Rhythm of the Imperium - eARC

by Jody Lynn Nye

  During the final days of our transit, my cousins and I fell into a comfortable routine designed to keep us amused. Laine, Madame Deirdre, Nalney’s fencing instructor, Sinim’s master storyteller, Erita’s art master, and all the other experts we had paid to accompany us came into their own during this time. We were hungry for information and entertainment, although if truth be told, we would retain neither for very long.

  The instructors schooled us in dance, saber fighting, the art of telling a compelling anecdote (I excelled at this, of course), cooking, handcrafts, improvisational humor, painting, sculping, beadwork, martial arts, and a host of other interests, going onto the next entertainment just before the previous one palled. When Laine was available, she told us stories of her life traveling with the Zang. Jil and I kept up on our favorite tri-dee program, Ya!, an imported costume drama from the Uctu Autocracy that had been running for hundreds of years. The others watched over our shoulders with varying degrees of interest. Madame Deirdre and I kept in shape by presenting daily performances based upon a subject or a story proposed by my cousins and sister. Erita argued with everyone in turn, allowing those not strictly involved a rousing spectator sport. I was forced to admit how short our collective attention spans were. It was a wonder that we had not yet driven the crew insane.

  Every evening after a sumptuous, multi-course dinner, we settled in the day room and watched one of Erita’s digitavids of previous known works of the Zang. Each of us had claimed a favorite. Mine was of a particularly misshapen planetoid orbiting a quadruple red star cluster that split into four pieces before being vaporized. On the other hand, Nell clamored for the most recent recording, taken in a system of many rocky worlds and a couple of colorful gas giants.

  On one fortune-starred evening, I sat with Laine curled up against me on the plum velvet-covered couch, our fingers entwined intimately. She had been set free of her job as Kail-interpreter by virtue of the fact that Ambassador Melarides had talked Phutes and his siblings into an evening reception. I shuddered to imagine what offense the Kail would take at polite queries that wouldn’t even make a human raise her eyebrows. For our part, we had consumed an excellent supper, accompanied by wines that Xan had discovered on Taruandula, and had settled down with those retainers who had not managed to beg off. Laine’s small, slippered feet were curled upon the cushion beside me, and she nestled against me like a kitten. I reveled in the closeness, enjoying the feel of her skin, the scent of her hair, the gentle curves pressed against my side. Together, we watched the recording of the spectacle. I had seen it numerous times, but she had not. As it unfolded, she let out occasional squeals of delight that pleased my heart even as they shocked my ears. My cousins, gracefully, pretended not to hear.

  Nell’s digitavid had been enlarged so the walls of the large room disappeared in the inky blackness of space. We sat in the center of an arena that had been recorded by over a thousand camera drones set in every angle of the solar system that the Zang had targeted.

  “Targeted is a really unfair term,” Laine argued, as the cameras focused on the sphere in question, a dwarf planet with an irregular orbit that brought it perilously close to the inner, rocky worlds, two of which had the bright blue aura of habitable planets. “They are artists of the greatest and most extreme caliber.”

  “Really,” Xan commented. He had chosen to lie on the rug directly underneath the doomed planetoid. It was possibly the only angle from which he had not watched this particular recording. “Of all the things that an elder race is potentially capable of, I would never have picked the term ‘artistic’ out of a list of potential adjectives.”

  “I promise you, that’s what it is,” Laine said. “Theirs is an art form no other species has ever practiced, although the old practice of bonsai comes the closest, but it’s not identical.

  Of my ancient human ancestors on long-lost Earth, some who lived on a small archipelago in the north ocean had been the creators of that delicate rendering. The Zang are so much older than humankind that I can only imagine that the ancient Terrans must have intuited it from them. This is far different, because while the little tree only becomes more beautiful in and of itself, the system that the Zang change becomes more beautiful and more functional.”

