The Imperator nods. “Not much time but enough—enough time to test several of you for additional Logos voices, and to set up the resonance transmitters at each vertex location, be it moons, ships, or here at the surface. I want that hoohvak moon brought back to our normal space . . . so that we can finally land on its surface and find out what’s inside that ancient ship graveyard.”
“Agreed,” Aeson says. “Whatever ancient secrets lie hidden there could be the means to save us.”
Chapter 74
Things move very quickly at this point. The Imperial meeting is adjourned, various individuals have their urgent tasks assigned, and Aeson has to deal with some pressing SPC business. Meanwhile Shirahtet politely but firmly asks my entire family to submit to a simple voice test to determine if any of the other Larks possess the Logos voice.
Gracie and Gordie are contacted, and Gordie has to get off work while my sister heads from her apartment where she’s still on Fleet standby.
Since my two younger siblings are on their way, Dad, George, and I wait in the Red Office with the Imperator and Manala, while the First Priest goes to fetch some high-end sound equipment.
By the time he returns, a very confused Gordie arrives and is directed to this room by the high servant. Gordie peeks in, pausing at the door. He sees us and the Imperator, and his mouth opens a little.
“Come in, Gordon Lark,” the Imperator says impassively.
“Hi . . . um . . . everyone,” Gordie says, stepping inside and making a weird bow to the Imperator.
George signals to him with his eyes, motioning to the nearest seat. Dad nods at Gordie with encouragement. Manala watches nervously.
“Over here,” I say softly, patting the seat of a nearby chair.
As soon as Gordie takes the seat, my little sister gets here. Gracie looks both wide-eyed and defiant as she pauses at the door. She sees the Imperator and her eyes practically bulge. However, she gives him a proper courtly bow, then silently approaches and takes the next empty seat behind me.
The Imperator merely observes her with his unblinking, serpentine gaze.
A few moments later, Shirahtet walks into the room, carrying an object that I find strangely familiar. It’s a shapeless, seamless lump, roughly ten by five inches, with a silvery surface that looks like a rock smoothed by water. A faint light source seems to glow from its center, reacting to every sound with a soft flicker-pulse. Yes, it’s audio test equipment from the preliminary Qualification.
“Wow, that looks sickeningly familiar,” George whispers.
“What is it?” Dad asks.
“This is a tactile resonance device to test your Voice,” Shirahtet says, placing the object carefully on the end of the desk. “I will ask each of you to touch it and repeat a vocal sequence that I will demonstrate—with my Imperial Sovereign’s permission?”
“Proceed,” the Imperator says.
“What’s going on?” Gracie whispers in my ear from behind.
Before I can answer, Shirahtet turns to her and says, pointing to the device. “Why don’t we begin with you—Grace, the youngest. Come.”
“Just a second—is this harmful in any way?” my father interrupts. “My daughter must not be—”
“The test is benign,” Shirahtet says.
“Don’t worry, Dad,” I add. “We all had to do this before, during Qualification.”
Gracie nods and stands up, then approaches the desk. “Okay.”
“Place your hand on it. You will sing the following basic keying sequence,” Shirahtet says. And he sings a clear sequence of middle octave C-E-G notes in a low, dark voice.
Gracie does as she’s told. The moment her fingers touch the device, the light underneath its pearlescent surface flares in a circle of steady blue.
“Please proceed.”
Gracie sings. Her clear soprano is initially breathy, and the surface of the device flashes red to indicate she is slightly off-key, then turns green as soon as she steadies her voice.
“Again,” Shirahtet says.
Gracie sings once more. This time the device registers a clean green light all the way.
All of us—our Dad especially—watch her with intense curiosity.
“Again. This time, I want you to sing as loudly and precisely as you can.”
Gracie frowns slightly, glances at the Imperator, at Shirahtet, then opens her mouth. She sings a very clean, very loud C-E-G, while the device pulses a very bright, pale green.
“Again!” Shirahtet exclaims. “Your hand is on fire! Imagine it burn! Feel the pain! Sing!”
