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About the Author
Copyright Page
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For Rick Cook, who gave me a kick in the butt when I needed it.
And in honor of Jack Vance, Space Opera, and the Tough Luck Jug Band.
Acknowledgments
For Jen Gunnels, for suffering through the various incarnations of this book, and for Martha Millard, for suffering through the various incarnations of my career.
There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.
—Leonard Cohen, “Anthem”
PROLOGUE
Itzpapalotl is a goddess of nightmares.
She’s also a ship belonging to the Weapons Clan, but there’s no reason she can’t be both. Especially once you’ve seen her. A beautiful thing, of inexplicable design (at least to me), she is the home of Bomarigala, a scion of his clan. Medusa and I have come to find him. I’m not sure what we’ll do with him—we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.
We move through that unfamiliar space under Medusa’s power, on biometal tentacles that flex and release silently. Her face covers mine like a mask. Together, we see. We hear. We look for the man who almost destroyed everything we have worked for.
We’re not on our home ground, but we haven’t been for some time. We have a secret weapon up our—well, sleeve, though Medusa would require a lot of those. Yet I would be lying if I told you everything is going our way. I have never been so exhausted in my life. I have quite a few old grudges weighing me down. Bomarigala is no easy prey—he is a remnant of the old Empire of Clans. He’s got a lot of syllables in his name, and he earned every single one of them, in places I would not care to tread under anyone’s power, Medusa’s included.
Bomarigala is as old as Gennady Mironenko, the man who made us. He may be older. He persists in a youthful state, with all his powers, all his faculties intact and humming along with dreadful efficiency.
Though we’re expecting dire consequences for our invasion, he takes some of the wind out of my sails when we find him, because Bomarigala is just sitting there, pouring tea into two cups, as if he’s expecting company. When he looks up at us, he smiles. It’s a thin smile, but I’m impressed anyway. Most people would have screamed and tried to run.
“It’s a black tea,” says Bomarigala. “Not very subtle—I like the ones that have some kick to them. If you want cream and sugar, they’re on the tray.” He motions for us to sit with him on his dais, to pick up the antique cup.
I feel grateful that Medusa’s visage covers mine. She is a beautiful predator, with much better focus than I can muster. At this moment, when I should have enjoyed the most clarity, I can’t help pausing to admire the scene he has set for us, in a room as grand and expansive as the court of a Chinese king. He looks like a figure from an ancient silk painting, dressed in Hanfu, his hair a black curtain.
I think Medusa expects me to say something pertinent at this point. When I miss my cue, she steps into the breach.
“You just had to wake them,” she says. “With no second thoughts about the consequences.”
Bomarigala lifts one eyebrow. “Oh, I assure you, there have been plenty of second thoughts about the consequences of waking the Three—but we committed ourselves long ago, and we can’t afford to have doubts.”
Medusa pauses, waiting for me to make my own commitment. I fail again.
Bomarigala, an ancient person wearing a young face, sees right through me. “So tell me, Oichi—what are your doubts?”
Oh—that is the right question. My doubts. I have a lot more of them now than I did when I started.
Let me tell you all about them.
PART ONE
WATCH OUT—THEY BITE
1
Establishing Normal
My name is Oichi Angelis, and I shall always be a worm, regardless of where I go, because of where I have already been.
I was born and bred in the endless tunnels of a generation ship. All my life I have plotted and maneuvered. I have killed and I have avoided being killed. I have communicated with three ancient spaceships on a planet called Graveyard. Now I will have to negotiate with the powerful Weapons Clan who made us.
What seems like negotiations to some, plays out more like war to others. Perhaps that’s why I told the emissaries from the Weapons Clan to dock their ship in Lock 212. It has seen more than its fair share of bloodshed.
She was a sleek little craft, called Merlin, probably named after a bird of prey rather than the wizard. She sat complacently while our scrubbers removed toxins generated by her thrusters. Medusa and I abided on opposite ends of Olympia; our link allowed us to spy together on Merlin’s crew, through their security systems and their intercoms, even through the big view window on her bridge. They hadn’t seemed alarmed about where we told them to dock. That was because they didn’t know what Medusa and I had done to other people inside Lock 212.
The name Merlin had me thinking about sorcerers, so the score for The Sorcerer’s Apprentice played in my head as she was towed into Lock 212. I loved the music by Paul Dukas, and its accompanying images from the animated movie Fantasia—the marching brooms and their unrelenting bucket brigade. Two flutes and piccolos, two oboes, two soprano clarinets and bass clarinet, and three bassoons and contrabassoon (instruments that are underused, in my opinion). Four horns, two trumpets, two cornets, three trombones, and a collection of timpani, glockenspiel, bass drum, cymbals, triangle, harp, and strings. Do I imagine the perfect tones of a celesta in there? Lending bright magic to this sorcerous collaboration? All of them marching together with a tum-te-tum te-tumpetty-tum?
