Ryk E. Spoor's Blog, page 33

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 8

The long-awaited Challenge is about to start!

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Chapter 8.

"Boy, Tunuvun," Wu Kung said, "This is going to be fun!" He couldn't keep from bouncing up and down on his feet, staring out at what Ariane had pronounced in disbelief to be "a triathlon on full enhancers!"

He and Tunuvun stood at the top of a mountain – that ended abruptly at a wall behind them! – and looked out upon a racecourse that could only be possible in a place like the Arena. Or, he noted with a momentary pang of sadness, at home. The bittersweet news DuQuesne had given him resonated with that thought. Sanzo is alive, but it's the Sanzo I first met. And my firstborn, Jing... gone. Fury started to rise, but he controlled it. Jai and Gen, at least, are still there. Sha Wujing. Cho Hakkai. Liu Yan. Not all is lost, not all are gone. And that was better news, far better, than he had feared. He looked out again, and gazed upon that wondrous course, imagined his friends with him, and finally smiled again, feeling the bounce returning to his step.

The cool, pine-scented forest below extended down the mountainside for a kilometer or two; then a sheer cliff descended – for a distance he couldn't see on this side, but guessed it had to be several hundred meters – to a relatively level, grassy plain another couple of kilometers; without transition, there was suddenly empty space, filled with drifting rocks and moving dots that Wu's more-than-human eyes could resolve into flying creatures he remembered from his prior adventure in the Arena. No-gravity space, then. On the other side, a vast forest, a jungle of massive and alien-looking trees, followed by a strip of gray-gold desert sands, a glittering stretch of water, another wide gap of no-gravity, shining white of polar ice with the dull green-gray of tundra interspersed, a mass of tumbled terrain like some of the worst badlands Wu had ever seen with tangled forest sandwiched in between, and finally a massive building of some sort.

He couldn't be sure without being able to see into the building, but he thought that if everything else was the way it looked, he could probably traverse the whole thing in less than an hour if DuQuesne let him go all-out, but DuQuesne had taken him aside just before they came:

"Listen, Wu. We're going to try to run this race – and win it – without showing off. That means you can show everything you let Orphan see, and not one bit more. That'll be more than enough to impress the hell out of them, and it's better than anything Tunuvun should have – right?"

"Right. I don't think he was holding anything back that time on the docks, and I was." He still felt a little guilty about that – not doing his best in a fight was hard.

"Okay. That means we should be able to do this straight. But if – and I mean 'if', Wu – I decide we do need to go all-out, then I will tell you. You understand? No matter how bad you think things are going, you wait for me to call it."

He'd nodded. There weren't many people he'd take that kind of talk from, but DuQuesne was one. "My word on it, DuQuesne. I'll play the game exactly your way."

So it looked like this course was going to take a lot longer than an hour. A lot longer. Still, it would be fun. He'd also stuffed himself last night, causing the others to stare incredulously at the amount of food he put away, which meant that the special reserves the Hyperion designers had built into him were now topped off; if DuQuesne did ask him to go all-out, he would be ready to match what he'd done the day Hyperion fell, but for a much brighter cause.

Tunuvun looked over to him; he could smell an effort to be cheerful. "Indeed, it seems to be a very entertaining course. Forgive me if I cannot quite enjoy it as I should."

I'm so stupid sometimes. He can't have fun with this with his people's freedom and rights at stake. Wu bowed and extended a hand. "I am sorry, Tunuvun. Of course you can't. But we will both do our best, and – Heavens willing – I will win for you."

"See that you do. But …" Tunuvun took his hand and shook it in human fashion. "... enjoy the course for both of us, then."

He laughed, showing his fangs. "I will, I promise!"

"Racers," the quiet yet powerful voice of the Arena said, "your attention please. The rules of this race are simple, but it is important that you adhere to them.

"Your two courses will often be closely parallel; upon occasion, the courses will cross or temporarily become one. The course for each is indicated by the green sparks for Sun Wu Kung of Humanity," a line of brilliant emerald points of light suddenly appeared and streaked away down the mountain, a dotted line of pinpoint suns, "and by red sparks for Tunuvun of the Genasi." The second line blazed its way down the mountain, a trail of ruby fires.

"These markers are not visible to any creatures who might be on the course, only to the participants and those observing this Challenge," the Arena continued. "The racers may not directly interfere in each other's performance: that is, there may be no physical contact between the racers, they may not throw, kick, or otherwise propel any materials, objects, or other interfering phenomena directly at their opponent.

"Racers may, however, indirectly interfere in the performance of their opponents, by creating obstacles ahead of them or otherwise causing something to indirectly interfere in the racer's performance."

So I can't throw sticks at Tunuvun, but I could drop a tree on the path in front of him.

"If an obstacle causes a racer to leave the path, they must return to the path as near as practically possible to the point of departure. This return shall not cause a racer to have to repeat a given obstacle; for example, if a racer falls into a river and is swept downstream, they may return to their path on the opposite side of the river so that they do not need to cross the river again."

A line of white dots appeared next to each racer's path. "These white sparks will appear if a racer is significantly off their course, and will lead them back to the appropriate point to rejoin the race. The other racer cannot see these sparks.

"From the racers' points of view, the race – and the Challenge – is completed when either one racer crosses the finish line, housed in the building visible to the west, or one racer is unable to continue the race for any reason. Are these rules understood, racers?"

"Yes, Arena," he responded, hearing the words echoed by Tunuvun. "Unable to continue" covers the fact that some of the obstacles could break legs... or necks. This isn't a safe little game. He smiled to himself. Which is what makes it really fun!

"We proceed to the rules pertaining to the Players. Players of Chance, please verify that you can communicate with your racers."

Seemingly from right next to his ear, DuQuesne's voice spoke. "You hearing me, Wu?"

"Loud and clear, DuQuesne!" Nearby, he heard a muttered response from Tunuvun to his unseen handler.

"The Players are allowed to communicate with their racers at will. They may give encouragement, and general guidance, but may make no specific suggestions – for example, they could suggest 'You are ahead, try to slow the other person down', but not 'See that tree ahead? The branch is rotten, drop it down behind you.' They may, however, give specific warning of an obstacle that they are deploying, to allow their racer to avoid it while the competitor does not."

"Got it," DuQuesne said; Byto Kalan, the Dujuin player for the Vengeance, said something similar.

"You will each begin with ten Obstacle points to be used for wagering or for placing obstacles in the way of the other side's racer. The use of Obstacle Points is only allowed on the player's turn. Additional Obstacle points will accrue from random chance of the Draw die, for particular combinations of cards, and of course from winning a play, which gives the winner all points bet on that play. Prices for specific Obstacles will be instantly provided to the Player upon consideration of the Obstacle; neither the other Player nor any spectators will be able to see the contemplated Obstacle or the price.

"If at any time a Player has no Obstacle Points, they may request a Stake; there are three Stakes available to each player, each for ten Obstacle Points. If a Player has no Obstacle points, no bets can be made on a given play; if that Player has no remaining Stake opportunities, they will forfeit the game regardless of the condition of the race at that time."

Wu did not like that one. Sure, DuQuesne wasn't likely to have luck that bad, but bad luck could strike anyone, and the idea that Wu could run the best race ever and still lose the Challenge... sucked.

"Each Player also has three Freezes – the ability to put the race on hold while they think about an option, plan a strategy, and so on. Each Freeze lasts one minute and fourteen seconds of Player time; the Racers will not notice anything."

It was hard to imagine being frozen in time like that, but it wasn't his problem. He just had to race.

"Do both Players understand the selected version of Arena Chance, or should the rules be reviewed?"

     Please don't do that now, I will end up going to sleep.

"I'm good," DuQuesne said.

"I am thoroughly familiar with this variant of Arena Chance," Byto Kalan said.

Wu couldn't have said he was entirely familiar with it, even though he'd played a bit. It really was rather like one of the variants of poker that DuQuesne and Giles had taught him, with the various unusual combinations of cards being ranked mainly due to how rare they were, and two chances to add or discard cards in between betting, but there was also the Draw die, which could have a lot of random effects on play, and he had no idea how that changed proper play. But as long as DuQuesne had it firmly in mind, that was another thing that didn't matter.

"Racers, ready yourselves. This Challenge will begin in ten minutes."

Wu Kung settled into a long-familiar stretching routine. Slowly prepare the body for the race or the war. Stretch the muscles in careful sequence, to the right degree, a carefully building progression…

As he stretched, a green comm-ball materialized. "Good luck, Wu," said Maria-Susanna's voice.

Just the voice hurt. He had read what she had done since the Fall of Hyperion, and Wu just could not understand it. She had been so kind, so gentle. She still sounded as kind and gentle. Yet she had killed so many. "You are with the Vengeance. Why wish me luck?"

The laugh was sad. "Oh, Wu. I don't have anything against these poor people trying to get recognition – I applaud them. That's really why I refused to take the Vengeance's side – though the reason I told them was that I thought DuQuesne's familiarity with me would give him an advantage, and that I was – honestly! – too fond of you to really want to go all out to defeat you. So good luck."

"Thank you," he said after a moment. It still hurt to talk to her, but it would hurt more to ignore her. Maybe she can still be saved. DuQuesne doesn't think so, but... he's been wrong before. Not often... but he has.

A few more comm-balls and well-wishers, the most emphatic being Ariane herself. "Run Tunuvun into the ground, Wu," she said.

"Do the best I'm allowed," he said, grinning widely. He stood up slowly. A few seconds more.

The Arena's voice spoke again. "Racers, take your places. Players, prepare for first cards. The Challenge between the Genasi and the Vengeance begins in five... four... three... two... one... GO!"

Sun Wu Kung leapt from the starting line, a flying jump that would have cleared two meters in height on the level. Tunuvun, seized by the same impulse, gave a matching jump, and the two landed at the same moment, more than thirty meters downhill from the start point, and practically flew down the hill, Wu Kung's longer legs moving just slightly less quickly than Tunuvun's shorter strides, so the two racers remained neck-and-neck.

Match him for a while, make sure I know where I stand with him. I don't think he was holding back in that fight, but I could be wrong. He might have wanted to hide some of what he could do from me.

Faintly, in his ear, he could hear, "First cards dealt. Dealing outer show cards." Their game's begun. Obstacles could start showing up at any time.

The pine woods were getting thicker, so Wu Kung took to the trees directly, bounding from one to the next, running along branches as though they were level ground. He heard and, from the corner of his eye, saw Tunuvun making similar maneuvers. He's maybe not quite as good as me, or as the 'me' I'm being now, in the trees, but I'll bet that's because he evolved for no gravity. Those two null-g parts of the course will be his best.

Without warning, one of the branches beneath Tunuvun gave way, sending him dropping towards the forest floor. A grunt of distant satisfaction told him that had been DuQuesne's doing. Time to start opening up a little distance. While he might have wanted to keep it closer for the sake of making the race look more exciting, Tunuvun wouldn't thank him for the added worry.

The Hyperion Monkey King kicked off his current tree and practically flew through the next three, now moving at a speed that only his friends – and Orphan – had ever seen before. From all around he heard indrawn breaths and murmurs. Ha! They are letting us hear something of the crowd's reactions! That is fun too!

He broke out of the woods, saw the edge of the cliff a hundred meters ahead. Behind him, Tunuvun's swift movement was audible, trailing by several dozen meters. Wu Kung turned, back to the cliff, dug in his claws, and felt the ground disappear from under his feet just as he was stopping, letting his clawed hands drop securely to the edge.

The cliff below was solid basalt, rough but still vertical – a quite noticeable challenge for anyone. But with ring-carbon reinforced claws he rammed ten anchors home into the stone and began swiftly clambering down, a cat descending a four hundred meter scratching post.

Wow! Tunuvun's just about keeping up! His claws must be like mine! He remembered the battle in the sky. Natural ring-carbon must be in a lot of Arena native species. No wonder he's so tough!

Still, Tunuvun was behind; he had to do more than just "keep up", and since they both knew that the luck of obstacles could turn at any time, and that – at least as far as Tunuvun was concerned – they were nearly evenly matched, neither could afford to play too much of a long game. He's probably not going to push it here on the cliff, but at the bottom…

As he thought that, a hundred meters from the bottom, an entire section of the cliff face suddenly cracked, and Wu Kung found himself flailing in midair, plummeting towards the ground below. Well, at least I'll get there faster, he thought, even as he kicked off from one of the fragments, bouncing back towards the cliff face. His claws dug in, ripped free; he spun in midair, tried to reach the cliff again, I need to slow down—

WHAM!

To Wu's groggy astonishment, he'd actually lost a second or two; he could hear Tunuvun's feet dashing madly away across the plain. "Wu! Wu, you okay?"

"That hurt, DuQuesne. But I am all right," he said, hearing murmurs of astonishment from the audience as he rose and sprinted after Tunuvun.

"Thank our Dujuin friend for that one."

"I like Tunuvun, but could you drop him in a pit for me?"

"As soon as I get the points, I'll slow him down, I guarantee it." The plains were streaming by now, the green-gold waving grasslike plants hissing like a waterfall of sand as he tore through them.

It suddenly dawned on Wu that they were actually more handicapped than their opposition. We don't want to hurt Tunuvun. Certainly don't want to take a chance on crippling or killing him. But that obstacle showed that Byto and the Vengeance don't have that problem with me.

Halfway across the plains now, and he'd closed the distance so that Tunuvun and he were once more even, racing up their lines of airborne sparks in arrow-straight paths.

It was then that a pack of scale-armored, fanged creatures like a cross between a small dragon, a lion, and an eagle erupted from the underbrush and attacked.

Even as he dodged, blocked, and flipped, he realized that Tunuvun was speeding away, unimpeded. Another obstacle!

There were only twelve of the creatures, so it didn't take too long to deal with them, but even so, Tunuvun was a hundred and fifty meters ahead now.

Wu Kung gave vent to multiple curses and sprinted forward hard. He was very, very tempted to start letting himself really go, but he remembered DuQuesne's emphatic instructions. I gave him my word. I can't do that unless he gives permission.

But even at the level he was allowed, he was still faster. A hundred fifty meters was a long lead in a short race, but this was not a short race and most of it was still ahead.

First no-gravity section coming up, though. I'll have to push what I'm allowed to make up distance there; that's where Tunuvun's got to be at his best.

They leapt from the plains into the void, Tunuvun first and Wu trailing by eighty-seven meters, and immediately Wu could tell he'd been right. The tiny white-and-purple Genasi bounded from one floating rock to the next, spun and smacked aside an encroaching zikki, and skittered around a hundred-meter-wide boulder at lightning speed, as effortlessly as ordinary people might walk through a light crowd.

Still, I am the Monkey King, and this is the kind of thing I do, too!

He laughed as he bounded weightlessly through space, ricocheting from stones and outraged inhabitants with reckless abandon. Have to keep closing the distance! He was only fifteen meters, more or less, behind Tunuvun now, three-quarters of the way across this weightless space, and –

He saw it out of the corner of his eye, rapid movement all down relative to the fixed parts of the course, and there it was, a waterfall of dust and rocks incalculably high, driving down to unguessable depths. "Hells of Boiling Souls!" he cursed, as the Skyfall roared towards him. "DuQuesne!"

"Hang on, Wu – it's about four hundred meters thick!"

Even as the Skyfall reached Wu, he heard the Arena's distant, dispassionate voice: "Warning to Player DuQuesne: do not provide precise guidance. First of three allowed warnings."

