“Then the Rimstalker is as uncertain as the rest of us. When you reach your own time, the chronometric torque dissipates. Or should. Honestly, no one knows, not even the Rimstalker. No one has ever been able to pierce the lynk barrier at that velocity. But the greatest thinkers on the subject believe that the temporal vectors cancel if one succeeds in completing the loop to one’s own time. The Face of Night does not want that to happen, for then N’ym will fall.”
“N’ym has fallen. I’ve seen it.”
“Only in your timefield, O’Tennis—and in mine. I am from the same Age as you. Though the zōtl took me before N’ym fell, I am not surprised. I saw the weakness of the Aesirai on my own world. But that is long to come. The City of the Sky is yet to be built in this time.”
The ghost vapored away during the lynk transit, with these last words: “The nongyls are chewing my brain. They think they can patch me back. I think they can, too. I am becoming less. Look for Chan-ti Beppu in Perdur on the Dragon’s Shank of Mugna. Neter Col carried her there, back to our time. Save her from the Brood of Night in the Witch Maze.”
Ned O’Tennis sat nibbling fish and gazing over the sea at the white smoke of moons in the dark blue sky. Their beauty was empty without Chan-ti beside him, yet the beauty persisted, empty or not. Crystal depths of violet sky seemed to layer horizons in a blur of stillness. He could never again see beauty as he once had without the woman who had forsaken her own life to help him. He had already determined that if Gai did not respond to his shouts into her cave he would take his strohlkraft through the lynk-lanes until he reached his own time; then, he would fly directly to Mugna. He was pondering how to elude Saor’s peerless guards when the Rimstalker’s voice boomed from the seacave: “Why do you call me now, Ned O’Tennis, after disobeying me?”
Ned sprang to his feet and faced the cavern, seeing no one. But Pahang had heard the voice as well and crouched low to the sand, eyes buzzing with alarm. He put on his helmet.
Gai left her plasma shapeless and invisible, too unhappy with humans to care to show herself. “I am here, before my lynk. Speak.”
Ned approached the cavern. “I have to tell you first, we left your lynk system for the Tryl’s because the ghost of Joao, the Carrier of Peace, came to us and urged us to free you. He said we limited your freedom. And he told me that Chan-ti Beppu has come after me through the Overworld. He said I could find her if I went through the Tryl lynk.”
“Who is Chan-ti Beppu?” the cave asked.
“She is the woman I love. She followed me to Ras Mentis—but she was taken by a scyldar. I found out from the scyldar’s ghost.” Ned told Gai about Tully Gunther and everything the teacher had related.
Gai splurged with sudden confidence. “If Saor is stalking you, then my hope that you can help me is real,” she effused. “You were wise to come back to me. You are rarer than I had thought.”
“Then you will help me retrieve my mate?” Ned asked the invisible presence. “I’m afraid for her among the Brood of Night, whatever they may be.”
“I have a lynk on the Dragon’s Shank inviolable even by Saor. I can send you through there to the Witch Maze to get your Chan-ti Beppu, and you can return safely the same way. But first, you must get for me the O’ode.”
Ned opened his hands before the seacave. “How can I? I have no idea where it is.”
“With the maps cast by the Ordo Vala’s psybots in your ship’s computer, you can find Rataros. That is where the O’ode exists. Bring that weapon back to me, and I will lead you to the lynk on the Dragon’s Shank.”
Ned stood rigid in whirling silence. If he did as the Rimstalker commanded, if he succeeded, he would be responsible for the defeat of the zōtl—and the destruction of N’ym. His lungs seemed heavy as stone, and he could not bring up the breath to speak. Then he nodded, slowly, resigned. “Bring your maps.”
“Before I do, there is a thing I must ask.” A flickering glow shone in the cavedark. “Now that Tully Gunther has told you all—now that you know why I created these worlds and why they will cease to be when I succeed against the zōtl—do you think me evil?”
Ned stared at the light graining the darkness. “I have been in the Overworld, Gai. I have spoken with bodies of light. I know there is more to life than these worlds.”
“But do you think it cruel of me to create humans from their detritus, to subject them to zōtl, and then to snatch away their worlds when I am done with them?”
