“That doesn't matter,” Xander told him. “When I set up the pathspace of the thruscope to point inside the tank across the street, the radiation is going to come out of the frame and shoot out that window, where it won't hurt anyone.”
“How will that help?”
“Gamma rays aren't reflected by mirrors,” Xander told him, “but light is. The angled mirror will let me see inside the tank without standing in the path of the gamma. Same for the particles. Most of them will go right through the mirror and out the window.” He backed up away from the window, keeping in line with the way the mirror was pointing, and gestured to Daniels. “If you want to watch, the safest place is right here, beside me.”
After Daniels joined him, Xander began to concentrate. In less than a minute, the image in the mirror changed, showing a view looking down on the tank. He tweaked the weave, and the view zoomed in on the tank and then the side of the tank seemed to melt away.
“Someday you have to tell me how you steer the sight lines like that,” Daniels muttered.
“I could try, but it'll give you a headache,” said Xander.
The mirror showed various part of the tank interior as it it were a moving window, or the eyepiece of a telescope. He ignored the slumped bodies of the driver and gun loader.
At first, he couldn't spot the everflames. Turning off the thruscope's weave for a minute, he had Daniels stick a dark piece of cloth in the window frame behind the mirror and extinguish all the lights in the infirmary.
This time it was much better. In the gloomy interior of the tank, blue-purple glowing motes revealed the positions of the coins he'd enchanted and tossed in the open hatch months ago.
He set to work turning the everflames off one by one.
Chapter 70
Wu: Unwelcome Diagnosis
“If, on the other hand, in the midst of difficulties we are always ready to seize an advantage, we may extricate ourselves from misfortune.”
– Sun Tzu, The Art of War
While he waited, he pretended to study the map on the floor of the great chamber. Rendered entirely in ceramic tiles no bigger than the nails of his smallest fingers, the map had taken his artisans over a year to construct, and sometimes he wished he had waited and constructed an even larger room to contain a larger version.
Not that it wasn't a fine depiction of his empire. The colors of the tiles had been selected to indicate terrain: green for farmland, yellowish-brown for desert, blue for lakes and rivers, and so on. To the limits of its resolution, it showed China as it would appear if seen from space.
Topographical information was conveyed by the thickness of the hexagonal tiles. Regions at sea level were flush with the floor. Higher regions showed as stacks of tiles, on the scale of one finger-width per kilometer of height.
When he first saw it, the map gave him a godlike feeling, as if he were a giant striding from Tibet to the Pacific coast in a mere ten paces. All it lacked were clouds and curvature. But in the many years since that first glimpse, the thrill had faded to a quiet satisfaction.
His inspiration for it had been the tomb of the First Emperor, but Wu was no fool: the rivers were blue tiles, not quicksilver. He had enough to worry about without letting vanity drive him into mercury vapor poisoning.
No, he told himself, it was not vanity that caused this thing to be made for him, but clarity. Markers representing rebel and Imperial forces (with felt bottoms to avoid scratching the surface) had formed up, marched across the tiles, and confronted each other. The numbers of them had been altered to show growing forces or the effects of attrition from battles.
Now, however, the consolidation was completed. While markers dotted the tiles here and there across the continent to indicate positions of smaller forces near cities to prevent localized rebellions from erupting, the map had been cleared entirely of enemy forces.
He should have been elated. Instead, he was bored and irritable. Conquering had been taken years, but they had been interesting years, with each battle a little different. Always the chance of running into some larger force, or some superior weapons. But as time went on, his force became the largest, and his were the superior weapons. Victory had become routine, the outcome of a battle never in doubt.
He craved new challenges. But where? To the north, where the winters were too cold? To the south, where the summers were too hot? Somewhere far to the west, over the mountains?
Conquering an empire is far more enjoyable than administering it.
I am the new First Emperor, he thought. But I am bored.
I could extend the map. Extend the side of this room and render all of Eurasia, the entire world, even.
But what shall my legacy be? I will not live forever.
He knew from his historians how it usually went. A strongman would establish a rule, and then the crippling comfort of wealth and power would reduce his offspring to weaklings in a few generations. It had happened to kings and emperors and Pharaohs on every continent. Then eunuchs and councils reigned, until their weakness finally encouraged a successful rebellion under another powerful warlord, and it all happened again.
There might be a way to prevent that from happening to his empire. But there was a catch. He shook his head.
Boom. Boom.
Gradually it penetrated his awareness that someone was knocking on the chamber door. Turning, he reached out without thought and worked magic. The bolt on the door at the far end of the chamber slid back, and the door swung inward, revealing the trembling form of Ping, the senior Court physician.
“Come,” said Wu.
Ping removed his shoes and nearly tiptoed into the chamber, so gently did he tread upon the Map. His cringing, terrified gait told Wu all he needed to know, but for the sake of protocol he waited to hear it anyway. So he stood there, not moving, while Ping crept to within a dozen feet of him.
“Speak.”
“Greatness, your Third Wife has given birth again.”
Wu watched him, and waited.