Wu found himself scrambling for dear life, jumping from one tumbling fragment to the next, evading randomly crashing boulders, knowing that he was caught in the associated gravity field and thus dropping down, down, down even though he fought desperately to stay at least somewhat level.

He burst from the Skyfall finally, blood trickling from a dozen small wounds. "What in the name of... of Hyperion is going on?" he demanded plaintively. Tunuvun had disappeared over the edge into the forest, and with all the speed he dared muster Wu knew he was going to be at least three hundred fifty meters behind, maybe as much as five hundred – half a kilometer down.

Tunuvun was far in the lead of a race he must not win... and dared not lose.

 

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 7

If you haven't played a game before, you'd better practice it a bit prior to a species-critical Challenge...

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Chapter 7.

     "I yield the play, Dr. DuQuesne; once more you have outmatched me." Orphan tipped his remaining cards into the dump-bucket. "Anyone else still in?" he asked the others, looking around the conference-room-turned-simulated Arena. A shadowy holographic display showed several simulated runners speeding along a course, overcoming various obstacles.

"Not me," Oasis said promptly. "I know Marc too well to keep going on a losing streak."

"I yield too," Carl said, throwing his cards after the others'.

Ariane's blue eyes regarded DuQuesne coolly. "I'm still in play. I think you are bluffing, Marc. I'm taking ten Obstacle points and throwing a block in front of your simulated runner in the form of a patch of swamp. The rest I'm betting on my hand."

DuQuesne grinned darkly. Yeah, that's the way she plays. "All the rest? You sure about that, Ariane?"

"She said it, that's how she's playing it," Carl said. "In the real thing, you're not going to give your opponent a chance to reconsider, are you?"

"He might. It's a classic bluff tactic. Or a non-bluff that you're hoping the other guy thinks is a bluff," Ariane said. "But yes, I'm sticking with that decision. All in, no draws."

"Show 'em," DuQuesne said, doing so himself. "Then read these and weep, Captain; Three Spheres, Two Gates, two Shadeweaver Faction Cards, and one that doesn't matter."

"What? But with your outer cards that's –"

"Triple Triples, Shadeweaver Controlled," he finished, grinning at her stunned look. "You had a Triple with two Doubles – good, but my Shadeweavers dominate your single Malacari Faction and negate one of the Doubles anyway."

"Extraordinary," Orphan murmured. "I have seen a startling number of improbable plays during this round of Arena Chance."

DuQuesne shrugged. "Not that improbable. There's several of most cards and their interactions are fairly predictable, though the circulation of the cards through the dump and exclusion of shown cards for a few rounds can complicate the odds. Not to mention the Draw die to add a really random element. It's similar to a mashup of several card games I'm familiar with, in any case. I made a lot of money in college from teaching people odds, so to speak." He raked in his winnings. "And I'll put three swamp areas on your simulated runner, a bargain at twenty-five points. Time for another play?"

"I'm up for another few," Ariane said. "Our simulated runners still have a ways to go."

"Perhaps," Orphan said, "we can just leave it to the two of you. In the real Challenge it will be a two-person contest, after all."

A green com-ball popped up in front of Ariane as the triangular cards were distributed in front of them by an automated device. "Ariane, I am back," came the voice of Simon Sandrisson. "I would very much like to speak with you as soon as I reach the Embassy."

"Of course, Simon." She looked up. "Oasis, Orphan, Carl – would one of you take over for me?"

DuQuesne raised an eyebrow, but he knew that she and Simon had a secret already. I'll trust her to know when to tell it. It wasn't as though he hadn't kept secrets – and sometimes kept them too long. "Okay, who's up?"

The three conferred in a corner of the room, then all three came and sat across from him. "We shall all play against you," Orphan said cheerfully. At that statement, three of the phantom runners stopped and vanished from the course, leaving only two – DuQuesne's, already considerably in the lead, and Ariane's former runner, the only one in striking distance.

"All of you on one play?" He grinned, and by Orphan's expression he knew they all could see the challenge in that smile. "Fine. All the helpers in the world won't change luck."

As play progressed, he proved himself right; for every play they won, he won three, and by the end of the simulated Challenge his racer had crossed the finish line fully fifteen minutes ahead of his competitor.

Orphan rose and gave a push-bow. "A most instructive game, Doctor DuQuesne. If you play so well tomorrow, I have little fear of you losing. I will say, however, that Byto Kalan is an excellent player – better than I at this variant of Arena Chance, I am certain – so you should be very wary."

"Believe me, with this much at stake I am not going to just give it a lick and a prayer," DuQuesne said.

As he said that, another comm-ball sparked emerald before him. "Marc?"

"Who – Saul! You've made it over?"

An image of Saul Maginot appeared, hair if anything a little whiter but otherwise looking well – if he disregarded the tight lines on his face. "For the nonce, yes. This is really just a short jaunt, to accustom me to the novel and, I must admit, most disquieting sensation of Elizabeth being gone."

"No surprise there; even those of us who don't have our AISages in our heads had a hell of a time getting used to being without them." He noted the others had already started clearing the room; they knew there had to be something more. Once the door closed, he nodded. "Okay, Saul, let's have it. You didn't ring me up just to say hello."

He saw the flash of a smile at the antiquated expression "ring me up" – like his occasional fits of colorful and unique swearing, a legacy of Hyperion – before Saul's face went serious again. "We completed our analysis of the remains of the attack, including Wu Kung's station."

Damn. I almost wished it would take longer. "And…?"

"We were able to recover some of the world. Not, I am afraid, nearly all of it. Many of the... people inhabiting it are gone. But not all of them. Several of his friends remain."

"What about his family?"

He saw the steady gaze drop for a moment. "The two youngest boys were recoverable. Sanzo... according to Sha Wujing, who we were able to partially interface with, she was reinitialized by the destruction of the main system."

Reinitialized? Damnation. "She doesn't remember a thing."

Saul sighed. "Nothing past her upbringing in the temple. Apparently she doesn't even remember being sent out on the Journey to the West, and her physical parameters are back to those of the girl who started the journey. And before you ask, no, there's nothing left to check for a backup. We've taken the structure apart down to the atomic level and probed for quantum storage. Nothing."

"Dammit. I mean... that's better news than we were prepared for, but still... Damn them. Whoever they were. Did we get any clues?"

"None. Whatever happened was abrupt and provided no input from the outside; from Sha's point of view it was a sudden racing wave of destruction that he was barely able to outrace, carrying the two boys with him."

"Blast it. Whoever this is, he's a real Big-Time Operator, that's for sure. No surprise there – if Mentor's on the beam, we're up against one of our worst adversaries." And the worst part is that it's really likely that our enemy's nemesis died fifty years ago. "Thanks, Saul. I'll break the news to Wu myself."

"Good luck on that, Marc. And on your Challenge, that I was just briefed on."

"Thanks. I'm going to need it, I think."

The door opened just as the comm-ball disappeared, and Ariane stuck her head in. "Marc? Could you join us, please?"

One thing after another. "Be right there."

He followed Ariane to one of the smaller conference rooms, where Simon was waiting. "All right, I'm here. But before we get into whatever you've got on the stove…" He quickly went over his conversation with Saul Maginot.

Ariane and Simon wore expressions that probably mirrored his own. "Oh, poor Wu. I mean... it is better than we thought, but…"

"Yeah. And we didn't get a single damn clue. Unless the fact we didn't get a clue is a clue. Anyway, I'll let Wu know in private. You didn't call me here for this, so what's up?"

Ariane hesitated, clearly still thinking about the tragedy to Wu Kung's world, but then shook it off. "Simon came to me with a very... interesting piece of information from Orphan." She summarized the discussion she had previously had with Simon. "So that's why Simon's been away a few days; testing our theories."

He looked over to the tall, white-haired scientist. "And? What's the results?"

"It appears that I – and only I – can replicate the weapon you called a 'primary beam'," Simon said after a moment. "I was able to duplicate the changes to the weapon on board Paksenarrion, but another person present, performing the exact same modifications, created a completely inactive, nonfunctional weapon that required a fair amount of work to repair."

Well, well. I kinda suspected this, after what happened in that battle. Still a bit of a surprise to get it confirmed. "And the primary worked just the same?"

"Yes. Extremely powerful and coherent beam, with both energy and range vastly increased. I left the modified unit installed – I hope that meets with your approval?" Simon turned to Ariane with an air of contrition. "I know I did not check with you –"

"It's fine, Simon. Don't make excuses for something like that. Actually, I think we'd very much like you to go around our little fleet and improve everyone's firepower. Yes? No?" She looked at Marc.

DuQuesne thought a moment. "Yeah, I think so. Fact is that we'll need every edge we can get when – not if – the Molothos get here."

Simon winced. "I really wish I didn't have to think about that. But no point in evading it. Yes, if you authorize it, Ariane, I will spend time while you're gone upgrading the weapons."

"I wonder if I might be able to do it too," DuQuesne said slowly.

Simon looked uncertain, then suddenly nodded, white hair shifting like a curtain. "You know, I hadn't thought about that, but yes, you have shown some odd capabilities – and around the same time. The way you handled the weapons?"

"Cross-connecting them in a way that even Orphan hadn't figured out how to do? That's sure one of the things on my mind."

"Well, you'll have a chance to find out. Take a look at the one on Zounin Ginjou and see if you can replicate it."

Ariane frowned. "Won't that be revealing something?"

DuQuesne thought a moment. "Not much. He knows I talk to Simon a lot, and so for all he knows, together we figured out what makes ours work and his fail. To an extent, he'd be right, too. And since we're heading out into the dark Deeps, making sure there's more firepower on our transport probably isn't a bad idea."

Another thought occurred to him. "You know, Ariane, Simon – Orphan clearly has some kind of theory about us. He's made some damn cryptic comments from time to time, and the way he looks at us –"

"You're right, Marc," Simon said. "I remember during the battle, he said something to the effect that he had become used to being surprised by us, and that the recent events confirmed a hypothesis he had formed."

Ariane nodded, thoughtfully. "He's said a few similar things to me. Maybe this is one of the things he will discuss with us when we're in the Deeps."

"Maybe," DuQuesne conceded. "Though that joker keeps his cards close to his vest. And he doesn't wear a vest. Still, if he's got an idea about us that could be useful, he'll have to tell it to us sooner or later if we're going to exploit it."

"Try nudging him about it," suggested Simon. "His reaction might at least tell us whether he intends to tell us. I would like to at least know that much."

"Why me?"

Ariane's lips quirked upward. "I should think that was obvious, Marc; he sees you as by far the most kindred spirit in the crew. He likes me, and respects me. He seems to feel the same way about Simon, and have a decent regard for the rest of our crew. But I think he finds that you and he have the most in common."

"Klono's... heh, never mind. All I can say is I hope I'm not that devious."

"For this next Challenge?" Ariane looked at him seriously. "I hope you're more devious. Because the Vengeance are one of the Great Factions, and they didn't get there by accident. So we can use all the 'devious' we can get."

True enough. "I'll admit I've been a little worried about that myself. They've got the resources and experience to basically get the absolute best for this Challenge, and Hyperion or no, gambling experience or no, that's gonna be hard to make up for when the other guy's probably been playing this game for years. This version of Arena Chance is actually harder for someone like me than a completely unfamiliar game would be, honestly."

Simon's eyebrows rose. "In what way? It would seem that any familiarity would be an advantage."

"Sure would. And that's the trap." He saw Ariane nodding. "She gets it. Thing is, any time it's close to something you know real, real well, it's blasted easy to find yourself thinking that it is that same thing, and then you make some choice that makes perfect sense for the game you know well, but is the wrong choice for the one you're playing now."

"Oh. Yes, I see. Rather like playing or humming a tune that is very much like one you have known from childhood; it is too easy to find yourself suddenly humming the childhood tune rather than the newer one."

"You got it." DuQuesne couldn't keep a grim tone from his own words. "Except that then, you just sound stupid. In this, I could end up giving away a world for a song."

 

 

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 6

Simon had a theory to test..

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Chapter 6.

     Simon stood on the bridge of Paksenarrion and gazed outward. I do not think I will ever grow fully accustomed, let alone jaded, to this.

The great warship – one of several gifted to Humanity by the Liberated – was cruising now many thousands of kilometers away from the Sphere of Humanity, so far out that the Sphere itself was but a shadow in the gloom, its Luminaire a fuzzy circle of dimmed brightness. On every side flowed and eddied incredible banks of cloud – white and gray, green, pink touched with lavender. The darker clouds flickered, internal lightning discharging, sometimes arcing across unguessable distances to strike a neighboring cloud or to shatter some drifting rock or other debris. There was nothing to give a clear scale to the scene, nothing on which the ordinary human mind could seize and use to build a model of the incomprehensible. But Simon could – just barely – grasp it, partially with that vast, though currently tenuous, connection to the Arena itself, and that vista stunned him with its majesty and grandeur, storms large enough to lose even an entire world within.

He shook himself. "This should be far enough. Even the best remote sensors, operating in an atmosphere so extensive, will not easily tell one sudden discharge of energy from another."

"As you wish, Doctor Sandrisson," Commander Joani Cleary said. The trim young woman – no older than Simon himself, he was sure, with moderately long red hair on one side of her head and polished baldness on the other, suddenly smiled at him. "It's good to see even you veterans get caught by the Arena. I was wondering if I'd ever get used to it."

"I certainly haven't yet, Commander. Although calling us veterans is somewhat misleading; only a year or so ago even we didn't know the Arena existed. When did you come through?"

"About five months back. They were looking for people with experience in warship command and who met the other Arena qualifications. That... cut way down on the candidates."

"It would, yes. We have to discourage embedded AISages, and any extreme biomods; we know that there are some limits the Arena enforces in the latter case, and in the former, well, a sudden shutdown of AISages nearly got us all killed when we first journeyed here."

"Upshot was only me and five others from the SSC got cleared through all the requirements, and one of them couldn't hack it when his AISage got shut down. So since we have a lot more than five of these babies," she patted her control chair fondly, "all of us got a ship of our own. Thanks for choosing Paks for this test of yours; the more we get to do, the more experience we get for whenever the real trouble starts."

"You're welcome, Commander Cleary. But I hope you won't take it amiss if I say that I hope the real trouble never starts."

Joani Cleary shook her head. "Someone wishing that we don't get shot at is never taken amiss. Now let me get to work here. " She nodded to the others of her bridge crew. "All engines stop; hold position."

Simon braced himself by gripping one of the seatbacks as Paksenarrion slowed to a (relative) halt. "Thank you, Commander. Now, I'd better get to the lab."

"Good luck. Will you need us to do anything else? You did say this had to do with weapons development, yes?"

"Well, yes. When I am ready, I will be asking you to activate various weapon emplacements in a sequence I will supply. Even if a weapon fails to function, simply continue the sequence; any damaged or malfunctioning weapons will be repaired before we leave."

"Understood, Doctor." She gave him a respectful nod, which Simon returned before leaving for the weapons emplacements.

"Been waiting for you, Simon," Robert Hampson said. The somewhat older-looking man had the slightly-wrinkled look of someone who had lost a lot of weight and whose nanos hadn't quite caught up with cutting down on the extra skin. "I'm still not clear why you chose me for this test. I'm not an engineer."

"That was quite deliberate, Robert," he answered, as he walked over to the massive cylindrical form of the Liberated energy cannon. "I chose you because you aren't going to even try to second-guess what I'm doing here. I don't want someone who's trying to analyze the work, just follow it and copy it."