“Who am I to judge you?”
“You are a man. What do you think?”
Ned fumbled for his voice, as he always did when pressed to verbalize quickly.
“Death has always owned us,” Pahang spoke from behind him. “From long before you came, all life lived to die. It is not different now. You are not evil. You fight to live. And when you are done, we will be as we were before you came. Perhaps better, for having lived again.”
The luster brightened in the darkness of the cavern. “Thank you, men. I feared I was to be hated by you.”
“Only those who hate life would hate you,” Pahang said.
“I will bring the maps.” The wraith-light vanished.
Ned slapped Pahang’s shoulder. “You said the right thing.”
Pahang grinned and removed his helmet. “Easy. All gods want worship. Even death wants to think he is good. Lah.”
*
Gai blazed with joy as she flew to the nearest Ordo Vala base on the far side of Ioli. Of all that Ned had conveyed of what the scyldar’s ghost told him, the best news was that Moku the Beast was a Genitrix creation. The Beast had been intimately connected with Gai’s chief machine mind, enough to receive telepathic cues about the precise location of Neter Col and the scyldar’s intent. And that meant that regardless of Genitrix’s wild creation program and her silence, she persisted whole at her core, fulfilling her prime objective, still. With her as an ally, Gai’s chances of success vastly amplified, and she glowed with new hope.
The Rimstalker marveled at how pliable time became out here in the vacuum. The cold had chilled time so that it could be manipulated, reshaped, as it had around Ned O’Tennis. Such a possibility would have been outlandish on the range, where high energy made time immutable. The Rimstalkers had no real experience with pliable time as it existed in outer space and was not sure how to use this Aesirai from a future time or even if she could without changing his future. Was time absolute, even here where it seemed malleable? Saor apparently thought not, or else he would not be striving to kill this one human.
After the loss of the Strong Mother, Gai resolved not to overextend her trust in humans; so, she did not inform any of the Ordo Vala that she wanted their maps of the Overworld. Instead, she entered the computer matrix of their Ioli base and electronically copied their data in her own plasma shape, then carried that information back to the strohlkraft. Invisible, so as not to unduly alarm the humans, she directly installed the data in the ship’s computer and sent the strohlkraft with Ned and Pahang in their flight slings into the seacavern lynk. As soon as they had departed, she called Lod and told the fiery shape, “I want you to go to Mugna, to the Dragon’s Shank. Seek out the Witch Maze and the Brood of Night that dwell there. Among them you will find a human named Chan-ti Beppu. Take her someplace safe from Saor, someplace we control. I suggest one of the Doror worlds. I can’t say exactly where, because she is a thousand years down the timeline.”
Lod’s radiance cringed smaller. “Down the timeline? You mean I must enter the Overworld—again?”
“I’m afraid so, Lod. But this is important. Saor is using this woman as a lure for Ned O’Tennis, the time-torqued human questing the O’ode for us. We must not leave open any possibility that his mission might be compromised. Get her away from Saor.”
“Gai—a thousand years is four full days. How will I monitor my numan empire while I am away?”
“The numans seem most capable, Lod. And if they get out of hand, I will access your Form and cut their power.”
&nb
sp; “And the magravity—”
“I’ll keep an eye on the system. You go now and find Chan-ti Beppu. She is one of the fulcrums on which our future balances.”
Ieuanc 751
“Rikki!”
The cry had an urgency that lifted Rikki Carcam’s face from her microscope, where she had been scrutinizing the crystal planes of a rock sample. Her feathered hair waved in freefall like yellow seaweed, kept out of her green eyes and away from her square face by a headband. She sat in the con-bubble of the scientific explorer Alan Guth, surrounded by a circular desk cluttered with chunks of colored stone, vials of reagents, pieces of equipment and tangles of wiring and cables, all held in place by a fine mesh net. On all sides, through the transparency of the con-bubble, Nabu drifted six hundred kilometers away. Through the swirl of cloud patterns and the blue haze of the atmosphere, chains of seas and lakes flashed as the Alan Guth flew over them toward the dark curve of night.