The scrubbers, our version of the ensorcelled brooms, scurried from their cubbies to clean every inch of Merlin’s surface. It was a job they had not done very often, so I imagined they wanted to be extra diligent.
People peered out of Merlin’s view windows and into our lock, but I doubted they could see much. A few emergency lights were on; I kept the main lights off for the time being. That made it easier to see into Merlin, whose interior was brightly lit. Communications Officer Narm spent the most time looking out, along with a pale young man named Wilson, who was one of the engineers, and a tiny woman with white hair and skin the color of dark plums. The lady was named Cocteau; the ship’s roster identified her as another engineer.
Medusa referred to the director of another of our favorite movies, La Belle et la Bête. That bumped Dukas’s apprentice out of my head and replaced him with Georges Auric’s score for Jean Cocteau’s film, which was far more roman
tic but still appropriate. The score is played by a full orchestra, including a choir, and it lends La Belle et la Bête an emotional potency to complement its gorgeous images.
When the last minute of the decontamination period expired, Narm sent a message. “Our captain and Representative Lee are standing by for your directions as to where and when the meeting will take place.”
“This is Oichi Angelis,” I replied. “I will rendezvous with your captain and your representative inside the lock.”
I messaged Medusa.
Merlin’s crew sat in front of the observation windows as if engrossed in a movie, watching Olympia’s scrubbers take one last spin over the exterior of their ship. I continued to surveil them and listen to their conversation through the open link. Perhaps it would get more informative, now that our meeting was imminent.
“Anyone show up yet?” said Captain Thomas.
“Nope,” said Mirzakhani. She was a medical tech whose roster profile stated she could also do field surgery. “It sure is dark out there.”
“Maybe they have better night vision than we do,” said Narm.
Engineers Wilson and Cocteau both shook their heads. “These folks thought they were alone out here,” said Cocteau. “They conserve energy where they can.”
I heard a rustle in the hall behind me and turned to see Medusa moving around the corner. She was the Prima, the Queen of the lightning-fast death blow, my superstrong biometal friend.
She joined me at the pressure door and flowed over me. Her suit sealed around me, her face settled over mine, and we became one. Now I could hear with her sensitive ears. I could see with eyes that could stare into the heart of a sun without blinking, yet also see the movement of a bee gathering pollen on a distant flower.
I stretched her tentacles luxuriously.
I felt an unexpected stab of longing.
The scrubbers crawled off Merlin and scurried to their cubbies. I opened the pressure door.
Inside Merlin, Mirzakhani let out a little gasp. “There’s a light!”
We stood in that bar of light, and because the source was behind us, our dark twins stretched far ahead of us.
“Are those tentacles…?” said Narm.
Our shadows moved toward Merlin like a sea monster reaching for prey.
* * *
I sighed.
The outer door of Merlin’s air lock opened.
“It smells okay.” I heard what I assumed was Representative Lee’s voice. “Feels drier than I would have thought, considering they have a big habitat for crops in here.”
Captain Thomas peered down the ramp and past the light that lit a path into the air lock. We had moved out of it, trying to diminish that whole tentacle-monster effect. Medusa waggled the tip of an appendage, hoping to capture her attention.
Thomas whispered to Lee, “Did I ever tell you how much I admire your calm?”
“It’s a complete sham,” he replied sotto voce.
“I admire that even more.”
It wasn’t a sham. We could hear Lee’s heartbeat. It remained slow and steady. Captain Thomas started to move down the ramp, but Lee put a restraining hand on her arm. “Some things I say or do may not make sense,” he said in the same low voice that he apparently didn’t know we could hear.
Thomas kept a straight face. “And that’s different from the usual—how?”
“Good point.” Lee withdrew his hand.
The two of them descended the ramp. Lee’s heartbeat continued steady, while Captain Thomas fought to stay the same. She used her breathing to get control. I admired her for that.
When they were within ten paces, I stepped into the light again.
They stopped abruptly. The captain spoke in a steady voice. “I’m Epatha Thomas, captain of Merlin, and this is Representative Lee. Thank you for allowing us to dock.”
I selected a voice from my database that resembled the tone and cadence of Captain Thomas’s speech patterns. “I’m Oichi Angelis. And this is Medusa.”