"All right. It's for sure a biochemist isn't qualified to critique your weapons design. Though I thought you were mostly a theoretician?"

"Mostly, yes. But... well, it would be a long story, and some of it I cannot discuss. I am glad you were able to make the transition here."

"So am I. Wasn't so easy to give up Vanney, but he'll keep things going back home, anyway. Now, what do you need me to do?"

"First, just observe what I do to this weapon. In detail – I want you to commit every single thing I do to headware, because what you're going to do later is try to duplicate everything I do."

He raised one gray-shot brown eyebrow. "Okay. I don't quite get the point, but I guess that is part of the point."

"Exactly. Now, let me concentrate a moment."

Simon closed his eyes, reached deep within himself to that alien sensation.

The vision of complete and total clarity came far more easily this time, as though it had been merely awaiting his call. Simon could perceive, as though they were laid out before him and labeled, every element of the energy cannon, the control and power runs; he could see the entirety of the vessel that Commander Cleary had named Paksenarrion; he could perceive Robert Hampson's heartbeat and the operation of his brain. Farther, he could envision the slow twining of the surrounding storms, evaluate the probability and vectors of lightning bolts…

Focus. One thing at a time. With difficulty, he pushed away the nigh unlimited vision and comprehension, focused directly on the cannon. Remember.

Suddenly it was there, the sense of desperation, the memory of a heart beating, hammering, hands wrenching the cover plates away. He found his body responding, following those long-ago actions in an eerie replication of fear and determination and inspiration. He removed power and control elements, modified circuits, replaced components with others, ran a new feed outward, to a loading and firecontrol subsystem.

As with the first time, it did not take long at all before he slapped the cover shut. He slowly forced his mind to clear, the detached, Olympian perspective to fade away. As always, he felt a momentary depression at returning to himself – to a mind he had once thought incisive, quick, brilliant, but now felt dull, slow, almost empty compared to the grandeur and scope of the vision of the Arena. "Did you get all of that?" he asked, consciously keeping a light, unaffected tone to his voice.

"Got it in the can, yeah," Robert said. "Have no idea exactly what you were supposed to accomplish, though."

"Good. You can duplicate it, can't you?"

"Sure I can! That's why you hired me, right?"

"One of the reasons. You aren't a military pro, but you've tinkered with all sorts of things, including pretty much every type of weapon. That should allow you to do this reliably."

"Should, yeah." Hampson hesitated. "But, um... it'll take me a little longer than you did. You were flying there, Dr. Sandrisson. Never seen anyone working like that."

I suppose I must have. I did that fast enough to make a difference in a battle, and therefore could not have taken much time. "No time limit, Rob. I was trying to duplicate something I had to do very fast. Now, I don't want to have any additional chance to bias how you do this. Go to Turret 2 Starboard and perform the exact same modifications on that gun."

"Got it."

Simon sat down on one of the storage bins at the side of the turret and waited. There wasn't, after all, much else to do; Paksenarrion was doing a deep patrol, and he devoutly hoped nothing would happen that would require the supercargo scientist to lend a hand.

And he did have a lot to think about. The use of that power was clearly seductive. He didn't think it was, inherently, sinister or a trap. But for anyone with an inquisitive mind and an interest in grasping the truth of the universe, it was a temptation of almost unbearable intensity. Perhaps it wouldn't – quite – allow him to see the actual origin of the Arena, the power behind it, the "Voidbuilders" – but it certainly seemed capable of almost anything else.

The thought countered the elation with caution – no, Simon, be honest: fear. Sometimes almost terror. Information was power, and this... connection to the Arena was a source of information literally beyond his dreams.

In a way, I suppose this confirms that this peculiar power was an accident. Any Faction that had and used this power regularly... it could dominate the Arena easily.

And for that very reason, Simon knew, he had to minimize his use of that connection. Addiction takes many forms, and this would be the one that could destroy me.

The dull ache in his heart at the loss of that omniscient vision just emphasized how very true that fear was.

His headcomm pinged, startling Simon enough to make him jump. Good lord, I was in a brown study there. "Sandrisson here."

"Doc, I think I've got it finished – but I have to tell you, I have no idea how you did some of those things with the tools you had on hand. I had to go fetch a much more diverse and capable toolkit to get this job done."

Really? The expert tinkerer couldn't do it with the same tools? Simon shook his head. Think about that later. "You have compared it carefully with the original, correct?"

"Three times. All checks out as exactly the same."

"Good. Then it's time for the field test. Please evacuate the turret immediately."

"Yes, sir."

He pinged Commander Cleary. "Commander, are you ready?"

"Nothing showing on any of our instruments, none of our observers report anything. We're clear. So yes, go ahead, Doctor; you're in charge."

"Thank you. First, I'd like you to fire a volley from Turret 1 Port." That was an unmodified energy cannon. "Make sure all firing is done in a direction that will not, I repeat, not even possibly intersect with any of the Spheres equivalent to our nearby stars."

"Yes, sir." Her voice became slightly more distant, as she was speaking to someone else. "Spriggs, unlock turrets and prepare to fire. Greenwood, I want you to find an appropriate firing solution as far from any likely Sphere as possible."

Simon stepped outside of the turret and locked down the door. No need for a repeat of my most unpleasant experiences on Orphan's ship.

"All turrets unlocked and ready to fire, Commander," Lieutenant Spriggs reported.

"Firing solution complete, Commander," Lieutenant Greenwood said immediately after. "Coded and locked in."

"Thank you, gentlemen," the Commander said. "Turret 1, portside – fire when ready."

"Firing," Lieutenant Spriggs answered.

Simon felt a very faint vibration through the ship, thought he could hear a distant whine. "Firing of Turret 1, port, complete, Doctor," Cleary said.

"All functions normal?"

"All green."

"Very well. Now, please fire Topside 1." That was the one he had modified.

"Topside 1, roger."

Even through the shielded, sound-proofed door the blare of sound was almost deafening, the concussion enough to jolt him.

"Holy Jesus!" Commander Cleary said, and her other bridge crew echoed the expression. "What the hell did you do?"

"At the moment that's need-to-know, Commander, and per Captain Austin, you do not need to know."

"Understood."

"Now, please fire Starboard Turret 2," Simon said. He felt his gut tensing. This will be the real test.

"Roger, Starboard Turret 2. Lieutenant Spriggs, you may fire when ready."

Silence followed the command. "Commander, Starboard 2 does not respond; telltales show it is inoperative."

"You heard that, Doctor?"

"Yes," Simon said, feeling a chill go down his spine like a slow-moving drop of liquid nitrogen. "Yes, Commander, I heard."

Ariane was right. It wasn't favoring her. It isn't something just favoring humanity, either.

     It's me. I – and only I – can do this.

But how – and most importantly, why – I have no idea.

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 5

Sharp-eyed readers will notice there's one edit that needs to be done in this chapter; missed it when I changed something during the writing process.

So Simon had something to tell Ariane...

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Chapter 5.

     "All, right, Simon; you insisted we have breakfast in private today," Ariane said; per Simon's request, she'd even had Wu Kung stay outside the meeting room. "What is so important?"

Simon was uncharacteristically sober; his usual smile was a shadow of its normal self. "I would have brought this up yesterday, but by the time I got back you were dealing with Arena business, and it was rather late before you were free. This... is something best tackled with a fresh mind."

"So stop beating around the bush, Simon." She was concerned now; Simon, while certainly rather loquacious, usually didn't evade answering a question.

Simon looked down at his plate, long white hair momentarily shading his face from view; with an audible sigh he raised his head, looking directly at her. "I had a very disturbing conversation with Orphan yesterday. You remember, of course, the weapon I improvised for Zounin-Ginjou?"

She nodded.

"Well... Orphan claims that he cannot duplicate it." He went on to recount the exact conversation he had heard.

He copied the device and it doesn't work? "Was he serious?" Ariane was trying to get her head around this idea.

"Deadly serious, Ariane," Simon said, helping himself to a samosa. "Oh, he was clearly enjoying the confusion his news engendered, but there was no sign that he was actually joking around."

"Is what he describes even possible?"

She felt embarrassment well up within her as Simon laughed. "My apologies, Ariane, but... you ask this in the Arena. In the normal way of things, no. With the tools we have, and that I presume Orphan has at his disposal, if you create the closest replica you can of a device, then the two devices will work very nearly identically. To not even come close to functioning? No. That makes no sense.

"Yet, if I believe what Orphan said – and I do – then the nonsensical is fact: this device which functions flawlessly cannot be duplicated."

Ariane took a few bites of omelet while she thought. "The Arena."

"Obviously, yes. The Arena itself must be doing this – either allowing my modifications to work despite them not actually being able to accomplish what I thought they would, or preventing a duplicate which should work from functioning." He spread some Arena-local fruit over his pancakes. "The how is not terribly relevant – the Arena's capability to switch nuclear reactions and AIs off on a whim show that it has the capability. What I cannot quite work out is why."

"I can work out a reason why," Ariane said. "Really, several reasons. Maybe it doesn't want that weapon being used in a general sense. Maybe it just wanted you to be able to…"

Simon nodded as she trailed off. "... able to rescue you. Yes, that thought occurred to me. But if that is the case…"

"Crap." She couldn't even express the mixed brew of confusion, fear, and even a strange elation that this thought triggered in her. But this touched on the question that DuQuesne, Simon, and she had discussed the day after their return to the Arena: why, precisely, had the Arena spoken to her directly? None of them had managed to come up with an answer. But this new fact…

"That would mean," she said finally, "that the Arena has taken a direct interest in us – something that seems completely contrary to the way it usually functions."

"If that was the reason, yes," Simon agreed.

Ariane forced herself to consider the situation carefully as she finished what was on her plate and drank some coffee. The idea that the godlike intelligence that controlled the Arena had a direct interest in Humanity – or, even worse, her personally – was terribly disturbing. Why would that apparently dispassionate being or power suddenly focus on one newcomer species or individual?

"There is a way we might test some of that," Ariane said after a few moments.

"Which part?" Simon asked.

"Whether it was, in essence, a one-time thing allowed to permit the Zounin-Ginjou the firepower it needed to have a good chance to rescue me," Ariane said. Because there is another obvious possibility. "Simon, could you duplicate what you did to that gun?"

"Given another such weapon?" He looked abstracted, his eyes gazing thoughtfully into nothing. "I... believe I could, yes. I would have to focus myself into achieving that... connection again, but my impression, upon thinking about it, is that I could choose to duplicate those actions."

"We have some of the same energy cannon on the ships Orphan has loaned us. I want you to go back to our Sphere and try to duplicate that change. If it works, see if other engineers on our side can copy it."

Simon smiled suddenly, a bright flash that helped her relax the timiest bit. "I see, yes. Well thought out, Captain. No desperation or immediate need, so if that was the reason, my new cannon should not work. If our engineers – not of our inner circle – can duplicate it, that would indicate a general favoritism of Humanity, for whatever reason." He paused. "And if my version functions and theirs does not... that would indicate…?"

"My guess? That you have the same, oh, what was it that Gona-Brashind said... that was it, ability to trick the Arena, to bend its rules, that the Shadeweavers and the Faith's Initiate Guides – and probably me – have."

Simon's eyes lit up with understanding... and then dimmed with concern that mirrored her own. "But a completely different form of that capability. Even yours appears, from our limited knowledge, to be closely related to, if not identical with, the powers of those two groups; they both certainly believe that is the case."

"But you were an accident," Ariane said, feeling a certainty growing within her. "You said yourself that this happened during the very climax of the sealing ritual, when it was nearly disrupted and all three powers – the Shadeweaver, the Faith, and my own – were connected solely through you. You then saw... well, the same thing I saw when it happened, the entirety of the Arena at once."

"Yes. And I feel something odd, as do you, whenever we go between the original universe and that of the Arena." He looked at her, raising an eyebrow. "You believe that this is indeed the case."

"I'm betting on it. I think you'll find that you are the only one who can build that 'primary beam' variant. And probably other things, if you are using that strange connection of yours to build them, especially under pressure."

"I see. So where you and the others are magicians or, perhaps, empowered priests, I am... what? An alchemist?"

"Something like that. Or," she grinned suddenly and gestured to his habitual white outfit, "a mad scientist, perhaps."

Simon burst out laughing. "But I've already shown the fools at the Academy!" he said finally, still chuckling. "When we arrived here, after all."

"I know. But it would fit."

Simon nodded decisively. "It might well." He stood, finishing his fruit juice in a single quick set of swallows. "Then I shall commence the experiment today."

"It shouldn't take long, should it?"

"No. I would expect to have a definitive answer by tomorrow, in fact." He looked at her with a warning expression. "I presume I don't have to warn you how sensitive this information is?"

"No. We won't talk about it to anyone outside of our group even after you've got your answer. I suppose," she said, continuing the thought, "that Orphan probably guesses what's going on."

"I am sure he guesses something is going on, but as far as I can tell he has no way of knowing that I have this... power. However... yes, he obviously has made his own guesses and deductions, and he was implying to DuQuesne and I that there were secrets he had guessed about us – about Humanity, I think." He started to turn, then stopped. "On the subject of secrets –"

She knew what he was about to ask. "I have for the moment decided to follow DuQuesne's advice. What he told us last night…" she shook her head. "It's not certain that it's true, yet, though the indications are strong, and if it is, it's as he would say a trump card that we want to keep very close to our vests. The fewer people know, the fewer could give it away – or trigger it – voluntarily or accidentally." She stood and looked him in the eye. "I feel the same way about your ability too. You tell me the results of your experiment privately, and we'll decide who to tell after that."

He hesitated, then nodded. "I won't pretend I'm not a bit put out, and certainly burning with curiosity, but I will leave it to your judgment. I will not push further."

It suddenly dawned on her. "Simon... you could just find out, couldn't you?"

He didn't pretend not to understand. "I suspect so, yes. And it is a temptation. But if I ever start abusing this power in such a petty fashion... well, I would not be the sort of person who should ever have such a power." She nodded, as he went on, "I have to accept that you and DuQuesne understand the dangers as well as advantages of secrets, and not get in the way of you doing your job."

He stepped forward and took her hand. "You have always had my support, and you always shall."

The burst of warmth washed away her tension and concern, at least for the moment, and she impulsively pulled him closer, hugged the slender form tightly. "Thank you, Simon."

He returned the hug, then pulled gently away, smiling. "My pleasure, Ariane. Before you go on Orphan's mad expedition, though, promise me one thing?"

"Depends on what it is," she sais with an answering smile.

"I take you to Mairakag Achan's restaurant for that dinner we were supposed to have, oh, almost a year ago? But this time without getting interrupted."

She laughed. "You have a deal, Simon!"

"Then I am off. I have, as Orphan would say, a most interesting experiment to conduct!"

She finished her own breakfast and then got up. "DuQuesne," she said into the green comm-ball that appeared, "are you ready for the Challenge negotiations?"

"I think so. On my way, we can talk face to face."

DuQuesne met her a few minutes later in one of several lounges in their Embassy, this one projecting a view as though they were a hundred meters above the floor of Nexus Arena, looking out over the other Embassies and out at the Grand Arcade, with the Great Faction Houses looming in the distance. "Nice view. Gives you a grasp of the size of this place."

"Yes, it does. So what's the situation with the Challenge?"

