Eric Flint's Blog, page 326

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 36

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 36

Byron gave a sharp grin. “So it is, and that’s the boy that was with him that night at the fights. Don’t know the woman, though.”

Gotthilf decided this was an opportunity for observation. He grinned back. “It’s about time we had something to eat, right?”

          “By all means, partner,” Byron replied. “Let’s duck into the tavern and grab a bite.”

And so they did.

****

          Simon opened his mouth to say something about the Polizei men coming in the door, but Hans looked at him from under lowered eyebrows, so he closed his mouth without saying anything. The three of them proceeded to have what Simon found to be a very pleasant luncheon. He finally sat back, unable to eat any more. Hans looked over at him and winked. “A good day, eh lad?”

Simon nodded with another silly grin.

The three of them sat there for a while, just idly talking about various things that crossed their minds — usually whatever crossed Ursula’s mind. Simon didn’t say much, but his hand would reach up every few minutes and touch his new boots, which action would be followed by another smile.

The pleasantness came to an end for Simon when the two detectives finished their last flagons of ale, stood, and came toward their table. Hans looked at him again, so Simon didn’t say anything. But he did shrink away from them a little. He couldn’t help it. Men like that usually caused him problems.

“Good day to you, Herr Metzger.” That was the up-timer speaking. “And to you, too, lad. I don’t think I heard your name when we met the other night.”

Simon had to clear his throat twice before he could answer. “S-Simon Bayer, sir.”

The up-timer nodded, then looked back at Hans. The down-timer, however, was looking at Ursula. Simon startled to bristle, but Hans’ hand grabbed his leg under the table, and he settled back.

“Good day, Lieutenant Chieske, Sergeant Hoch.” Hans’ voice sounded pleasant to Simon’s ear, although the firmness of the grip on his thigh told him that Hans was not especially pleased by this encounter.

“And a good day to you as well, Fräulein . . .” That was the down-timer sergeant. Simon startled to bristle again, only to feel Hans’ fingers clamp almost to the bone on his thigh.

“Metzger,” Hans growled. “My sister, Ursula Metzgerinin.”

Lieutenant Chieske nodded politely to her, but Sergeant Hoch stepped forward, gently lifted her hand where it lay on the table, and bowed over it, almost but not quite drawing it to his lips. “A pleasure, Fräulein.” He straightened with a pleasant smile on his face.

Simon bit the inside of his cheek to keep from gasping as Hans bore down on his leg. He’d have bruises in the morning, that was certain.

The sergeant stepped back, and Simon gave a sigh of relief as Hans released his leg.

“Just so you’ll know, Herr Metzger,” the lieutenant said, “we’re looking into some odd events that have occurred near the river in the last couple of months.”

Hans grunted.

“If you happen to think of anything unusual you’ve seen or heard, you might let us know.”

Hans grunted again. Simon saw the lieutenant’s mouth twitch a bit.

“Well, we’ve got to get back to work. Enjoy the rest of the day Herr Metzger, Fräulein, Simon.” The sergeant started when his partner tapped him on the shoulder. They both nodded, then turned away. Simon looked to see Hans following their departure with a hard-set mouth and narrowed eyes.

“A nice man, that Sergeant Hoch,” Ursula said with a bit of a smile. “The other one was a bit brusque, though.”

Hans grunted. Simon looked to him, then said to Ursula, “He is an up-timer. They are all a bit odd; some more than others.”

“Ah. An up-timer. I see.” Ursula looked toward the door. “Do you know, I think that is the first up-timer I have met?”

“And please God, it will be the last,” Hans muttered. “They are nothing but trouble.”

Simon had no reply to the last statement.

The whole encounter had cast a pall over the afternoon. They soon arose to return to their rooms.

****

          “What was that all about?” Byron asked, disturbing Gotthilf’s thoughts.

“What was what all about?”

“You made a big deal over Fräulein Metzger back there,” the up-timer pointed out. “You don’t normally do that. So what was it all about?”

“Two things,” Gotthilf answered distractedly. “First, it occurred to me that leaving her with a positive memory of us might be to our advantage. And second, I think I’ve met her before, or at least seen her . . . but I cannot remember where or when.”

