by Spoor,Ryk E
Vindatri’s appearance was not human …but it was so close to human that it passed ordinary belief. Long, pure-white hair framed a face whose features were too sharp and delicate for an ordinary human; his eyes were a brilliant red, and his skin grayish in tint; his ears were long, large, and pointed. Yet for all that it was a face easily imagined among the various body-modded natives of Earth system.
“Holy moley,” DuQuesne said finally. “Is the rest of you that human?”
“Or the rest of you that Halinthi? Yes.”
“A most peculiar conundrum,” Orphan said after a moment. “Such a close parallel seems exceedingly unlikely.”
“Even more unlikely than it appears,” said Vindatri. “For my scrutiny of this ‘human’ species shows that we share not merely exterior, but interior, and even chemical, similarities beyond easy belief.”
“I’ll be damned,” Ariane said. “So where’s the rest of your people?”
Vindatri’s eyes narrowed, then he looked down. “Gone. We share other similarities, humans and Halinthi, you see. We also appeared in the Arena amidst tumultuous times, and made great strides in so short a period that other factions stood amazed, some perhaps afraid; and it was whispered that, perhaps, we might be the Canajara.
“And then—in a time almost as short as our rise—we were cast down. The hands of others were raised against us, and our fortunes began to turn, even though we had …unique and powerful secrets of our own. Enemies of our own making, of our own people, arranged much of our downfall.
“But there were other …events, forces, that spoke to me of something darker, frightening and powerful. Whispers of things seen that could not be easily described, of Spheres left bare and dead, of madness stalking unchecked through the crew of entire fleets. Things that even I, Vindatri, could not trace.”
He gestured around them. “I found Halintratha in my youth, a secret, a conundrum, a refuge and a mystery that I kept for myself. And perhaps that is the only thing that saved me, for when death—a death I shall not describe, not even here—came for me, I fled, my strength barely adequate even for escape, and came here; and the shadows of the void did not pursue me here.”
Ariane stared at him. “But …if this force was so powerful that it could pursue people across the Arena, why stop here? What does it mean?”
“I cannot say for sure; but I spent millennia piecing together fragments of knowledge, and I learned one other thing. Those who first built Halintratha—and a few other ruins hidden across the Arena—also stood on two legs, as did we, with a head and eyes and mouth and hands much like our own.
“And they, too, disappeared without a trace in what must have been a cosmic blink of an eye.”
She felt a cold prickle of gooseflesh across her body. “Holy crap. You mean that the other species are basically left alone, but humanoids—people like you and me…”
“…seem to draw some sort of unwanted attention, yes,” Vindatri said, with a bitter smile at the understatement. “But if the prophecy is true …perhaps that is no great surprise. The Canajara is a tale of hope and terror; those who fear might wish to prevent it, and those who hope may have enemies indeed.”
Ariane nodded. “Still …That doesn’t explain everything you did here. If you don’t want to be our enemy, I think you owe us one hell of an apology.”
“For tampering with your mind? For arranging the battle itself? Perhaps. But I did what I did to know you, as best I could, for I had much to fear—even I, Vindatri, had much to fear, and not just for myself.
DuQuesne frowned, then nodded. “Go on.”
“I had hints of your …uniqueness, of capabilities that Orphan had glimpsed yet did not understand, and under those other capacities that even he did not dream existed. I had, too, the prophecies of the Canajara, and—from Orphan’s testimony—I suspected that your people might well be the Canajara incarnate.”
Vindatri gazed around the group. “Perhaps you do not understand—cannot grasp—the significance of the Canajara to someone like myself. The prophecies of the Canajara are ancient—there were such prophecies long, long before the Halinthi became First Emergents, and though the way and detail of expression has changed from era to era, the nature of the Canajara’s people has not: they have twin aspects of creation and destruction, of saviors or destroyers, and it is implied—throughout all versions of the Canajara—that individuals of that species will be the ones who precipitate the event called the Canajara; if for good, possibly an apotheosis of all, an ascension to something so great and wonderful that even all the words I have learned in my lifetime could not describe the smallest aspect of it, but if for evil, the opposite—a torment and destruction beyond any imagination.