“She doesn’t have to imagine it,” I mutter. “We all burned our hands during Semi-Finals.”
Gracie turns to me. “Especially you, Gwenie!” And then she frowns and fiercely sings again. Her perfect soprano cuts through the air, and the sound equipment pulses an even brighter, super-pale shade of green.
There is a pause.
“Very well, thank you,” Shirahtet says, then turns to the Imperator. “She is very close. She has a very powerful voice, but it is not Logos—at least not according to this test. Given time, she may—”
“Next,” the Imperator says curtly. And he points his finger at George.
“If you please—” Shirahtet nods politely to Gracie then turns his full attention to George.
Gracie looks uncertain, but returns to her seat. My older brother, meanwhile, stands up.
“All rightee,” he says almost cheerfully, approaching the test equipment.
Shirahtet nods.
George raises one brow with a satirical expression, and places his hand on the device. “Let’s see if I’m a god.”
The device flares blue, registering his speech and voice.
“Please sing the same sequence,” Shirahtet says.
George clears his throat, making the light on the device pulse in chromatic discord multiple times. Then he sings in a clean, loud baritone. This time the C-E-G notes pulse a solid green, his Quadrant color.
“Repeat,” Shirahtet says. “Loudly and clearly.”
George sings again. My brother has a fine voice, and it shows, making the device dance a pure, energetic green each time.
“Again!”
George gets even louder. His voice is rich and powerful, making glass objects in the vicinity rattle from its vibrations, and the device buzzes with pale, green brightness. He repeats a few times more, and looks around the room with self-amusement after each attempt.
“Very nice, thank you,” Shirahtet says to my brother with a tiny hint of regret, then addresses Romhutat. “My Imperial Sovereign, once again, a very powerful voice with much potential, but not quite up to the level of Logos. A very talented family—”
“So—not even a demi-god? Bummer,” George says with a rueful laugh, returning to his seat.
“This is not the outcome I hoped for.” The Imperator looks solemnly in George’s wake.
“Yeah, me neither,” George says, winking at me. He then throws a general glance around the room including Gordie and Manala.
“Manala,” the Imperator says with the slightest softening of his tone. “My daughter, I want you to demonstrate for all here what a Logos voice is like. Let’s have you take a turn. Come!”
“Yes, Father.” Manala stands up and walks to the desk. Placing her hand on the device, she sings in a high, clear soprano—not loudly, but precisely.
The test equipment registers pale green immediately.
“Lovely voice, my Imperial Princess,” Shirahtet says mildly, nodding to her with the faintest smile. “Now please focus, and imagine that you are able to cut through this object with your voice, as if it’s a knife going through eos pie. This time, sing loudly and clearly!”
Manala takes a deep breath and looks down, keeping her palm flat on the test equipment.
Suddenly she sings the C-E-G, but an octave higher.
Her voice comes forth light and ethereal but imbued with glorious power, and it’s easy to imagine how it might sound at
the highest coloratura range during an operatic aria. . . . She could be the Queen of the Night from Mozart’s The Magic Flute.
The device pulses a bright, intense green and then flares a blinding white.
It stays at the frequency of white light as Manala repeats C-E-G several times before falling silent.
“Now this—this is a Logos voice!” Shirahtet exclaims. “Perfection!”
“Well done!” The Imperator makes a sound of unconcealed enthusiasm and smiles fondly at his daughter—possibly for the first time that I’ve seen him to do so. “Manala, my child, you have pleased me very well today,” he says, nodding at her.
Manala’s own face relaxes, and her expression shows disbelief coupled with fragile joy.
She must be so unused to shows of affection from her father. . . .
I notice how everyone now looks at Manala. My Dad’s expression emanates comfort and warmth, a true familial pride in her; Gracie smiles, and Gordie grins widely at her. Meanwhile, George raises his brows and softly lets out a held breath, almost in a whistle.
“My Imperial Sovereign, we are now assured of four Logos voices at our disposal,” Shirahtet says in an equally pleased manner. “May we hope for more?”
