by Allen Steele
I looked over at Ted. He gave me a nod, so I took a deep breath and switched to autopilot. Lights flashed across my panel, telling me that the Pride’s AI was slaved to the starbridge. Now I knew exactly how Ali felt when he’d done this; there’s nothing worse than having to put your fate in someone else’s hands.
The thrusters fired again, and the Pride began moving toward the ring. I checked my harness to make sure that it was tight, then settled back in my seat. But just before the ship crossed the event horizon, I looked across the bridge to where Rain was seated. She’d been continuing to avoid me, and although our eyes met for a moment, she hastily looked away. Once again, I wished I could talk things over with her, but for the time being that was out of the question. I was the pilot, and she was counting on me to get her home.
The wormhole opened. A blinding flash of light, and then we plunged into hyperspace.
XI
Jas kept his promise. When we came out the other side of the wormhole, we were back in the Rho Coronae Borealis system.
The second time around, though, there was nothing surprising. Jas got on the horn and spoke with someone in hisher own language, and a few minutes later the local traffic system took control of the ship and guided it the rest of the way to Talus qua’spah. I sat with my hands in my lap and watched while the Pride entered the same saucer where it had been berthed before. Once it glided to a rest within the docking cradle, the gangway arms telescoped out to mate with our airlock hatches. Ted and I shut down the main engine and put all systems on standby, then the captain turned to Jas.
“Right, then,” he said. “We’re back. Now what do you want us to do?”
Morgan was already unbuckling his harness. “For one, I’d like to speak with someone about replacing my cargo. I’m not responsible for…”
“Remain seated, Mr. Goldstein.” Jas barely looked his way. “Our visit will be brief, but during this time, only one individual will be allowed to disembark.” Then hisher helmet swiveled in my direction. “Jules, please come with me.”
As startled as I was, I couldn’t help but notice that the Prime Emissary had addressed me by my first name. Now that was a change; no longer was heshe calling me “Mr. Truffaut.” I was about to respond when Ted shook his head. “I’m sorry, but no. As commanding officer, I’m the person who speaks for the ship and her crew. If the High Council wants to meet with anyone…”
“It’s okay, skipper. I can take care of myself.” Taking a deep breath, I unfastened my harness. “I think I know why.”
Ted hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. It only made sense that the High Council would want to see me. After all, it was my screwup that had forced us to undertake the task we’d just completed, and it was also yours truly who’d delivered the hjadd probe to Kha-Zann. If anyone was going to answer to the Talus, it should be me. Yet I’d just pushed myself out of my chair when Rain spoke up.
“I’m going, too.” She’d already risen from her seat and was pulling herself across the compartment. “I was with Jules, remember?” she added, looking at Jas. “If they’ve got a bone to pick with him, then they’re going to have to pick it with me as well.”
Jas’s translator must have had trouble making sense out of Rain’s colloquialisms—pick a bone? whose bones?—because a few moments went by before the Prime Emissary made a reply. “Yes, you may join us,” heshe said at last, hisher head swinging back and forth in the hjadd affirmative. “However, you should be warned that, by doing so, the Council’s judgment may be extended to you as well.”
“Rain, don’t…”
“Hush.” Rain gave me a stubborn look, then turned to Jas. “I understand. So…let’s go.”
With Jas leading the way, we floated down the access shaft to the primary hatch, then cycled through the airlock. Jas told us that we didn’t need to put on spacesuits, and artificial gravity was restored as soon as we entered the gangway. I was half-expecting to have to undergo decontamination again, but instead we went straight through the reception area without having to stop, take off our clothes, and get another dart in the ass. Yet when we found ourselves at the tram station, Jas stopped and stepped back from us.
“I am leaving you now,” heshe said. “You may see me again later, but at this point you will travel in a different direction.” Heshe motioned to the waiting tube car. “This will transport you to where you are supposed to go. May fortune be with you.”