Rikki spoke to the ceiling mike hidden among the meshing of wires and power outlets, “Are the kids all right, Mich?” Memories of previous freefall accidents swarmed to mind.
“It’s not the kids,” Mich’s voice squawked through the speaker dangling over Rikki’s head. Her stomach unclenched. In the twelve years that she and her husband, Mich Yetz, had been conducting this exploratory survey of Chalco for the Foundation, the most heartrending trouble they had experienced always involved their children. They had two: six-year-old Rafe and three-year-old Teuy, and though Rikki and her husband had faced down tiger-scorpions and other malevolent distorts, as well as numerous natural disasters and mechanical failures, the most dire distress cascaded from the illnesses and accidents that befell their offspring. “I think you better come up here fast.”
“M-m-m,” Rikki agreed, taking time to adjust the lenses of her microscope and complete her observation. “Be right there.”
“Now, Rikki. This is big—and scary.”
Rikki sat up. Mich Yetz, an exobiologist like she, had encountered and studied every kind of abomination the wild worlds could shape from flesh and chitin. Very little scared him—and what did thrived on planets, not in space. She shut off the microscope, unstrapped herself from her swivel seat, and floated up the companionway out of the con-bubble and into the mapping chamber. A holoform projector displayed the surface of Nabu, a crepuscular plain of wind-rippling grass. She floated through images of grassheads, sunset clouds, and the webwork of antennae and tents at the downstation to the companion ladder that led up to the observatory deck.
Rafe and Teuy appeared on the monitor there, tumbling and giggling in the padded freefall room among bright geometries of foam toys. Seeing they were okay, Rikki gave her full attention to Mich. Loosely harnessed to the photonpump telescope, his thick body hunched with concentration, the bald spot at the back of his head wavering beneath tangles of graying black hair shifting in the gravity-free airflow. She peered through the transparent bulwark in the direction the optics trained and noted a blue white star where she knew none should be.
“Nova?”
“Look again,” Mich directed, not removing his eyes from the telescope. “It’s in the constellation of the Foot.”
She stared harder at the blue tuft of light, observed its unusually vigorous variability, then realized what area of the sky she faced. “That’s near Know-Where-to-Go.”
“That is Know-Where-to-Go. The sentinel monitor indicates it lit up about an hour ago. I was so busy with lubricating the drive I didn’t notice until now.”
“What are you seeing?”
Mich flicked a switch on the harness, and the monitor showing their children jumped to a view of Know-Where-to-Go. The horizon of the planet plumed with a jet of blue fire that Rikki recognized immediately. “That’s proton fire.”
“It’s the electron plasma from a proton fire,” Mich corrected. “Radio backlog is jammed with military frequency alarms. It’ll be another few minutes before we get code-clearance from Cendre to unscramble that noise. But we already know what it is, don’t we?”
“Zōtl.”
“Yep. The coupling lens has identified needlecraft silhouettes—lots of them. At least several thousand.”
“That’s not possible. The planet is a fortress. The zōtl could never have gotten a fleet that size close enough without being detected.”
“Unless they planted a lynk.”
“It would have been blown apart before any heavy armament could come through.”
“Apparently not.” A chime announced code-clearance, and the military signals from Know-Where-to-Go played over the intercom. Despite computer amplification, the messages tattered into static, and Rikki and Mich had to listen carefully to understand what had happened. The zōtl had erected a lynk—but in a way that no one had been prepared for. Using unprecedented technology, the zōtl had pirated one of the existing Tryl lynks. The surprise of their attack from inside the planet’s defenses had left Know-Where-to-Go helpless. In moments, all human proton cannon and ramstat flyers had been neutralized. Survivors of the initial neurotox and laserbolt attack had been herded away to Galgul. Only pocket resistance remained.
The report ended abruptly. The channel from Cendre confirmed that the blue flare they watched radiated the exhaust of a proton drill blasting through the planet’s rock surface. “What are they excavating?” Mich asked. “All the human settlements are on the surface or just below. Only Tryl artifacts are deep enough for that massive a quarry.”
“Remember the Joaon legend of the Last Tryl?” Rikki asked. “The Tryl died in a grotto on Know-Where-to-Go.”