The Imperator turns to my Dad. “Ter Charles, show us your voice.” His tone is bland but his dark blue eyes are rife with hidden tension.
In answer, my Dad sighs. “I . . . am not sure I’m able to sing,” he says. “Least of all, now.”
“Ter Charles,” Shirahtet says cleverly. “You must try, for the benefit of all—including your own children, and the safety of this world.”
“When you put it that way. . . .” Dad takes a deep breath, shakes his head in discomfort, then stands up with some difficulty.
“Approach, and rest your hand on this—”
“Yes, yes, I know,” Dad says wearily, clearing his throat. He takes the few steps to the desk, and places his palm on the test equipment; clears his throat again. “I haven’t sung in ages. . . .”
“Very simple. Repeat this—” And Shirahtet demonstrates yet again the terribly familiar C-E-G.
My poor Dad. . . . He takes a deep breath, begins to sing in his warm familiar baritone, somewhat raspy from disuse, then coughs, making the device pulse erratic red, with a few notes in green thrown in.
“Again, please.” Shirahtet watches intently. But not as intently as the Imperator.
“Ah-h-h.” Dad exhales. Inhales again, trying to breathe deeply. Sings faintly, barely in tune.
The device jumps with pitifully faint, red and green pulses.
“Come now, sing!” the Imperator suddenly exclaims.
Charles Lark, my father, shakes his head. In just a few seconds of trying, he is short of breath. “I can’t—I think my lung capacity is . . . is insufficient . . . not in this gravity.”
“Think of your dead wife—”
“No!”
My father’s voice blasts out in a sudden terrible burst of anguish, and the device flashes a bright and true . . . white.
Oh, my God.
“I am done,” my Dad says, letting go of the test device. “No more, enough.” And with a grim expression he returns to his seat.
But we all stare in disbelief, including Shirahtet and the Imperator.
“That was not—not entirely clear,” Shirahtet says, breaking the silence. “But that one outburst registered at Logos level.”
Gracie’s jaw drops. “Daddy. . . .”
“I don’t know what that means,” Dad says coldly. “And I don’t care.”
But the Imperator’s eyes gleam with energy. “Apparently, Ter Charles, you indeed have the Logos voice. Whether or not you are able to use it is another matter. But—that is for later.”
An uncomfortable pause.
I admit, my mind is reeling now. I frown with stress, glance back and forth at each of my family members, look at Dad—oh lord, oh lord, my Dad—then again at the others. Manala is completely frozen in place, watching all of us with unwavering attention.
“There is one more,” Shirahtet says. And he indicates Gordie.
Gordie opens his mouth, then shakes his head, pushes his glasses up his nose.
“Gordon Lark, let us hear you sing,” the Imperator says, finally tearing himself from staring at my father.
“Okay,” Gordie says. And then he snorts and gets up.
We all watch Gordie approach the desk and place his hand on the device.
He doesn’t bother to wait for instructions or an example.
He doesn’t clear his throat.
Gordie sings C-E-G in his clean, resonant tenor. The device pulses with bright green light.
Gordie frowns, almost in anger, and swats the surface of the test device with his palm, making it go back to baseline blue light. Then he sings again, at the top of his voice.
His tenor voice cuts through the air, through walls, through everything, like an incongruous, bright summer avalanche.
The test device flares a hard, clear, brilliant white.
“Yeah!” Gordie exclaims and slams his palm on the surface of the device again. “Logos, my ass.”
Chapter 75
“Okay, so all the nerds in this family have the Logos voice,” George remarks much later when we’re on our own, back in the guest suite of the Imperial Crown Prince’s Quarters.
Seriously, what just happened?
As of now, Gordie has been officially recruited for the upcoming events, and he will be training with Shirahtet in a crash course on what needs to be done vocally. So, he is currently still stuck in the Red Office, one-on-effing-one with the Imperator and Shirahtet.
Meanwhile, the rest of us, Dad included, have been dismissed, and permitted to return to our regular business, until further notice.