  Her words definitely changed the way that I watched the recording. Though the actual event had unfolded over the course of nearly two weeks, the vid had been speeded up so that it lasted little more than an hour from its trembling onset to the explosive conclusion. I tried to determine why the Zang had chosen this solar array, and how they came to understand or believe that this “tree” was to their inscrutable minds less than ideal. It looked very ordinary to me. If not for the Zang’s attention, it would have escaped my attention even if I had lived as long as they did.

  The space around each of the planets was almost supernally clear. Over time, the Zang must have trimmed away extraneous asteroid belts, even removing entire planets, until the sun and its remaining satellites formed a breathtakingly beautiful gem in space. The only flaw that remained was this sad little rock.

  How they did it, neither I nor any of the experts whose texts and digitavids I perused could say. They had only empirical evidence, the experience itself, without explanation. As far as anyone could tell, the Zang brought the force of their will upon a heavenly body. It became surrounded with and suffused by a brilliant light too hot to look upon, then it was gone. Onlookers had stated, in scientific journals and “being-on-the-spot” interviews, that they had been subject to waves of force billowing outward from the place where the removed body had been, but none knew absolutely where it had gone. Speculation was rife that the planetoids were thrust from our universe into a nearby one, but no living creature except perhaps the Zang themselves could shed further light upon that truth, and they did not speak directly to anyone but one another.

  As in this event, the cameras occasionally turned from the spectacle itself to the perpetrators. Although they permitted other species to observe them performing this astonishing feat, the Zang often passed by their visitors, seeming almost unaware of their presence. A crowd of humans wearing Trade Union tunics clustered around the shining pillars, gasping in astonishment at the marvel before them.

  “My uncle Laurence had said he had once witnessed the disappearance of a gas giant and its ten attendant moons,” I told Laine. “He said he stood in the midst of the cluster of Zang. The onlookers said it had to have been a fake.”

  “I was there,” Laine said, with a grin. “How could it be faked? Witnesses flew ships through the space where the gas giant had been. So, where would the planets have gone? How could they possibly be concealed?”

  “That’s what I thought,” I said. I had no doubt that Uncle Laurence told me the truth. I believed nearly everything he told me, except that when he said that he had visited Old Earth. No one knew precisely where our ancient homeworld lay. Careless of humanity to mislay it, but there it was. How often had I walked out of a door on a space station or on a strange planet and been unable to divine, upon turning around, where I had come from? I supposed that humankind had done exactly the same thing upon leaving that branch of Mutter’s Spiral. We simply did not leave enough benchmarks behind us, so much in a hurry were we to issue forth among the stars. There was no pressing need to return; after all, we had found Earth-class planets in sufficiency to settle and prosper, leaving behind many of the problems that we had created on our homeworld.

  “I heard that story from Uncle Laurence, too,” Nell said. “But it must have happened thirty years ago.”

  Laine smiled. “It might have been. I lose track of time.”

  I opened my mouth to ask her age, but was distracted by Xan.

  “Wait for it,” he said, drawing our attention back to the digitavid with an excitedly pointing finger. The doomed sphere’s tremble had become an earthquake. “Five minutes to destruction!”

  “Oh, Xan,” Erita said, with a bored wave. “We’ve seen it a million times.”

&n
bsp; “Not like this,” I said. “Not when we are mere light years from seeing it for ourselves.”

  A brilliant glow suffused the room, overwhelming the tri-dee projector. Automatically, the mechanism strengthened its multiple beams, to compensate. Into the midst of this, the Zang floated, majestically, almost dreamily, a pillar of moonlight in the darkness of space. We all sat up straight.

  Xan jumped up out of its way, putting his head through the image of the doomed planetoid. He stared, wide-eyed, at the newcomer. We all rose to our feet. The recording stopped in mid-tremble.

  “What’s it doing here?” Rillion asked, agape.

  “Just taking a look around,” Laine said, with a wave. She stopped for a moment as though listening. I held still, waiting for the touch of its energy. “Proton is curious about everything humans do. It wants to see what you do.”