“I don’t think the zōtl would go to this much trouble for a Tryl mummy.”
“According to Joao, the Tryl died in front of the armor of the Rimstalker. The zōtl are going after that armor.”
“The armor’s just a legend,” Mich said.
“Not anymore. Let’s call it a theory.”
“Forget theories, Rikki. We’re in trouble of the big variety. The radio backlog is filling with distress signals from survivors—and we’re the nearest Foundation vessel. The Alan Guth is going to have to respond. That means you and I and the kids are going to be left behind here on Nabu while our ship goes into a battle zone, and it will be a long time before we’re picked up. Are you ready for an extended stay on the bat-world if the zōtl take apart the Alan Guth? I figure it’ll be six months, maybe a year, before the Foundation gets around to sending another team our way.”
Rikki blanched at the thought of her research ship destroyed by zōtl. Her whole life had been devoted to exobiology, and the privilege of field work in a state-of-the-art explorer had powered her dreams since childhood. She and Mich had met in the competitive frenzy of doctoral camp on Ren. She, the daughter of a renowned engineer on Cendre, and he, a factory supervisor’s son, both determined to use their intellects to escape the dreariness of life in the swamp cities. She took first place honors, and he placed not too far behind. They graduated at the time that the Foundation sponsored a scientific survey of the wild worlds, and both locked into a dead heat for the choice position of bioscience field expediter on one of the expensive explorer vessels. To assure securing such coveted work, they married and offered their talents as a package. For five years, they worked together on the Alan Guth, exploring the wild worlds, before they fell in love during an argument about spontaneous nucleation of protein crystals.
A year later, Rafe was born. Now in the twelfth year of their survey, Rikki understood the system sponsoring them well enough to know that if they lost the Alan Guth, for any reason, they would serve out their research tenure as glassware supervisors in a teaching lab somewhere in Doror. Too old and too valuable to keep in the field, they had only their proprietary claim to the Alan Guth and their excellent reports to justify their funding.
“We’re not giving up our ship,” Rikki declared.
“We have no choice. You know Hadre. He doesn’t go by the book—he is the book.”
By fiat of Ieuanc
751, current Crystal Mind dictator of the Foundation, all explorer crafts, fighter fleets, cargo convoys—all large ramstat vehicles —required numan commanders. Numan Hadre Az, the Crystal Mind commander of the Alan Guth, would brook no appeal: the research vessel had become a military ship.
“I won’t let Hadre go alone,” Rikki said.
Mich’s shaggy eyebrows jerked with surprise. “We can’t go with him into a zōtl battle zone. The children—”
“You and the children will stay here on Nabu,” Rikki decided. “The food synthesizer can run three months without a recharge. By then, we’ll be back—or you’ll have a garden. The laser pistols will keep rawfaces and longtooths away until you are picked up.”
“I don’t believe I’m hearing this,” Mich said, unstrapping himself from the telescope harness and twisting into freefall so he floated before his wife. His long face creased with worry. “You can’t just throw yourself away like this.”
“I’m not throwing myself away, Mich. I’m going with Hadre to make sure he doesn’t throw away the Alan Guth. It’s everything we’ve worked for. I won’t let that rockhead sacrifice our ship in some suicide run against the zōtl. We’re going in for survivors and that’s all.”
“The Foundation fighters won’t reach Know-Where-to-Go for at least a day after our ship arrives. Alan Guth will present a very big target for the zōtl. Let the rockhead have his suicide run and stay here with us.”
“No. This ship is too valuable to sacrifice. Even Hadre will agree to that logic—but only if I’m there to insist on it.”
“Then let me go. I’ll keep the rockhead’s blood lust in line and bring the ship back with whatever survivors we can lift out of there.”
“It’s a lot easier to navigate an explorer than to hold a downstation against the longteeth and distort tribes of Nabu with only laserbolt pistols. No, Mich—you’re the strong one. The kids will be safer with you down there.”
Mich grunted disapproval. “You’re not going. We’re staying together on Nabu. To hell with the ship. To hell with the survey. I’m not going to lose you.”
The Last Legends of Earth Page 28
