by Ryk E. Spoor
“So DuQuesne was right,” she muttered. “It’ll choose the new leader, and we have no way of knowing who that is.” She sighed. So much for the easy route. I’m stuck with this position until we can actually get a method for picking a new Leader of the Faction in place! “Arena, I—”
A green comm-ball popped into existence. “Ariane! DuQuesne!” came Gabrielle’s voice, a little breathless. “They’re coming! You’ve got maybe half an hour at the outside!”
“What?” Dammit! “I thought we’d have hours of notice!” We set the Holy Grail to detect the flare of entry, and the radio relays should have let us know—
“So did I, Ariane.” Gabrielle’s voice was chagrined. “The Duta transitioned in moving faster than we were on our first trip. I left while it was still en route, but Steve’s guess was it’d take about fifteen minutes to reach the dock.” Ariane knew that Gabrielle would have had to run from the Guardhouse, all the way down the corridors to the Inner Gateway and take it through before she could make the call. Which would have taken about fifteen minutes, meaning that Naraj and his party were already getting out of their ship . . .
Gabrielle was continuing, “Now, Steve and Tom might be able to delay them a little—”
“But Naraj obviously wants to catch us off-guard,” came DuQuesne’s voice. “He’s a hell of a lot of things, but as my friend Seaton would’ve said, stupid sure ain’t one of them.”
“On my way! I’ll meet them at Transition!”
“Got it. I’m going back.” The ball disappeared.
She leapt up from the desk, which folded up and vanished into the wall, and yanked on her most captainlike jacket.
Sun Wu Kung leapt to his feet as she charged out the door. “What’s wrong, Captain?”
“They’re on their way. We want to get to Transition before they do.”
Wu didn’t ask questions; he followed like a shadow.
DuQuesne joined them as they exited the Embassy. “Carl and Laila will hold the fort here,” he said. “Simon’s gone over to the Analytic to talk with Relgof and a couple of the other Researchers—hopefully we get good news there.”
“Four days, Marc. It only took them four days.”
“Yeah, and they must’ve spent a day or more doing some quick mods.”
She glanced up at the olive-skinned face; DuQuesne’s expression was not comforting. “Why?”
“The Duta’s design. I glanced over what we had on it, and it didn’t have the bunkerage for the reaction mass necessary to brake down from what must be around ten kilometers per second.” He shook his head. “They must have done calculations for modified Sandrisson coils that let them take disposable reaction tanks; it’s the only explanation that fits.”
Ariane gestured and one of the hovering taxis slowed to a halt near them; Wu leapt in to do his quick survey. “But you can’t change the shape of your ship and still use your Sandrisson coils! I know that—we had to chase down the broken drive spine because of that, back when we first got here.” She got in at Wu’s gesture and ordered the vehicle to head for the Elevators to Transition.
“Right,” DuQuesne said as he sat down. “My guess? They’ll have to spend some time fixing up the coils to make them work to go back, but they probably designed them to make that as easy as possible. Worth it to get the advantage of surprise.”
Calm, she reminded herself. If I let this agitate me, they’ve really got the advantage. This isn’t a race, it’s not that time critical. A few seconds here or there make no difference. “Is it really that much of an advantage?”
“From their point of view? Probably.” DuQuesne’s head turned, watching the Embassy area streaming by. “Naraj’s been playing these games for a long time. Keep the other guy off-balance, distract him, really get him worked up and he’ll make a mistake.”
She smiled wryly up at him. “Then you’d better make sure I don’t make any mistakes.”
As they got into the elevator, she focused on the task at hand. Time seems to crawl by with this much urgency; so make use of that. Remember all the contingencies we discussed. Remember what you know about Naraj. Be ready to adjust depending on who and what’s around when they come through.
Transition loomed up before them, a kilometers-wide room filled with almost uncountable numbers of Gateways. “Great. Which one?” she heard herself mutter.
DuQuesne shrugged. “No telling. If someone isn’t maintaining a connection, they go inert and wake up for whichever is the next incoming or outgoing signal. They could come through that one in front of us, or one of the ones in the far corners.”
