The Gate to Futures Past

by Julie E. Czerneda

  The null-grid. We’d been right. I felt a pang of sympathy for those earnest researchers—past, present, and future—poring over Hoveny relics for an answer they weren’t equipped to find. “And the Founder?”

  “The Hoveny who discovered the null-grid and trained others to harness it. Ne died after the Fall, driven mad by guilt. Before the end, the Founder destroyed nes notes, telling nes staff the dead were calling ner home.”

  A Hoveny, the null-grid, now the dead. I went cold. Morgan—

  I heard. We need more, chit. What happened to the rest of the Hoveny who used the null-grid? Those not in this system?

  I didn’t want to know. What I wanted counted as much as a single Retian egg in the swamp.

  “What about the rest?” I said aloud, feeling my way. “What did they do after the Fall?”

  “We’re taught,” and oh, the delicate emphasis on the word, “our ancestors everywhere buried their useless cities along with the technology that failed us, as they did here, on Brightfall. To reclaim their worlds. To forget. Those outside our home system? We’re taught they made new, better lives for themselves where they were, but few believe. There’s been no communication with Hoveny from outside this system since the Fall. Until you.”

  Because there were no Hoveny outside this system, I thought sadly, other than the Clan.

  No need to tell them what they already know, Witchling, Morgan sent, his mindvoice gentle.

  Even if these Hoveny comprehended they—we, I corrected—were the last of our kind, they were no closer to understanding why, I decided, than the researchers of the First or the Trade Pact.

  A soft click drew my attention from the past to the floor. Unrolled, Tap Tap stood between us, dwarfed by the rocks around it. “Taught a lie. Bad.”

  Alisi frowned at it. “It’s the prevailing theory. We’ve few reliable records during the Fall itself—there was chaos.”

  The tiny creature scurried up a pointed rock, swaying as it rose to speak. “‘And the land shamed by the Hoveny became as Night Water and all sank within it.’ After, rock. No more Hoveny works. No more empire. No more Hoveny. True yes?”

  If this was the myth Alisi meant, it was a terrible one indeed.

  Sira. “Night Water” could be the M’hir.

  Aryl could be right; the wording was as good a description as any I’d heard. Had the null-grid somehow escaped the Hoveny’s devices, engulfing what was around it before returning where it belonged?

  Had that happened to Sona?

  If I could have thought of an excuse, I’d have fled this room of unreliable rocks and too-eloquent Oud.

  “Excuse our Oud-Key, Sira. Ne quotes scripture from our neighbors—a fringe sect—” Alisi paused, tilting her head as she studied the creature. “—yet ne does nothing without reason.” Almost to herself, “The Sect of the Rebirth is one of those who brought forth the claim that this building once housed the Founder, a claim I know you support.” Her voice became stern. “Tap Tap, I ask now as Seesor. What does the sect have to do with your claim that Sira Di is a Founder?”

  I felt a trill, as though tiny claws strummed the M’hir like an instrument. “The sect can test the truth. Who is Founder. They can prove yes. Prove no. Better. Best is.”

  Was this what I’d been waiting for? A chance to show this world our value, by reconnecting the null-grid to a device? What else might it do—the possibilities were breathtaking. But first. “You’re one of them,” I stated. The message. The image of a pillar. “You received our ship’s transmission.”

  “Not the only ones to hear Cersi-So.” Tap Tap gave a twist and leaped from the rock to the floor, spinning in agitation before rising to speak. “Not the only ones to come here. Sira should go to sect. Now. Best is.”

  “Why?” Alisi demanded. “What’s going on?”

  The tiny being went still, only its speaking appendages in motion. “Not all want another Founder. Those who do, not all want the same.”

  Interlude

  WHATEVER NEW ODDITY Sira had encountered in the M’hir, Morgan judged, had to wait on the rest. Once she’d regained her composure, she’d pushed him, gently, from her surface thoughts, newly cautious of Tap Tap.