“You have another daughter, a fine healthy girl-child.”
From Ping's posture and expression, it was obvious that he expected to be killed for this news.
Wu regarded him. “You knew this would happen, didn't you? You knew it would be a girl.”
Ping sweated visibly. “Greatness, I...I...”
Wu lifted a hand, and two cushions shot across the room from a corner. He sat on one, and toppled Ping in to the other with a mental thrust. “Sit. Do you think me a fool, Ping?”
Pings eyes went wide. He swallowed. “No, Greatness.”
“Then do not treat me as one. If a blacksmith made me an inferior blade, he would be blamed. But you didn't make my new daughter, did you?”
“No, Greatness.”
“So you are not to blame. Neither is Third Wife, because this has happened with all of my wives.” Eighteen daughters now!
Ping sighed. “No, Greatness.”
“Therefore,” said Wu, “there would seem to be only two explanations. It could be merely bad luck that I have no male heir. Do you believe that is the reason?”
Ping's eyes were on the floor, on the map. He did not meet Wu's eyes. “No, Greatness. It seems most unlikely.”
“Then the only common factor left is me. We both know it. Now tell me why you think this keeps happening, and what I can do about it.”
Ping did not answer immediately. Integrity seemed to be fighting a battle in his head with self-preservation, but integrity was losing. He knows, Wu realized. He knows what is wrong with me, and he also knows that to imply any imperfection in his Emperor is to court death. “No body is perfect, Ping. We both know this. What is the problem? Answer me!”
Ping swallowed again. “Forgive me, Greatness. I obtained a sample of, of your seed from Second Wife. A few months ago. I preserved it in a coldbox, and have been looking for any...abnormalities that could explain why you have no sons.”
Wu shifted his weight on the cushion. “And what have you discovered?
”
“Are you aware, Greatness, that your seed consists of many tiny things like tadpoles, each one of which is enough by itself to impregnate the egg inside a woman?”
“I am not completely ignorant, Ping.”
“Then perhaps you know that these spermatozoa are produced from your own cells by a process of division?”
“Go on.”
“Human traits, such as eye color, skin color and so on are controlled by information inside each cell of your body. It is stored on structures in the cell nucleus known as chromosomes. There are forty-six of these, and they come in pairs. Most of them are fairly uniform, but in one pair, the two chromosomes look different. We call them the X and Y chromosomes. Women are different; they have no Y chromosome, only two X chromosomes.”
“Is this lecture leading to an answer to my question?”
“Yes, Greatness. Both the sperm in your seed and the eggs in women are produced by division of normal cells, and so each has only half of the genetic information. In a woman, the division results in two eggs that each have one X chromosome. In a man, however, the division produces two spermatozoa, one with your X chromosome and another with your Y.
“When one of your sperm combines with an egg inside a woman, the two haves come together to produce a fertilized egg with all 46 chromosomes. Depending on which sperm fertilized it, the egg will either have two X chromosomes, and become a girl, or an X and a Y, and become a boy.”
“I have heard this before. The implications are clear. So tell me what is wrong with my Y tadpoles.”
Ping inhaled. “I have studied them under microscopes, Greatness, and I see no obvious differences in structure. But the difference in behavior is obvious. Your Y chromosome sperm are extremely sluggish. For some reason, they get left behind and the X chromosome sperm always reach the egg first.”
Wu was silent for a minute. “This is a reason, but says nothing of the cause.”
“Greatness, I cannot be sure about the cause. It is my suspicion, however, that in your studies of the ancient artifacts, you have managed to incur some damage that, for reasons we may never understand, is only affecting the Y chromosome sperm your body is producing. If this is indeed the case, then any woman you sleep with will bear only female children.”
Wu thought about the artifacts, the Gifts, he had studied. Some of them emitted energy, and yes, he had been close to these artifacts along with the others. “It sounds to me,” he said, “like we know what is happening, and maybe even what caused it. Now tell me what can be done about it.”
Ping began to raise his eyes, then thought better of it and gazed at the floor again. I can only think of two things, Greatness. You could adopt a son...”
Wu stifled the urge to punch him. “Do you seriously think that could be done without my enemies knowing about it?”
“But...but your enemies are dead, Greatness. You have defeated all of them.”
Wu made a dismissive gesture with one hand. “I don't mean them. I mean all of those who would seek to replace any descendants I might have. Many of my own officers think they would be as good an emperor as me, though they don't say it out loud. Do you seriously think they would fear an adopted heir any more than they fear me?”
“No, Greatness.”
“And then there would be the matter of selection. I can hardly pick at random. A thousand intrigues would ensue, as each great House seeks to attract attention to one of their own boys. There would be assassinations, plots, endless supplicants from the major families wasting my time with exhortations on the virtues of their male children. And do you know what else?”
“No, Greatness. What else?”
“Have you told any others of your medical conclusions regarding my defective Y tadpoles?”
“Greatness, all of the major families have their own physicians, who could come to the same suspicions, even without access to the tissue samples.”
“You didn't answer my question.”