He staggered a bit when he was unexpectedly clapped on the shoulder by his partner. “Ah, you’ll remember it sooner or later,” Byron said. “You always do.”

Gotthilf hoped so. This was like having an itch in the middle of his back — he couldn’t reach it.

****

          The rest of the day passed in a fog for Simon. He knew they had to have returned home, because he woke in his usual place the next morning. He knew he had to have changed clothes, because he was wearing some of the new clothing. He knew that he had to have gone to Frau Zenzi’s and swept, because a loaf of her bread was on the table. But all he could remember was the sheer joy of having new-to-him clothes. And shoes. Especially the shoes.

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 35

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 35

Ursula took the coat and examined it, checking the material and the seams. It passed her grudging judgment, so she held it out to Simon. “Here, try this on. Let’s see how it fits.”

          Hans reached over and took the bundle of clothes from Simon, leaving him free to try the coat on. It took a few moments to get into it, for sliding his right arm down the sleeve was a bit of a challenge, but with help from Hans to hold the front of the coat open he managed. He turned and faced Ursula.

“Mm-hmm.” She touched a finger to her lips as she studied him, and reached out to adjust the lapels on the front of the coat so it would hang straight. A definite nod. “I think it will do. It is a bit large, but that leaves room for growing. Not a bad thing with a boy, I am told.” She turned to Herman. “How much?”

Again the bargaining, again the back and forth, again ending in Hans pulling money from his pocket and counting it out. Simon’s head was beginning to spin. How much money they had spent, just on him! He had never dreamed of that happening. He smoothed his hand down the front of the coat, feeling the warmth it gave him.

Ursula turned from accepting Herman’s farewell, craned her head and looked around.

“What are you looking for?” Hans asked.

“Something . . . yes, over there.” She pointed and led the way, stopping in front of a trestle with pairs of shoes on it. The woman who was there was tall and stooped, with hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. She didn’t look healthy to Simon, and after she gave a rheumy cough he edged away from the table.

“You need shoes, mistress?” the woman asked.

“For the boy,” Ursula replied. Her gaze wandered over the table of second-hand footwear and finally lit on a pair of half-boots. “Hans,” she said, putting her hand out to touch them, “measure these against Simon’s foot.”

The bundle of clothes got passed to Ursula while Hans picked a boot up, stepped around behind Simon and pulled his foot up to measure against the sole of the boot. Simon had to wave his arm wildly to maintain his balance while this was going on. He sighed with relief and shoved his foot back into its clog when Hans let go.

“They are a bit large, but I think they will do.”

Ursula nodded and passed the clothing bundle back to Simon. “As with the coat, that is probably not a bad thing for a boy his age. He might actually wear them out before he outgrows them.”

One more round of bargaining ensued, perhaps cut short by the woman’s persistent cough. Hans hung the boots around Simon’s neck and flashed a grin of triumph and congratulations at the boy. Simon was absolutely jubilant. Shoes! Real leather shoes, not clogs. He couldn’t ever remember having leather shoes. He reached up to touch them, and managed to get a finger on them without dropping the bundle. He knew there was a silly grin on his own face, but he couldn’t help it. Shoes.

Ursula turned to Hans. “We are done here, I think. Can we go someplace to sit and eat?” Simon thought it odd how her voice had gone all soft after being so firm earlier in the day.

Hans nodded and picked her up again. He gave her a moment to settle herself, then looked over to Simon, who was just enjoying the thought of his new belongings. “Do you know where The Green Horse is from here, lad?”

Simon thought for a moment, then nodded. “Yah. That way,” he made an abortive move with his hand, but the package dragged it down.

“Lead the way, then.”

Filled with joy and pride, Simon did lead the way, unerring in his path, arriving at the door to the tavern before much more of the day had passed. Hans set Ursula on her feet with his usual care, she settled her skirts, and they entered the tavern together.