"Talked to Relgof while you were off talking to four different Factions last night. How'd that go, by the way?"

"Well enough. They recognized that as First Emergents we're still reorganizing our politics to handle the Arena, so our absence wasn't as bad as it might have been otherwise. The Tensari are very much attached to Oscar Naraj, so I've had to agree that he will continue to be a liason. The others also spoke well of him. Regardless of what his connection to Ni Deng's actions, he really was doing the rest of his job well."

"So he's coming back soon?"

Wu Kung growled slightly.

She glanced at Wu with a wry smile of understanding. "Tomorrow, I think. He does understand how very much under probation he is, I assure you both."

"He better," Wu said.

"If he steps even an angstrom out of line, Wu, I will have him shot back to Earth so fast that he won't need a Sandrisson Drive to go faster than light. And," she continued as DuQuesne opened his mouth, "I've already given Laila and Carl full authority to do that too."

He grinned, and Wu Kung's smile showed his fangs. "Fair enough," DuQuesne said, "I figure you're right; he knows just how close he came to a trial for treason, and besides, he's lost his main play for power anyway. His best chance now is to play the game our way."

DuQuesne sat back in a chair that was apparently a classic leather recliner; Wu was standing in a corner that gave him a clear view of the door. "So, the Challenge negotiations. Relgof's on board all the way, gave me a rundown of what I should expect; it seems pretty similar to what you went through in preparation for yours with Amas-Garao, although at least in this case it should be more straightforward; we're not dealing with Shadeweavers and their wonky powers."

"Do we know who their second Champion is?"

"Yeah, and I'm relieved as hell. They picked a Dujuin who's a known master of these kind of games, I guess something like their equivalent of a top gambler and poker player."

She raised an eyebrow. "And you're relieved about that... why?"

He grinned, with a humorless glint in his eyes. "Because I was damned certain they were going to pick Maria-Susanna."

She winced. The renegade Hyperion multiple-murderer was, according to both DuQuesne and Oasis, fully the equal of any of the others. "Of course. Why didn't they, I have to wonder."

"That's the part that isn't a relief," DuQuesne admitted. "She's a part of the Vengeance now, so she'd seem a natural choice. And she would certainly be a natural to match up against me." He shrugged. "Well, she was always hard as hell to predict."

"Could she just be... well, playing the Vengeance? Using them to get something?"

"I'd bet a whole stack of vals on it, to be honest. Sure, the Vengeance fits her general outlook, but there's nothing to hold her there specifically. The way she was... designed, she's supposed to be a co-star, so to speak, with a hero, and no one at the Vengeance is going to fit the role. Since she went crazy, she's been a solo act, and I don't see that as changing. There's something she wants from the Vengeance, and once she's got it, she'll move on... to what, I haven't a clue." DuQuesne frowned, black brows drawn down and sharp-pointed beard adding emphasisis to the grim expression. Finally he sighed and relaxed. "Never mind; for now, I'm glad we aren't facing her."

"So am I," Wu said, with the sadness that always touched his face whenever the subject came up. "She would be a hard opponent... and I do not want to fight her anyway."

Ariane gave him a smile of sympathy, then looked back to DuQuesne. "So do you have a clearer idea of the actual Challenge procedure?"

"Yeah. We're going to hammering the details of the actual game that'll be the "Chance" part of the deal, but basically what happens is that the two racers start out on the same course and start running. The course has a base set of obstacles on it, and it's long enough so that even someone moving real fast will leave time for a good deal of play – think a lot of hands of blackjack or at least several hands of poker. The game ends when one of the racers crosses the finish line.

"The racers themselves are not allowed to directly interfere with each other – that is, they can't injure each other, or push each other off a cliff or something – but they can themselves arrange to make the course harder."

"How?"

"Well, it depends on the course, but say that part of it goes through a forest, one of them could knock down a small tree across the path if they were ahead of the other guy, slow them down a bit. That kind of thing."

Ariane nodded. "All right. Go on; what about the other side of this Challenge?"

"The Chance players start playing at the same time. Each of us have a set of Obstacle points that we can choose to either use as bets, or to have an obstacle of our choice placed in the way of the opponent, or possibly remove an obstacle from in front of ours – those mechanics are part of what we're discussing tonight.

"Anyway, the level of obstacle you can buy, so to speak, depends on how many Obstacle points you pay for it. So you could spend, say, one point to put a rock right in front of the racer's foot where he'd probably trip on it, or forty points to have a wall suddenly appear in front of him, stuff like that. Choices are basically limitless, as far as I can tell, except that you're not supposed to choose lethal obstacles, and even ones that injure are really expensive. Past versions of this have had people throw obstacles ranging from a sudden dust-devil throwing sand in the racer's eyes to calling one of the Adjudicators in against the opposition."

"Adjudicators? You can call in the Arena's enforcers to be an obstacle?"

"In theory. Apparently it happened once, about nine thousand years ago, when one side was just totally outmatched in the Chance section and the other could accumulate insane amounts of Obstacle points. Naturally that pretty much ended the race."

Wu looked up with interest. "They are that dangerous, DuQuesne?"

DuQuesne seemed surprised, then grinned. "That's right, you've never run into them yourself. Yeah, they sure are. They don't hurt people, but they're apparently boosted up past whatever other people, even the Molothos, can manage, and they've got this impediment field that makes movement like wading through mud; that pretty much ruins any fighter's day."

Ariane remembered that mired-in-glue field that an Adjudicator seemed to radiate at will, and the complete confidence they emanated. "I'd think so. But you're good at this kind of thing, right?"

DuQuesne grinned. "Ariane, I used to play poker for money with the best Hyperion had to offer. If I can match Slippery Jim, Giles Habibula, Hannibal Gunn, and Dave Strider, I'm pretty sure I can handle the Arena's best. Remember, too, these guys are a lot more risk-averse."

Ariane remembered how she and Simon had discovered that, and the reactions of various Arena denizens to the humans' perception of acceptable risk. "True. If you can push the game to something like what we're used to in odds…"

"That is indeed the plan. They'll still play, but if I keep pushing them into their discomfort zone, it'll have to throw their game off."

Ariane nodded. "I hope so. It's not so important for us, not immediately, but remember there's a whole species' hopes riding on this."

"I know, Ariane," DuQuesne said soberly. "Believe me, I know. And it is important to us. This is the first time anyone's publicly put their trust in us. Sure, the Genasi aren't technically full citizens of the Arena, but everyone knows them, and the fact that they're trusting us newcomers to somehow give them victory? That's big, Ariane."

The truth sank in. She didn't like it, but DuQuesne was – as usual – right. "Then you and Wu had damned well better win."

"We will," Sun Wu Kung said. "I will. I promise you, Captain, no matter what obstacles they throw, no matter how fast my brother in combat Tunuvun is, I will win this race – for him, and for you.

"By my honor, I will win."

 

 

 

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 4

Ariane and Wu had found themselves involved in a Challenge that wasn't even Humanity's...

 

-----

 

Chapter 4.

     "That might not have been the best choice, Ariane," DuQuesne said somberly.

Simon was puzzled by the gravity in his voice. Reflexively, he glanced around the meeting room, but there was no one present except the members of the "core group", as Simon thought of it – DuQuesne, Ariane, Simon himself, Laila, Carl, and the newcomers Oasis and Wu Kung. "Do you think Wu might lose? Or is there some other reason?"

DuQuesne looked down; the brows were lowered, and Simon could tell that his friend was thinking furiously.

Finally, DuQuesne looked up, meeting Ariane's gaze first before looking to Simon. "Yes, he might." He held up a hand to forestall Wu's protest. "Wu, I know that no one here knows what you're like when you actually go all out – and that we're both finally back in shape for real. But 'Racing Chance' is only about half the 'racing' part. The rest of it – as Carl described to us," he nodded to the tall, slender controls specialist, "and as I verified by checking in our records, is a game of chance and skill. That's the section of the challenge still to be hammered out, but it throws a royal wrench in the works compared to a straight-up race."

"On the other hand," Laila said, with her usual analytical calm, "was there a reasonable alternative? We want the Genasi to win their Challenge, correct?" At the nods around the table, she continued, "Then what alternative was there? Speaking honestly, is there anyone else here who could possibly be a better choice than Wu Kung, at least for the racing portion of this Challenge?"

Oasis tilted her head. "Well, Marc and I could... but no, not better. Not for something as relatively straightforward as an obstacle race."

"Something else is bothering you, Marc," Simon said flatly. "Or something else is relevant that you don't want to say."

Ariane's quick look showed that she'd come to the same conclusion.

The big Hyperion pursed his lips, then gave a short, explosive laugh, followed by a quick grin that subsided all too swiftly. "You've got me pegged pretty well, Simon. Yeah, there's a couple things that've got me chasing my tail. One... well, I'd like to take Orphan's route and wait until we're in the Deeps, but then we'll be on Orphan's ship, which wouldn't do us any favors in security. I like that exoskeletal joker, don't get me wrong, but I can't trust him all the way."

He drew in a deep breath. "It... has to do with some of the things I guess about the way the Arena operates. And it's pure dynamite, if I'm right."

DuQuesne paused again, looking around the table, and Simon was struck by his hesitation. He just doesn't have this kind of... indecision. "Marc, what is it?"

"Sorry. Look... No offense to anyone here – and I mean that – but I can only discuss this with Ariane and Oasis." He caught Wu Kung's gaze. "And that means not with you, either, Wu. Sorry."

Ariane frowned. "Marc, I trust Simon – everyone here, in fact – with anything. If –"

"This isn't a matter of trust. It's a matter of need to know, and I think no one else needs to know, yet." DuQuesne held up his hands. "Now that will be your call, Ariane. If you decide you want to let the whole crew know, that's up to you, and I'll back you on whatever course you take. You are the Captain, and that's the pure-quill truth; you've proven it to all of us, and my not accepting that damn near got me killed once. I will try to never second-guess you again like that. But you can't decide to keep it a secret if I let it out to begin with."

Ariane looked over to Simon.

Well, now, she's obviously giving me a chance to object. It was highly gratifying, really; she was basically saying, without words, that if he raised an objection she'd override DuQuesne, which was something she was very reluctant to do (and for extremely good reason, given their history in the Arena).

Simon was tempted. He really wanted to know what sort of secret was so desperately important, and how it involved Ariane and Oasis but not Wu or himself. But at the same time, he trusted DuQuesne implicitly. Marc DuQuesne hadn't been the most approachable of people to begin with, but in the year and more since they'd become crewmates, he'd found Marc's insight and advice invaluable – even before they first launched Holy Grail.

"If Marc thinks this is the best choice, I'm not going to second-guess him either, Ariane," Simon said. "But before we all leave, is there any more to discuss that doesn't require we leave the room?"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Simon," DuQuesne said, and Simon could hear the sincerity in his tones. "Yeah, we need to talk a little about strategy and timing. Tunuvun and the Genasi decided to go all-in with Humanity – they've turned the whole Challenge over to us."

"Really?" That startled Simon. "I would have thought their pride would require otherwise."

Wu Kung shook his head. "They're proud as warriors, but Tunuvun said to me that this is more important than pride. He's their best Challenge-warrior and now the Vengeance has him. He knows all the Genasi's other candidates cold, but no one really knows us that well, so we've got an advantage." He grinned, fangs glinting sharply. "And after our victories, we're making people nervous. A good thing in an opponent. Tunuvun said we were on a winning streak."

"More than he knows," Simon murmured; the rest of the Arena didn't know about the kidnapping of Ariane and the subsequent utter humiliation of the Blessed to Serve, making that three of the major powers – Molothos, Shadeweaver, and Blessed – that Humanity had managed to defeat soundly in less than a year.

"Like Wu said," DuQuesne said, "We're on a winning streak, and they're betting it holds. In any case, Selpa's not going to give us too much time before we choose our representative in the Chance section of the Challenge, and then we have to all agree on the exact details of the game – we went through this before, with Ariane's Challenge against Amas-Garao. We'll want an Advocate – I'm thinking either Nyanthus, if he'll do it again, or maybe Orphan."

Simon nodded. The Advocates mediated the decisionmaking process between the Challenge parties, enabling, at least in theory, a fair and reasonable compromise to be reached with respect to all aspects of the Challenge; they also watched for any inherently unfair aspects of the Challenge. From that, Simon deduced that only in extreme cases did the Arena itself intervene directly. "Nyanthus would be my preference initially, but I think he would be a poor choice, given that the Faith and the Vengeance are well-known to be opposed."

"Technically, pretty much everyone's in competition with everyone else here," Oasis said. "Even allies seem to think it's a good idea to keep their friends on their toes, you know what I mean?"

"Right," Carl agreed. "But Simon's got a point. We don't know what the Vengeance's second Champion will be, and even less do we know who they'll choose as Advocate, but picking an Advocate specifically known for hostility towards the Vengeance – is that a good idea?"

Ariane shrugged. "The Advocate's supposed to be on our side, just not part of our faction or – I'd guess – so heavily associated with us that they might feel pressure to bend the rules in our favor. The latter might put Orphan out; we're well-known to be about his only reliable allies."

"Point taken," DuQuesne said. "We'll leave him out of it, then. Any other candidates?"

Oh, here's a thought. "If we want to stick with the high-profile sorts," Simon said, "then I propose Dr. Relgof."

DuQuesne brightened. "I could go for that. He's friendly towards us, not hostile towards any faction – except maybe the Molothos, which goes for pretty much anyone still breathing – and he's sharp as a box of razor blades."

"I like it," Ariane said. "He's been one of our supporters, but no commitment to do so."

"I approve," Laila said emphatically. "If, of course, he will accept."

"I would be willing to bring up the question," Simon said.

"Please do, as soon as we're done here," Ariane said, after her quick survey of the conference table got nothing but approving nods. "What else, Marc?"

"Well, we'll probably want to take a few days to practice whatever the game is that we end up with, but we don't want to delay Orphan's trip, either."

"I've already contacted Orphan," Ariane said. "His response was 'My dear Captain Austin, such a Challenge takes precedence over anything. And in truth, I look forward to watching this one. Your friend Wu Kung versus Tunuvun? Alas that I cannot sell admissions!'."

Simon laughed along with the others, at least as much from the way in which Ariane managed to capture both the intonations and the posture of Orphan perfectly in her quote. "So who will be our other Champion?"

"Marc," Ariane said instantly.

Simon nodded. "That makes sense, but why are you so certain?"

"Any of us might make good players of a game of skill and chance – sounds like it could be the equivalent of a game of poker. But with Wu Kung involved, and – per Carl's description – the fortunes of the game being able to directly affect the obstacles and difficulty of the racing course – that pretty much argues that whoever's playing the game be someone very familiar with Wu Kung's habits, capabilities, and limitations. That means really only DuQuesne and Oasis, and – being honest here – I understand Marc's capabilities a little better than yours, Oasis."

The redhead tossed back her long ponytails. "No offense taken, Captain. I'd make the same choice; Marc's beat me at cards more than once."

"All right, then that's settled." Ariane looked up at the rest. "Now, I'll listen to whatever Marc has to say; if we need you again, I'll call you in."

Simon nodded, and he and the others filed out; Wu Kung looked particularly hesitant, but finally he left. "Carl, can we do some sparring?" he said. "I want something to keep me focused instead of just waiting."

"Sure thing, if you'll take a heck of a handicap. I don't mind a little practice, but imitating a punching bag isn't really practice."

"No problem – make it as hard on me as you want!"