I didn’t quite know how to take this; it sounded rather ominous. As heshe began to turn away, though, Rain spoke up. “Just one question…would you have really left us on Kha-Zann, if it had been your choice?’
The Prime Emissary halted, and hisher head swiveled around. “I was considering the safety of the ship. You were expendable.”
There wasn’t much to say to that, really, except perhaps that I strongly disagreed with hisher assessment of the value of our lives. I doubted that would’ve made much difference, though, so I simply nodded, and Rain reluctantly did the same, and then we climbed into the car. Jas watched as the canopy slid shut; one last glimpse of himher, standing at the platform, and then the car shot down the tube and out into space.
Hard to believe that we were back there, and so soon. Only a few days ago, I’d thought I’d seen the last of Talus qua’spah. Yet as the car hurtled through the immense habitat, I found myself wondering whether I should have stayed aboard ship. Sure, we’d kept our side of the bargain—the Pride had deployed the probe and survived to tell the tale—yet I couldn’t shake the feeling that the Talus wasn’t done with us quite yet. Only this time, I wouldn’t have Ted or Emily or Ash or even Morgan to pull my bacon from the fire. Only Rain…and I couldn’t figure out for the life of me why she’d insisted on sharing the risk.
I didn’t get a chance to ask, though, before the car took an abrupt right turn and headed toward a cylinder that we hadn’t visited during our previous trip. I’d just noticed that it didn’t have any windows when the car began to decelerate. It entered a portal and coasted to a halt at another tram station, and then the canopy opened.
Rain and I climbed out onto the platform, looked around. As before, a sphincter door was recessed in the nearby wall. But this time, there was no friendly voice to tell us what to do; the door irised open, revealing another copper-paneled corridor. The message was clear: this way, and don’t forget to wipe your feet.
“Y’know,” I murmured, “this is a bad time to know me.”
“Oh, hell, Jules…I’ve regretted knowing you from the moment we met.” I glanced at her, and she softened the blow with a wink and a smile. “Just kidding. C’mon, let’s get this over with.”
The corridor took us to another door. Upon our approach, it swirled open, but beyond it lay only darkness. I stopped, reluctant to venture in. Rain was just as hesitant; her hand trembled as she took mine. Then a narrow beam of light came from a high ceiling, forming a circular spot upon a bare floor. Again, a message that was both unspoken and clear: come in and stand here.
Still holding hands, we entered the room. The door slid shut behind, and when I looked back, I found that I couldn’t see where it was. The spotlighted circle was just large enough for the two of us. The room was cold; when we exhaled, the light caught the fog of our breaths. It was as if we’d entered limbo, some netherworld between one plane of reality and the next.
“Okay.” Rain let go of my hand to rub her shoulders for warmth. “I guess this is the part where the trapdoor opens and…”
At that instant, the whole place lit up, and we were…
XII
Back on Kha-Zann.
Everything in the place was just as I had last seen it—same dark purple sky above a barren plain; same sun hanging low upon distant hills—yet somehow different. It took me a second to put my finger on it: utter silence, not even the wind. Yet it was unquestionably Kha-Zann: a ghost of a world that had recently been reduced to nothing more than debris. But how…?
“Jules?” Rain said.
I thought
she was talking to me. But when I looked around, I saw that we were no longer alone. A couple of feet away, a human figure wearing EVA gear was staring straight at us. His helmet faceplate was polarized, so I didn’t recognize him at first. Then he took a step back. And that’s when I realized who it was.
“Good grief,” I murmured. “That’s me.”
It was as if I was watching old footage of myself, scanned two days ago and reproduced as a hologram. Behind me was the crate I’d dragged from the shuttle, its lid on the ground nearby, and now I could see that it was empty. But if that were so, then where was…?
Rain laughed out loud. “Oh, now I get it,” she said. “This is what the probe saw, right after you turned it on.” She looked to the right, then pointed to the ground beside us. “See? There it is.”