“Thus, I had to know if you might indeed be the ones destined to bring the Canajara—and if you proved to be the dark aspect of the Canajara prophecy, to do what I could to restrain or destroy you. Understand well, Captain Austin, Doctor DuQuesne, Sun Wu Kung—the darker aspect of the Canajara, fully contemplated, is enough to send fear through even the heart of one such as myself.”
“I wasn’t sure if you could read our minds directly or not,” Ariane said.
“I could read surface thoughts and some deeper emotional impressions, and in guiding your thoughts I also learned much—though I had to proceed with considerable caution. I knew that even these actions would undoubtedly be met with …no great joy. And I did not wish to damage you in any way, if you proved to be no threat. As soon as I saw you I knew there was a kinship between us, and I feared that, whether you might be the Canajara, that the same forces might seek your end that sought that of my people.”
Ariane looked at him skeptically. “What exactly could you learn from ‘guiding’ my thoughts, as you put it?”
Vindatri’s smile was a flash—there and gone. “I could not—dared not—probe deeply. But what I could do was attempt to change your attitudes and guide your behavior, and observe what you resisted most.”
DuQuesne’s eyebrow rose. “Huh. All right, yeah, that’s clever. It’s easy to get her to be reasonable and from that to be trusting, but making her unreasoningly hostile or murderous would be almost impossible. And you don’t have to probe deep to feel the resistance.”
“And that was, indeed, what I discovered. Captain Austin had little indeed of malice in her, and a vital humility—one I could even sense in you, although from our battle I now assume that all I could do to you was what you permitted. Sun Wu Kung was certainly capable of immense violence, but he also seemed to harbor no malevolence as such, while he did incorporate a tremendous loyalty and code of honor. I saw you, Doctor DuQuesne, reflected in the responses both had towards you, and by this I knew who you appeared to be. I also had Orphan’s detailed reports on your behavior in his presence to draw upon.
“Ultimately, therefore, I decided that, if you were the Canajara species, the three of you represented the best of your people.”
“Well, of course the Captain is!” Wu Kung said emphatically. “But if you figured that out, why the battle at all?”
“Because,” Vindatri said, settling himself gingerly on a large, flat block of tumbled deckplating, “Benevolence is not sufficient. Besides the more obvious uncertainties in your future, there was the enigma of my unknown enemies. I knew I could trust you morally. But I did not know if you were truly sufficiently formidable that I could trust you practically. I need allies, and—I believe—so will you.
“But I do not need allies that I would have to spend my life protecting.” His face was suddenly overspread with a grim sadness. “I failed to protect my own people, in great part because I was but one being. I …my spirit would not dare take such a responsibility again unless my allies had their own strengths, abilities that might give our shadowy adversaries at least as much pause as my own.”
“So you had to find out whether we had enough of what it takes to run in your league,” DuQuesne said. “I guess that makes sense. So, do we?”
Now Vindatri t
hrew back his head and laughed—a laugh that also showed no little pain in the way he winced. “Judge for yourselves,” he said finally, and gestured.
For an instant the figure before them shimmered, and the cloak faded—to show a body that must be on the edge of death, legs gone, one arm missing, blackened for most of its extent. The vision faded, returing to show Vindatri as they had always known him, but Ariane knew that what they had seen was the truth. “Jesus, Vindatri! If that’s what you’re like now, how are you even talking to us?”
“The power supports me, makes up for the loss, suppresses most of the pain, substitutes for those parts of the body currently missing. It will be regrown in time.” A sharper smile. “Even had my body been utterly destroyed, I myself would not have died; I have bound my self—my soul if you believe in such things, my data backup if you do not—to Halintratha, so unless you had utterly destroyed this station, I would, eventually, have been reborn.”
