Challenges of the Deeps

by Spoor,Ryk E

  She studied the waiting Vindatri, then went on. “Well, we don’t like to believe in the real supernatural, so we figured that meant that the Arena makes some set of slots open whenever a new species appears. And since we like simpler explanations when possible, we figured that both Shadeweavers and the Faith get their special powers from the same source—the Arena—and thus those slots that opened up probably apply to both of them at once.

  “The question was …what keeps anyone who knows that ritual from doing it themselves, as soon as they hear of First Emergents? If it’s something totally mechanical, like accessing special privileges to Arena systems, then there had to be something like a password, a secure something, that kept distribution of those powers strictly under control.”

  “Indeed. And the answer?”

  “It was really a guess, not really a deduction. I was half-knocked-out at the time, and my brain started doing this sort of free-association trick.” Absently, she spun Wrath of God on her wrist with the memory of how disjointed images and sounds had played through her mind. “But I’d seen the Faith version of the ritual, and I remembered that it involved the blood of the Initiate Guides doing the ritual, then applied to the one to be Awakened. So the thought of blood went through my mind. And I also remembered that one of the names the Shadeweavers use for themselves is ‘the Blood of the Skies.’”

  “Yes,” Vindatri said, slowly at first then gaining speed, “Blood would indeed make sense. Something carried in the blood, you mean, something that in essence gave you the …right, clearance, what have you …to access the power.” He then glanced at her. “But where would you have gotten the blood in the first place? You never managed to blood Amas-Garao.”

  “Not in that battle, no,” she admitted. “But in a prior fight, he was hit hard, and some of his blood went all over me—some right into my mouth.”

  Vindatri burst out into an echoing laugh that resonated throughout the huge room. “Elegant and well-reasoned. You had the blood, you knew they intended to Initiate you, so one of these ‘slots’ was still available, and you had learned the Awakening chant to be spoken by the new Initiate, and you had absolutely nothing to lose by trying. And yes, this reveals details and understanding I had not previously guessed. Well done, and your price is paid.”

  “Great!” Despite that excited exclamation, Ariane felt suddenly terribly nervous. And now I have another responsibility to take up.

  A low chuckle that also vibrated the floor beneath her. “Ah. I sense your lightness of word cloaks a seriousness beneath. Excellent. The powers we wield are not to be taken lightly.”

  Her heart was pounding faster. Wonderful, Ariane. Now that you’re about to get what you came for, you’re getting scared of the whole thing. “Can I ask you something?”

  “I have no doubt you will ask many things in the coming days. What do you wish to know?”

  “What do you think about this whole thing? Are we right? It sure seems to be working like a machine was running it, and the similarities tell me that the Faith and Shadeweavers probably are basically the same.”

  “It is …possible,” Vindatri said. “Yet there is little evidence. The words call for certain things to happen, they indicate certain directives and limitations, but that does not mean that these words are heard or responded to by the same source of power. Surely your people have worshipped gods of one sort or another in the past, and surely similar words may have been used to invoke many of them for various purposes.”

  “Yeah, but none of them were real. Or if they were, we never found actual evidence for them.”

  “While the Arena is undoubtedly real. Yes.” Vindatri gestured and she found herself stepping back farther into the room; he circled around, half-hidden eyes surveying her carefully. “But the fact remains that none of the thousands of factions, over millions of years, have managed to replicate even the simplest of the Arena’s unique tricks. Is this merely, as the Vengeance would have it, because the Arena wishes to maintain a monopoly on this technology? Or is it because, as the Faith believe, there is something greater than simple technology at work?”

  Vindatri spread his arms and closed them, conveying the impression of a shrug. “I am old, far older even than your friend Orphan—who is, by the standards of most in the Arena, ancient indeed—and even I cannot answer that question. I prefer to neither believe nor disbelieve in the powers as technology or something more …numinous, shall we say, but merely to explore what I and others can do with them.”