"In that case, I've got some ideas that should still make it fun for you. Let's go. Simon, you want to watch?"

"Perhaps later. I'm going to speak to Relgof; that's a time-limited situation, you know."

"I'll watch," Ariane said, coming up behind them.

Simon jumped slightly. "I thought you were having a top-secret secret meeting with DuQuesne."

"I was, but... I saw how tense he was, and I asked him if there was a good reason, in his view, that he should keep this a secret from me too, as a real ace in the hole. He hemmed and hawed a little but eventually said yes." She smiled. "I trust his judgment, really, and since he was straightforward about trusting me and was going to tell me whatever it was flat-out, I decided to return the favor. Besides, I think I'll just see if I can figure it out myself; I've got some clues to work with."

"Always time for a little mystery in life, yes. All right, I'll see you all later, then."

Ariane nodded and turned to Carl. "Then let's go!"

"Right. Onward to my beating!" He gave a cheery wave and led Wu away, Ariane just behind.

Simon stepped out into the simulated evening of Nexus Arena. The light was just starting to fade, and there were even faint pink shades to the light, a perfectly-emulated sunset behind the various buildings. Is even that a matter of tailored perceptions? Would I see something different if I were a Genasi or a Tantimorcan? Or is day and night here something very real, and thus seen at the same time and, as much as perceptual equipment allows, in the same way?

Not for the first time, he was tempted to reach inside himself and push for answers – to whether this was real or generated perceptions, for what secrets DuQuesne was telling Oasis, for hints as to what they should consider with this new Challenge, but he shoved the temptation away. Having the potential to look into the mind of God and be a panopticon at the same time is far too potentially corruptive. I'm not taking chances with this.

With one of the floating cabs to take him, it was only a few minutes to reach the great square-faced headquarters of the Analytic, third of the Great Factions. The door opened for him – his one-year pass to the Archives gave him entrance at any time – and he stopped within the entrance hall. "Relgof Nov'ne Knarph, would you be free to speak with me?"

The green comm-ball appeared even as he began to speak, and floated before him; no red aura appeared, which meant that the call was not being blocked or, as of yet, refused.

A moment later it flickered. "Dr. Sandrisson, it would be my pleasure. You are here in the Faction House, I see. Is this a private matter?"

"Moderately so. Nothing terribly secret, but a request made in person and with reasonable privacy seemed preferable."

"Then come, come. I will meet you in the third conference room, the same one we discussed your fascinating book in."

Simon remembered that discussion well, and found the room without much difficulty. True to his word, Relgof, in his customary white outfit, entered only moments later. "Simon, my friend, it is good to see you. I trust you and your Faction are well?"

He returned the handclasp, noting again the peculiar sensation of a second thumb gripping his hand. "Very well at the moment. But we have an issue we believe you could assist with."

"By all means, tell me of your problem," Relgof said, waving him to a seat. His filter-beard flip-flopped in a gesture that seemed to be related to a smile.

"I do not know if you are aware, but the Genasi have issued their Challenge to the Vengeance."

"That much I had heard, yes. The details have not been released by any yet, however. Already you interest me!"

Information, the greatest coin of the realm for the Analytic. "Well, as the Challenged party, the Vengeance chose Racing Chance as the Challenge method. They also called upon the terms of a previous contract and selected Tunuvun of the Genasi as their Champion."

Relgof, who had bent to scoop a bit of the water from the inset flowing bowl in the table, started and splashed himself and his usually spotless uniform. "Silt and sand! Now that is a bold and clever move. They seek to use the competitor's own honor and dedication to his craft against him."

"Exactly. So Tunuvun countered by selecting Sun Wu Kung of our faction as the Genasi Champion."

"Wu Kung... yes, of course! The one who fought alongside Tunuvun in a rather impromptu and unofficial challenge, and won. The bodyguard of your Leader, correct?" At Simon's nod, Relgof rubbed the side of his head pensively. "A most interesting Challenge this promises to be. But there are two Champions in Racing Chance."

"We do not know the Vengeance's second, yet, but the Genasi gave us the option on that as well. I believe they think that our tactics are less likely to be open to the Vengeance. We have selected Marc DuQuesne as the second."

"An excellent choice. The very fact that he faced the Molothos and defeated them will weigh heavily in the mind of any playing against him. So, then, what is your problem?"

"We are, of course, still very unfamiliar with many details of these Challenges," Simon said. "And there are a great many specifics to be nailed down for this Challenge –"

"Say no more. You would like me to be your Advocate – or more specifically that of the Genasi – in the negotiations."

"Exactly. Now, I don't know what sort of fee, if any, is normal and customary –"

"It varies extremely, depending on the relationship between factions and individuals, the interest in the Challenge, and many other factors. In this case, I would like to charge you, but honesty compels me to say that I would never forego the chance to observe the process for such a unique confrontation. The only recorded Challenge by native species of the Arena for their right to be First Emergents? It is without precedent. To be an observer first-hand for the Analytic is, itself, sufficient payment. I accept, Simon!"

Simon felt a rush of relief – and gratitude towards Relgof for his inherent honesty. "That's wonderful, Relgof. I will let Tunuvun know."

"Excellent. I look forward to it. Now, before you go, Simon, I have some questions for you about some details of your translated book – and in exchange I may be able to answer a few questions for you as well."

Simon settled back into his chair. "I'd be glad to play 'trading questions' with you. Go ahead!"

About an hour later, Simon waved goodbye to Relgof and began to make his way back to the Embassy. As he boarded one of the taxis, a tall, very familiar form leapt up beside him.

"Doctor Sandrisson, a pleasure to see you," Orphan said.

"And you, Orphan. Are things going well?" Simon realized this couldn't be coincidence; things rarely were in the Arena.

"Well enough. I would like a word with you in private, if I might, Doctor."

With me? Interesting. "I have no objection."

"Excellent." The alien raised his voice. "To the Embassy of the Liberated."

The cab swiftly drove them to Orphan's Embassy. Simon was silent through most of the short trip, trying to figure out what Orphan might want. He couldn't ask any significant questions on the way, though, since the planned expedition to the Deeps was secret. "Ariane," he said to air, and the expected green sphere popped into existence. "This is Simon."

"What is it, Simon?"

"Orphan's asked me to stop by and talk with him about something. I don't know what, yet, but I presume it won't take long?" He said the last looking at Orphan quizzically.

"Not too long, no."

"Not long, then. So you can expect me back relatively shortly."

"No problem, Simon."

He followed Orphan into the Embassy and to one of Orphan's conference rooms – the same one, as near as he could tell, that Orphan had previously used to meet with Humanity. "All right, Orphan, I am about ready to burst from the suspense. What is it?"

"Something I think you will find most interesting, Doctor Sandrission, if things are as I suspect. You recall, of course, that during our... rather forceful negotiations with the Blessed to Serve you not only temporarily repaired Zounin-Ginjou, but also improvised a quite impressive weapon that Doctor DuQuesne referred to as a 'primary beam', yes?"

Now it made sense. A new weapon was something you certainly wouldn't want to discuss in any public area. "That would be difficult for me to forget, given that I had to help it fire manually and that I fought Vantak in the same room with that gun." A combination that had very nearly killed him, and one that made Simon wince just remembering it.

"Even so." Orphan ran his hand absently along his lefthand crest, a gesture showing he was thinking and distracted. "Might I ask, then, if you intended to keep its workings... proprietary, I suppose is the right term? That is, if you did not intend the Liberated to be able to make use of it and duplicate it?"

"What? Oh, no, Orphan, I am sorry if you somehow got that impression. It was on your ship, and I put it together out of your components, and to make it a really practical weapon there would be many refinements. It is certainly as much yours as it would be anyone's. You're welcome to make use of it as much as you like – although I'd very much appreciate you sending the design data over so we could replicate it. I confess I didn't really pay exact attention to memorizing what I'd done."

That was something of an understatement. He'd cobbled the clumsy superweapon together using that strange ability of insight and understanding that he'd gained in the near-catastrophe of the sealing ritual that had inactivated Ariane's Shadeweaver-like powers. Thinking back on it, he really didn't remember it all clearly, although he thought he probably could if he focused on the problem enough.

Orphan's hands made the twin dismissing gesture that meant disagreement. "You mistake me, Simon. I have already attempted to do so. I examined your revision of my topside turret gun carefully, and applied those modifications to my portside guns." He paused, studying Simon so intensely that the human scientists found himself extremely nervous. "Those portside guns, however, refuse to function. Not only do they not produce the most impressive intensity and power of the topside cannon, they do not function at all. And my initial analysis of the design is that it should not function."

"What?"

"The topside cannon, by contrast, continues to function exactly as before. I have added an automatic reloading option and found a way to store replacement matrices, of course, but I am extremely hesitant to actually disassemble the original – it is, after all, a 'trump card' as you might call it, of inestimable value. But I am at the same time confident that my scans and analysis of the unit are accurate. The portside guns are as near duplicates as I can manage... yet they are dead weight now."

The alien leaned forward, and despite the mostly expressionless face gave the impression of someone with a disquieting grin on his face. "I find this ... interesting, Doctor Simon Sandrisson. Immensely interesting... would you not agree?"

 

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 3

The Monkey King is back!

 

------

 

 

Chapter 3.

     Wu bounced along in front of Ariane, watching in all directions at once. The Grand Arcade, that gigantic area of open-air markets, stalls, covered collections of shops like mini-malls, was a constant whirl of activity that never stopped – ideal for both an ambush and an escape. He turned periodically, seeing that Ariane was just behind him, that no threats loomed nearby. Then he could return for a few moments to the enjoyment of the moment.

The Arcade was one of the most wonderful places Wu had ever been, and seeing and smelling this maelstrom of a thousand species and a million scents lifted his spirits, helped him ... not forget, really, but push back the loss that still ached, perhaps always would ache, behind his heart. All gone. They haven't said it, but I can tell by the glances, the words not spoken... if there is anything to be salvaged, it will not be all. It will not be most. A few small things, remnants of my world... a world of lies, but they were my lies to live with.

But the Arcade was another world, a real world of wonders perhaps surpassing the imaginations of the Hyperion designers, a world within another world within an endless sky of worlds. DuQuesne said it was made for us. Maybe he was right, after all. I shouldn't have doubted; he usually is right.

"You're looking better, Wu," Ariane said.

"Better? Better than what?" He was momentarily puzzled.

"Than you have for the last couple of weeks. Happier. There's more of a bounce in your step."

Wow. He couldn't keep from staring at her for a moment. "You could see that? I thought I was good at hiding my pain."

"You are," she said, with a gentle smile – one so different from the smile she wore in competition or battle. "But as the Captain with three Hyperions in my crew, I've gotten used to watching for subtleties that I probably would've missed a year ago."

"Ha! Of course you have." He tried to ignore the fact that when she smiled like that and looked at him with sympathy and worry, with those eyes and hair of blue, she looked very much like someone else. "I do not like being sad. I don't like remembering sadness and loss. But... I cannot forget, either."

"You shouldn't forget. They were your life. Your world. Like you said to Mr. Fenelon, if you don't remember them, who will?"

He nodded, looking around again. They were moving down one of the many rows of food vendors; that made the expected movement of the crowds fairly predictable, which was good. "I know. But I know that S... Sanzo," it was astonishing how hard it was to say her name now, "... Sanzo wouldn't want me to be sad. If there was nothing I could do, then she would want me to do what I could here."

For a moment, he allowed his heart to go black, his voice to drop to a near snarl. "But I will not forget the one who did this."

Instead of backing away at the sight of the monster within – as almost everyone, even his old friends, used to – Ariane put her hand on his shoulder, and her touch was warm. "No, Wu. None of us will. And I promise you," her voice was for an instant as level and cold as his, "we will find him – or her – one day."

She's STRONG, he thought, one of the highest compliments he could pay anyone. No wonder DuQuesne and Dr. Sandrisson like her so much. "Thank you." He glanced around again. "So we are shopping for food?"

"I want to get a good assortment of, well, pretty much everything to take with us. If we're going to be gone for months, I don't want a boring repetitive diet."

"I will agree there!"

For the next hour or so, they did exactly that; Ariane selected multiple foods – meats, unusual grains of purple and green, a dazzling selection of fruits, snacks and alien tubers, all to be sent to the Embassy for packing.

A movement caught his eye and he grinned. "Captain, can we go talk to an old friend?"

"Who are you –" she followed his gaze, and her smile answered his. "Of course we can. As long as you promise not to get in trouble this time."

"I'm on duty this time," he pointed out.

The tiny – even shorter than Wu Kung – white-and-purple figure turned, tail raised halfway, as they approached. "Captain Ariane Austin of Humanity, greetings," said Tunuvun, bowing with wide-spread arms.

"Tunuvun of the Genasi, greetings," Ariane said, bowing.

He turned to Wu. "And my brother warrior, Wu Kung, I am pleased to see you again as well."

"Me too!" He stepped in and clasped hands with the smaller being, feeling the strength of the three-fingered grip. "How are you and your people?"

"Very well, and I thank you for asking. In fact…" A scent of trepidation and decisions. "My meeting you here is not entirely accident," he said, looking at Ariane. "I had hoped to meet you in such circumstances – unofficially, where I might ask you a favor without possibly embarrassing us both."

"A favor?" One of Ariane's brows lifted. "I can't imagine anything you might ask being embarrassing. What is the favor?"

"Refusal could be an embarrassment, at least for me, if done in an official setting," he said. "And could reflect upon you. I wished to ask... would you – and my brother Wu, of course – accompany me to deliver our Challenge?"

"What?" Ariane's scent showed her startlement and gratification. "Tunuvun, we would be honored to be present at that event. When would you like to do this?"

"Well... now, if it would not be overly presumptuous."

The sharp scent, like lemons and ozone, was clear. "You're nervous, Tunuvun!"

The tail twitched. "Of course I am nervous! I go to Challenge for my entire people's right to be people – to be Citizens of the Arena, to be part of the Arena as you are, and we are not. All will rest on my back."

"I don't blame you, Tunuvun," Ariane said, and her smile showed she did understand. "And so you want to get that out of the way as soon as possible, so you can just focus on winning the Challenge – whatever it ends up being."

"You are a competitor as well, Captain. Yes, you understand perfectly. So…?"

"So let us go issue your Challenge, Tunuvun of the Genasi!"

He bowed again, very low indeed, and then turned and began striding briskly away. "Then follow. It is not too far, and I would rather walk, unless you have an objection."

"None at all. Nothing wrong with exercise." As they began walking, Ariane continued, "So who's the lucky target of your Challenge?"

"I will be issuing Challenge to the Vengeance," Tunuvun replied.

Wu saw Ariane stop in her tracks, and her scent shifted to surprised concern. "Tunuvun, you're going to Challenge one of the Great Factions?" Ariane said slowly.

"Of course he is," Wu answered; it had been so obvious to him that he hadn't realized it would surprise Ariane. "The rules said they had to choose one with enough Spheres that the loss would not be great, and honor dictates that such a solemn and important Challenge must be given to one truly worthy."

"Wu Kung sees truly," Tunuvun said. "This Challenge must leave none in doubt of who we are, or what our worth is."

A few minutes later, they stopped before the doorway of one building that thrust itself like a dagger into the sky, pointing towards the distant ceiling of Nexus Arena.

"This will be interesting," muttered Ariane.