****

          It was the middle of what was shaping up to be a very long day for his partner and himself, Gotthilf decided. They had made the rounds of their informants once again — nothing new there, not even from Demetrious. They checked with the patrol watchmen who had been keeping a particular eye on the warehouse of Andreas Schardius’ corn factorage — nothing out of the very ordinary reported. They talked to the other investigators who had questioned the workmen who labored in that warehouse. Nothing at all noted.

“Three strikes and we’re out,” Byron muttered as they walked back toward the police house.

“I don’t know,” Gotthilf replied, thinking back over everything they had heard. One thing stuck out to him. “It strikes me that the answers of the warehousemen seemed to be uniform to an unlikely degree.”

Byron gave a slow nod. “Yeah, now that you mention it, it did seem like they all gave more or less the same answers to the questions.”

“That, and not a single word spoken against their work bosses or Schardius himself.”

“Too right that’s odd. Never met a workman yet who didn’t have some kind of gripe against the men he worked for. It’s like someone passed the word to watch what they said.”

Their steps had wended their way toward The Green Horse in the new town. Gotthilf looked up and almost stumbled. “Byron, that’s Metzger going in to the tavern.”

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 28

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 28

Chapter 28.

          “So, Captain Austin, how do you find the Arena, now that you have returned and had some time to accustom yourself?”

Ariane felt that she did quite well not to visibly jump at the deep, sonorous voice that she associated with the most severe beating she had ever taken. True, she’d emerged victorious, but despite that great and dramatic victory, what she remembered most about her battle with Amas-Garao was the feeling of being utterly outmatched; even the few times she’d managed to strike him, she’d felt like a child kicking an adult in the shin. I got ridiculously lucky — humanity got ridiculously lucky — but I’m not stupid enough to think I could beat him a second time.

          Wu, she was pleased to see, had moved with startling speed and, despite Amas-Garao apparently having materialized from thin air nearby, had inserted himself between the Shadeweaver and Ariane.

“Well enough, Amas-Garao. Do you people have something against just walking like the rest of us, or is there a reason for you trying to make me jump out of my skin every time you show up?”

The low, rippling chuckle she remembered rolled out. “Jump out of your skin? A most… interesting expression, that. The mystique of the Shadeweavers is enhanced by our being seen only infrequently acting as the other inhabitants of the Arena will act. I am sure you understand.” The cowled face turned slightly towards Wu Kung. “I notice that you have found yourself a most formidable bodyguard. Wise. Am I right to suspect it was Doctor DuQuesne who convinced you to have one?”

“More like told me I was and said he’d chosen Wu for the job,” she said, continuing her walk along the Grand Arcade. One advantage of having a Shadeweaver with you on a walk is that no one gets in your way. The crowds parted before them like water in front of a battleship’s prow; where most people in the crowded parts of the Grand Arcade might be practically rubbing elbows (or the equivalent), Ariane, Wu, and Amas-Garao had between two and three meters clearance, all the way around. “You say ‘wise’. Do you know something I don’t?”

“I undoubtedly know uncounted things you do not, Ariane Austin,” the Shadeweaver answered, ironic humor in his voice. “Yet in this case I have no concrete evidence of a specific threat. It is simply wise to assume there is such a threat, especially when you are so visible a presence in the Arena, and one who has scattered many boxes indeed during her entry.”

Ariane made a guess at what that expression meant. “I think you might exaggerate things a bit — dramatics being your stock in trade, of course.”

“A bit, yes. Yet it is perhaps not clear to you how widely you are known, and how far your influence has already reached.” The clawed, black-furred hand pointed at the soaring, straight-edged lines of the Faction House of the Blessed To Serve. “To give a single example of many; when you arrived, the Blessed had eradicated or turned most of the allies gathered by the Liberated. They had arranged to trap Orphan twice, and each time he had just barely escaped. Even when you first appeared, the fact that he had managed to ally himself with First Emergents caused more amusement than anything else.

“And then two of you defeated a Molothos scout force, winning your citizenship to the Arena in unprecedented time.”

“Was it?”