  He stopped and looked down. “The seal upon you is startlingly strong and complex. How was it done?”

  She hesitated. Information is power. “Well …it was both the Faith and the Shadeweavers who put it on me.” No need to give details, I think. But a bit more background, maybe. “Honestly? I wasn’t going to commit to either one, since I was Faction Leader, so both of them felt they had to lock me down.”

  “Ah. So you have had no experience, following your sealing, of the power.” Then he paused. “No, you can perform that one remarkable trick. I cannot understand how this is possible.” He was silent again, staring at her. “Ah. There is, in fact, a …crack, shall we say, in the seal.” He hesitated, then went on, in a tone that was so low it was clearly murmured to himself, “…a crack clearly made from within, not a flaw in the binding, which appears nigh-perfect…”

  He straightened. “In any event, this does provide me with an avenue to perform the release, which we must do before any effective instruction can be done. Are you prepared?”

  “Me?” She clenched her fists nervously. She looked at Wu. “I hate to say this, Wu, but you’d better get out of the room, if he’s going to unseal me here.”

  Wu saw her expression and did not even argue; he just looked at Vindatri narrowly, then walked quickly to the exit.

  Once Wu was out, she turned to Vindatri and gave him one of her best challenging smiles. “I’m prepared, Vindatri …the question is whether you are.”

  “I have seen more than one Awakening, Ariane Austin,” he said, with a faintly visible smile of his own. “I believe I am prepared enough.” A shield shimmered around him as he stepped back from her. “Do not move.”

  Sigils bloomed across the floor in starlight blue and sunlight white, diagrams of magic or circuitry sketched in frosted crystal across the dark metal floor, growing to a circle of complexity she could not grasp as it completely surrounded her. Vindatri was muttering more incomprehensible phrases as he did so: “Manigtur enzing tralenzor ul…”

  The symbology abruptly spiraled up from the floor, enclosing her in a moving column of runes and letters and sigils composed of pure rainbow luminance. “…merma pezimfel nonash…”

  A pressure, an expansion, so painful and yet so wonderful that she screamed—

  And the universe screamed with her.

  Chapter 30

  “Where are we going?” DuQuesne asked. Orphan had been moving ahead of him, leading the way with assured speed that told DuQuesne that the Leader of the Liberated knew where he was going.

  “A particular area of Halintratha which I have visited, and I believe you will find of great interest,” Orphan said, opening a door and beginning to climb down the ladder thus revealed.

  “In what way?”

  “You shall see.”

  DuQuesne reached the bottom and started after Orphan. The lighting here was dim, emanating from strips high on the curved ceilings, and something about the material of the tunnels deadened sound; it was uncomfortably quiet. At a four-way intersection, Orphan halted so suddenly that he nearly bumped the tall alien; Orphan’s right arm, extended back in an obvious cautionary gesture, touched DuQuesne’s arm for an instant.

  In the distance DuQuesne heard a faint movement, but for a few seconds he couldn’t focus on it; he was too surprised by another fact:

  Orphan had placed something on him in that momentary brush; something on his forearm. DuQuesne didn’t dare look; if he guessed right about what was going on, giving away
that he’d noticed anything could be bad news. At least my mind’s shielded. Not that Vindatri’s tried anything since that one brush.

  The movement, a faint whispering, rushing noise, was fading, becoming more distant. He waited until he saw Orphan relax, then folded his arms. “Well? What was that?”

  “I confess, I am not certain, Doctor DuQuesne. But when I do not recognize something, I prefer to avoid it until I have an opportunity to study it at a comfortable distance. Even here, I should note; Halintratha is safe for Vindatri, but I cannot say that this is true for visitors.”

  His fingers had found the object under cover of folding his arms. It was small, flat, with a feel of metal and plastic; with practiced skill at sleight-of-hand, he conveyed it to a safer location within his clothing. Check it out later. “You’re saying this exploration jaunt isn’t safe?”

