by David Brin
Dwer nodded. “Normally, I’d agree. Rety’s been a pain. I’d like nothing better than to see her make it on her own. There’s just one problem. Things may not be quite the way you just described ’em.”
Harry’s eyebrows arched.
“Oh? How’s that?”
In reply, Dwer pointed.
“Look to the right, beyond the platform. See something there? Beyond that curtain?”
Blowing another sigh, Harry peered toward a flowing veil of colorful fabric between two massive pillars, just past the Skiano’s meditating followers. “What’re you talkin’ about? I don’t get …”
He paused. Something moved back there. At first, the outlines reminded him of an angular machine, with sharp edges for cutting, slicing. Then an errant gust blew the drapes harder against the object, revealing a stark, mantislike outline.
“Ifni’s boss …,” Harry murmured. “What’s a Tandu lurking back there for?”
Of one thing he felt sure — no Tandu would ever join the Skiano’s heresy! Immortality of some abstract “soul” could not appeal like a chance to crush enemies, or impose their racial will on a recalcitrant cosmos. Till now, constraints of ritual and law kept such impulses in check — Tandu seldom killed openly without a veneer of Galactic legality. But what if civilization collapsed? There were rumors of secret bases, filled with countless warrior eggs, ready to hatch at a moment’s notice.
“Why are the paha and gello just standing there?” he wondered aloud. “They must not realize—”
Kiwei interrupted.
“They do realize. Note how they keep their backs toward the curtain, as if to ignore what’s beyond. Clearly, they have orders. The Tandu is here for some approved purpose!”
Purpose? Harry tugged nervously on his thumbs … till he had an idea.
“Kiwei, hand me your data plaque. I want to try something.”
The Synthian complied, and Harry started mumbling commands into the handheld unit. Using his authority, he ordered ferret programs to search for transmissions emanating from Rety’s computer. With luck, he would soon—
“Got it!” he announced, while his companions crowded close. On a split screen, the left side abruptly revealed the young Jijoan woman, her visage smoothed by recent surgery. On the right, they saw copies of the charts that had her attention transfixed.
“What now?” Dwer asked. “Use this link to speak to her? I guarantee she’ll just get angry and cut us off.”
Harry shrugged. “I was hopin’ to spy a little first.” He studied the image on the right. “It looks like a list of planets where their cult recently sent missionaries. Most are trading worlds, with good spatial contacts and cosmopolitan cultures that don’t oppress odd points of view. These folks are clever. But I don’t see what this has to do with—”
He cut off as an expression of smug pleasure crossed Rety’s face. She spoke with clear satisfaction.
“This one’s perfect!”
The picture jiggled as she stood, slinging the computer under one arm. Harry caught blurry glimpses of blue draperies, and the faces of squatting acolytes, staring at some far horizon. The scene steadied when Rety came to a halt and spoke loudly, to be heard above the murmuring chant.
“Master, I’ve chosen my own place. See? I have it listed right here!”
The camera view swung around to face upward, briefly catching the image of a colorful Earthling parrot, pacing on a massive shoulder. Then Rety corrected her aim, facing the screen straight at the Skiano’s imposing head. Beyond the ramlike chin, its upper brace of eyes shone like headlamps, aimed at posterity, while the lower pair roved in search of final truth.
Rety continued. “It’s Z’ornup! I’m sure you’ve heard of the place. It has just the right atmosphere and all that stuff, so’s I can stay healthy. There’s also a human trading post, in case I ever need others of my kind — which ain’t likely, hut I guess it’s better not to close off all my options, right?
“Anyway, you already sent a small mission there, but I see the planet sits in a good spot, with lots of space trails leading in all directions, where we can send any new converts we recruit. With all that going for it, I figure Z’ornup needs a higher-level apostle, right? That’s someone like me! I’ll use the last commercial shuttle headin’ for Galaxy Three. It leaves in half a midura, so with your permission—”
The Skiano’s unwavering stare dimmed at last. The bottom set of eyes turned down to regard Rety.
