Crucible of Time

by Jeffrey A. Carver

  Amaduse bowed toward the spinning Tintangle. “Your fellowss were among those I consulted, Ruall. People who could ssee outside our dimensional time flow. Tintangles and magellan-fish and shadow-people, and others. No s-sign of change in the time flow. It seemsss the theory that the past is resiss-tant to change has gained, sss, experimental support.”

  Thank God, Bandicut thought. But then he shook his head, as though trying to wake from a dream. He wasn’t interested in time travel theory just now. “No paradox. Fine. Great. How can we get to where our friends are now? You said you would help us do that, right?”

  Amaduse bobbed his serpentine head up and down. “I ssaid, and will try. I must enlist the aid of your friend the yaantel.”

  “Yaantel?” Bandicut asked, more perplexed than ever. “Who or what is the yaantel?” He looked to Li-Jared and Ruall, to see if either of them knew.

  “The yaantel,” Amaduse said, “commands great respect here. I thought you knew it perssonally. Was I wrong?” He fiddled with some controls, and read something on his screen in an unfamiliar language. “I ssee. It may be known to you by another name. Sss. Did you know ssomething called ‘the transsslator’?” An image appeared on the screen: a squirming collection of black and silver spheres, exactly as Bandicut had first seen the translator in the ice caverns of Triton.

  “Mokin’ Jesus!” Bandicut’s breath went out in a rush. This was as astounding as learning that Julie Stone was here. “The translator’s here? On Shipworld? The same translator I left back on Earth—I mean, in my home system?”

  The diamond-glitter returned to Amaduse’s eyes. “The s-same. It returned to Shipworld after a long absence, sss, bringing with it the one you know as Julie S-stone.”

  “I’ll be . . .” Bandicut breathed. He wished Charli could have been here for this. What about his stones? Did they know about the translator being here?

  *We sense something . . . just out of reach. We felt it before, but could not be certain of the source. It could be . . .*

  Bandicut’s head was spinning now. Li-Jared was saying something to Amaduse that he didn’t hear. But it brought him back to the present. “—get us to the translator? Now?”

  “S-speaking to the translator may be the best next step,” said Amaduse. “I am trying to make contact now.” He turned and extended a long, lithe hand. “While I do that, won’t you rest?”

  Bandicut let out a sigh of release and took a step toward the piled cushions; then he turned back to Amaduse. “We have two more robots that will be following us. It’s very important that they rejoin us.”

  “Ssss, I will keep watch for them,” the Logothian promised, “and send them on when I can.”

  ***

  The librarian’s assistant, Gonjee, had appeared and was scurrying around setting things up for a transport event. Something that looked like a silver door-frame was now standing at the far left end of Amaduse’s work area. It resembled the transport device into which Antares had disappeared, right here—years ago, it seemed. It was different, though. More elaborate. More complex parts. Amaduse was working with great concentration at his consoles. The doorway, he informed them, required an active connection on both ends. The distance involved was considerably greater than usual within Shipworld, even between modules.

  Ruall was unusually restless, spinning in and out of view as they waited. She was, she said, doing her own reconnoitering. It seemed there was another Tintangle who was close to the situation, who might be able to help open a receiving gateway near Ik and the others. That other Tintangle was busy shuttling messages. From whom to whom, Ruall didn’t say.

  Amaduse finally summoned them. “I believe we are nearly ready. I have spoken to the yaantel. It conveys its greetings. It is attempting to clear the way for a transport. Though it is eager to meet with you in person, it believes the greater urgency is to reunite you with your friends.”

  Bandicut nodded. He felt a surge of adrenaline; and the stones were stirring in his wrists. “I want to see the translator, too. But my friends first.” Li-Jared, beside him, was on the balls of his feet, his fingers twitching. His eyes seemed to be alive with their own light. “When will we be ready?” He glanced at Ruall. “Do you want to come with us?”

  “I wish to meet your friends,” Ruall rumbled.

  Bandicut responded with a hint of a smile.