"Selpa A'At of the Vengeance, come forth!" Tunuvun said, and one of the green comm-spheres appeared before him as he spoke. "I, Tunuvun of the Genasi, must speak with you here, before my companions."

A moment passed, then the sphere brightened. "With such formality I am called; I answer you, Tunuvun and say to you, wait, then, and I will be there in moments."

Wu waited, tense. I really hope Maria-Susanna isn't with him. He missed the golden-haired woman terribly, but he now knew what she had become, and seeing her so hurt and changed was a fresh pain he did not need.

But Selpa'A'At emerged alone, to Wu's great relief, spherical body seeming to float level between its spidery legs. "I am here, Tunuvun of the Genasi. What is so urgent and so public that you must call me here, before my own Faction House?"

Tunuvun drew himself up, somehow looking tall and proud. "In the name of my people, I Challenge you, Selpa'A'At of the Vengeance, by the right and power of the Arena itself; you must accept, there is no refusal for this Challenge."

The globe of a body rose and fell. "So. Before I respond, might I ask why you have chosen the Vengeance?"

"I offer you a chance to best me, who won a Challenge for the Powerbrokers against you under circumstances that I know did not entirely please you. It is an honorable chance for you, and an honorable Challenge for me."

Selpa chuckled; the actual sound, which Wu could hear underneath the translation of mirth, was a rasp as of wood on wood. "So. The Vengeance accepts your Challenge, then. More, it is our right to select the nature of the Challenge."

Tunuvun tensed. "It is," he agreed.

Wu Kung felt himself tensing as well, for along with the sharp smell of the Genasi's trepidation he could detect the far more worrisome scent of amusement and confidence. Selpa knows something or has thought of something Tunuvun won't like, I'll bet.

"We could select many contests that would be ill-suited to Genasi; still, you could then select a Champion who was skilled in such areas. Instead, we will select one that has aspects appropriate to both sides. It will be Racing Chance, with the race an obstacle course."

Instantly Tunuvun began to relax. "This is an acceptable selection," he said.

No! Wu didn't know what, but that smell of triumph told him a trap had closed.

"And our Champion," Selpa A'At said, his voice smooth as silk, "for the racing portion, at least, will be Tunuvun of the Genasi."

Wu found his mouth had dropped open, as had Ariane's. "Wh... what?"

Tunuvun had gone rigid as a statue, and Wu began to realize just how artful a trap Selpa had laid.

"You... you can't do that!" Ariane snapped.

"Captain Austin of Humanity, you are I am afraid completely incorrect," Selpa said. "Not only is the general rule clear that I can select any Champion; it is also the fact that following the loss to which he refers, the Vengeance immediately made a contract with him and his people to provide us with at least one such Champion at our discretion. This was, in a way, our recognition of his performance in that Challenge."

Ariane shook her head. "Well... fine, then. But all he has to do in that case is sit down at the start line and let the other guy win."

"No, he can't do that," Wu said, seeing Tunuvun turning towards Ariane with outrage writ large in his posture. "Ariane, this is his profession. If he ever is seen as doing less than he could, he'd lose face – lose tremendous face."

"My brother understands," Tunuvun said, his voice filled with leashed anger and chagrin. "In fact, to forestall any accusations that I might lose the match on purpose, I will have to run this race better than any I have ever run, with no reserve held back at all, so that there is no doubt I was running to win for my patrons."

But then Tunuvun's scent changed, and though his face looked little different, Wu Kung sensed a broad smile. "But the same rules apply to me. Whoever is to race against me – and who must beat me, if the Genasi are to win their citizenship in the Arena – will have to be my equal, or perhaps even my better, and though I have, rarely, lost, I have met only one such. So I ask you, Sun Wu Kung of Humanity: will you be our Champion?"

Selpa stiffened, all six legs locking.

Wu Kung glanced uncertainly at Ariane, but then saw the savage grin spreading over her face and felt a burst of gratitude. "Wu Kung, as Leader of the Faction of Humanity, I give you full permission to accept this request."

"Then I will gladly race against you, Tunuvun!" he said, and grasped the smaller creature's hands again. "If you'll forgive me for beating you!"

"My brother in combat," Tunuvun said, and that sense of a smile was all around him, "I will only not forgive you if you lose."

 

 

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 2

Our friends were about to pay a visit to their oldest alien acquaintance...

 

-----

 

 

Chapter 2.

"Captain Ariane Austin, Doctor Marc DuQuesne, it is an honor to welcome you back to my Embassy once more," Orphan said, giving the full pushup-bow which both the Blessed and the Liberated used as a sign of greatest respect. "And you as well, Sun Wu Kung. I take this to mean that the various... issues in your home system have been addressed in a satisfactory manner?"

DuQuesne saw a smile instantly appear on Ariane's face, the smile that she often wore around the flamboyant, devious yet likeable Leader of the Liberated. "They have, Orphan. Though – as I've come to expect – they created additional 'issues' that will have to be addressed in time."

"That is ever the way of things, is it not?" Orphan said, gesturing them to follow. "The course of a Leader is never simple."

"And if it ever looks simple," DuQuesne said, "you better believe you're missing something big."

"So very true. Here, seat yourselves, I have provided some of the refreshments you found most palatable on our last meeting." The tall, green-black semi-insectoid creature took his own seat, which was more a resting perch than anything else, and raised a drinking globe. "To our continuing alliance, my friends."

"I'll drink to that," DuQuesne said, raising his own glass. "How are things now? Where is Sethrik?"

"Things, as you say, are going very well since our secret victory over my former people. At the moment, Sethrik is in a meeting with the Naquari, a small but very capable Faction, who may be able to assist us in exploiting some of the resources of our new Sphere."

DuQuesne grinned at that. Ariane's inspired generosity in gifting one of the three Spheres they'd won to the Liberated had not only doubled the holdings of the Liberated, it had also sent an unmistakable message to the Blessed (whenever they realized it) that the Faction of the Liberated was considered one of the most important allies of Humanity... and thus any action against the Liberated might well bring the unpredictable and unknown forces of Humanity to Orphan's aid. "We might have some more help for you there, too."

Orphan's head tilted inquiringly. "Indeed? Please, continue."

"The story of your Faction is a pretty inspiring one from a Human point of view," Ariane said. "We've had inquiries as to whether a human could join the Liberated. I presumed that they could, and that you would have no objections to appropriate humans joining, but wasn't going to say so until we spoke with you."

"Object? Most certainly not, Captain Austin!" Orphan's voice – translated perfectly by the Arena – was enthusiastically emphatic, and he reinforced this with the double-handtap that indicated assent. "Obviously anyone joining would have to be of appropriate... caliber, given our situation with respect to the Blessed, and would have to understand that our ultimate goals will eventually put us directly into conflict with the Blessed and the Minds themselves. It will not be a... safe choice of Faction."

"We'll make sure any volunteers are fully informed of the nature and depth of commitment. But you may want to hold off on accepting more than one or two at this time."

"Hold off? But I –" Orphan broke off, stiffening. "Captain Austin, are you saying –"

"— we've found you a crew!" DuQuesne finished for him with a grin. "Yes. And so if you took in more than a couple recruits, you'd exceed that limit of four members you mentioned to us a while back – which would mean that Sethrik would be severely limited in where he could go, and also stuck having to either trust, or keep an eye on, new recruits."

Orphan was speechless for a moment, then performed another deep push-bow. "Given your difficulties, I had of course decided not to remind you of this promise for a time; I am honored and touched that you clearly have kept it in mind even through such trying times. When will I have the opportunity to meet this crew?"

"You've already met them," Wu Kung said, his own smile showing his fangs. "It's us."

A handtap of assent. "Of course. Only those I can trust, and those whose capabilities I know."

"And in my case," Ariane said, "someone with a vested interest in this mystery of yours."

DuQuesne saw the tightening of the wingcases that indicated tension or sudden thought. "Ahh. Of course. You hope that this mission may shed light on the powers of Shadeweaver or Faith that lie locked within you."

"Do you think it could?"

Orphan was silent for a moment. DuQuesne caught Wu's narrow-eyed glance, but even without that he could tell that Orphan was weighing options, deciding what to say and what to hold back. "Orphan, don't make me suspicious of you again."

Orphan made a buzzing sound, translated as a brief chuckle. "Ahh, Doctor DuQuesne, I doubt that you are ever likely to lose all suspicion of me. But here I must tread carefully. There are things I do not speak of even here, in Nexus Arena, that I will only speak of in the Deeps between the Spheres, where even Shadeweaver or Faith would have difficulty locating me, let alone spying upon me."

DuQuesne nodded slowly. The Shadeweavers can mess around with the Arena's rules, so it stands to reason that someone like Orphan might not trust even the Embassy's security without limit. But what that implies about his secret? That's pretty scary.

After another moment, Orphan's hands tapped quickly. "In answer to your question, Captain Austin, yes, I do believe it could shed a great deal of light on this most difficult mystery of yours. Not without some... risk, but then, risk is not so terrifying for you as for some, yes?"

"I rather enjoy it at times," Ariane said honestly.

Orphan laughed, though the laugh was a bit strained and his color momentarily paler. "I would like to say how incomprehensible I find that, except that I have found myself, at moments, feeling the same way during some of our more ... perilous moments."

"So, will the three of us be enough?" Wu asked, "or do we have to find a couple more?"

"My initial preference would be for a few more... but in truth, three capable beings such as yourselves will suffice, and in some ways ... yes, in some ways fewer is preferable. Secrets, you understand."

"In that case, it's still too many," DuQuesne said equably.

"How do you mean?"

He grinned. "We've got an old saying back in Earth system: 'three can keep a secret... if two of them are dead.'."

Orphan burst into buzzing laughter. "Ahhh, yes, how very appropriate, Doctor! It so truly reflects the way of the spy and manipulator, does it not?"

"It wouldn't have lasted so long if there weren't truth in it, that's for sure. So, can you tell us how long this jaunt will be for?"

Orphan took a drink, obviously thinking. "The precise length of time depends on many factors, as one might imagine. But... months, certainly. The journey is not short, and of course we must first travel there, and then return, and I cannot say precisely how long my... business, so to speak, will require before I may return."

Months... we've had some experience now with travel in the Arena. That means... "You mentioned only talking within the Deeps about certain things. Does that mean…?"

"Ah, Doctor DuQuesne, you are as perceptive as ever. Yes, our journey will take us through the Deeps indeed, far from mapped Sky Gates and well-trafficked routes through the Arena's skies. You are, I believe, well-familiar with one of the reasons for my sobriquet of 'the Survivor', yes?"

"Yeah," DuQuesne said, "and that's actually one of the things that's got me worried. You've been on at least three expeditions to the Deeps, expeditions of which you were the only survivor."

Wu Kung stood slowly. "I did not know that."

"It is true. And it is also true that on one of those expeditions I made the... discovery which now necessitates my return. But by that token, I did learn much of the perils surrounding that particular location and the, hmm, peculiar approaches one must take to survive there." Orphan leaned back, his tail bracing him as he regarded the group.

"I would like to know whether we will survive, then," Wu Kung said, looking much more menacing than someone of his small stature would be expected to look. "Because if it will put Ariane in too much danger I will say we are not going."

Orphan's wingcases contracted, then released. "To know? All of us would very much like to know, for certain, whether we would survive a given choice, would we not? Alas, I can only give you likelihoods and intentions, not certainty.

"What I can say, my friends, is that I know what happened to the members of those ill-fated expeditions, and I know how to avoid those fates. While I give you no guarantees, I have every intention of making this journey as safe as possible. I would very much like to return here with my entire crew intact." He gave the broad gesture which DuQuesne interpreted as a smile. "After all, this would also encourage others to possibly journey with me without suspecting that such a trip could be a death sentence."

Wu Kung stood immobile for a moment, regarding the alien narrowly. "There are many things you are not saying."

"Indeed there are. And things I will not say until we are well within the Deeps, I assure you. But I very much mean it when I say that I regard you as my friends, and do not wish to bring harm to any of you."

Wu shrugged and sat down. "Okay, that much was truth. We will go."

Orphan looked over at Ariane. "Had he said no?..."

"... then we'd be staying," Ariane answered immediately. "There's no point in having a bodyguard if you don't listen to him, and Wu's instincts are pretty good."

"Well. In that case I thank you, Wu Kung."

"Do not thank me; it is just that, past all your twistiness, you like Ariane and Marc, and you don't want to hurt them. You were telling the truth there. So that should be all right, and if I'm along, I can take care of them anyway."

Orphan chuckled. "Very good, then."

"So we'll be out for months," DuQuesne said thoughtfully. "We're taking Zounin-Ginjou?"

"Yes, my flagship has been repaired, and I will have it appropriately disguised by the time we are ready to launch."

"Disguised?" repeated Ariane.

"Indeed. The more misdirection I can manage, the better. I do not wish to be followed nor tracked in any way; minimizing the ease with which others can recognize my vessel is certainly one way to reduce this risk."

"This will be interesting," Ariane said. "All right. Well, we won't lack for space on Zounin-Ginjou, so we should be able to take anything we need, yes?"

"Oh, certainly. Bring anything you feel you require or that will make you comfortable. Your own foodstuffs, of course, are recommended. While I will naturally bring food with me, my selections for human palates are of necessity currently quite limited."

Ariane nodded thoughtfully. "Good enough. I still have a few things to do here, though – I have to touch base, as we say, with the other Factions, make sure that there aren't any key issues I have to address before I turn things over to Carl and Laila, and so on."

"Certainly, certainly, Captain Austin," Orphan said cheerfully. "And as I have been waiting a while, another week or two is no great burden. Let us plan on launching on this expedition in two weeks from this day; is that satisfactory?"

DuQuesne considered, then nodded. He was pretty sure it would be easy enough to assemble anything he wanted or needed in that space of time. "Works for me."

"And for me," Ariane concurred. "Orphan, make your plans. In two weeks, we set sail into the Arena!"

 

 

 

 

Challenges of the Deeps: Chapter 1

Today we begin snippeting the third Arenaverse novel, Challenges of the Deeps, which will be released March 2nd, 2017. The eARC will be released in early December, by which point about one-half of the book will have been snippeted.

Re-Enter the ARENA!

-------

 

 

Chapter 1.

     Ariane Austin felt the peculiar jolt that the Sandrisson jump always gave her, and found a smile on her face. "We're back," she said.

"Out of the political frying pan and into the Arena's fire," DuQuesne said, chuckling. "Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Not something I would have expected, if you'd asked me before all this started," Ariane said. "But I have to admit that Arena politics are more exciting."

"Fates preserve us from exciting politics like that last adventure," Simon Sandrisson said.

Ariane looked back at Simon, who was sitting in one of the passenger seats of the shuttle Century Eagle, adjusting his hair clip to catch a stray lock of his pure-white hair. "Why, Simon, are you saying you don't want to rescue me again?"

There was general laughter from everyone present – DuQuesne, Wu, Gabrielle, Oasis Abrams, and Simon himself. "I would say rather that I would prefer you never be in a position to require rescue," Simon replied, his smile and wink charming as ever. "Although you and Sethrik did well enough for yourselves at the end."

"With the Monkey King's help, yes," she said, nodding at Wu with a smile. "But yes, I agree. Still... we're about to go out and get ourselves in danger again, aren't we?"

DuQuesne looked momentarily grim. "And I really wish I could find a decent argument to keep you out of it, but I can't."

"No, you can't, Marc. I could keep you out of it with more justification. The only argument that even has relevance is that the Leader of the Faction should stay home where it's safe."