  “I am saying it may not be.” A scissoring wing motion. “In honesty, I believe that Vindatri does not, perhaps, fully comprehend the limitations of those of us less ancient and powerful.”

  “I got you.” That wasn’t a huge surprise; a lot of people tended to assume that other people were pretty much like them, so extend that attitude for a few thousand years and add in overwhelming power and you’d easily have someone like Vindatri, or even worse. “How far is this place we’re going?”

  “Not much farther. I hope to reach it and then begin our return before our host has completed his work with Captain Austin.”

  DuQuesne raised an eyebrow even as he felt himself smiling. “You’re hoping Ariane’s got him distracted.”

  “If anything could do so, I would expect it to be the Captain and her most extraordinary story, yes …and even more so her power, if he chooses to release the seals that the Faith and Shadeweavers placed upon her. And this area I have only seen once, with Vindatri, and he only gave me a short glimpse, a few moments to wander and be amazed. Nonetheless, I have been there once, so I am hoping that—especially with the master focused on something else—we will be able to enter on our own.”

  This must be one hell of a thing he wants to show me. Or maybe it’s not quite that important, but it’s good enough as a cover for him to give me …whatever the hell the thing is he gave me. The two emerged from the corridor into a huge, canyon-like space, strata of pipes and cables criss-crossing walls stretching upward to be lost in distant shadow. Ceiling’s at least a hundred meters up, I’d guess, since even using my best vision I can’t catch a hint of it. This place’s design makes no goddamn sense that I can see, and it’s giving me the blue screaming willies, as Rich would’ve said. Feels like a horror-sim set.

  “Now, where was …ah!” Orphan gave a leap, assisted by his wings, and landed on a small platform that had been nearly invisible, ten meters above. The alien glanced down with a challenging tilt to his head.

  DuQuesne measured the distance and angle, then took a running jump that cleared three meters vertically, bounced off the opposite wall six meters away and three meters higher, then ricocheted from that wall back, flipping in midair to land feet-first right next to Orphan. “How’s that?”

  “No less than I would have expected from you—but still, impressive, Doctor DuQuesne.” DuQuesne could now see they were standing in front of a door. “We are very near, now,” Orphan went on, touching the door; it slid away vertically. “Now—if we do gain access—I would like to first point out that you would have likely never found this location on your own, so if you do find what I show you of …significant interest—”

  “—we’ll owe you some information of equal interest. Or something else. Don’t worry, Orphan, I know the drill and you’d love us to owe you something.”

  “As you prefer having me in your debt? Naturally, Doctor. Then let us proceed.”

  The corridor here was smooth and featureless, and had two more doors—thick, heavy doors—across it that also opened at Orphan’s touch.

  A final door, however, refused to budge. Orphan gazed at it for a long moment, then gave a wing-snap shrug. “Well, Doctor, it appears you will not owe me—”

  The floor shuddered under them, and DuQuesne felt as though the entire station, all of Halintratha, was tilting beneath him. A thrumming vibration transmitted itself through the very walls and floor.

  “Ah!” Orphan said, a note of hope in his voice. He touched the door again.

  This time the door slid aside without hesitation, even as the lights flickered unnervingly. “It appears that our host has unlocked the seal, and I suspect is discovering that—as has so often been the case—your Captain is not nearly so easy to handle as he thought,” Orphan said cheerfully. “Come, quickly!”

  We’re kilometers from that room. But then, when Ariane first Awakened, it shook Nexus Arena itself. “All right, Orphan, but this won’t do us much good if the whole station comes apart around…”

  The light had grown brighter—despite occasional flickers—but that was not what made Marc C. DuQuesne trail off in mid-sentence.

  Before him—arranged in row upon row, ranks ordered as precisely as a military formation, were alien figures. Hundreds, thousands, maybe tens of thousands, all standing, sitting, squatting in perfect poses.