“Such a posting is beneath you, my dear wolfling child. I will not have you sullied by mundane chores, proselytizing and breathing the same air as unbelievers.”
“But I—”
“There is a reward that awaits the worthy,” the missionary continued, intoning with a remote, pontifical voice. “It was alluded to by your own saints and prophets, long ago. By Jesus and Isaiah and Mohammed and Buddha … in fact, by all the great sages of your blessed-cursed race, whose suffering in darkness allowed them to see what remained hidden to all those living in the light.”
“I know that, Master. So let me go forth and spread the word to—”
“Of course those prophets made errors in recording what they saw. How could they accurately chronicle such glory with crude ink and paper, using languages that were little more than animallike grunts? Nevertheless, destiny has spoken. The beacon they lit will ignite other pyres, spreading the heat of truth everywhere, even as ruins topple around us.”
“I agree! So now let me—”
“But alas, I will not see that promised land, that apotheosis. Like Moses, I must halt before entering a mere temporal Valhalla. My labors have exhausted this poor flesh. It is time to seek the recompense that I was offered in a dream. To bypass the routine of Purgatory, and proceed directly to Paradise!”
Rety’s response was quick and restless.
“That’s great. Happy travelin’. Now about Z’ornup—”
“My reward beckons,” the Skiano went on, ponderously. “A personal salvation much finer than the Embrace of Tides. And yet … I cannot shake an uneasy premonition. Have I done everything required? What if I arrive only to learn the heavenly gatekeepers do not recognize my strange face and body? After all this time devoted only to Earthlings, are they quite ready to receive nonhuman souls in Heaven?”
The prow-shaped head rocked from left to right.
“It occurs to me that the gatekeepers will be more accommodating if I arrive escorted, with an entourage of those who will testify on my behalf.…”
The image on the screen wavered, as if the hands holding it suddenly trembled from realization, even as the rhythmic chanting reached its final climax and faded into echoes. Rety’s voice came hoarse and nervous.
“This ‘trip’ you’ve been talkin’ about … it’s not to another preaching mission, is it? You’re plannin’ to die!”
The answer made Harry shiver.
“To abandon this shell, yes. Accompanied by converts, to demonstrate my worthiness … plus a human, a true wolfling from the martyr world, to vouch for me in front of all the angels and saints.”
Harry’s shoulder was jogged, so hard that he nearly fell over. Dwer clutched his arm, squeezing with great force. He pointed.
“The curtain …”
Kiwei uttered a low moan as the shrouding drapes fell, revealing a regal Tandu warrior, painted and accoutred for ritual slaughter, advancing toward the acolytes with six arms upraised, brandishing glinting blades.
Instead of leaping to defense, both of the soldier-disciples — the gello and paha — joined their fellow converts in a crescent-shaped formation, waiting quietly with their leader centered before them.
Rety, now struggling in the Skiano’s adamant embrace, abruptly stiffened and let out a soft cry, staring upward in aghast awe while the parrot squawked, flapping overhead.
“Summon police drones!” Kiwei urged. “This ceremony is not entirely voluntary. I will attest to it!”
As if that’d do any good, Harry mused as he ran
forward, following Dwer’s more rapid footsteps. The law is crumbling. Anyway, help would never get here in time.
In which case, a mighty good question would be exactly what he and Dwer hoped to accomplish by rushing toward the debacle, except to join the Tandu’s ceremonial mincing session!
The Jijoan youth slid to a halt just twenty meters from the assembled devotees. Flinging his cloak aside, Dwer lifted the compound bow he had brought from his faraway home, with an arrow nocked and ready.
“Those are mine!” the Synthian shrieked from far behind, more offended by theft than ritual murder-suicide. “You stole them from my compartment. I demand they be returned at once, or I shall file a complaint!”
In the time it took Kiwei to babble that absurd threat, the Tandu finished approaching its scheduled victims, lifting several blades high — and Dwer loosed three arrows in rapid succession.