A faint gleam of white teeth; Amas-Garao’s species did smile somewhat as did humanity, though the face beneath that hood would make a smile look like a threat of death. “Utterly unprecedented, Ariane Austin. In mere days you had gone from the naïve newcomers to true citizenship; others took years, some have waited centuries or more. This meant that the reputation of the Survivor,” by which Ariane knew he meant Orphan, “went up by association. The Blessed’s attempt to ruin this budding partnership… did not go well, as you know, and instead boosted your reputation. The Liberated suddenly had a visible and proud ally, and built mightily on that new visibility.

“And then, of course, you defeated me,” he bowed to her, “in what I will not deny was one of the most utterly unexpected and spectacular victories I have ever been privileged to witness. Prior to leaving, you managed to evade, without Challenge, a most clever gambit by the Molothos.

“So in your few months here, your species has insulted and humiliated the Molothos — and thus far gotten away with it, despite being a single newly-emerged world; chosen an outcast and schemer as an ally, and benefited from it; humiliated the Blessed To Serve; and publicly humiliated the Shadeweavers themselves. While still but one person, the Liberated’s power and influence have drastically increased due to the association; the Blessed have lost allies and prestige, for much more rides on each Challenge than the overt prizes for the victor; the Shadeweavers have found their mystique weakened, others viewing us for the first time in many millennia as less than invincible; and your little species, and you in particular, are now known and spoken of by every race of beings in the Arena, on worlds so far distant from your own that by the time the light from their stars reaches yours, your own will have died and dwindled to a cinder.”

She admitted that, laid out that way, it did sound awfully impressive, even if she knew how much panic, desperation, luck, and prayer had been involved. “So did you come here to tell me how awesome I am, or did you have a purpose?”

The eyes gleamed yellow for a moment within the cowl, and she heard him chuckle again. She noticed that Wu was walking tensely; he obviously didn’t feel comfortable around the Shadeweaver. “I did, in fact, Captain. You are of course aware that the Shadeweavers are not a faction in the same sense as most others?”

She nodded. “You aren’t all required to be united, don’t have any actual leader, things like that. In some ways you’re more like the Powerbrokers than the regular Factions.”

“A reasonable analogy; and you of course recall that Gona-Brashind and I had some… differences of policy which would not have been seen with most factions. That said, we do engage in many of the same activities of most other factions, including recruiting.”

Ariane felt her gut tighten. “Don’t tell me. Let me guess. Maria-Susanna.”

“Correct in a single guess, Captain Austin. Yes. She has been discussing the potential of an apprenticeship with us as one of her choices.”

Goddamn. Ariane gritted her teeth, even as she saw Wu’s momentarily sad expression. Could there be any worse choice for us than for her to become a Shadeweaver?

Still, there were the limitations… but she had to be somewhat cautious. They had come to a lot of conclusions about the way the Faith and Shadeweavers worked, but a lot of it was guesswork and none of it was public knowledge. She didn’t want to reveal too much to them. “If she… chooses that path, how long would it take for her to become an actual Shadeweaver?”

“It entirely depends on the apprentice, how well they learn what we have to teach, and of course when one of our number retires,” Amas-Garao answered. “For a number of reasons, we generally do not allow our numbers to expand, so only when one retires — or on very rare occasion dies — will one of the apprentices become a full Shadeweaver.”

“So a retired Shadeweaver is forbidden from using his abilities?”

“Not precisely. We pass our powers on, when that time comes. So once I, for example, step down, I will no longer be a Shadeweaver.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And you will do this? Pardon me for saying so, but I find it hard to imagine someone giving up that power.”

“It is one of the greatest demands — and the final test — of our worthiness, Captain Austin,” Amas-Garao said, and his voice was solemn, without a trace of irony or evasion. “I know that your experiences with our order, and especially with myself, do not lend themselves to making us appear in any way noble, but there are very ancient traditions, usages, and requirements that are part of being a Shadeweaver. Our people have much freedom of action, much ability to do that which other beings cannot; we can pass from place to place as we will, and even the Arena cannot entirely bar us. We wield powers no others save, perhaps, the Faith can understand, and can shape matter and energy to our desire. We can touch the minds of others and understand their will, even bend it — as you know — to a direction that we find more pleasing. We can even hold off death, refuse it, for many years. We have shattered fleets and moved Spheres, begun wars and stopped them. Where walks a Shadeweaver walks the power of the universe made manifest.