  “Welcome, elder being,” Xan said, sweeping it a majestic bow. “I am Lord Xanson Kinago, of the Imperium house.”

  It glowed at him. Instead of the massive sweep of energy, it emitted a sensation that made me think of feeling an eddy in a pool.

  “Goodness!” Nalney said, agog. “Did it just say ‘hello’?”

  “It’s curious about you all,” Laine repeated. “Just go on as if it wasn’t here.”

  “Well, I suppose we could,” Nell said, although she sounded uncertainn. “Would it . . . like some refreshments? I feel bad eating and drinking in front of guests.”

  “No, thanks,” Laine said, on its behalf. “It doesn’t eat our kind of food.”

  The lift chimed, indicating that a car had arrived from another level. I turned to see just as the door opened. To my surprise and not a little annoyance, the trio of Kail piled out of it. The contrast between the majesty and grace of the Zang and the clumsy fury of the silicon-based aliens could not have been more extreme. They seemed so awkward in present company that I felt sorry for them. I wanted to try and make them feel at home. Reaching for my viewpad, I prepared to turn on the latest piece of music to which I had choreographed a dance, then realized the Zang was present. Disappointed, I let my hand drop.

  “Should we . . . withdraw?” Xan asked, watching them warily. Though we had had to dodge them frequently on other levels, including on the crew’s cabin deck, this was the first time they had come to our room. They had spent most of their time marauding between their own allotted cabins and the Zang’s echoing chamber. They had not penetrated as far as our quarters before this moment.

  “They don’t move as swiftly as we do,” I said, eyeing them as well. “Steady, then. We may have to play them in a game of hide-and-seek.”

  The way my cousins perked up reassured me that they had made note of the cosy fastnesses that I had carefully led them to over the course of the last few weeks. I felt confident that if we had to outrun the Kail now, we would be able to conceal ourselves where they could never find us. We all sat, poised, ready to flee at the least suggestion of hostility. They were not armed, but they were far stronger than we were.

  Luckily, this was not the beginning of an onslaught.

  “Good evening, my ladies and lords!” Special Envoy Melarides moved out from behind Phutes, whose stony bulk had entirely concealed her from our view. We relaxed, Nalney with an audible sigh. “I was speaking to the Kail in the cargo level, when the Zang moved away. Security informed me that this was where it had come, so the Kail followed it here. I trust that you don’t mind our intrusion?”

  “Not at all,” Xan said, lifting his chin. “A pleasure to see you, ambassador.”

  “Thank you, Lord Xanson,” Melarides said.

  The Kail grunted out a few noises, which were translated for him by NR-111. I fancied that I recognized yet a third housing that the poor translator had been forced into because of the abuse by the Kail.

  “We came because the Zang is here.”

  Behind them, the entire consular staff crowded into the room. They looked even more uncomfortable than the miserable Kail. Though they had been schooled to behave with aplomb in nearly any circumstances, following one set of visitors who clearly did not want anything to do with them into the presence of another visitor with whom they did want to interact, all the while interrupting the evening’s entertainment of a large group of the noble house, tried the diplomats sorely. I felt deep sympathy for them, as did my cousins and sister. Behind them was a coterie of guards, with full armor and helmets as well as gelatin guns and other, more fearsome-looking armaments.

  “Well, this is quite a party!” I said.

  I started forward, but Nell was fleeter of foot. She reached the visitors two paces ahead of me. Careful not to touch the newcomers, she beckoned them into the starlit circle.

  “Welcome,” she said, with a bright smile. “Please come in. We were just watching a digitavid of the Zang’s works of art. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

  Phutes growled at her, but NR-111 translated it in a friendlier vein.

  “If the Zang wishes to participate, we will stay.”

  “That is very good of you,” I said. I looked to the Zang to see if it was pleased or displeased by their insistence. It merely hummed. “May I offer you some refreshments?”

  “No! We do not eat your slime comestibles.”