Harry reached out for the young hunter.
“You can’t harm a Tandu that way! It has no single weak spot to disable—”
He stopped as the little missiles seemed to veer off course. Instead of hitting the executioner, they missed by a wide margin and struck the Skiano instead! Two dark eyes were extinguished by plunging bolts of wood and stone. A third arrow vanished down the missionary’s throat, when he opened it to scream.
The Skiano’s white arms convulsed. For an instant, only one of the four clutched Rety — and she chomped down on the remaining hand with her teeth. Slipping free of his spasmodic grasp, she ducked down to avoid being seized by the paha, then swerved in an unexpected direction, under and between the Tandu’s spiky legs!
Harry waved his arms.
“Over here! Run!”
A terrifying noise escaped the Tandu. Hired under certain conditions, it had come armed only with weapons appropriate for a formally pious sacrifice. Resistance was not part of the bargain. This amounted to breach of contract!
Its bellow resonated down the hallways of Kazzkark, calling for comrades to come avenge this insult. Meanwhile, one blade flicked to remove the paha’s head.
The husky gello warrior reacted impulsively by swinging its metal-edged staff, crushing one of the Tandu’s forelegs, then another, before its own turn came for skewering upon a scalpellike edge. Meanwhile, two more acolytes — a flying glououvis and claw-footed zyu8—also lost sight of the purpose of the gathering. Responding to ancient loathings, they launched themselves at the Tandu, to peck at it from above and below while dodging its flailing knives.
Amid this pandemonium, Dwer kept firing arrows, taking out the giant mantislike creature’s sensory stalks, one at a time.
Harry thought of telling Dwer to save his ammo. That tactic seldom worked against Tandu. But then Rety finally broke free of the melee and bolted toward the edge of the raised platform. Sensing freedom just ahead, she took two long steps, making ready to leap.
Harry’s throat caught as he saw the Tandu reach after her. The razor-sharp sword already dripped with multicolored gore.
A new swarm of chaos waves struck. The floor convulsed, bucking like a wounded animal. Dust clouds poured from shuddering walls and gay banners billowed before a rising wind. In the distance, a siren wailed.
Harry staggered, watching helplessly as Rety teetered at the rim of the heaving platform, then sprawled over the edge amid a flailing of frantic arms and legs.
He tried rushing forward to catch her — knowing he would be too late.
Till the moment her head struck pavement, Rety was defiant. She neither cried out nor moaned, refusing to give the universe any satisfaction — least of all by whimpering about bad luck.
Gillian
LUCIFER MEANS “LIGHT BEARER.”
The thought came unbeckoned, while shimmering luminance poured in through a nearby window, playing across her face.
Angels are bright … though not always good.
The sight before her reminded Gillian how many beautiful and terrifying sights she had witnessed during recent months and years. And how many deep assumptions she’d been forced to revise.
For instance, she recalled that time, deep within a twisty transfer point, when the Earthling crew had confronted the Great Harrower as it sifted among countless starcraft, choosing a fraction to aim toward transcendence. That huge glowing specter had reminded Gillian of some mighty seraph, culling the virtuous from the wicked on Judgment Day. No one was more surprised than she when the blinding ball of energy seemed to identify Streaker amid a crowd of passing vessels, plucking the Earthship and setting it aside for some purpose the Harrower never bothered to explain.
Perhaps now we’ll find out, she thought. Indeed, there appeared to be a definite family resemblance between that earlier “angel” and the giant needle-gateway now holding Streaker in thrall, spinning out radiant tendrils that snaked amorously around several dozen selected spacecraft. The behavior reminded Gillian unpleasantly of a spider, busy wrapping living morsels, preserving them for later.
All the other ensnared ships parked nearby were vast arks filled with merged hydro-and oxy-life-forms — true transcendence candidates — yanked from the maelstrom surrounding the white dwarf. Streaker was minuscule by comparison — a tiny caterpillar next to beach balls. Yet, she now wore her own blanket of shiny, billowing strands.