She was correct. Where our shadows should have been instead lay the elliptical shadow of the hjadd probe. I remembered the instruments that emerged from the probe’s core right after it opened; as I’d figured, one of them must have been a camera, which in turn captured ground-level images of Kha-Zann and transmitted them via hyperlink back to Talus qua’spah.
“And there’s me.” Rain pointed to the left; about a hundred yards away stood Loose Lucy. A tiny figure stood within the open hatch of its cargo bay, gazing in our direction. “If I’d known what was happening,” she added, suppressing a laugh, “I would’ve waved.”
I was still getting over the strangeness of seeing myself. As I watched, my doppelgänger turned its back to us, and I knew exactly what he…or rather, I…was looking at. To the east, Kasimasta was coming into view over the horizon, larger than when we had seen it from space.
“Oh, look…there you go.” As Rain spoke, I saw myself begin to run away, heading for the shuttle. After the first few steps, I started to make bunny hops, trying to make up for lost time. “Okay, now,” she said, “here it comes…one, two, three…”
Everything around us suddenly blurred and jiggled, as if reality itself had turned to gelatin. Apparently this was the moment when the first tremor hit. Right on cue, I went sprawling face-first against the ground. Rain laughed out loud, and I gave her a sour look.
“Not very funny,” I muttered. She hadn’t realized how close I’d come to smashing my helmet against a rock.
“No, it really isn’t…sorry.” But she was amused all the same. As we watched, I struggled back to my feet and continued running toward Lucy, no longer performing broad jumps but instead making an all-out dash for the shuttle. By then the image was in constant vibration; the wind had picked up, and Lucy was obscured by blowing sand. “Oh, c’mon,” she said. “What’s taking you so long?”
“You try…” My voice trailed off as, through the windborne silt, I saw myself climb aboard the elevator. As the cage began to make its ascent, I could see the shuttle rocking back and forth upon its landing gear. Even though I knew how this would turn out, my throat felt dry. Sure, it had been a close shave…but until then, I hadn’t realized just how close.
The cage reached the top, then the crane’s T-bar was withdrawn into the cargo hold. A couple of minutes passed, then the hatch shut. At this point, the image was shaking even more violently, but nonetheless there seemed to be a long, breathless pause to the entire scene. I waited, and waited, and waited…and then, all of a sudden, there was a billowing explosion of sand and grey smoke from beneath the shuttle.
Loose Lucy silently rose from the ground, riding atop a fiery column that scorched the place where it had once rested. Craning our necks, we watched the shuttle as it grew ever smaller, becoming little more than a tiny sliver that was soon swallowed by the dark sky. By then the tremors were continuous; the shuttle had barely disappeared when the dust storm obscured everything in sight. I caught a glimpse of the crate lid being picked up by the wind and hurtled away, followed a second later by the crate itself falling over on its side. And then…
Everything froze.
One instant, we were in the midst of a world’s dying moments. The next, we found ourselves caught within a split second of suspended time, as if reality itself had come to a standstill. And at that instant, words appeared in the air, holographically superimposed upon the landscape.
Impressive. Quite impressive, indeed.
The words wrapped themselves around us, forming a semicircle of script. As we turned to read them, we discovered someone was with us.
The chaaz’braan.
XIII
The askanta holy man…well, holy frog…stood only a few feet away, unobscured by the dust that masked everything else in sight. Obviously another hologram: no breathing apparatus, but instead the same robes he’d worn the first time we’d met. His heavy-lidded eyes seemed to twinkle with amusement as he raised a four-fingered hand from beneath his robes, but when his thick lips moved, we saw his words instead of hearing them.
Allow me to make us a little more comfortable.
His fingers twitched slightly, and suddenly the scene around us reverted back to the way it had been a few minutes earlier. Once again, my doppelgänger stood nearby, caught in the act of backing away from the hjadd probe.
There. That’s better.
The chaaz’braan sauntered toward my image, stopping to look at it more closely. When he spoke, his words curled around us, forming a ring.