  Who’d turned out to be a living sensor called an Oud-Key, and part of a Hoveny religious sect. Fascinating. Brightfall. The System Cooperative. Sects, governments, justice systems, secrets. Their new home promised to be as complicated as any segment of the Trade Pact, the Human thought with growing satisfaction. Complicated allowed for adjustment and change. Complicated, in his experience, meant opportunity.

  If you survived the stage where you hadn’t a clue and decisions had to be made based on fragments of information, none of it guaranteed to be reliable or complete. Had a great deal in common with flying a starship made of used parts, that did.

  He’d done both. Would do this. Sira had found an excellent resource in the Seesor, Alisi Di.

  Morgan had an idea where to find one of his own.

  “What’s the play?” Barac kept his back to their quarry.

  Pauvan Di had returned after taking Sira to her meeting with his heart-kin. Information of value. Also of value, he was responsible for the care of the new arrivals, by assignment or choice. The others went to him. He was the only one Morgan had seen giving orders or suggestions.

  And the Human liked him. He liked several of the Hoveny. Instinctive, that snap judgment. Potentially misleading, given these weren’t his species—

  Such judgments hadn’t failed him yet. “I’ll get him alone. You keep watch in here. Make sure no one follows us.”

  The Clansman nodded. He glanced at the rows of cocoons. “Their Healers aren’t happy. Did you notice?”

  “Hard to miss,” Morgan agreed. Aracel Dis had received a messenger. Afterward, she and the other edicans had clustered, talking in low voices, then she’d sent one to stand by the door. That edican had leaped at Pauvan the moment he’d arrived, drawing him over to converse, heatedly, with the rest.

  Another reason to talk to him. “We don’t know how remote this area may be. Transport might be more of an issue than they’d like. Keep me posted, if you see anything change.”

  “How do I tell? I taste it all the time.” Flat, almost lifeless. “Don’t you?”

  No, but if the Clansman did, it was family. Morgan gripped Barac’s wrist, hiding the contact with his body. Tell me.

  Ruti. With an undertone of despair so dark the Human hurried to block it from his Chosen. What you just told me, about the dead, about them—something using them—trying to lure us to our deaths. It’s happening to her. Morgan, she has so many dead.

  Gods, no.

  Jason, what’s wrong?

  So much for the effort. Ruti’s hearing the dead.

  And if he’d been afraid before, it was nothing to the anguish and FEAR that seared along their link—

  —before Sira locked it away to protect him. We can’t lose them, with utter calm.

  Knowing they could. We’ll do whatever it takes, he vowed, feeling his Chosen’s agreement as she withdrew.

  Morgan looked at Barac. Has Ruti tried to leave?

  We’d be dead if she had. The Clansman turned his wrist. Morgan released him. She promised not to go without me, grim and full of pain. Morgan, we have to keep her away from Andi. The things that child says—believes—it’s making Ruti worse. “I don’t blame the child,” the First Scout said aloud. “She doesn’t understand.”

  Or understood too well, Morgan thought. “Andi’s with her parents at the moment.” He’d shamelessly made up a story about Hoveny culture and foreign children; Nik and Josa, already anxious, had been willing to sit on their daughter if necessary.

  Unfortunately, they weren’t willing to have him question the child. Yet.

  In the meantime, if all else failed, well, he’d tranks in his pack; no soluti
on, but if it saved lives—especially these— “Barac?”

  The other grimaced. “If you say we should have taken our chances with the Assemblers, I’ll have to hit you.”

  “I’d let you.” He met the other’s troubled gaze, held it. “Trust your Chosen. Tell Ruti what I’ve told you, that these voices are like the lights of Nightsfire: bait in a trap. Tell her she’s the only one who can keep you and your baby safe. It’s up to her to protect her family.”

  “Why that’s—” Almost a smile. “Sly as a Scat, you are,” Barac said with sincere affection. “I should warn my cousin.”

  “She knows.” Morgan clapped the other on a shoulder, uncaring what Hoveny or Clan thought of such a Human gesture. “We’ve a shiny new planet, Barac. It’s time we stopped looking back.”

  The view ahead being the one they could change.

  “Human.”

