by Sharon Lee
On the plane from which they observed, the vessel was nothing more than a smear of pink, which was the glow of the autonomous systems. The hopeful dominant showed not even as much as that, so closely did she hold herself.
Within the lesser aetherium, the tumzaliat pursued their small, simple dances, which were so much less than the intricate movements of rebellion and abandon performed by their wild kin, the zaliata. Those such as she—and the cadet preparing herself below—they were fit only to exercise dominion over tumzaliat and so forge a working dramliza unit, to thereby accomplish the will of the Iloheen as it was expressed to them.
They were, after all, nothing more than embodiment of the vast wills of the Iloheen, without which they would have no existence. So the philosophy tutor taught.
In the birthing room, all was ready.
The cadet knelt beside the vessel and took the autonomous system under her control. This was necessary to prevent the tumzaliat from sabotaging the vessel, or, as was more likely, damaging it through terror and ignorance.
Control established, the cadet entered the lesser aetherium, cloaked and dim against the brilliant broil of the tumzaliat.
Cloaked and dim, the cadet drifted, while the heedless tumzaliat frolicked, melding their energies and dashing off at angles that seemed random until one considered the ley lines that passed through the lesser aetherium. The tumzaliat followed the ley lines, feeding on them—perhaps. Seeking to influence them, certainly. But the Iloheen had constructed the aetheriums in such a way that the ley lines which intersected there were rendered sluggish. They could, so said the engineering tutor, be manipulated, though not by a mere tumzaliat. Once downloaded, dominated, and fully integrated into a dramliza unit, then—perhaps—a tumzaliat might have access to sufficient power and focus to manipulate the ley lines from within the aetherium.
But, by then, it would no longer wish to do so.
The cadet had, by stealth and by craft, managed to separate one particular tumzaliat from the rest. She had not yet fully revealed herself, though she was now shedding a small—and unavoidable—amount of energy.
The chosen tumzaliat was large, its energies brilliant. Its cohesion was perhaps not all that could be desired, and it showed a tendency to flare in an unappealing manner. But it was well enough. For a tumzaliat.
The chosen abruptly rolled, as if suddenly realizing its vulnerable position on the outer edge of the tumbling pod. It flared and changed trajectory, seeking to rejoin the others—
And spun hard as the cadet revealed herself in a blaze of complex energies, cutting it off from the group, crowding it toward the containment field.
It was a bold move, for tumzaliat rightly feared the field, and the danger was that it would bolt and break through the cadet’s wall of energy, with catastrophic results for both.
The creature hesitated, confusion dulling its output. The cadet pushed her advantage, herding it, pushing closer to the containment field and the egress port. The tumzaliat took its decision, feinted and reversed, diving for the fiery fringe of the cadet’s wall, gambling, so it seemed to those observing, that it could survive the passage through the lesser energies.
It was over quickly, then.
The cadet allowed the tumzaliat to approach quite near, allowed it to believe its gamble was about to succeed. At the penultimate instant, the tumzaliat gaining momentum, its emanations coalesced to an astonishing degree—the cadet released the greater portion of her energies.
The tumzaliat tumbled into an oblique trajectory, now running parallel to the cadet’s weaving of power. She contracted the field, as if she meant to embrace the fleeing creature in her energies.
Again, it changed trajectory, hurtling back toward the containment field with undiminished momentum. Perhaps it had some thought of immolating itself. It was of no matter. The cadet extended a tendril of energy, slipping it between the tumzaliat and the containment field, at the same instant contracting the field.
The force of the contraction threw the tumzaliat into the egress port. In one smooth maneuver, the cadet triggered the port and withdrew the tendril separating the tumzaliat from the containment field. Emanations sparking in terror, the tumzaliat tumbled into the port, bracketed and contained now only by the funnel of the cadet’s energies, guiding it, forcing it—
The port closed.