  Not ten meters away was a Blessed to Serve, wings tight and arms and legs bent in a combat pose DuQuesne remembered well from their first encounter. Near him was an irregular, rocky something that he thought must be one of the very rare silicon-based lifeforms Orphan had mentioned once or twice; farther in he saw a Wagamia, standing with arms spread wide, like Doctor Relgof in one of his transports of enthusiasm; a Chiroflekir with its blue-green translucence was visible nearby. Far to his left he thought he saw a Daelmokhan, massive torso rising high above its neighbors, but while he recognized a good number of these figures, by far the larger number were completely unknown.

  Another shudder ran through the structure of Halintratha, and a sparkle of light rippled through solid walls and beams as though they were water, a ringing of crystalline bells following the luminance. Ariane’s putting on a hell of a show. I sure hope this show doesn’t end with a BANG, so to speak.

  But since there wasn’t anything he could do about that …“All right, Orphan, this is a hell of a museum, but what—”

  “Hurry, Doctor DuQuesne!” Orphan was on the move, sprinting down the lines toward the far-distant side of the room.

  He shrugged and then sprinted after the Leader of the Liberated, easily gaining distance on him. “What’s the rush?”

  “I do not wish to be in this room once his attention can be focused again. Admittedly, he may be monitoring this room in other ways, but I do not see any cameras or similar devices, nor do I detect any …and it seems counter to the way I know Vindatri does things. It is my hope, therefore, that he will not know we have entered here. Or, at least, that he will feel obligated to pretend he does not know.”

  That fits with my gut. I don’t want to be caught anywhere that was locked before he got distracted—because the lock might go back on with me inside.

  Even less did he want to get caught inside a room that looked like a futuristic waxworks. Right now I’m feeling way too much like I’m in a space-operatic version of Bluebeard, and we’ve just unlocked the wrong door. Sure, these are probably models, he thought as he passed a Rodeskri—one of Nyanthus’ people—with tendrils spread and symbiotes frozen in mid-flight about it. But maybe they’re a lot closer to life than that.

  Deep-purple sparks writhed down the walls, then back up, vanishing into the ceiling with a smell of smoke and ozone. “That emergency seal in the Arena took what, about four, five minutes?”

  “That would fit my recollection, yes. And yes, I am using that as my estimate for how long we dare take.” Orphan slowed, as they were approaching the far side, the last ranks of the assembled multitude of silent figures. “There, Doctor DuQuesne.”

  Marc C. DuQuesne looked, and stumbled to an incredulous halt. At the far end of the assembly—where he somehow guessed this entire array had begun—were
two figures.

  One was the red-black jagged outline of a Molothos, fighting-claws raised, lamprey-grinder mouth open to scream or rend.

  But the other, standing at the very beginning of the line—the first of all, DuQuesne thought—was utterly unlike the rest. Where the others were detailed as life itself, in poses so realistic that they seemed merely frozen in an instant of motion, this figure was …a sketch, a smoke-grey glassy silhouette in three dimensions, with only hints of features. It did not tower over the others; indeed, the nearby Molothos loomed above it and outmassed it by several times.

  But still DuQuesne stopped, and stared. “Holy Mother of God…”

  For stylized and bereft of details though it was, the figure that faced him was human.

  Or humanoid, he corrected himself. There weren’t enough details for him to be certain it was human. But there were hints of eyes—two of them—and other contours that hinted strongly at a human face. There were two arms and two legs and no tail, and the arms had five-fingered hands with opposable thumbs; the feet, too, looked very human.

  “You saw this before?”

  “I caught a very brief glimpse of it on my prior visit,” Orphan said. “I could tell there was something odd about that figure, but Vindatri called me back before I could go anywhere near enough to be sure what it was. But the shape—half-seen—stayed somewhere in my mind. After we first met, I had a vague sensation of having seen your species somewhere before. At first I dismissed it as being associated with the Wagamia or a few other similar species, but eventually I recalled this incident and wondered if I recalled correctly.” He surveyed the enigmatic statue. “It seems I recalled even more truly than I had thought.”