by Sharon Lee
"Stand aside, child," Master dea'Syl said to Tor An, "you obscure my view of our guest."
Reluctantly, Tor An stepped to the right, keeping his eye upon Rool Tiazan.
"Well," the master said after a long scrutiny. "Certainly one who was allied with the estimable M. Jela is welcome on that count alone. What sort of assistance do you offer, Ser Tiazan?"
The man moved a graceful hand, encompassing the abandoned desk, notes, and screen. "I believe your work founders on the particulars of an energy state transformation under special near-ideal and probably unique circumstances. It happens that I am something of an expert in energies and their states, and have also some insight into the nature of the approaching, probably unique, event. Also, I bring with me another ally, who has seen the Enemy falter."
"Hah." The scholar leaned forward in his chair, eyes gleaming. Tor An took a careful breath. "If you can show me the error in my work, I shall be most obliged to you." He raised a hand, beckoning. "Come here, young man. Seat yourself. Tor An—a glass of wine for our guest, if you please."
"Certainly." He inclined his head and moved to the kitchenette as Rool Tiazan walked forward and took the chair by the scholar's table.
By the time he returned with the tray, the two gentlemen were deep in conversation, and the cat was asleep on Rool Tiazan's elegant lap.
Twenty-Seven
Solcintra
CANTRA WOKE UNEXPECTEDLY refreshed, more filled with energy than she had been since Jela died, and with the clear sense of having taken a decision while she slept.
She dressed quickly from the store of clothes Rool Tiazan had so kindly delivered to her, watered the tree, which offered her neither comment nor salute, and was on her way down the hall, headed for the gate.
It was early yet; the overnight dusting of snow still glittered in the abundant shadows. Sitting in a pool of sun on the low wall near the gate was the odd couple of Tor An yos'Galan and Arin the librarian, dark head and light bent over a shared scroll. Cantra hesitated, then changed course.
"'morning, Pilots," she said cheerily, and gave them a grin to go with it when they looked up, startled.
Arin recovered his wits first, inclining his head respectfully. "Pilot Cantra. Good morning."
The boy echoed the sentiment a heartbeat later, his voice a bit strained, and dark smudges showing under those improbable eyes. The scroll was an old star-map, its edges tattered and the three-dee grainy; she couldn't tell which sector drom a casual glance, and she wasn't there to discuss maps, anyway.
"Arin," she said, holding his eye. "Some happy news for you. Saw your brother on-port yesterday."
The dark eyes sparkled. "I thank you, Pilot. This is, as you say, welcome news. Did he mention when he might come to us?"
"Got the impression he thought you'd rather to go him," she said. "Seemed to be having a couple lines of trade going—you know how he is."
"I do indeed," Arin said, with irony, "know exactly how he is." He fingered the scroll, and sent a sideways glance at the other pilot's face. "Your thoughts on my small difficulty were very welcome, Pilot. However, filial duty calls, and—"
"I understand," Tor An assured him, voice soft and sad. He extended a hand and touched a portion of the map lightly. "It would be my pleasure to assist you further, if you have need, after duty is answered."
"In the meanwhile," Cantra put in, "if you're at liberty, Pilot Tor An, I wonder if you'd bear me company."
He looked up, brows pulled into a frown. "I, Pilot?"
"Exactly you," she assured him, as Arin adroitly rolled the scroll. "I'd like your opinion on a certain vessel." She tipped her head. "You've had training on the big ships—I mean real ring and pod-carrying transports, multi-mounts, that kind of thing?"
Interest dawned behind the frown. "I have, of course, but—"
"But I ain't had that luck," she interrupted, watching out of the corner of one eye as Arin stood and moved off toward the interior, walking like a man with a pressing errand in mind. "My life's been small ships. I don't know how to take the measure of anything more than a six-crew shuttle or a four place courier." She paused. "If you'll honor me, Pilot."
It might've been the polite that won him, but she thought it was rather the basic human desire to be useful and busy. A good boy was Pilot Tor An, she thought, as he came to his feet and inclined his head. So much the worse for him.
"I will be glad to assist you, Pilot," he said formally.
"Good," she said, and jerked her head toward the gate. "Let's go."
* * *
"All of your equations are correct, as far as they go." Rool Tiazan leaned over the scholar's shoulder, Lucky the cat weaving 'round the base of the work screen they studied so intently. He tapped the screen with a light forefinger, feeling the attentive presence of the sussdriad within the sphere of his being.
"So here," he murmured; "this term is correct, but makes an incomplete assumption."
"Of course it does!" Liad dea'Syl answered. "There are several values that might be added, all derived properly from the rest of my work." His fingers moved on the coding wand. "Add this one—and behold! We attain an equation which is quite beautiful, though it must be impossible to achieve. At this point in our adventure, surely practical mathematics outweighs mere elegance."