Vindatri glanced in Orphan’s direction. “In the end, it was also Orphan’s actions that decided me. You had gained the loyalty and trust of one who had, literally, thousands of years of reasons to avoid extending either very far. Yet Orphan, after only a few moments of terror, chose to return, to confront me alongside you, no matter the risk to himself—and he knew well that it might be a fatal risk.
“I have known Orphan for many centuries—and studied him in far more detail than he knew. Perhaps there are monsters within your ranks, Captain Austin—given the prophecy, I would say certainly there are. But if the Canajara truly refers to you—and I believe it does—you and your friends represent its species at its brightest and best.”
He bowed. “I apologize for the methods and the offense. But I do not apologize for the ultimate test of your power and character.”
“Huh,” DuQuesne said, a pensive look on his face. “Then some of your prior rants were pure posturing, I think.”
“Chosen for a specific effect, yes.”
“We needed to think we were up against someone dangerously unstable, so that if any of us had a likelihood of bailing on the others, we’d do it,” Ariane said slowly.
“That was certainly part of the test, yes. And sheer power was another part, one which,” he gestured to his lower half, “you passed with startling facility. It is true that I survived the assault …but far from unscathed, and I am, after all, vastly older than all of you combined. I am much encouraged by such might in ones so young and unfamiliar …and still mystified by how it is possible.”
DuQuesne nodded. “You’re still not getting all of that explanation yet. Okay, Vindatri—so what’s your angle now?”
“My …angle? You mean my intent?” Vindatri suddenly smiled, and it, like Wu Kung’s, was a smile punctuated by very sharp canines. “These forces destroyed my people. They left me alone in the universe. No matter their motives or justifications, they are my enemies. And, I believe, they are or will be yours.
“So my intent is to give you assistance—from Halintratha—when no other aid will serve. I dare not tip my hand often, for I suspect these forces will be extremely displeased at my survival—but perhaps—just perhaps—it will be enough to prevent your people from suffering the same fate as my own.”
At Ariane’s astonished look, he smiled; it was not, entirely, a comforting expression. “And I am afraid that you require that assistance now.”
Chapter 50
Captain Fitzhugh turned to glare at him in surprise. “Doctor Sandrisson? What the hell are you doing back here?”
“The better to watch things from, Captain. I will return to the shuttle if our ship is damaged at any point.”
Fitzhugh rolled his eyes. “Colonel Abrams, I thought your job was to keep him from risking himself.”
Oasis smiled sympathetically. “It is, sir. But…”
“Do you realize that the first time we are ‘damaged’ may also be the last?” the Captain demanded. “This is an all-out war and—Oh, Jesus.”
Simon’s eyes flicked to the display just in time to see Nayanazgeni split apart and vanish into vapor and fragments as her super-conducting storage coils were severed, releasing all their energy in a single instant.
“Antonia! Dammit, no!” Hawke said. His hands twitched on the controls.
“Nothing we can do, Hawke,” Fitzhugh said, a brittle tone in his voice. “If anyone survived, all we can hope is they stay out of the way.”
“Someone you know was on board Nayanazgeni?” Simon asked quietly.
“I know all the pilot-navigators on these ships,” Hawke said, a dark intensity in his tone. “And a lot of the ones in the fighters we’ve got. Where do you think me and Ariane and Vel recruited them from? Unlimited Space, Air, and Ground Racing, that’s where.”
“I’m sorry, Hawke,” Fitzhugh said. “But we’re all like that. Only ten warships …eight, now …in the whole Human fleet. I know all their captains, most of their officers, a lot of the men and women at all levels.” He glanced around the bridge, obviously looking at the ones he knew best, his own crew, and Simon could see the worry in the creases of the man’s long face. “We’ll lose a lot of good people. We’ve already lost them. So, please, Simon,” he turned back to Sandrisson, “get back to the shuttle.”
Simon smiled sympathetically. “I know it will sound …well, crazy, but it actually is safer for me to stay here for now.”
It had taken a few moments of arguing, but it had been Oasis’—K’s—own words that had crystallized the realization. He and Oasis wouldn’t really have the protection of her Hyperion nature unless they were in the right position. In other words, last-minute, impossible escapes from death. Sitting in a shuttle, waiting to push a button? That didn’t fit, and might well end up with a lucky shot from the Molothos blowing Andraste to kingdom come, and them along with it.