They all knew that wouldn't wash with her, and wouldn't for the other Faction leaders. Orphan, leader and – until recently – sole member of the Faction of the Liberated, often risked his life in questionable ventures, such as the one they would be accompanying him on.

His unique position excused his risk-taking, but the fact was that – despite the Arena residents' overall greater aversion to high risk – Faction Leaders and equivalents seemed quite willing, and capable, of facing dangerous situations personally. Sethrik and his Mind-groomed traitorous successor Vantak had shown that clearly, engaging adversaries directly and without any reluctance in deciding the fate of worlds with guns, swords, or bare chitinous hands. Her impression was that Selpa'A'At of the Vengeance, Dajzail of the Molothos, and even wise, considered Nyanthus of the Faith would all be willing to take on threats to their Factions personally, if need be.

And that's the kind of company I have to run in. Me. Ariane Austin... Leader of the Faction of Humanity.

The thought was still ridiculous, even though she'd lived with that title for well over a year now. The idea that she – formerly just a high-ranking racing pilot – had ended up as the literal leader of the entire human race was inescapably ridiculous, yet also as inescapably true. She'd nearly lost her life – and cost humanity a great deal more – before she'd not only grasped, but accepted, that burden that the nigh-omnipotent Arena had laid upon her.

Now she was going back once more... and she already had a challenge ahead of her.

The rest of the trip to the great docking facility within their Sphere's "Harbor" was uneventful, not that she expected anything to happen. Of all the places in the Universe, being inside one's own Sphere was probably one of the safest, at least in terms of threats from outside your own faction.

Unlike earlier voyages, there was traffic at the Dock. Multiple ships were coupled to the airlocks along the kilometers-long, eerily skeletal structure. "Approaching saturation," Simon observed. "Are we regulating transitions carefully?"

"Yeah," DuQuesne answered. "Checked with Saul on that and a few other things. They've done a few experiments and verified your theoretical limits – minor tweaks that might change the model slightly but nothing major – and there's now a lot of oversight on transitions on both sides."

"So how many vessels can we get in the harbor before we get stuck?" Ariane asked as their seats unlocked and restraints retracted.

"For vessels of reasonable size, the limit's twenty," said DuQuesne. "Doesn't seem to matter whether they're in groups or all spread out, either, which doesn't make much sense to me."

They all oriented themselves before entering the airlock; among the other impossible things the Arena did casually was to provide science-fiction-standard artificial gravity within the Spheres and most other living areas. Not orienting yourself before you stepped out was a good way to fall on your head.

"Why's that?" Gabrielle asked. "Seems to me that if you spread 'em all out, they wouldn't interfere with each other so much. Or maybe if you crowded 'em all together that the interference wouldn't reach far out."

Simon's head came up with a sharpness that showed an insight. "Ah, of course. The problem, Gabrielle, is that when the ships are close together, the interference resonance is magnified by the multiple coils, so that it in effect 'balloons out', vastly larger than the individual drive fields would be alone. At the same time, if you distributed the ships widely, each one has a very large interference radius. I suppose you could get more in, if you distributed all of your ships exactly right, but it would be a difficult process and would involve sending your transitioning ships billions of miles out – in all directions. And, of course, if any of those ships started to move, all bets would be off."

Wu Kung left first, as usual; he would not allow Ariane to enter any location without scouting it himself. The others followed once he waved; exiting, Ariane saw how Wu was studying the bustling groups of workers. "All clear, Wu?" she asked.

"Come on, Captain," he said. "They're just working." The deceptively diminutive Hyperion trotted ahead of her, brown-furred tail waving a counterpoint to his footsteps, gold-tipped staff slung over his back. Wu's gaze flicked back and forth, shown by the slight movement of his head, but despite his alertness he was also moving with the relaxed bounce she knew signaled that everything really was all right.

She noticed a pensive expression on DuQuesne's face as they continued, and a similar shadow pass over Oasis' as well. She let the others go on past and joined them; Wu glanced at her but then looked away, clearly aware of what she was doing. "Are you both okay?"

The immense black-haired engineer looked down at her, started to answer, then stopped himself; the red-haired former CSF officer seemed also at something of a loss for words. Finally DuQuesne sighed. "For what we have to do now, yeah, I'm okay. But losing those four…"

"…losing any of them was bad," Oasis said bluntly. "But four? And not by accident, not even by Maria-Susanna? She was bad enough, but we…"

"You knew her," Ariane finished. "She was... a known quantity, no matter how terribly she was broken. This came out of the blue. You don't know what happened?"

"What happened, that was fairly easy," DuQuesne said, looking up reflexively as they passed through the immense door that led to the Inner Sphere. "The question wasn't what but who and why. Whoever did this wanted to make sure there wasn't a chance of reconstructing anything, biological or electronic. They were in the process of wrecking Wu's when we arrived, that's why it wasn't completely totaled." He looked surreptitiously at the Hyperion Monkey King, but Wu appeared to be busily leading the way and watching.

"And…?"

He shook his head. "Still not much. Saul's got his best people working on it, but he's ... well, not hopeful. There's a possibility there's some left in the deep backup data archives – those are hidden inside extra hardware layers embedded in the internal shell supports – but I'm not optimistic."

Ariane tried to keep her expression neutral, but inside she felt the sting of sympathetic loss. Poor Wu! That would be his whole world they just destroyed – his friends, his enemies, his family and everything he was raised with. Simulated or not, they were real AIs which means they were as much people as we are. And that would be true of the other Hyperions who died. Whoever did this murdered a lot more than four people.

"It has to be someone associated with Hyperion," Oasis said. "They knew exactly what they were doing and how to do it, and that trap they set for Marc... they knew him."

"That ought to narrow it way down."

"Problem is," DuQuesne said, "none of the known Hyperion survivors fit this pattern. The only good candidate – at least for planning this – would be one of the old Hyperion AI adversaries."

She felt a chill, as if a procession of ants dipped in liquid nitrogen had run down her spine. "And according to Mentor, at least one of them has escaped."

"Right. But that puts us back to square one, in a way, because even Mentor couldn't tell us which of the villain AIs it might be, and there are a lot of candidates. There were slightly more than a thousand Hyperions, and while a few of them didn't have, well, epic-scale adversaries, most of them did, and some – especially those from long-running fictional universes – had many." He looked to Oasis.

"Don't worry, Marc," she said, and put a hand on his arm. Ariane saw, in her gaze and posture, the duality that lived inside that single body – a nearly-merged combination of the original Oasis Abrams, and the Hyperion that was usually just called "K". "You've got your own mission. Leave this one to me."

Ariane didn't hear the rest of the conversation, because Tom Cussler was waving at her from next to Wu Kung. "Hello, Tom," she said, returning his bear-hug and hearing him grunt a bit at the reminder she was probably stronger than him. "Or I should say, Governor Cussler."

He grinned, and Steve Franceschetti, standing next to him, gave him a congratulatory punch in the arm. "Way to go, Tom!"

"So that's the title, is it? Confirmed by the SSC?"

"Confirmed and a lot of other things, too." She handed them each a datachip. "Go over that tonight in detail. You'll have a lot to absorb. Short version, I'm still Leader of the Faction, but there's a mechanism to yank me that I think we can live with. And I'm not going to be around long; got a promise to fulfill for Orphan."

"I hope the details on that are here too," Tom said, falling in next to them as they continued onward.

"They are. As much as I know, anyway. Not to be spread around outside of our inner circle, though. You people need to know, but most others don't."

"Are you staying?" Steve asked. "I could get things set up for –"

"Sorry, Steve," she said. "Next time, I hope. But I want to get back to Nexus Arena right away and make clear that things have been settled at home. The Leader of the Faction really can't be absent long."

"Right. Of course." Steve's sharp face, topped by curly brown hair, showed his disappointment, but there was understanding there too; he knew exactly how important it was for the Faction Leader to be present and active in the Arena.

The group continued through Gateway Colony, as it was now being called, making their way through the canyon-like roadways to the hexagon-paved center of the colony, then through the next doorway and through a series of corridors to the Inner Gateway, that huge swirling circle of iridescent-sparked ebony that led to Nexus Arena.

The familiar whirling tingle and indescribable, spinning, hurtling sensation seized her as she stepped through that portal and emerged into the kilometers-wide room filled with Gateways that was called Transition, the entryway to Nexus Arena itself.

In all directions were almost uncountable alien figures – bipedal, amorphous, multilegged, tentacular, floating – moving into or out of the Gateways, meeting with each other, avoiding others, and passing eventually out of Transition through a great archway into Nexus Arena proper. A Milluk – the same species as Vengeance Leader Selpa'A'At – was walking with spidery elegance alongside a sluglike Shiquan; a massive Daelmokhan's semi-saurian body maintained a slow, dignified pace in order to continue a discussion with one of the Blessed To Serve. A dozen dozen other species, all intermingling, talking, gesturing, moving in a dazzling and, Ariane admitted to herself, somewhat intimidating array of diversity and mystery.

But the very sight sent a thrill through her soul, and she knew she was home. She felt the grin spreading across her face as she stepped forward and headed down the ramp. "We're back, Arena," she said.

Welcome back, Captain Ariane Austin, said a quiet, yet some how profoundly powerful, Voice in her head, a Voice she had heard a few times before: the voice of the Arena itself, or whatever intelligence hid behind and within the nigh-omnipotent Arena.

She stumbled with the shock. "I didn't expect an answer."

This time there was no additional remark forthcoming, but the simple fact there had been one at all filled her with a vague foreboding. The Arena generally didn't speak unless it had a very, very good reason to do so, and from what she'd heard from other inhabitants of the Arena, she'd already had it speak to her, or in her presence, more times than most people ever would, even full-time residents of the Arena. So why did it speak now? Just to greet me?

"Something wrong, Captain?" DuQuesne asked.

"I don't know, Marc," she replied as quietly as she could. They reached one of the giant elevators in the area outside of Transition, a meters-broad shining column of metal. "The Arena welcomed me back. In person, so to speak."

DuQuesne's brow furrowed, and he nodded. There was no need to explain anything to him. "Well, let's get to the Embassy and check in. Then we can think about whatever this little mystery means before we call up Orphan."

Once out of the elevator, it was simple to flag one of the floating, open-carriage-like taxis and tell it "The Embassy of Humanity"; the taxi accelerated smoothly, weaving through foot and vehicle traffic with scarcely a jolt until it finally arrived at the Embassy.

"Well, we made it without anyone trying to shoot us, interrogate us, or otherwise inconvenience us," Simon observed. "That seems an auspicious omen."

As they passed through the doorway into the foyer of the Embassy, Ariane saw the precise lines and features of Laila Canning emerge from one of the interior doorways and stride with perfect rhythm straight towards them.

"Welcome, back, Captain," Laila said formally, and then with an unexpected grin stepped forward and gave Ariane a hug. "We've missed you."

After the initial startlement, Ariane felt an answering smile on her face and hugged back. "Well, thank you very much, Laila!"

Nearby, Carl and Gabrielle had completed their own even more enthusiastic greeting. I wonder if I'll be performing a marriage there. Already did one for Tom and Steve.

"Can I assume from your arrival without Mr. Naraj in tow that we have resolved our issues properly?" Laila asked, after also embracing Simon and – after a split-second hesitation – shaking DuQuesne's hand.

"Well enough, yes. Though Oscar will be coming back. We could not prove his involvement in my kidnapping, and he did make a lot of progress with other negotiations that we would not want to drop. We'll just have to keep an eye on him, that's all. He will not be given the authority he had, I assure you."

"But your position as Leader, that has been confirmed?"

"We worked out a deal. If you'll open a link?"

Unlike most people, Laila took the whole data dump without batting an eye; Carl's eyes practically crossed and he had to sit down hard. She was the sort who worked with three AISages simultaneously. I have no idea what it must be like to have a brain like that. "Oh! Quite clever. I look forward to meeting this Mr. Fenelon – he is coming, I assume?"

"Him, General Esterhauer, and several more, yes."

"What about the... well, the murders of those Hyperions?" Carl asked, finally recovering.

DuQuesne shrugged. "We've discussed that earlier. Basically... too many possibilities, but the investigation's ongoing. You can check out the second appendix for everything we've got; in fact, I want everyone on our crew to do that. Any of us might have some insight, and believe you me, we all want the monster behind this caught."

Carl's eyes went blank momentarily. "It'd help if I understood more about Hyperion."

She saw DuQuesne hesitate, then grin. "Yeah, of course it would. I'll give you guys the same summary I gave the Captain. But... don't pass this stuff to anyone else, understand?"

Laila nodded, as did Carl. "We will say nothing."

"How have things been here, Laila?"

"Busy," said the brown-haired scientist. "There are at least two or three queries per day for you. No real emergencies yet, however. Long-term, the real problem is going to be the Molothos. Everyone knows we are at a war footing with them, and while the major factions have gained considerable respect for us, the Molothos have many thousands of years of reputation – quite deserved, as far as I can tell – for military efficiency, brutality, and an ability to win wars even if they lose an occasional battle. The only losses they have suffered in significant conflicts have been against others of the Great Factions – the Vengeance and the Faith as well as the Blessed."

She gave a rueful grin. "If we could actually tell people what you managed to do to the Blessed, that might change perceptions a bit, but we cannot. So right now, negotiations with other Factions are still quite touchy because they are, understandably, skittish about involving themselves with us and possibly being targeted by the Molothos in turn."

"That doesn't include the Great Factions, I hope," Simon said.

"Not so far," Laila said, looking thoughtful. "While I am sure none of them want to confront the Molothos if they can avoid it, they're not terribly scared of the Molothos either."

"Good. Then our relations with, at least, the Analytic and the Faith should not be affected," Ariane said. "The last thing we need is to lose the allies we already have."

"Speaking of that, our next major order of business is with our first and most interesting ally," DuQuesne said with a grin. "We still have a job to do."

"And one we've put off for a long time," she said. "Let's give Orphan a call!"

"Just a moment, Captain," Simon said. "Before you do that, I would like to – very regretfully – withdraw myself from this expedition."

Ariane could see the regret echoed in the brilliant green eyes. "Withdraw? Simon, why? The three of us –"

"Well, you see, that by itself is part of it."

DuQuesne grunted. "He's got a point there. Like it or not, I think people recognize that the real top dogs of our Faction are you, me, and Simon. Taking all three of us out of circulation for some unknown time might not be the best idea."

"Thank you, Marc. Exactly."

Laila nodded. "I would very much not want to run things without one of the three of you here. These last few weeks have not been easy, and I expect – if that mysterious mission of Orphan's is anything like what he implied – you will be gone much, much longer. One of you must remain."

I wish I could disagree with that. Still... "You said that was part of it."

"And not the largest part, no. In our excitement and – completely shared, I assure you – interest in finding out what, precisely, Orphan's mysterious mission holds, I'm afraid we all forgot that I have a time-limited and extremely valuable opportunity."

Ariane rapped herself on the forehead hard, just to remind herself how stupid she'd been. "Oh, God, how could I have forgotten that? The Archives!"

"Give me a smack too, Ariane. In fact, make that two smacks," DuQuesne said. "Klono's tungsten... dammit, no, not going back to those old oaths." He blushed darkly, as he sometimes did when his old Hyperion upbringing surfaced. "But how the hell could I have dropped the ball that badly? Simon's got a one-year pass to the largest library in two universes. We could end up away for months, and if he comes with us he's pissing away one of the greatest chances we have to advance our knowledge and understanding of the Arena and everything in it."