This really was quite an act of courage. You could have simply thrown the probe from your spacecraft and launched again, but instead you chose to place it on the ground and make sure that it was properly activated.
“Thank you.” Rain then shook her head. “Pardon me, but I don’t understand why you’re…” She gestured toward the holographic script, which was already fading from sight. “Communicating with us this way, I mean.”
The chaaz’braan turned to us. Again, when his mouth moved, we heard nothing but silence.
It is the custom of Sa’Tong that my voice remain unheard, save during formal ceremonies. Like other races of the Talus, I use a translator. Unlike them, though, what I say is transcribed. So this is my way of addressing visitors during informal occasions.
As he spoke, other figures began to materialize, forming a broad circle that surrounded us: aliens whom we’d seen during the reception, apparently representatives of the High Council. They observed our conversation in silence; I assumed that they were also seeing what the chaaz’braan had to say, only translated into their own languages.
“But you didn’t do that before.” I did my best to ignore our audience. “I mean, when we were at the reception.”
Saliva drooled from the chaaz’braan’s fleshy mouth as it spread into a broad smile.
You didn’t give me a chance. That’s understandable, considering that you were not in a sober state of mind. Otherwise, we might have had a pleasant discussion.
Again, he turned toward my image. It seemed as if he was studying it with admiration.
This truly is amazing. Such courage is rare among intelligent races. Particularly the hjadd, who seldom take risks. At least not if they can get someone else to do it for them.
“So you’re satisfied that we’ve done what you asked us to do?” Rain had noticed the other aliens as well, but she kept her attention on the chaaz’braan.
You’ve performed an immense service to the Talus. The probe didn’t survive very long, but while it did, data was gathered that will be invaluable to our scientists. In time, it may eventually help us devise the means by which to destroy Kasimasta.
“Destroy a black hole?” I shook my head. “That’s…I’m sorry, but that’s impossible.”
The chaaz’braan regarded me with what seemed to be condescension.
Nothing is impossible. Once your kind becomes more sophisticated, you will learn this. Perhaps as you interact with other races of the galaxy.
“Then I take it that we’ve fulfilled our obligation.” I let out my breath. “I didn’t have a chance to say so myself, but I’m very sorry that I offended you. We will try not to do so again.”
It was on
ly a misunderstanding. You were not informed of the practices and customs of Sa’Tong. The god that is you will know better next time.
The god that is you? “What do you mean by that?”
Sa’Tong holds that there is no god except those that we create ourselves. Therefore, if you have created a god, then you yourself are a god, and therefore are responsible for your own actions.
I nodded. Made sense, although I imagined that a few theologians among my own kind would argue with it. Before I could say anything, though, my image faded away, and the chaaz’braan spoke again.
Be that as it may, you must know that, before your kind is allowed to join the Talus, there are other obligations we may wish for you to fulfill.
“Other obligations?” I stared at him. “What do you mean?”
As I said, you have demonstrated a certain fortitude that is rarely seen. This will be useful to us. So before your race is admitted into the Talus, you will be given other tasks that we wish to be performed on our behalf.
“No.” I shook my head. “Sorry, but…no.”
Rain looked around at me, her mouth falling open in astonishment. And indeed, I almost regretted my words even as I spoke them. After all, you don’t tell the great galactic frog to go jump a lily pad.
But I knew where this was going to lead. One day, it was risking life and limb to place a probe in the path of a rogue black hole. The next…well, what then? Dive a ship into the heart of a supernova to see if we’d get burned? Take on a race of killer tomatoes? Maybe Goldstein would assent to all this in hopes of getting a good deal for his next shipment of cannabis, but I wasn’t about to let humankind become the crash-test dummies of the galaxy.
“Look,” I went on, “we’ve kept our side of the bargain…and believe me when I tell you that we thought we were going to die doing it. But it’s done, and that’s it. No more.”
The chaaz’braan’s eyes narrowed.
You don’t have a choice.