Rool allowed the old gentleman's irony to pass unremarked, taking a moment to skritch Lucky carefully under the chin. The chin being properly taken care of, he turned back to the discussion with a polite smile.
"Grandfather, of course it is practical mathematics which will carry the day. And as you have seen, I am far easier with the practical than the theoretical."
The mathematician snorted, drawing the cat's attention.
"The boy is elsewhere, sir; you may dispense with the fiction that I am your elder, as we both realize that I am not. I suspect that your age is some centuries beyond mine..."
Rool paused, then inclined his head, sincerely respectful. The old one's mind was both agile and facile. Of course he would have formed the proposition that a being which was not bound by possibility would not be bound by time.
"Well," he murmured. "I am here because you are no fool, and I am no mathematician."
"It is possible that you err on both points," the scholar murmured. "But let us not quibble. Pray elucidate this incomplete assumption, and tell me if you have a proof which ties this together so that young Jela's excellent work does not go to waste."
"The value here," Rool tapped the screen again. "This assumes that when the final decrystallization event begins, it will propagate across space. It will not. The event will, as your initial numbers demonstrate, occur across the affected dimensions and energies simultaneously."
The old man seemed to wilt in his chair, though the glow of his life energies were as bright as ever.
"There, my friend," he murmured, "lies the paradox. If the event occurs simultaneously, there will be no wave..."
"The triggering event, however," Rool continued. "The trigger event propagates at the highest possible velocity of transition. When the energy state is sufficient, a coherent decrystallization is the result. Now, note that this is not a reversion to what was, as implied by our limited vocabulary; this is a new state. In this event prior conditions cannot be recalled, they cannot be calculated. Within the new state there is no information exchange or reversibility with the preceding state in any manner that affords sense." He paused, frowning at the screen, and leaned forward to tap another phrase.
"But here, sir," he murmured, "I fear I misapply language again. Let us consider this, which implies that what shall occur is that the act of transitioning will inform the new location. That is, it will contain the ships, their contents, and whatever else might be accelerated to transitional velocity—and it will contain that impetus and energy..."
"Yes!" Liad dea'Syl said, abruptly enthusiastic. "Of course the transition will inform the new location, just as the new location will inform that which arrives. And observe!�
�it furthermore implies that the arrival of the ships, the end of the transition, will in effect not be contingent on their relationships before the transition. It also implies a transformational energy change, one that will exclude any further energy or information exchange. The universe we arrive at will not be the one we left."
"And here," he sighed after a moment. "Here is where I falter. It would appear that, no matter the prior conditions, we shall arrive in a universe where certain spins will be.... let us say preferred, and where the energy excess we bring with us will mean that space will expand infinitely over time. There will be no steady state, though there may be the practical illusion of it for billions of years."
Rool considered that in all its fullness before meeting the old scholar's eyes.
"I propose," he said seriously, "that an infinitely expandable universe is much preferable to one which is about to become largely uninhabitable."
"Yes, of course. Well said." The mathematician rubbed a tired hand over his eyes. "Yet, should we continue down that path, we soon discover that we lack vital information. We have near-proof that this escape we posit is possible. However, if we may not know the time of the spontaneous, great, event, within fractions, we shall be lost. We must have more information than M. Jela's prognostication and death brings us." He paused, his eyes wandering from the screen to the window, and the bright day without.
"If I might but look upon the works of our Enemy, and understand what it is that they accomplish, perhaps—"
Abruptly, the room, the screen, the cat were gone, replaced by a vision of sand, and the vast, fallen corpses of trees; the wind swirled dust into a funnel—and the room returned.
Rool Tiazan folded his hands and awaited what the scholar might make of such communication.
"Our other ally, speaks, I apprehend." The old man raised a hand and sighed. "That is a mighty work," he said sadly, "and an irredeemable loss. Yet how was it accomplished?"
The room flickered, there was impression of baleful energies, greatly confused, yet more accurate than Rool would have expected from a form-bound intelligence—and then nothing more.
"Ah." The scholar turned looked to him, his eyes deep with wisdom. "You, my master of energy states. You know how it was accomplished, do you not?"
Rool bowed his head. "Grandfather, I do. The Iloheen caused probability to be altered so that increasing amounts of inimical energies were aimed at the world which had been inhabited by the ssussdriad."
Liad dea'Syl laughed. "So I am told, and having been told, understand nothing."
Rool smiled, and swept out a hand. "Forgive me, Scholar. I am as a bird in the air..."
"Indeed. Indeed. And yet, you have the means, as I understand from our discussions in the night hours, to ...change state, and to observe the workings and progress of the Enemy. Is that so?"
"Stipulating that I dare not show myself, nor come too close," Rool said slowly, "yes, that is so." He paused. "Shall I go, observe what I might, and return to tell you?"
"Will the bird bring news of aerodynamics, lift, and thrust?" The scholar smiled, and reached out to rub Lucky's ear. "Perhaps you might bear me to a point of observation."