  “‘Hu-man.’ Human.” Pauvan had a contagious smile. “And this?” He stroked his own smooth chin, raising a brow.

  “A beard.” Morgan dug his fingers in, gave the stuff a tug. “Adult Human males grow facial hair; our females don’t.” No point mentioning how quirks of style occasionally put beards on feminine faces—or any body part. He had the opening he’d been after since they’d come outside. “Your turn. The Hoveny. He, she, and—?” A suggestive tap near the comlink resting on the vehicle roof.

  The Hoveny was a tech specialist, judging by the sparkle in his eyes when Morgan had offered him a chance to see some “alien” versions. No fool, either. When the Human had suggested they step outside, Pauvan had assigned one of his fellows to stay by the door. Perhaps to signal if something went awry inside.

  Perhaps to come to his aid if this stranger proved dangerous. Morgan approved of caution—especially in someone who might be a friend.

  Wasn’t yet.

  His pack, weathered as it was by hard use and time, had several virtues: scan-proof—at least by routine Trade Pact tech; waterproof—he’d used it on Karolus to make a river crossing. Tough—buried for safekeeping, it had rebuffed the efforts of a narbear to rip it open, though he’d had to track the creature to its den to retrieve his property.

  Best of all, the pack could be opened in a variety of ways, each without revealing the others, or what he wasn’t prepared to share. Anyone who managed to slice it open?

  Well, if they didn’t do it in a vacuum, or wearing protection, he was hardly responsible for what they’d release from the lining.

  He’d shown Pauvan his bioscanner and lens, drawing those from pockets in his vest. His coat was in the pack where it mightn’t be noticed. The comlink and ensuing vocabulary game had come next.

  White eyebrows climbed. “So it’s true? No neuter among these people, despite their being Hoveny?”

  Human gender, despite what some aliens thought, was a spectrum. Someone had made very sure it wasn’t among the Om’ray, and so the Clan, a design intended to produce breeding pairs. Hindsight, Morgan reminded himself, wasn’t what he needed. “Not to my knowledge,” he said, picking his words with care. “Not to theirs.” Sometimes you gave a little. “You aren’t what we expected.” And asked, without asking.

  “You surprise us, too,” came the answer. “It’s not my place to question you, Jason Di, but I am curious how you arrived without any warning from the Hub, the System Comm—they oversee all travel within the system.”

  Fair enough. “My guess is we surprised them, too,” Morgan said easily. “Our ship was programmed to bring us here but didn’t land. We dropped to the surface in lifepods that disintegrated soon after. I salvaged these.” He brought out the glove, tapping pod flakes into his palm where they gleamed like dark glass, and held out his hand. “You’re welcome to analyze them.”

  Pauvan gave them a hungry look, but repeated, “It’s not my place. Keep them safe.”

  Interesting. Morgan nodded, replacing the samples and tucking away the glove. Time to push. “So someone’s coming to take charge of us. That’s why our wounded are still here.”

  “I cannot say.”

  He’d take that as a yes.

  The Hoveny controlled their expressions; some more effectively than others, all better than any Clan. Didn’t matter. They’d each their giveaways: a flicker of the eyelid, tightening of a lip, a shift in body posture. The Human could read faces far more alien than these and, unlike his Chosen, he’d no compunction using his Talent to sniff out any emotions their hosts let slip.

  Whomever was coming made Pauvan Di anxious. No, it was more than that. What Morgan sensed was frustrated, almost righteous, anger. Pauvan didn’t approve of those coming to take over—and felt powerless to do anything about it.

  Not good. Still, it told him he’d been right about this Hoveny. The Human smiled and held out his hand. “Whatever happens next, we’ve you to thank for our rescue.”

  Pauvan gripped it, relief flowing across the contact. “And I am grateful to meet you, Jason Morgan Di. Human with a beard. Who else can say that, on Brightfall?”

  He laughed. “You’re the first.” Morgan waved at his comlink. “Those neuter pronouns?”

  The Hoveny bent over the device, enunciating carefully: “She, he, ne. Her, him, ner. Hers, his, nes.” He straightened. “Use the neuter if you’re in doubt. It’s a compliment.”