“Speak for yourself, kiddo,” Dad says tiredly with a single painful laugh, as he settles in his chair. “I, for one, consider myself a ‘nyrd’ with a ‘y’ in the medieval-scholarly, erudite sense. Crusty and dusty, and indistinguishable from—”
“Oh, Daddy, you’re not,” Gracie says and widens her eyes frantically at George.
“Shut up, Gee One,” I say also. Yes, he’s kidding, but I can tell that George is somewhat taken aback by these latest crazy developments, and so is Gracie.
The thought strikes me suddenly—Dad and Gordie are just like me.
At the same time, my other two siblings must feel weirdly left out, even useless—I’m looking at you, George—in the struggle to come. At least Gracie has the Fleet and her Cadet duties. But George? He’s newly arrived, barely acclimated to the gravity, has no career placement. . . .
And then there’s Dad.
Holy crap. My father has the Logos voice.
He is physically not up to doing anything with it right now, but the point is, he hit that one ball out of the park—to use a baseball metaphor, and I don’t even know anything about baseball.
Dad has the ability, the underlying Logos level of ability to do so much.
But right now, he can’t do anything at all. Not with his fragile state of health and state of mind.
I consider all this, eager to talk to Aeson about it. My husband is off dealing with SPC work and making the arrangements for the upcoming group attempt to unlock the Ghost Moon, the day after tomorrow, and all I can do is think and wait.
“So, they got their lucky five out of six Logos voices,” George says, continuing to think out loud.
“Yes, count me out of it,” Dad replies. “All things considered, whatever they discovered in me doesn’t count, not even as a last resort. I simply don’t have the strength for what is required. They’ll just need to find someone else to complete the batch.”
I nod. “You can help in other ways, Dad. Such as your scholarly knowledge—”
“Of course. Always glad to help in my professional capacity.”
Aeson returns just as we’re starting to eat a late dea meal. My husband enters the guest suite together with Oalla and Erita sometim
e after third hour, and all three of them look serious.
“Aeson!” I stand up at once and hurry to him, as Erita and Oalla give us room.
I put my arms around him, stroking his back and press my face against his chest. “I missed you. . . .”
With an intense look in his lapis lazuli eyes, intended only for me, he nuzzles me, speaking softly near my ear, “Im amrevu . . . I missed you too.”
“Did you know my father and Gordie have the Logos voice?” I say, straightening after a few moments.
“Yes, I’ve heard. My Imperial Father informed me immediately.” Aeson glances around the room at my other family members, my Dad in particular. “Amre-ter Charles. I am both glad and sorry—your state of health right now does not permit you to exert yourself.”
“I’m sorry too, that I’m so useless in that capacity,” Dad says, as he carelessly moves his eating utensil around his plate.
“Please don’t concern yourself too much. Fortunately, we have a solution.” Aeson glances at Oalla and Erita and points them toward seats, while he and I also head for the sofa.
“I’ve reached out to Ubasti, our neighbor to the northwest,” Aeson tells us. “The First Speaker of the Ennead there, Anen Qur, has a Logos voice. He is in good health and strong, and he is willing to assist in our task. He will be here tomorrow to begin preparing.”
“I thought only the Kassiopei have the Logos voice?” George stops eating and looks up in curiosity.
“Mostly so,” Aeson says. “It is quite rare, but it does manifest occasionally in others. As you can imagine, it’s considered a major asset globally, occurring in a tiny handful of people across borders and over decades.”
“Interesting, and a relief for me,” Dad says.
Aeson nods. “Meanwhile, I made the necessary arrangements for our mission on Blueday. The resonance transmitters are being delivered by crews to the surfaces of the three moons and should be installed starting tomorrow morning.”
Everyone pays close attention.
“Amrevet has an outpost with an already functional, full-sized resonance chamber, so it only needs diagnostics. Mar-Yan has several small surface test stations with basic equipment that needs to be upgraded, so it’s getting a new unit. And Pegasus has a mini-station that has received some meteorite damage and has been in disuse for years. A new unit is being delivered there too.”
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