  Amaduse touched several switches and listened to something they could not hear. “We are ready now,” he said. “There are no guarantees-s, but we have done what we can, sss, to establish the connection. Please s-stand in front of the portal. When I receive a signal from Rings-at-Need, ssss, I will tell you to s-step through.”

  With Li-Jared, Bandicut moved close to the doorway. He instinctively crouched, prepared to leap through, if necessary. Ruall spun in short, quick movements, behind him and over his shoulder.

  “Be ready,” said Amaduse. “I am receiving . . . wait . . .”

  Bandicut drew a slow, deep breath. “Don’t forget our robots.”

  “I won’t. Wait . . .”

  The doorway sparkled with violet-blue light. The tiny signals flared. “Now,” said Amaduse.

  Together, they lunged through.

  Chapter 38

  Reunion

  JULIE SAT FRUSTRATED, reading on a tablet. She glanced up to find Antares gazing intently at her from near the food table. “What?” Julie asked. “Why are you staring?”

  Stroking the stones embedded in her throat, Antares made that little hissing sound Julie had learned to recognize as a chuckle. “I was admiring your ability to focus on something like a book. I am too—agitated, I guess—to do that.”

  Julie forced a shrug. “It helps pass the time.” It was a guide to the geography of Shipworld, translated in real-time by her stones. It was interesting, actually, and the knowledge might come in handy—but more to the point, it was distracting.

  “I understand,” Antares said. “But I think you are troubled by something today.”

  Julie straightened up. “Wait. Do you mean you can—?”

  “Feel it?” Antares shook her head. “No. You just look that way—like you have something on your mind.”

  Julie leaned back in the easy chair and closed her eyes. “It’s the damn portal,” she sighed. They had tried several times now to use the local portal standing here in the room—to go see the translator, to visit the nearest shopping center, anything to get out of here. Rings had made it through a couple of times to see them, and had explained that part of the problem was they were not just quarantined; they were a considerable distance from Shipworld proper, on the ghoststream station. Linking from here was more complicated.

  “Hrah, I think they have stoppered it more tightly,” Ik muttered. He had been pacing the far side of the room. “Rings hasn’t been here yet today.”

  “Exactly. I’m worried something is wrong. They may have found a way to block him.”

  “That would be bad,” Antares agreed. “But Rings is pretty resourceful. Don’t you think he’d find a way?”

  Julie wanted to believe that. Until Antares pointed it out, she hadn’t realized just how anxious she was feeling. “I don’t know,” she managed finally. “This all just feels so wrong to me. That we are kept prisoner. That we are kept from speaking to the translator.”

  She dropped her gaze back to the words on her tablet, but now her eyes went out of focus as she ruminated on their captivity. It hurt. After all they had done on their mission, to be treated like this . . .

  It was sometime later when Ik pointed to the portal and said, “Hrrm, something is happening. I wonder if Rings has found his way past the blocks again.”

  Julie sat up. The window began to sparkle around the perimeter, and an almost imperceptible hum filled the air.

  ***

  There was a dusting of light and no other sensation, as Bandicut’s footsteps carried him forward. On the other side of the portal was a large room. As it swam into view, he discerned a table and nothing else. H
e was experiencing blurriness and tunnel vision. Now, to the left, he saw chairs—and three standing figures, moving toward him. He heard a cry before he could make out any faces.

  “JOHN!” Not a cry, so much as a shriek. Pain and joy and weeping and hope, all caught up that one exclamation.

  He swiveled left. Julie? Was that Julie? His voice couldn’t form the question. His vision was blurrier still now, with sudden tears.

  And then, “Hrah, Li-Jared!”

  And “John Bandicut!” That was Antares, definitely. He blinked hard at the tears, trying to focus. He still couldn’t see faces.

  Again: “John!” Julie, for sure.

  They all fell into focus at once. All three were running toward him and Li-Jared, arms flung wide in astonishment and joy. Their faces were alight. They looked like they might bowl him over, but he didn’t care. Above his head, Ruall clanged and gonged, joined by another Tintangle spinning down from the ceiling.