“All right, there’s three of us,” she said. “I’ll watch the center area, you watch to the right, DuQuesne, and Wu, keep an eye on the gates off to the left, okay?”
“Yes, Captain.”
Once more time seemed to crawl by. Other creatures of a hundred different species moved around them, sometimes glancing curiously at the three humans just standing still in the midst of Transition.
“Apologies for distracting you?” came a buzzing voice, accompanied by just a hint of a sharp chemical smell.
The voice sounded . . . very young, and she looked down to see a small Milluk—the same species as Swordmaster First Selpa’a’At—looking up at her from the glittering eyes set slightly above the midline of the spherical body. The creature was very small compared to the others she had seen, about half the height or less of Selpa and far less massive, with smaller defensive spines and less decoration. A child?
She realized now that Wu had already watched its approach and had his staff casually ready, but he, also, did not seem terribly worried. “Apology accepted. What can I do for you?”
“I must inquire—are you the human Captain Ariane Austin?”
“I am,” she said. Still no sign of Naraj.
The voice shifted slightly, to a more exited tone. “Oh, wonderful! Builders be praised!”
A member of the Faith? She wondered for a moment why that seemed wrong, then realized the answer was obvious: Selpa, the only Milluk they’d had any real contact with, was the head of the Vengeance and didn’t trust or like the Faith.
But the little creature was continuing, harvestman-like set of legs rising and falling, making the spherical body bob like a beachball in a choppy sea. “I am Kekka’a’shi, Captain Ariane Austin! I have wanted to meet you for many days!” Kekka’a’shi produced a strange triangular object; Wu stiffened slightly, then relaxed as the creature pulled on one point and the object folded back, revealing itself to be some kind of a three-sided book. “I was hoping . . . would you possibly . . . ?”
She was puzzled. “Would I . . . ?”
Suddenly she was aware that DuQuesne was chuckling. “What are you laughing at?”
“You don’t know what he’s asking, do you?”
“No, I—” she froze, then looked down. “You . . . want my autograph?”
“Your personal mark identifier, as signifying I have met and spoken with you! Yes!”
She laughed. Hardly the first time I’ve been asked, but I had actually thought I’d left that behind. “If you’ll explain to me how this little thing works so I know how, yes. But why me?”
“Oh, you’re famous already in the Challenges, Captain!” Kekka said enthusiastically, the translation making him sound so very like a young sports fan meeting one of his idols that Ariane had a momentary pang of longing for her days as a racing pilot. It’s only been . . . not even a year, but it seems three lifetimes ago. “You beat the Blessed in a sky-race, and then you beat Amas-Garao. No one’s beaten a Shadeweaver for centuries.” He held up a sticklike object. “How it works? Some will touch it with their manipulators and generate a unique scent, others impress their nose-prints on the material . . . the pages are made to accept all sorts of impressions. You can use the stylus to make marks, too.”
She took the stylus and smiled. “I’ll do it the way we do at home.” She thought a moment, then wrote quickly and handed the book back.
Even though the creature was almost completely alien, of armored legs and spherical body, with manipulative tendrils and lacking anything ordinarily considered a face, there was somehow something about the young Milluk’s posture and movement as he took the signed book and studied it that conveyed the same awed excitement she’d seen in thousands of human fans. “What . . . does it say? It is language, yes?”
“Yes, it is,” she answered with another smile. “It says, ‘To Kekka’a’shi—My first fan in the Arena, where I didn’t know I had fans. Thank you!—Ariane Austin.’”
“Wow,” he said. What the original expression, or even sound, was, it didn’t matter; the Arena’s translation had perfectly conveyed the reaction. “Your first fan here?”
“You are indeed,” she said. “And—”
“Ariane!”
She looked where DuQuesne pointed, and saw three clearly human figures standing on one of the Gateway platforms about three hundred yards distant.
The real game’s begun.