Ping swallowed. “No, Greatness, I have not told any others of my tests or the conclusion I have drawn from them.”
“But they will suspect. And if I adopt an heir, they will see it as an admission of my defect. As an admission of weakness. Do you know what happens in an empire when the Emperor admits weakness...or is seen as admitting weakness? I'll tell you. Revolution. Civil war. All of the bloodiness my conquest has sought to eliminate, to prevent.” He paused. “My legacy would degenerate into more strife, more discord, more endless battles to determine the next ruler. Or, worse, the empire would be shattered into countries at war with each other, as generals and strongmen carve out their own territories and defend them against others.”
Ping sighed. “It seems inevitable, Greatness.”
“It is NOT inevitable!” Wu roared. “The future is not yet written. You said there were two things I could do about this. What is the second?”
Ping hesitated for a few seconds, visibly gathering his courage. “Perhaps I should not have said there were two chances,” he said. “The second possibility seems a remote one.”
“You are beginning to try my patience, Doctor.”
“I know of nobody with the skill or medicine to repair whatever damage your body has sustained, Greatness. But long ago, when the Tourists gave their Gifts, there was one kind called a 'tissue regenerator'. The records speak of it. No one seems to know how it worked, but our best guess is that it emitted some kind of energy that accelerated the body's own mechanisms for repairing damage. Perhaps it could help you heal the damage.”
“And where do I find one?”
“That is the problem, Greatness. Although there were once many of them, they began failing after the Tourists left our world, just as the other gifts did. The swizzles and everflames appeared to last longer, which is why some of them still function. But there might not be any of the regenerators left. No one has seen one in decades.”
“Would you recognize one if you saw it?”
Ping shrugged. “Perhaps. Unlike the swizzle, which requires a ring or tube of some kind to anchor the effect on, the tissue regenerator, however, is a more subtle kind of artifact, and its shape is irrelevant.”
“Buy you said 'perhaps'.”
“Yes, Greatness. I know only two things for sure about the regenerator. The first thing is that it would have to be made of metal. The only swizzles still functioning are metal ones. Metal seems to be the best material for holding the effects of the alien technology over the long term.”
“And the other thing you know about it?”
“According to the historical accounts, the regenerator can be recognized by a green glow. If it is still functioning, that is. All of the ones that died stopped glowing.”
Chapter 71
Rainsong: The Space of Spins
“When a needle falls into a deep well, many people will look into the well, but few will be ready to go down after it.”
– Guinean Proverb
She was so busy with her new far-seer that she never heard her Mentor's approach. Only when he tapped her on her back with one of his graspers did she become aware of his presence.
“How is your practice going?”
She looked away from the ring of metal and rested her eyes. “I'm getting better at controlling the range and the focus,” she said. “I can steer the viewpoint around in Nav Section, and even use it to look into the aft section of the Ship. But whenever I try to use it to look outside it just makes me dizzy.”
His eyes contracted to pinpoints. “I told you to only use it to look at things inside the Ship!” he hissed.
“I know,” she said. “But how am I ever going to help with steering if I can't see where the Ship is going?”
“You can't and you won't,” he said. “Not until you absorb the next memsphere in the Ability sequence.”
“But I've learned the far-seer weave! Why doesn't it work outside the Ship?”
“Because the Ship is spinning, to provide us with a substitute for gravity. You kno
w that.”
“Yes,” she agreed. “But how did you do it, see ahead to steer the Ship, before you retired to become a Mentor? Every time I try all I see is whirling circles of light.”
“You are on a spinning cylinder, and so your viewpoint is spinning,” he told her. “If you were suspended in the very center of the Ship, on its axis, you would have only linear motion, and the stars would appear motionless to you...”
“...but I can't do that, because then I would actually be outside the Ship, in the near-vacuum of the thrustfield,” she said, finishing the thought for him.
“That is correct,” he said. “And we cannot survive in vacuum, with no air to breathe. Not to mention you would be in the way of the occasional ice and dust particles of the Oort cloud.”
“So how did you do it?” she said, repeating her question.
“It's time for you to absorb the memsphere that makes distant observations possible,” he said. “It will help you to learn the control of the Space of Spins.”
“You mean, I will be able to control rotating objects, like the Ship?”
“That's part of it," he grunted. “But for us in Nav Section, the biggest advantage is that you will be able to combine it into your far-seer control. When you can make the viewpoint of the far-seer rotate at the same rate as the Ship, the stars will seem motionless to you again. That is how we do it.”
Her eyes irised bigger and smaller, showing her indecision and confusion. “I don't understand.”
“You will,” he promised. “Follow me.”
She left the model far-seer there and followed him through a concealed corridor until at last they reached another sleep-learn chamber with its open pod.
“Is the Space of Spins another part of the Ability that is only taught to Nav Section?”
“It is,” he answered. “Can you figure out why?”
She thought about it. “If someone used it to interfere with the spin of the Ship, wouldn't it interfere with our ability to see ahead and make course corrections?”
Tonespace: The Space of Energy (The Metaspace Chronicles Book 3) Page 28