  “My God!” Bandicut gasped, staggering.

  “You’re alive! You’re really alive! And you’re here!” And with those words, Julie collided with him and crushed her face to his chest and caught him around the torso in a bear hug.

  Bandicut was too stunned to do anything except hug her in return, and murmur meaningless syllables. Finally he laid his cheek against the top of her head and sighed. “I am so . . . happy . . . to see you,” he managed, in a whisper. Tears were running down his cheeks now. Julie, he realized, was sobbing. He squeezed her again, and kept squeezing.

  Finally, he looked up and saw Ik and Li-Jared embracing heartily, gripping each other’s arms. He laughed at the sight. Then he shifted right. Antares was standing a little apart, gazing at him, her black-and-gold eyes alight, her lips pressed into a crinkled expression that he recognized as a smile. “Antares,” he sighed, over Julie’s head.

  Julie loosened her embrace at that, and he gripped her shoulders and looked into her eyes and said, “I need to greet Antares.” Julie nodded and let him go without speaking. He took just one step past her and met Antares, and the Thespi fell into his arms, embracing him as tightly as Julie had. He held her for a long moment, rocking. Something felt not quite right, and it took him half a minute to realize what it was. There was no empathic wave, no rush of warmth, no inner flooding of love and welcome. Was she withholding? Was something wrong? He gently moved her to arm’s length to peer into her eyes, and he found joy and pain in her gaze, but no answer.

  Turning to include Julie, he caught each of their hands in his, and choked back tears. “I . . . see you two have met,” he managed with a hoarse laugh, a hundred questions boiling up in his thoughts.

  “We have,” Julie said, and her mouth and eyes contorted, working through a range of emotions. Then she bit her lip, and the awkwardness burst somehow, and a grin broke through. Her dazzling blue eyes—oh yes, he remembered those eyes—danced, searching his. “Yes, we have met. Have we ever. I have so much to tell you!”

  “Well, that’s—I mean, I—”

  Julie laughed and closed the short distance between them, and kissed him long and hard on the lips. “I’m glad you didn’t die hitting that stupid comet,” she breathed. Then she folded herself back into his arms, nestling her face into his neck. Antares pressed close, burring softly. Behind her, Napoleon—good old Napoleon!—was calling, “Cap’n! Cap’n!” And somewhere overhead, one Tintangle was saying to another, “Quarantined, yes. Un-nable to leave.”

  Bandicut shut all that out. He held Julie as if he would never let her go, pressing his own face once more into her hair. And he didn’t let go for a long, long time. Whatever questions he had thought to ask were gone on a cosmic wind.

  Coda

  ACROSS THE TANGLED knot of space-time, Charli heard Bandicut’s cry of distress—the long, heartrending cry of a distant train, in Bandicut’s sensibility. It caused Charli’s own heart to ache all over again. There was nothing she could do for John but ache for him.

  Her recovery from the failed attempt had been as difficult as any she had ever experienced. Stretched across all of time and space, or so it seemed, Charli had, with tremendous effort, pulled herself back from the brink of death and despair. Pulled herself back to gaze down eternity, down the thin ribbon of space and time that had been unnaturally stressed, from the black-hole ruins of a former red-giant sun far from the galactic center, to the other black hole in the core. It was a sight of awesome grandeur—or would have been so at another time. Now it held only pain and loss.

  So desperately she had tried to return to John Bandicut . . . so badly she had wanted to . . . and even with the help of that strange one, Ruall, she had failed. Or maybe it wasn’t failure; maybe it just wasn’t possible, in this life. Charli didn’t want to believe that; she wanted to believe that maybe it would be possible one day to try again.

  Yes, and maybe these tiny vessels out here moving in the starstream were the elves of galactic Christmas.

  Charli mourned her loss in the only way a quarx could, by sighing her grief out into the universe, a long, slow song. She had done it before, in other lives, and she supposed she would do it again before her time was done.

