dropped back into the shadows.

  In instants, he reappeared in his own eyrie, near the southern end of the Avenue Pierrot. He stood in the darkened study, looking at the trident set into the gray stone. He immediately checked a certain signal and nodded.

  No disruption yet. And given the time of day, there likely wouldn’t be any until tomorrow, if then.

  Then he shook his head and lighted the study.

  Huginn was the first through the study door, followed by Muninn. Neither spoke. They just waited.

  “I’m tired. I’m hot and sweaty, and I’m hungry. I’ll also need the flux nerve underwear laid out for when I leave tomorrow,” Corvyn said.

  Huginn and Muninn exchanged worried glances.

  “It hasn’t been all that long, sir…” offered Huginn, “since you had to travel that far from the north … and to go back so soon tomorrow…”

  “We do what we must. Now … I’m going to take a hot shower and get into clean clothes. I’ll also like a good meal this evening. Perhaps … veal marsala with the Viognier?”

  Muninn smiled. “I’ll take care of that. It calls up the best memories.”

  “Who is it … this time, sir?” asked Huginn, as Muninn left the study.

  “One of the usual suspects. Who else has the arrogance?”

  “One could hope for some improvement,” offered Huginn.

  “I always hope for improvement,” replied Corvyn. Even if that hope is often unjustified.

  “You’ve been hoping for a long time, sir.”

  “That comes with the job. Do you regret it?”

  “Not in the slightest. The surroundings are far better, and the casualties far fewer.”

  “That’s why we’re here.” Corvyn’s smile was faint, but wry. “I’m going to get that shower. Tomorrow and the next several days are likely to be very long and very exhausting.” And that’s the best you can hope for.

  Corvyn didn’t even want to think about the worst. He remembered too many times where hopes hadn’t worked out. He needed nourishment and sleep, but he also knew he would dream, and the dream would not be pleasant.

  That, also, was nothing new.

  Black wings bear Raven to his fate,

  to stop the hate that lies create.

  42

  From the unseen shadows that should not have existed on the bridge of the mightiest dreadnought ever constructed, Corvyn watched the array of screens that continually shifted too fast for an uncyborged mind to follow, not that he had any difficulty, although the battle officers before him did not see the screens, for the images fed directly into their thoughts and enhanced information-processing and spatial-manipulation capabilities.

  “Energy concentration, sector five, plus three…” reported the firm asexual voice, a voice that was unnecessary, given that the battle officers had already received the information and were implementing their countermeasures, measures that would prove too little and too late, Corvyn knew, because of what followed the energy concentration that was the first manifestation of a targeted wormhole, from which would soon emerge a wedge of the shimmering white ships of the Purity Alliance.

  As swiftly as Corvyn had predicted the arrival of the attackers, they appeared, almost a blizzard of white stars against the darkness of space, an onslaught met by the gray ships of Hom
e. In the minutes that passed, the gray ships engaged the Purifiers successfully enough that half a gray squadron remained when the white ships were less than traces of ash that would eventually drop onto the surface of the planet named after a god of war. But even as those defenders re-formed and were reinforced, another targeted wormhole spewed forth another wave of attackers bearing the white of the Purity Alliance.

  Energy concentration followed concentration, and after each wave of Purifiers there were fewer and fewer gray ships remaining to face the next onslaught. Then, there were none remaining to defend the planet, and the white ships turned upon the planet and boiled away the atmosphere and the shallow oceans.

  Frozen in time, the raven that was Corvyn, or Corvyn who was the raven, watched, helpless to forestall what followed.

  And follow it did, as before that long, the energy concentrations and the ensuing wormholes surrounded the dreadnought that maintained the defenses for the blue planet farther insystem. The last fleets of gray ships arrived, flat-coated, energy-reflective, each a hammer of defensive destruction thrown in the name of the political entity that was embodied by the dreadnought. Each flashed out and took its toll on the shimmering white attackers, but the attackers were truly endless. Not only that, but each emerging wormhole stressed the very fabric of space-time itself around the defenders, and the rips and rents in time and space swallowed white and gray alike.

  Then a concentration of energy greater than all that had preceded flared around the dreadnought, and englobed it with the interlocked waves of gravity, and gravitons like spears of creation flew inward toward the doomed behemoth.

  In that moment, Corvyn folded shadows and time around himself and fled, mere nanoseconds before the dreadnought expired, releasing outward the energy of a small sun as it died, shredding the gray and white alike into less than ashes.

  Corvyn shuddered away, his skin covered with a thin rime of ice, except for his forehead, which burned so much that the ice instantly melted and flowed down his cheeks like tears of mourning for all the deaths remembered once more.