  As I was accustomed to the Kail’s uncouth ways, I did not take offense. The same could not be said for my relatives, but they suppressed their feelings in favor of the greater good of the Imperium. Her restraint did not stop Erita from emitting one telling sniff.

  “Well, you don’t mind if we have some?” Xan gave them a pleasant smile. They honked and grunted. NR-111 refrained from repeating their words in Standard. Nothing good could have come of the turn of Kail invective that we had all learned they were capable. We knew what they thought of us. Sticks and stones, I reminded myself, making sure they kept a good distance from Nell.

  We made way for them on the divans and settees, but the Kail crowded into the center of the room, as close to the chilly tower of the Zang as they could get. Since the Kail did not sit, the diplomats did not alight either. I duly offered beverages and small delicacies, but Melarides signed with a gentle hand that none of them would partake. Politely, I withdrew. Nell signaled to the recorder to continue.

  With the Zang present, I had a new appreciation for the event unfolding around us. The doomed planetoid recommenced rumbling. Its surface began to heave and shake as if it was terrified of its impending fate. The Zang turned slowly until its large silver eyes faced the image of the stony sphere.

  We all gasped as the tongue of energy touched us all. It had a more questing sense than the gentle push that the Zang had used shortly before. The Kail let out eager grunts. With the feeling that we were more part of the event than in the dozens of times we had viewed it before, our eyes fixed upon the spheroid, now seeming to expand and contract in a desperate pulse.

  The heaving reached its crescendo, and the throbbing sphere cracked and exploded. The shards of glowing rock should have shot outward, but within a few hundred kilometers, all the fragments dissipated into nothingness. Every one of us heaved in a deep breath, touched by the tragedy of a dead planetoid, though we had no connection with it and never would.

  Laine laughed. The sharp sound impacted upon the eardrums as the seeming callousness of the outburst.

  “I beg your pardon,” I said, surprised at her inappropriateness. “What do you find amusing about the destruction of this object? It seems almost pathetic. How can it make you laugh?”

  “It’s not all of you,” she said. “It’s Proton’s reaction. It’s disappointed! This recording doesn’t give off the shock waves of the real thing. Can’t you sense it? And it doesn’t feel that this was the Zang’s best work.”

  That self-denigration interested me enough to cast off the momentary pall of mourning. “It criticizes its own art that severely?”

  “Amazingly,” Laine assured me. “They are more critical of their own actions than any other species I have ever met. Much mor
e than any scholar I know, or any other artist. That’s why I respect them as much as I do.”

  “They take it that seriously?” Nell asked.

  Laine nodded eagerly. “They don’t take on any project lightly. They have to be convinced that they are improving a system, or they won’t do it. They have a very keen sense of aesthetics.”

  “You get all that from a wave of energy?” Jil asked.

  “Well, when you’ve been with the Zang as long as I have, you learn to read nuances,” Laine said. We all stared at the Zang almost as intently as the Kail were doing.

  “But what does it all mean?” Erita asked. “Art means something. What are they trying to say with the destruction of an existing object? That all matter is fleeting?”

  “If you ask me, it’s a matter of aesthetics,” Laine said. “They are improving the galaxy around them by removing objects that offend them.”

  “Did you enjoy that?” Nell asked the Kail.

  They stood in a small knot at the edge of the carpet. If they had been human, I would have said that their eyes were wide with shock. They let out shrill noises that rose up beyond the range of my hearing and began to sway from side to side. I clapped my hands to my ears.

  “What are they saying?” Leonat asked, her hazel eyes wide with horror. “And can you make them stop?”

  “I beg your pardon,” NR-111 said. “This is their private communication among themselves.”

  The Kail lurched forward. I leaped up and pulled Nell and Laine away from them. Madame Deirdre bounded over and put an arm around my sister. My other relations hastily vacated their seats and edged toward the concealed emergency exits.

  “Please!” Melarides said, holding up both hands. “Don’t be alarmed. Phutes, what is it?”