“The material is unknown,” commented Hannes Suessi. “I cannot even get a decent reading with my instruments.”
The Niss Machine hazarded a guess.
“Someone may have had this in mind for us all along. Even back at the Fractal World. The coating we received there could be meant to serve as a buffer — or perhaps glue — between our fragile metal hull and this new substance … whatever it is.”
Gillian shook her head.
“Perhaps it’s another kind of protective armor.”
Silence stretched for several seconds as they all turned to look at the rearward-facing view screen. Everyone clearly shared the same dour thought.
Something was about to happen soon. Something that called for “protection” on a scale formerly unimaginable.
At least the earlier orgy of destruction appeared to be over, down below where millions of space vessels once cruised in prim columns and well-ordered rows, like polite pilgrims seeking redemption at a shrine. That procession had been smashed, crushed, puréed. Now, only an occasional flash told of some surviving “candidate” finally succumbing to forces that had already pulverized millions of others, leaving a turbid stew of gas, dust, and ions.
A roiling funnel now surrounded the ancient stellar remnant, shrouding its small, white disk beneath black streamers and turbulent haze.
According to Zub’daki, that whirling cloud had special dynamical properties. It would not orbit for long, or even spiral inward gradually, over the course of weeks or years.
“The debris storm has almost no net angular momentum,” the dolphin astronomer announced. “As collisional mixing continues, all the varied tangential velocities will cancel out. When that happens, the whole mass will collapse inward, nearly all at once!”
Asked when this infall might occur, the dolphin scientist had predicted.
“Sssoon. And when it does, we’ll be at ground zero for the greatest show in all the cosmossss.”
Staring at that murky tornado — comprising the pulverized hopes of countless races and individual beings — Gillian’s crew mates knew the show would begin shortly. Akeakemai whistled a dubious sigh, getting back to Gillian’s original question.
“Protective armor … againsssst what’s coming?”
The dolphin switched languages to express his doubts in Trinary.
When the great gods,
In their puissance
Start believing,
Their own slogans—
Or their wisdom,
Omniscient,
Or their power,
Invincible—
That’s when nature,
Wise and patient,
Teaches deities,
A lesson—<
br />
That’s when nature,
Keen and knowing,
Shows each god its
Limitations—
Great Dreamers must
Ride Tsunami!
For Transcendents?
Supernova!
Gillian nodded appreciatively. It was very good dolphin imagery.
“Creideiki would be proud,” she said.
Akeakemai slashed with his tail flukes, reticent to accept praise.
Irony makes for easy poetry.
Sara Koolhan commented, “Forgive my ignorance of stellar physics, but I’ve been studying, so let me see if I get this right.
“When that big, whirling cloud of dross and corpses finally collapses, it’s going to dump a tenth of a solar mass onto the hot, dense surface of that white dwarf. A dwarf that’s already near its Chandrasekhar limit. Much of the new material will compress to incredible density and undergo superfast nuclear fusion, triggering—”
“What Earthlings used to call a ‘type one’ supernova,” the Niss Machine cut in, unable to resist an inbuilt yen to interrupt.
“Normally, this happens when a large amount of matter is tugged off a giant star, falling rapidly onto a neighboring white dwarf In this case, however, the sudden catalyzing agent will be the flesh of once living beings! Their body substance will help light a pyre that should briefly outshine this entire galaxy, and be visible to the boundaries of the universe.”
Gillian thought she detected hints of hysteria in the voice of the Tymbrimi-built machine. Though originally programmed to seek surprise and novelty, the Niss might well have passed the limit of what it could stand.
“I agree, there doesn’t seem much chance of surviving such an event, no matter how fancy a coating we are given. And yet, the coincidence seems too perfect to ignore.”
“Coincidence?” Suessi asked.
“The cancellation of angular momentum is too perfeet. The Transcendents must have meant this to happen. They slaughtered the remaining candidates for a purpose — in order to trigger the coming explosion.”