It had been within the possibility described by the current configuration of the lines that this boon would be asked. Rool closed his eyes and took counsel of his lady.
"It is," he said slowly, "possible." He opened his eyes. "Whether it is desirable..." He sighed. "There is a price..."
"There is," the old scholar interrupted tartly, "always a price, Ser Tiazan. I am not a child."
"Indeed. Indeed, you are not a child, Grandfather. But I must be selfish in this—you may not die before those equations are set."
Liad dea'Syl smiled. "Guard me, then," he said. "And snatch me away to safety when you judge it best. But I would see this work of the Enemy."
Rool bowed. "I am at your command. When shall we proceed?"
"At once."
* * *
THE PORT WAS MORE crowded than ever he recalled, with a great many high-caste persons about. Nor was he the only one to notice it.
"That's a lot of expensive citizens I'm seeing," Cantra yos'Phelium commented at his side. "Streets weren't near so full, yesterday."
"The High Families are not usually so well represented on-port," he agreed, and touched his tongue to his dry lips.
"Forgive me, Pilot," he murmured, and felt himself flush when she glanced at him.
"What's on your mind?" she asked easily, giving no sign of noticing his discomfort.
"I wonder—your face, and—your hands. How is that they are healed?"
"One of Jela's friends stopped by last night and did me the favor," she answered, and gave him another casual glance from green eyes. "Last I saw him, he was set to call on the scholar and yourself."
"You will mean Rool Tiazan," he said, around a feeling of relief. "He represented himself as an ally to Captain Jela." He bit his lip. "Are you easy with this person, Pilot?"
"Not to say easy," she answered after a moment. "Takes some getting used to, does Rool Tiazan. Don't care for doors—" another quick green glance—"which may be what's bothered you, Pilot?" She used her chin to point to the left. "That's our road, I think."
"There were," he pursued, turning his steps to match hers, and dodging 'round a floater piled high with expensive luggage, "several things which were worrisome. The first was, as you say, the matter of not entering by the door. He—you will think I refine too much on it, perhaps, but—he seemed to know me on sight, Pilot, though he addressed me as 'housefather.'"
"Right. Calls me 'lady,' in case you've taste for irony, Pilot. Doubtless it amuses him, and does me—nor you—- no harm. How'd the old gentleman take him?"
"Well," he answered, and sighed to hear how bitter voice was. "Very well," he said again, trying for a more moderate tone. "They were at work together through the night, and still in deep converse when I rose to keep my appointment with Arin. Lucky also seems favorably impressed," he added after a moment, recalling again, and with a pang, the sight of the cat curled tight on Rool Tiazan's knees.
"Sounds like all's in hand, then. Wink an eye at his oddity, is what I advise, Pilot."
Yes, well. "But—" he said, as the military shuttle hove into view—"what is he? Rool Tiazan?"
Pilot Cantra didn't answer immediately, and when she did, it was slow, as if she was feeling her way toward an answer.
"Calls himself a dramliza. What that means in practical terms—which is what you an' me need to think in, Pilot—is that he was a soldier for the Enemy. Him and some of his, though, they deserted, for reasons that seemed good to them. Rool Tiazan and his-lady-that-was, they offered themselves as allies to Jela, who thought it would be of benefit." She sent him another quick glance, and sighed. "It was by way of serving the interests of that alliance that Scholar dea'Syl was brought out of Osabei and given to Wellik for safekeeping."
"He offered the scholar aid. He said that he was—an expert on energy states."
"That he may well be," Pilot Cantra said judiciously, and gave the guard at the shuttle door a friendly nod. "I'm Cantra yos'Phelium, heir to M. Jela Granthor's Guard. I'd like to go up and inspect my ship, if there's a shuttle to be had."
The guard frowned down at her, his facial tattoos gaudy in the pale morning light. "What ship?" he rumbled, deep in his chest.
"That'd be Salkithin," she said composedly.
"Would it. And who's with you?"
"Tor An yos'Galan," she answered, and if her heart quailed under the X Strain's stare, as his did, no hint of it was apparent on her face. "My co-pilot."
The guard jerked his chin, toggling the comm, muttered, hit the toggle again, and stepped back.
From inside the ship came another X Strain, this one with lieutenant's chops on her sleeve. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared down the ramp at Pilot Cantra and himself.
"Jela's heir, is it?"
Pilot Cantra bowed, brief and ironic; the lieut
enant grinned, broadly.
"Ilneri's going to be real happy with you," she said, in a voice that Tor An thought did not bode well for the coming ship's inspection, and stood aside, sweeping an exaggerated bow.
"Please, pilots, enter my humble shuttle. I hope you're in a hurry."
* * *
THE LINES LAY thick about them, red-gold and vital, spilling energy enough to conceal one wary, weary dramliza, and the essence of an ancient human. The ssussdriad was also with them; its regard lying so gently amongst the lines that Rool could scarcely discern it.