  It had taken a while before she’d become aware of a distant, small voice, echoing in the back of her mind. Very distant. But she knew then she was not entirely alone. How that was possible, she did not know. But as she looked inward, she realized she had felt his arrival back at Shipworld, without quite noticing. She felt his confusion and frustration at their reception. She sensed—oh, how far away!—his anticipation at being rejoined with his friends, and even with the long-lost Julie Stone.

  Did Bandicut know she still heard rumor of his thoughts, of his doings? She felt his pain, and wished she could, somehow, let him know she was still there for him.

  She thought long and thought hard.

  Maybe there was something she could do besides ache for John. Maybe she could be his eyes and ears on the starstream, on the great river across the galaxy. Maybe she could do that for him. Maybe she could even do it for herself. Maybe one day she could have a purpose again.

  Time would tell, as time always did.

  ______________________

  The story of the company will conclude

  with the final volume of THE CHAOS CHRONICLES,

  The Masters of Shipworld.

  Note from the Author

  Thank you for reading Crucible of Time (and, I hope, the first half, The Reefs of Time). I hope you enjoyed the story! If you did, please post a review in your favorite store or social networking site, such as Goodreads. And please tell your friends! Word of mouth is the greatest appreciation you can give to an author whose work you enjoy. Every review counts, and every personal recommendation! Thanks in advance!

  Acknowledgments

  The Reefs of Time and Crucible of Time were written as a single novel. It was a long time in coming. Over the course of the writing, it grew to twice the length originally envisioned, leaving me to break it into two volumes, with the awkward questions of how to divide, title, and publish the story. You have seen the result. It outlived several generations of office computers. It survived writer's block and life gone haywire. It made it through the mire of doubt and the fire of certainty, blown deadlines and tumultuous changes in the world of book publishing. It's been through the fermenter, the extractor, refractor, distracter, distiller, and finally the kiln; and after that, it was aged in camphor-wood in the cellar. At times, I wondered if it had fallen into a black hole.

  Originally it was to have been published by Tor Books, and much of the editing occurred in that framework. That didn’t work out, however, and instead, I have gone one better and brought it to light under my own imprint, with the remarkable assistance of my fellow authors and colleagues at Book View Café. I cannot thank my friends there enough for their assistance, ranging from general encouragement and wisdom to solid, hands-on help. Particular thanks go out to Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff, whose design skills have graced many of my current cover
s. Also, to Chaz Brenchley for his relentlessly exacting proofreading.

  Speaking of covers, many thanks to Chris Howard for the beautiful artwork that served as your introduction to both Reefs and Crucible.

  There are others who hung in there with me—never losing faith, or hiding it well if they did. Tom Doherty at Tor was patient and encouraging, as was my agent Richard Curtis—and my editor for much of the project, James Frenkel, whose suggestions were extremely helpful and, as always, much appreciated. Though in the end, publication took another course, I remain grateful for their support.

  At home, my eagle-eyed writing group has been an ever-present source of encouragement and editorial feedback: Mary Aldridge, Richard Bowker, Craig Shaw Gardner, and the late Victoria Bolles. I could not have done this without you guys. (And Victoria, I wish you had lived to see the conclusion.) As well, my friends at Reservoir Church have been a continual source of inspiration, especially the incredible small groups, writing-centered and otherwise.

  For total support, there is no comparison with my family. My brother, Charles S. Carver, who was so incredibly supportive throughout the process, was taken from us (and from his wonderful wife Youngmee) before he could finish reading the finished book. My sister, Nancy Carver Adams, also was taken from us (and from her husband, the other Chuck) before the book was finished. Through it all, there stood, like bedrock, my wife Allysen and my daughters Alexandra and Jayce. I love you all.

  Finally, to those whose patience was tested most of all, I thank you my readers, who waited so long for this novel to arrive. I sincerely hope you found it more than worth the wait!

  Books by Jeffrey A. Carver

  The Star Rigger Universe

  Panglor

  Dragons in the Stars

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