CHAPTER 12
DuQuesne grinned as he saw the three figures crowding together—just as he, Ariane, and Simon had the first time they’d stepped through to Transition. Nothing really prepares you for that. Not when it’s real. Oh, sure, simgames have stuff just as impressive in its own way, but you always know in the back of your head it’s just a game. Somehow I even knew, in the end, about Hyperion.
But this is no game.
Ariane led the way; Wu flanked her just to the left, DuQuesne on her right, and she was moving fast. The crowds of Transition, however, parted before her; Kekka was not the only one who recognized Ariane Austin.
He kept his eyes on the three figures. Naraj was already straightening to his full height of well over six feet, stepping slightly forward, his deep blue and gold outfit contrasting well with his mahogany-brown skin and black hair. Michelle Ni Deng was a contrast herself; a woman of sharp angles and light-boned body, her resemblance to a wading bird emphasized by the biomod of featherlike hair that bobbed in white and blue waves over her head. Just emerging from behind her was—
For just a split second even the speed of his Hyperion-born thoughts was not enough to cope. That red hair . . . done in that style . . . those eyes, I can see them from here . . .
But he was lucky twice. First, she was emerging to the right side, which meant that he got the first glimpse one tiny fraction of a second before Wu Kung; and second, the two of them were behind Ariane, and not in front. His hand lashed out and he gripped Wu’s arm in an unmistakable warning.
The Monkey King’s emerald-touched golden eyes glanced at him, surprise and joy fading to puzzlement, then understanding. He nodded, just enough for DuQuesne to see, and DuQuesne let go.
Of all the . . . He looked at Naraj, remembering, judging. No, there’s no way he could know. He set his jaw. Focus. You can’t afford to let Naraj’s lucky break distract you from the main event.
Ariane reached the base of the ramp and started up. “Ambassador Naraj! A pleasure to see you here so soon.”
Good move. Acknowledge his title—in fact, give him the title in public. He’ll have to accept it at this point.
Naraj’s smile was, possibly, just a fraction off, but only for a moment. “Captain Austin, good of you to meet me so promptly. I suppose I have Doctor Wolfe to thank for that?”
“She did pop over here briefly to make sure you got a good reception,” Ariane said, shaking his hand.
Michelle laughed; it was, DuQuesne admitted, a very nice laugh, gentle and lilting. “I did think she seemed a little out of breath; now I know why! Walking all that way . . . she must have run in both directions.” She turned. “We all know each other, but I should introduce our own security expert—”
“We’ve met,” DuQuesne interrupted, stepping forward. He could feel Ariane’s curious gaze. “Hello, Commander Abrams.”
“Doctor DuQuesne.” They shook hands, hers gripping as strong as he remembered, and he waited, wondering . . .
And the pixie-cute face suddenly broke out in a broad smile and she threw her arms around him. “Long time, sir, a long time!”
He relaxed fractionally, hugged back. “Has been, hasn’t it?” Releasing her, he turned. “Ariane, this is Commander Oasis Abrams.”
A grin returned to his face as Ariane shook hands with the newcomer, trying to size her up. He knew what she saw; a young woman who didn’t look any older than Ariane herself, with flaming red hair so long that, even done up in four separate ponytails, it trailed well past her waist, whose military accoutrements were distributed in such a way as to make her appear to be dressed for some sort of exotic masquerade. Not exactly what I’d expected, he heard on their private frequency.
DuQuesne gave a silent laugh. Don’t be fooled by that perky can-do exterior, he replied via the same frequency. That’s former Ensign Oasis Abrams of the Third Recon Platoon of the First Combined Battalion under Commander Saul Maginot. He sensed her sudden understanding. Exactly. And she’s tough. She’s the only trooper who took out one of us pretty much by herself, the only survivor of her entire company, and she was about the age then she looks like she is now. She’s a friend and someone you can count on . . . but she’s also got some goals of her own right now, and she’s hired on to work for Oscar and Michelle, which isn’t good.
He was glad to see that Wu had got the message, so he simply bounded up and gave her a hug. “I’m so glad you got out okay!”
As she returned the hug, Oscar nodded. “I had wondered if the implied events in her resume had happened. I see now they must have. Excellent.”