But standing on the bridge and seeing death come for them? A desperate run through a ship coming apart in battle? That would fit her Hyperion past to perfection. So—paradoxically—he was almost certainly safer here, more than three hundred fifty meters through multiple corridors from the nearest shuttle, than he was if he stayed inside the shuttle.
Fitzhugh’s expression showed he didn’t believe a word of it, so Simon added, “Captain …let’s just say this also comes from the same source as my …unique intelligence on the combat situation.” He closed his eyes, rose to transcendence, looked a moment. “And warn everyone on our Sphere; there is a force of Molothos who have broken off under cover of that distant cloudbank and are heading for an attack on the ground-based forces.”
“What? How many? What’s their vector?”
“About …one hundred fifty vessels. Location and direction…” Simon used his headware to send the data directly to Marie Leingod, Andraste’s tactical specialist.
A dozen Molothos warships exploded almost simultaneously, but at the same time one—no, two—Analytic vessels broke up and detonated. The Analytic is fighting well, but they will be bearing the brunt of the fight. And they are falling fast.
“Hachiman, you’re somehow ridiculously faster than everyone else, and Athena, you’re nearest, get the hell down there and try to keep those bugs off our boys! Relgof, can you—”
“We see the situation. Otrebla Evaw’Kohs, join your battle force with theirs!”
Fifteen Analytic warships, with attendant fighters, broke off from the main battle and streaked towards the Sphere of Humanity.
Simon felt Oasis’ hand gripping his and tightening as the battle raged on. So far Andraste was unscathed, but the sky was filled with Molothos warships and fighters and dotted with desperate defenders. With a morbid curiosity and a feeling of irrational responsibility, Simon let his perceptions rise, looking, watching that desperation, the heroism and hopelessness of the defenders, Triglav, Ogun, Menhit…
Menhit spiraled and twisted and dove, primary beams stabbing left and right, up and down, and the dark, angular ships of the enemy were cut and punctured, twirling out of control or disappearing in
blasts whose concussions could be heard hundreds of miles away through the atmosphere of the Arena. Three ships, five, seven, and fighters of the Molothos too, evaporating before Menhit’s energy cannon and hypervelocity point defense like insects alighting on a wire, but suddenly Menhit wobbled, an engine gone, half the control surfaces eradicated by a too-close superconductor loop warhead, and three more Molothos warships caught it, heaped fire upon it.
Simon gasped and tore his vision away, shaking, feeling Oasis catch him. “Simon, what …? ”
“Saw …watching the battle, I saw it. Saw the fire race through the corridors, tearing steel and men and women apart, vaporizing them, or sending them spinning away into the void,” he whispered. “And the Molothos, too, shattering, withering like ants under a magnifying glass.”
Belatedly he realized what he was saying and looked up, but Oasis was the only one paying attention to him; Captain Fitzhugh and the rest of the crew were focused entirely on survival.
“Crap, Simon, don’t do that,” Oasis said. “War and fighting’s bad enough as it is when you see it normally. Watching everyone, seeing everyone who suffers in it all at once? I couldn’t handle that.” She shivered and shook her head. “It’s bad enough as it is,” she repeated. “Don’t punish yourself like this.”
“But—”
“It’s not your fault. It’s the Molothos’ fault. Yeah, these people wouldn’t be up here fighting now if it wasn’t for you; instead the Molothos would’ve just have come here, wiped out all our ships and stations without warning, and they’d own our Sphere. At least now they have to work for it.”
“And they are,” Simon said. “But so are we.”
Dajzail braced his legs, feeling the ship tilt and shudder as a superconducting warhead detonated a scant hundred meters from Claws of Vengeance. Alarms screamed briefly before being silenced. It is at least a satisfaction that the source of that missile has been obliterated.
“Damage report!” Ship-Master Fathinalak demanded.