"I'm afraid that's my feeling on the matter," Simon said. "I should be spending several hours a week, at least, digging through those Archives, seeing what I can turn up." The Analytic had given Simon the unlimited right to visit the Archives for one year – but had omitted any right of Simon to use the Archive's equivalent of an index or search function.

Simon's as-yet-poorly understood connection to the Arena, that sometimes provided him with knowledge or insight beyond the ordinary, had allowed him to mitigate this disadvantage to some extent, but didn't substitute for the lack of the index. Partly, Ariane knew, this was because Simon himself was very wary of that capability – which had no known precedent anywhere in the Arena – and did not want to rely on it overly much.

But even pure random searching of a library that, literally, covered almost the entirety of the Arena – its history, its Factions, its technology – was an opportunity of almost incalculable value, and Simon was right – all too right – that it was one they could not afford to waste.

"I hate to agree, but I can't see any possible argument in the other direction," Ariane said reluctantly. "The fact that you'll be seen – regardless of official positions – as something of my surrogate while I'm gone is just the cherry on top." She looked to DuQuesne. "Do we need to choose a replacement, then?"

"I don't think so. Orphan said a minimum would be three more, right? You, Wu, and me make three, and a pretty damned competent three at that."

She felt slightly better, though she really didn't like the idea of not seeing Simon for months. "True, he did say three was feasible. We'd probably prefer more, but unless he changed his mind, three should be enough."

"You mentioned 'official positions'," Simon said. "Who's actually going to be in charge?"

"While we're gone? I'm making it a dual effort. Laila and Carl will be the nominal bosses, and I think you and Oasis can do the same for them that you and DuQuesne have done for me."

"Advisors and gadflies, yes," he said with a flashing smile. "That makes perfect sense to me."

Carl grinned. "Or me and Laila the figureheads, with the mad scientist pulling our strings behind the scenes?"

Laila gave one of her short, explosive laughs. "Well, that would be satisfactory too."

"Works for me, too," DuQuesne said, grinning. "So are we ready?"

"Ready," Ariane said. "Let's go see Orphan!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

Under the Influence: The Black Stallion

When I was young, there were quite a few things that interested me, but aside from reading, I had two personal passions: volcanoes… and horses.

I loved horses. I had multiple horse models. I imitated horses. And I read about horses, read stories about horses, fictional horses and real horses, racehorses and wild horses, little prehistoric Eohippus all the way to the many modern breeds that ranged from tiny miniature ponies to the gigantic Shire workhorses. One of the only live shows of any kind that I insisted on attending when I was young was the Royal Lipizzan Stallion show.

I wasn't athletic in most senses, and my asthma usually kept me indoors. But I loved horses enough to be willing to go out. I took horse riding lessons. I attended a summer horse camp and did all the things you do to take care of horses – including mucking out the stalls, currying the horses, things that in any other context I would hate. I was even bitten by a horse and was mostly concerned that no one think it was the horse's fault, even while a chunk of my hand was gone. I began to participate in little riding shows.

Many things fueled my love of horses. But of them all, standing head and shoulders above the rest, was the Black Stallion series of novels by Walter Farley, with the first book, The Black Stallion, having the premier spot. Published in 1941, the novel's success spawned a fairly intricate universe of nineteen novels centered around The Black, the Black's offspring, and the Black's ultimate rival, Flame, the Island Stallion.

Young Alec Ramsey is coming home from a summer in India with his uncle. Traveling alone on the Drake, a tramp steamer (not all that unbelievable in those days), Alec is present when the ship stops in an Arabian port and a new passenger – or piece of cargo, depending on point of view – is brought on board: a magnificent, immense black stallion. Alec, a true lover of horses, is immediately struck by the animal's fiery spirit as well as beauty. Over the next weeks, he manages to befriend the wild and restive animal, leaving sugar on the sill of its stall (a converted cabin) and teaching it to associate him, and his quiet voice, with the treats and gentleness.

An immense storm strikes on the final leg of the journey, and the Drake begins to sink. In the chaos, Alec and the horse plummet overboard, and Alec sees the ship explode and go down, with no lifeboats anywhere near him. Only the stallion's halter rope offers any hope, as Alec catches hold of it and is dragged through the water by the powerful animal.

Eventually they arrive at land – a true deserted island. There are no other people, and precious few animals, on this tiny piece of land. Only Alec and the huge, independent wild horse that Alec already thinks of simply as "the Black".

What follows is a short, poignant tale of survival – of how Alec must find food and water and shelter; of how the Black – at first quite unaware – helps him do these things. Of Alec's determination to make the Black a willing companion, and how the two build what becomes an unbreakable bond of affection and trust. And, eventually, of how they are rescued.

And that is only the beginning of the story.

 

The Black Stallion holds up astonishingly well on a reread. It's an obvious period piece, of course – the technology and the social behavior of the day is unmistakably pre/early WWII in nature. The teenaged Alec is allowed an assumed latitude of action and risk that would be a lot less likely today (not the least the idea of having him alone on a tramp steamer from India to New York), but that makes him appealing as a protagonist; Alec rarely whines about his situation and always tries his best to deal with problems on his own.

The Black is of course the star of the book, though Alec is clearly the human viewpoint. Powerful, wild, incredibly fast, and occasionally savage, the Black was not a tame horse when Alec met him, and never is throughout the series, although he does become more accustomed to the presence of people over time.

Alec's (and presumably Farley's) love of horses shines through the prose. There are no ugly horses to Alec, really, only horses of different characteristics. Napoleon, an aging cart-horse, is treated as a worthy creature in his own right, and ends up key to keeping the Black under control in unfamiliar circumstances; the Black befriends the old gray horse and Napoleon in turn serves as a steadying influence. Even the Black's later racing rivals, Cyclone and Sun Raider, are described with affection and appreciation for their beauty.

Naturally, the incredible speed of the Black is given the opportunity to demonstrate itself in a race. This is a well-thought-out section, because Farley was clearly aware of the rules surrounding horse racing and some horse of unknown provenance would simply not be permitted to race. Racehorses are tracked by birth and by their racing record, and the Black – having been put aboard a steamer that subsequently sunk – has no pedigree to prove himself (yet; this is eventually remedied in a later book).

The preparation and running of the race remains gripping to me, even as an adult. Possibly part of that is nostalgia, but Alec's determination, the fractiousness of the three horses and their behavior in recognizing each other as rivals, and the unexpected start of the race that endangers Alec himself – these all work very, very well for me.

I haven't yet re-read the following novels, but I remember them fondly, and likely will do so. Farley continued writing them up through the early 1980s, but I suspect I didn't see the last one, and possibly not the next-to last.

As for my own saga? Shortly after my beginning to participate in shows, I was brought to the doctors for various tests to determine why I was having recurring health problems.

It turned out that I was allergic to horses.

This was one of the heaviest blows of my childhood – so heavy that I didn't really realize it until I was writing this piece. I managed to effectively convince myself that it was okay – so much effort involved, cleaning horses' stalls was icky and hard to do, etc., etc., etc.. But upon thinking, really thinking, about those days, recapturing them as I began this article… I realized I was devastated. I didn't do sports. I had no interest in them. But horses I did, and to an extent I hadn't quite grasped until now.

And so once more, The Black Stallion influences me… to look at myself.

Join Alec Ramsey and the Black as they begin a journey of dreams.

 

 

 

Why I Write the Way I Do

 

All authors develop a style of writing – something that makes their stories theirs. Some of the "signature" is in the way they use language – particular turns of phrase and patterns of prose – while other parts of the signature will show up in the themes they like to revisit, the types of characters they like – or don't like – the things they'll show or hide, and of course the plots they choose to do, or not do.

Now that I've been doing this for well over a decade (which seems so strange to me – it doesn't seem that long, unless I really think about it), I'm able to look back over my own work and see some of those patterns. Some I've known all along, others emerge as I look at my work more closely.

To an extent, of course, my own style shifts depending on what I'm writing. The opening chapter of Polychrome is deliberately written in a style that echoes Baum's own writing to set the stage, so to speak, and then the second chapter transitions to a slightly different style, with older-age touches, before fully shifting to the style of voice I use throughout most of the rest of the novel. The quick sketching of characters and swift challenge-thought-resolution sequence in the Castaway books is a deliberate nod to, and direct steal from the toolbox of, Robert Heinlein and his "juveniles".

But there are some things which are pretty much invariant. I play a lot with long sentence structure; I have a fondness for the various tools to join pieces of sentences together, like semicolons, dashes, colons; I use ellipses… frequently. Sometimes – perhaps a lot of the time – I overdo this.

I love melodrama; even in the most realistic, straightforward stuff I've written (the Boundary series), the timing of events and sometimes even the dialogue of the characters reflects my preference for dramatics that can be over-the-top (and in those books, it got throttled back by my coauthor).

I also love characters who are not stupid within the limitations of their knowledge or capabilities, and this applies to both heroes and villains. It's easy to let a bad guy get beaten because he or she is an idiot, but then was it really a challenge for your hero? And similarly, if you have a bright villain, how is it that your hero has a chance to beat them if the hero's carrying the Idiot Ball all the time?

As a corollary to that, I really hate continuing problems that are caused by people failing to communicate when they have no reason to fail to do so. Which means either I have to give a reason for them not to talk… or short-circuit the apparent comedy of errors. One of my favorite examples of this is in Phoenix in Shadow, where it looks like Kyri and Tobimar are going to continue to sort of tapdance around their feelings for each other for maybe another book at least, and then Poplock goes and tells them "KISS already!" because he's not putting up with this crap.

Similarly, I really detest the "omniscient government coverup". Yeah, I can swallow it (and even use it) when there's super-powered magic available to enforce it, but the idea that the government or any mundane large organization can manage to hide big spectacular things on a regular basis? No, I don't believe it; Franklin's dictum of "three can keep a secret, if two of them are dead" applies. Thus in Paradigms Lost, once a major supernatural event happens in the modern world, the government realizes there's no covering this one up.

Which links to yet another of the things that have peeved me about other books, and that I, therefore, try to avoid: series of stories where world-shaking events are ignored or glossed over, so that the writer doesn't have to deal with the consequences. There's a lot of examples, but the one that sticks out most in my mind is the extremely popular series of novels by Clive Cussler featuring his hero Dirk Pitt. Several times there are inventions and/or events in those novels that should have had major effects on the world around them, and it just doesn't happen.

So since this annoys me as a reader, I can't do it as a writer. Thus, in Paradigms Lost, the acknowledgement of the Werewolves starts to have noticeable "ripple effects" throughout society, and these effects will only get larger as more of the paranormal begins to appear.

I write Heroes and Villains. I like tales of redemption much more than stories of someone falling. I don't particularly like graphic violence or graphic sex, and I won't use either in my writing unless, in my view as an author, they're necessary for the purposes of the plot.

Some of the "why" of the title of this column is of course included in the above; one does some things because one likes them. But of course there's usually something behind the liking – why you like to present a world in a particular way says something about your worldview, in all likelihood, unless you're one of those authorial chameleons that simply writes whatever you think will appeal to people, or whatever you're paid to do.

In my case… part of it comes from what I realized much later was a very odd upbringing. A combination of the way my family worked and moved around, and my own health and various behavioral traits that would probably be called Aspergers' today led to me having a great deal of isolation from the world as it was during my childhood and early adulthood.

Much of my knowledge and perception of the world came through books, and my preferred reading – when it wasn't science fact books – was science fiction and fantasy. And the ones I liked best carried themes of optimism – of men and women confronting challenges intelligently and overcoming them because they were right, and because they were both smart and determined. Looking over a lot of the Under the Influence posts I've made would reinforce that impression for any reader. I never really went through the classic "rebellious teen" phase that many people describe, though I was certainly a PITA to my parents in many ways.

One attitude that has always shaped my writing is that I should be presenting a world that is, at least in some way, better than the one I live in. There should be something about the story that can leave the reader feeling better for having read it, uplifted rather than dragged down. That doesn't mean that the world should have no problems in it – after all, without problems what need is there for heroes? But it does mean that it's my job, as the guy in the position of God Almighty for my own universe, to make that universe better than what I see when I look out my window.

Having smart heroes and villains of course also means that things tend to get complicated. Most of my heroes and their adversaries don't make big mistakes often, and usually when they make one that, from the objective viewpoint of the reader, is a big mistake it's usually true that the character couldn't have known it was a mistake. Either they were lacking, as Bert Gummer would say, "critical, need-to-know information" about the situation, or something about their essential nature made the mistake inevitable.

As an example, Richard Fitzgerald, in Threshold, is a high-functioning sociopath, so his very nature made it difficult for him to really understand the motivations and thus actions of several characters until it was too late. The Big Bad in the Balanced Sword would have succeeded in Its plans completely had there not been a single missing piece of the puzzle. In my not-yet-published space opera Demons of the Past, the main villain's plans are entirely undone because he is unaware of a single three-word message transmitted from one character to another.

I like to have good people in the forefront of my novels. And even the villains I like to have… well, panache, at least, a style that makes them fun to have onstage for the time we see them. After all, in real life, many of us have to put up with people who aren't so much fun to be with; if my readers are paying me for entertainment, I should give them the ability to not have to tolerate more assholes in their lives.

I have become more cognizant of my limitations as well during those years. I try to avoid writing about things I don't know – although I can't always manage that, since "the real problem ain't the things you know, it's what you do know that ain't so". I can of course study up on a subject and use that information, and in fact that's part of my day job at times – writing technical proposals for subjects I might not have heard of before the assignment landed in my lap.

Because of all this, of course, there are obvious limitations on my writing. I don't, and pretty much can't, write hard-edged military SF, because my military experience is very limited, and I see many other people writing it far better than I could even with study. Similarly, things like modern romance novels are out of the question, and writing real alternate history is really out of the question. The closest I'm likely to get to "gritty" writing is someone with Jason Wood's semi-hardboiled detective shtick.

I do recognize that this is a potential failing. I'm never going to write a guns-blazing adventure with a Punisher-type character killing and maybe occasionally wenching his way through the plot. My characters are never going to come to the end of the plot and wonder if it was all worthwhile, or contemplate all the gray choices they had to make along the way. These days, it seems that "grimmification" of things is still taken as "making it more realistic" and that grim, oversexed, and/or extreme violent settings are usually the ones that sell. But for better or worse, I can't do that.

Why? Because I want to paint worlds where things work out well. I can't force the real world to conform to fantasy; and at least to some extent, I feel thus no obligation to force fantasy to conform to the real world, at least in the areas of violence, hatred, futility, and arrogance. Sure, the heroes have to work for their happy ending, but they should get a happy ending. The villains should succeed enough to show us what that will mean in the end, but they ultimately need to be taken down.

Why? Because the stories that shaped me told me this was so. Jack Williamson's Legion of Space, Doc Smith's Lensmen, Elizabeth Moon's Paksenarrion, Star Wars and the original Star Trek, Captain America and Spider-Man and Superman, Steve Austin and Nancy Drew, L. Frank Baum's Oz and C. S. Lewis' Narnia, Conan Doyle's Holmes and Rex Stout's Nero Wolfe, One Piece's Monkey D. Luffy and Hitomi Kanzaki of Escaflowne, all of them told me this was the way the world should be.

And if I'm going to be a forger of worlds, then the world I make will be forged from their steel.