The words reassured DuQuesne. If he knew the real score Naraj would either say nothing or he’d be asking questions—really pointed questions.
Oscar Naraj turned to Ariane. “Captain, since you have come all this way, I presume you’re here to show us to the Embassy?”
“Exactly, Ambassador. I want to bring you up to speed on the current situation and see if we can arrange for you to meet some of the people you undoubtedly wish to speak to as soon as possible.” She turned. “Please, follow me.”
Naraj followed, trying to look confident and at ease. And could be you’re fooling Ariane—though I doubt it—and maybe even yourself, but you sure ain’t fooling me. The eyes darted to the sides just a bit too often, Naraj—and Ni Deng—turned subconsciously as creatures of bizarre and often frightening aspect approached.
But Naraj had viewed all the recorded data they’d turned over, as had Michelle Ni Deng, and the two adjusted almost frighteningly quickly. By the time they reached the elevators, Oscar Naraj’s pretense of relaxation was fast becoming reality. They’re both real, real good, DuQuesne thought grimly. I’d hoped he just wasn’t really up to the challenge—God knows we haven’t needed any real politicians much in the last couple of centuries—but I’d hoped wrong. He’s a genuine Big Time Operator, and he’s ready to start his operations real soon now.
This isn’t good. Simon’s private chat with Researcher Relgof had shown that Maria-Susanna was somehow managing to send out feelers to the various groups (after being rebuffed by Orphan), yet no one knew exactly where she was. She’s the kind of spanner in the works we really don’t need. Might not hear from her for years, or she might pop up tomorrow, but whenever she does make her move . . .
He shook his head. One thing at a time. Right now, it’s our new guests who are the immediate problem.
With the help of one of the floating taxis the six of them soon arrived at the Embassy of Humanity. Michelle gave an approving nod as they entered. “Oh, very nice. I was afraid we’d still have the rather . . . utilitarian look that was visible in the recordings. My compliments to the designer.”
“That would be mostly Steve; remember to tell him yourself the next time you see him.”
“Oh, I certainly will, Captain.”
“Now,” Ariane said, “would you like me to show you to your rooms? I see you have only a small amount of luggage with you now, but—”
&n
bsp; “Oh, no, no, Captain,” Oscar said firmly. “I am quite rested, I assure you—it was early morning when the Duta departed from Kanzaki-Three and so I’ve only been up a few hours. Why don’t we have lunch and I’ll tell you how I would like to proceed?”
He could see Ariane stiffen and take a slow breath, like a diver nerving herself to take a plunge into murky water. “We can certainly do that, Ambassador.”
“Don’t look so nervous, Captain. I have no intention of just shoving you out of the limelight—or letting you run off, even if you prefer being out of it. Your advice and help will be invaluable initially,” Naraj assured her. “And yours, Doctor DuQuesne. Indeed, I will be relying on the entire crew of Holy Grail initially, as we have a great deal to accomplish.
“The Space Security Council and the Combined Space Forces have empowered me to act as Ambassador for Humanity, at least in these initial months.”
“A shame, that,” DuQuesne said, cutting him off before he could continue.
Naraj looked disappointed. “I expect rather more than cheap shots from someone of your stature, Dr. DuQuesne.”
“Not a cheap shot; honest assessment. It’s a shame you wasted all that time ramming that authorization through when it’s useless.”
“I beg your pardon?” Oscar looked completely at sea.
“I’m afraid he’s telling the truth,” Ariane said; her voice was calm and businesslike, but she stood stiff, nervous, and she swallowed hard before straightening and continuing. “You see, neither the SSC nor the CSF—or both of them together—are empowered to make that appointment.”
“I . . . see. And just who is? A vote of all the citizens of the Solar System?”
“No, Ambassador,” she said, and he felt a tiny bit of relief, because that tone was returning to her voice, the tone that she got when she’d made up her mind and was ready to take whatever bull was in front of her by the horns and throw it. “No, Ambassador, even that won’t work.
“That decision and appointment can only be made by the Leader of the Faction of Humanity . . . which just happens to be me.”