I didn’t realize how baffling that sounded until they frowned.
“I’m wearing Medusa,” I explained. “We are two people, though at the moment, we appear to be one.”
Medusa pulled her tentacles in closer. Fully extended, they can stretch six meters in all directions. They could have broken our visitors’ necks before either of them had a chance to register alarm.
“You came from the Weapons Clan ship?” I said. “The one at the outer edge of the Charon system?”
“Yes,” said Captain Thomas.
“How long did it take you to get to us from there?”
“About three weeks.”
“Weeks. We don’t use that term. My records indicate it’s from Old Earth. It took us a year to cross the same distance. Our drive is primitive compared with yours.”
“If it is,” said Thomas, “nothing else about Olympia is primitive. Your ship is a marvel.”
I didn’t answer. Medusa’s tentacles coiled and uncoiled languidly. We watched Captain Thomas’s autonomic system wreak havoc with her pupils.
Yet her voice remained steady when she said, “Merlin is locked down according to your security specifications. As we discussed when you gave us clearance to dock, my crew numbers six people, including Representative Lee and myself.”
I focused on Lee. His pupils, heartbeat, and respiration betrayed no nervousness. I wondered what made him so confident. Was it experience? Or did he have some advantage we weren’t guessing?
Medusa’s lips curved in a faint but perceptible smile, and we heard Captain Thomas’s heart stutter.
“I will introduce you to the Security Council,” I said. “You may relay your message to them. Do not attempt to share it with me as we make our way to the House of Clans. Please follow me.”
Medusa and I pivoted and walked to the outer door. Thomas and Lee followed in our wake.
When our backs were turned, we heard Captain Thomas taking another deep breath. I suspected she would need to do so again.
Because she was about to see more tentacles.
* * *
If dreadful things have happened inside Lock 212, you could say the same thing about the House of Clans. True—blood had not literally been spilled there, but if you knew the long history of outrages Executive clan leaders had legislated therein, you could understand why it had been shed everywhere else.
Despite its history, Order and Law are personified in the graceful lines of the House of Clans. One could almost believe it had grown naturally inside the Habitat Sector, along with the garden that framed it. I escorted the emissaries up its expansive central aisle. At the far end, the Security Council knelt on low daises, in a semicircle. The tentacles of each of their Medusa units towered overhead and moved as if stirred by a gentle tide. The members wore fine but austere clothing woven from a blend of cotton and silk.
The whole scene made me feel as if I were an actress who had stepped into a Japanese Noh play. That’s normal on Olympia. Protocol dictates every step we take in here. Courtesy and decorum comfort us. I led our guests past empty rows, where clan leaders sit when debates are held and votes are cast, and halted when we were within ten paces of the council members.
The Council Prime sat near the center of the group. Kumiko covered his face, her expression serene. “I am Terry Charmayne,” he said. “Please tell us why you h
ave come.”
Merlin’s captain seemed to become more poised under pressure. “I am Epatha Thomas, captain of the Union Ship Merlin, and this is my colleague”—Thomas gestured—“Representative Lee. We come as messengers for Bomarigala of the Weapons Clan.”
Perhaps that was the only thing Thomas had planned to say to the Security Council, but Terry asked her a question before Lee could begin his spiel. “What is the Union?”
“The Union,” said Thomas, “is a collective of worlds, governments, and entities that share laws and treaties. In particular, Union worlds have agreed to base their laws on a Bill of Rights.”
“The Weapons Clan also follows this Bill of Rights?” said Terry.
I thought he had zeroed in on an awkward point, but Thomas answered confidently. “The Weapons Clan does not consider itself to be a member of the Union. They observe Union laws when doing business with members of the Union.”
“Are you a member of the Union, Captain Thomas?”
“Yes. I am a contractor, sir. I am not a member of the Weapons Clan.”
Kumiko’s eyes shifted to regard the representative. “And you, Lee. Are you a member of the Weapons Clan?”
“No,” said Lee. “I am a professional courier. My delivery of this message will fulfill my contract. My role is to be a messenger of the Clan, not to act as their spokesperson.”
That was an interesting distinction.
“What is the message?” said Terry.
Lee did not possess a fine voice, but he spoke clearly. “The Weapons Clan regrets that indignities were suffered by the people of Titania and Olympia during this voyage that has brought you to the Charon system. They wish you to know that events beyond their control separated them from you. If their agents had awakened when they were supposed to, they would never have allowed the destruction of your sister ship, Titania.”
Medusa in the Graveyard (The Medusa Cycle) Page 1