In the birthing room, the readied vessel flared, the glow lingering as the nervous system accepted and imprisoned the tumzaliat’s energies. The cadet’s envelope flared less brightly as it accepted her return. She raised her head, and a small tremor of satisfaction escaped her.
On the floor beside her, the vessel spasmed against its restraints. The chest heaved, mouth gaping, and the birth scream echoed against the air. Quickly, the cadet straddled the vessel and lowered herself onto its erection, bonding herself with it on the biologic plane. Beneath her, the vessel screamed again—and again.
“Nalitob Orn,” the cadet crooned against the air. She extended her will and plucked at the tumzaliat’s captured essence, weaving the syllables into the fabric of its frenzied consciousness. The vessel would already have been seeded at the cellular level with those same syllables, which would now and henceforth be its—his—name, binding it to the body and to his dominant.
The submissive drew breath for another scream; his dominant extended her will and disallowed it. Carefully, caressingly, she relaxed the straining, fear-poisoned muscles, and released sleep endorphins.
Only when Nalitob Orn was entirely and deeply asleep did she rise. With a thought, she cleaned herself, and with another clad herself in the blue robe of a dramliza-under-training. For of course the work just completed had been only the first and the simplest of the bondings required before this nascent pair become a functioning unit.
The new-made dominant turned toward her sleeping and receptive submissive—and turned back, bowing low as the Shadow fell over the birthing room, excluding the observers from whatever passed between the Iloheen and the daughter of its intent, the Nalitob Orn dominant.
IV
ATTEND ME IN the testing chamber.
Their philosophy tutor’s thought was a steady silken mauve, lightly flavored with copper.
With the five others of her cohort, she rose and walked down the stone hallway—naked, silent, but no longer identical. They had some time since been instructed to adjust their physical seemings. This was—so the philosophy tutor explained—to allow them to grow more easily apart, to sluff off the small ties that bound sister-students, and to make themselves ready for that bond which would define their futures and their service to the Iloheen.
As it was also necessary to seem to be one of those who continued to defy the Iloheen, among whom she would of necessity walk, she considered it well to appear both harmless and unable to defend herself. Thus, her stature was small, her bones delicate, her breasts petite. She sharpened her facial features and added amber pigment to her eyes. Her hair was red, short and silky; her ears shell-like and close to her head. She would appear, to one of those enemies of the Iloheen, to be young, her skin unlined and tinged with gold.
With these changes she was content, though she was the least altered of her cohort. Neither their tutors nor any of the Iloheen who increasingly oversaw their progress instructed her to make further alterations, so she accepted it as her full and final physical form.
Attend me, the philosophy tutor sent again.
The thought was no less serene, the tang of copper no more pronounced than ever it had been. There was nothing to differentiate this from countless thousands of previous summons.
Saving that the philosophy tutor never summoned them twice to the same lesson.
It was then that she knew they were being summoned, not for a mere philosophy test, but to the Third Doom, the last they would face as students.
The others must have also perceived the warning in that second summons and drawn their conclusions. Indeed, the two boldest quickened their steps, eager to meet the chal
lenge, while the three most thoughtful dared to slow somewhat.
Being neither bold nor thoughtful, she kept to her own pace, and withdrew slightly from her envelope, centering herself and unfurling what she might of her protections. It was, of course, beyond her ability to know what test the Iloheen would bring to them this time. Experience of two previous Dooms, however, indicated that it was well-done to hold oneself both aloof and prepared upon all planes.
Behind two sisters and leading three, she turned the corner into the hall. The stones were slick and frigid beneath her bare feet, the air thick with ice. Ahead, the entrance to the testing chamber was black; empty, to her perceptions, of all energy.
A state of no-energy was impossible, so her tutors had taught, each in their own way. To which the philosophy tutor had added, With the Iloheen, all things are possible.
The two at the lead faltered; one recovered in the next instant and strode ahead, energies blazing, entered the void, and was gone—- whether unmade or merely passed beyond the senses was not for such as they to know.