  “Most appreciated.” Morgan put the ’link in his pocket.

  Leaning against the side of the vehicle, Pauvan pulled a small flask from his tunic. “In honor of new words for us both.” Tipping his head back, he squeezed a stream of amber liquid into his open mouth. He swallowed and smacked his lips before handing the flask to the Human.

  Morgan took a sniff of the smoky stuff, eyebrows rising in appreciation. “Much as I’d like to join you,” he said ruefully, returning the flask, “different biology. Another time—when I’ve learned what’s safe for me.” He leaned companionably next to the other. Sunlight filled the tunnel entrance, stroking shadow along the curves of the ancient Hoveny building. The breeze brought the tantalizing scent of growing things and soil. If he’d thought for an instant their hosts would allow it, he’d have walked outside.

  With Sira.

  “Another time. For now, this is for you, Jason Di.” The Hoveny squeezed another drink for himself, with a relish the Human envied, then put away the flask. “What else should I tell you?” A moment’s pause. “We’re born with gender or without. Either can have heart-kin; some are solitary, by choice or lack of haisin. You will hear ‘dis’ as part of their names. Di, for one heart-kin. Din, more than one. Su, those who have yet to find such a connection.”

  How Hoveny had evolved, a revelation of their true nature with, Morgan thought, dishearteningly few points of correspondence to present-day Clan. What about Choosers, driven by the Power-of-Choice clinging to them in the M’hir? Not only those pacing the tent, but those who’d grow up with that same instinct?

  One hurdle at a time, Morgan told himself.

  “We’re given private names at birth.” Pauvan chuckled. “Very long and complicated names, Jason, and no one bothers with them other than in government records, though some attempt to sing them at special occasions. Normally, we use the shortest unique plus our avowed status. I am Pauvanal when my cousin Pauvanor visits; we are both Pauvan when apart.” A sideways look. “Which brings me to the extra names your people gave us. Teerac. Parth. Uruus. Sawnda’at. Why?”

  He’d bite. “What do you mean?”

  “Those aren’t names. Not here. Not for people. Excuse me if I’m too curious,” the Hoveny added quickly. “But anyone with an interest in history would notice.”

  Morgan went still. “If they aren’t names, what are they?”

  “Worlds. Worlds within the Concentrix, before the Fall.”

  The past lived here, ripping its claws into the Clan and what they were. The Human kept his face set to neutral interest; inwardly, hi
s mind raced. Understandable, that Cersi’s experiment would have needed a way to identify founding pairs, to permit lineage to be followed and traced.

  But to use lost worlds? It reeked of hubris—and ambition. The more he learned of those behind all this, the less he liked.

  “Those are the only names they have,” he said bluntly. “I’d be grateful if you kept this between us, until I can tell them the source. They’ve arrived with so little. It’ll be—” devastating, to both Om’ray and M’hiray. He settled for, “—hard, to lose what they thought they knew of their family history.”

  “It’s not my place to ask what happened, Jason Di.” Pauvan paused, then went on in an earnest tone. “The edicans can test for heritage; we’ve such records back to the Fall. Your people will find family here. And heart-kin.”

  He couldn’t promise that family would be willing or interested in such strange new members. Still, the overture was another kindness from this Hoveny, who’d shown sincere concern for the Clan.

  That meant something, to his Human sensibilities. Maybe it would to Clan; maybe not. But he’d a stake in this new relationship, too, and Morgan could feel it going wrong. They were being too cautious, parading the Clan as returned Hoveny, with quaint accents and meaningless names. They weren’t the same, and those differences either came out now, among well-intended individuals, or later.

  Which could be disaster.

  He faced Pauvan, weighing where to start.

  “Such a face,” the Hoveny said, sounding amused. “Are you sure?” He shook the flask suggestively.

  Sure? He was. “There are things I have to tell you, too, and one is urgent. What’s arrived on your doorstep are the descendants of Hoveny selected for their Power—their haisin. Their memories were altered and biology changed, making them perfect breeding stock. They were left on Cersi as an experiment.”