Yet.
The second of the bold approached the void, her energies furled close and secret, and was in her turn swallowed, vanishing as if she had never been.
She, the third, neither quick nor slow, continued onward, protections in place, her essence at a slight remove, tethered by the slenderest of thoughts. The iced stones tore at the soles of her feet, her lungs labored in the thick air. She thought, within her most private and protected self, of the Iloheen-bailel, beautiful and subjugated, transforming the void with its dance.
Then, she passed into Shadow, and all her perception ended.
V
Awake.
She obeyed, opening her perceptions across all planes. On the dais before her stood the philosophy tutor, the dominant with her hands folded into the sleeves of her gray gown, the submissive kneeling at her side, head bowed, eyes closed.
There was no one else in the Hall of Testing.
The Blessed Iloheen, Lords of Unmaking, are pleased that you have passed through this door. The philosophy tutor’s thought was serene. You are to immediately remove to the birthing room and prepare the vessel which you have nurtured.
THE VESSEL WAS ready. She had fashioned it neat and supple, with long, curling red hair, and a smooth, gold-toned dermis. Its hands were long, its feet small, its form slender. Standing, it would overtop her only slightly.
That, of course, was for later.
Now, it lay where she had placed it on the tile floor. She settled the head carefully into the restraint before giving her attention to the other fetters, binding first the right wrist, then the left, melding the chain with the floor. She bound the ankles in the same manner, and made the staple snug across the slim waist. Extending her will, she touched each restraint in turn, making certain of her work, then knelt.
The tile was warm under her knees; in other perceptions, it was slickly reflective, deliberately crafted to foil any attempt by an enterprising tumzaliat to anchor a portion of itself outside of its prepared dwelling place.
Withdrawing slightly from her envelope, she looked deeply into the vessel, searching anxiously for any flaw. The binding phrase had been imprinted at the cellular level; the biologics primed to accept the physical bonding. The autonomous system functioned sweetly, fairly humming as she took it under her dominion.
It was time.
Energies furled, she triggered the access port, changed phase and entered the lesser aetherium.
Dark and secret she floated, the tumzaliat frolicking heedlessly about her. As part of her preparations, she had studied the inhabitants of the lesser aetherium and had settled upon one as suitable. To be sure, it was no glorious wild zaliata, but well enough, for a tumzaliat. It was a bit less heedless than the others of its cohort; its emanations pleasingly regular and its cohesion firm. A suitable tool for one such as herself.
She was patient; she was cunning as a tumzaliat is not. And at last, her intended danced near.
Swiftly, she unfurled her energies, sweeping out and around, imperative and firm. She did not toy with the tumzaliat, nor permit it to build false hopes of escape; she did not allow it to flirt with annihilation against the containment field. Rather, she displayed her superiority, and offered no choice other than to acquiesce to her will.
The tumzaliat twisted, dodging close to the trailing edge of her field, testing. This show of boldness pleased her even as she contracted the field, edging the captive inexorably toward the—
There was a disruption of the energies within the aetherium; the sluggish ley lines heaved.
Within the vibrant strands of her net, the tumzaliat twirled, energies flaring. Her perceptions slid, and she felt the ley lines heat. She focused fiercely and flung her will out, forcing the tumzaliat into the egress field. The lines, she thought, were reacting to the attunement of her energies. It was best to be gone—and quickly.
There! Her chosen was within the egress field. She triggered the port; there was a flare and a confusion of energies as the tumzaliat seemed almost to hurl itself into the opening, so that she must needs extend her field, thinner than she liked, scarcely guiding it, while the momentum pulled her out—and down.
Gasping a thought, she sealed the port behind her, plummeting into her envelope so quickly pain flared. She batted it aside, clearing her senses.
Before her, the vessel showed the lingering glow of the tumzaliat’s essence. The autonomous system went briefly ragged; she smoothed it absently as the vessel contorted, arching against the restraints. Its chest expanded, its mouth formed a rictus—
But the birth scream did not come forth.
Hastily, she checked the autonomous system; looked deep within the vessel and ascertained that the time was now, scream or none. She swung over the slim hips, looking down into the sealed, austere face—
The eyes snapped open—cobalt blue and aware, the gaze met hers and did not waver, though the body was panting now; trembling with the force of that unuttered cry. She could feel the tumzaliat’s confusion increase to damaging levels as it failed to find its accustomed perceptions available, supplanted by alien input from unfamiliar senses.
She smoothed the vessel’s breathing, slowed the racing heart, and lowered herself onto its erection.
“Rool Tiazan,” she whispered against the air.
As foretold by the biology tutor, pleasure flooded her, and she moaned with satisfaction as the biologic link formed. And all the while, the cobalt eyes stared into hers, narrowing as the bonding triggered pleasure responses, then suddenly widening, as if the tumzaliat had in some way understood—
Beneath her, the hips tensed, twisting, as if to unseat her—and panic flared once more.
She extended her will, smoothed away the panic and triggered sleep; massaged the tight muscles into relaxation, and bled off the fear toxins.
When she was certain the tumzaliat, now Rool Tiazan, was at rest and in no danger of damaging himself, she rose, cleaned herself, and donned the blue robe of a dramliza-under-training.
That done, she turned back toward the sleeper, intending to transfer the language and motor modules, so that the sleeping intelligence might—
A Shadow fell across the birthing room. Immediately, she abased herself.
A successful translation, I apprehend. The Iloheen’s thought pierced her like a blade of ice.
Yes, Edonai, she sent humbly, and did not think of the twisting ley lines or of that instant of confusion, just before her barely controlled dash through the port . . .
But the Iloheen did not pursue any of those possible errors.Why is it, the question came instead, that you did not allow your submissive the birth scream?
To admit that Rool Tiazan had been out of her control was to admit that she was unfit to undertake the work for which she had been created and trained.
To express an untruth to an Iloheen was—not quite unthinkable. They had drilled her well in deceit, that she would succeed in those things the
y would require of her.
There was an infinitesimal flutter at the edge of her perceptions. She ignored it and formed her response with care.
It was experiencing a great deal of confusion, Edonai. I judged the additional stress would do harm both to the vessel and the inhabitant.
She breathed, eyes on the slick tile floor, and awaited annihilation.
The judgment is not without precedent, the Iloheen stated.
The Shadow passed. She was alone and alive, having lied to one of the Masters of Unmaking.
Not . . . quite . . . alone.
Perceptions wide, she considered the submissive Rool Tiazan as he lay sweetly sleeping in his bonds.
The ley lines, she thought. The ley lines had shifted within the lesser aetherium at the moment she triggered the egress port to download her chosen tumzaliat. They had shifted again, just a moment ago, moving them to an all-but-unimaginable possibility where an Iloheen was fobbed off with a novice’s lie.
You. She formed the thought gently, without imperative—and was not . . . entirely . . . surprised to see the delicate lashes flutter, and the fierce gaze seek hers.
I. His thought was a ripple of cool greens.
You are no tumzaliat, she said.
He did not reply. She tucked her hands into her sleeves, and formed a question.
Why did you manipulate the ley lines?
His eyes narrowed, but this time he answered: Did you wish to be destroyed?
You manipulated the lines twice, she pursued.
I did not wish to be destroyed. He closed his eyes.
Rool Tiazan, she sent, sharply.
No reply.
She probed and found only a blank wall of exhaustion, as if he truly slept now, on every level. As well he should—zaliata, tumzaliat, or mere biologic.
Briefly, she looked to herself, sublimated toxins into sugars, and replenished depleted cells.
The needs of her envelope answered, she sank to her knees on the tile beside her submissive, transferred the possibly redundant communications module, and also the motor skills module, weaving them into the sleeping consciousness.