“And a power that has so few limits, Captain Austin, is a tempting tool for change, to adjust the world around one to one’s own views. As the power increases with knowledge and skill and time, so too the danger of one who believes they know better the true way of the universe. It is therefore forbidden that a Shadeweaver extend his own life past twice its natural span, forbidden that they hold forever onto this power. We may hold it a year, or ten, or even a hundred, depending on our natural span of years, but before our death we will teach another and give this power to them, never to wield it again; it is the greatest of all crimes to seek to hold that power beyond that time.”

Based on what we deduced earlier, of course, there’s another reason; they can’t generally make someone a Shadeweaver unless a slot gets opened — by transfer or death. She remembered a prior conversation. “Orphan said you were one of the oldest of the Shadeweavers.”

The cowl nodded, a probably deliberately human gesture. “And while my people are long-lived indeed, there are not terribly many years remaining to me before I, too, will have to pass on what I have learned.”

“So she would likely have her chance fairly soon?”

“If she trained well, and was fully accepted? Yes, I believe so. After all, we have yet to have one of your people join us, since both you and Doctor DuQuesne,” irony had now returned to the deep voice, “declined our most gentle invitations.”

Great. Boy, I really wish DuQuesne were here, but I’m not going to see him or Simon before they finish transferring our new little fleet. “I thank you for this information, Amas-Garao. Might I hope that you will let me know if a decision is, in fact made in this case?”

A crouching bow. “Of course, Captain Austin. If we accept your Maria-Susanna as an apprentice, I personally shall let you know immediately. You have my word.”

Before she could say anything else, the Shadeweaver melted away into mist and vanished.

“That… doesn’t sound good, Captain,” Wu Kung said.

“No. I’d say that would be about the worst option I could have imagined, actually. I hope the Shadeweavers will decide that the last thing they want as an apprentice is someone who’s a multiple murderer and on the run from her own species, but on the other hand, Amas-Garao was just subtly pointing out to us that the Shadeweavers need to re-establish their mystique and show that we haven’t got any special tricks or secrets that they haven’t got.”

She signaled one of the floating taxis. “I think I need to go back to the Embassy for maybe a drink and relaxation.”

“There are many places to drink here,” Wu pointed out. “And some smell very good, too!”

The innocent enthusiasm managed to bring a smile to her lips. “Thanks, Wu, but honestly? I’m probably going to drink just enough to get in the mood for a brawl, and from what I know of the way Arena-people usually think, there isn’t a decent brawling bar closer than Kanzaki-Three in our own solar system. So I’ll drink and go beat up on punching dummies, or if you feel like it we can spar. Though you have to let me land a couple or I’ll just get more frustrated.”

Wu laughed. “I will gladly provide you with that kind of entertainment!”

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 34

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 34

“Simon,” Ursula beckoned with her free hand. He stepped around Hans to where she could lay her hand on his shoulder. “The boy needs clothes. Two shirts, two pants, two hose, a jacket that fits, and a coat.”

          Frau Anna looked Simon up and down. He straightened under her examination. “A scamp of a lad, I imagine he is.” She chuckled again, reached out a wrinkled hand and patted his cheek. He bore the soft touch without flinching, he was proud to note. “Well enough, let me see what I have.”

The old woman turned to her cart. Simon detected no rhyme or reason to the arrangement of the piles of clothes on the cart, but Anna’s hands dove into the piles like otters into a river, surfacing every now and then to drape a bundle of cloth over the cart handles. One last time they appeared, and she began handing garments to Ursula.

“Simon,” Ursula said again and pulled him around in front of her. He stood, bewildered, as she held shirts up against his back and shoulders and pants up against his waist, bending to see where they fell to. The two women muttered to each other, and Anna dove back into the cart to pull out yet another shirt. Ursula examined it with care, then nodded her approval.

Anna had a jacket for him as well, but when it came to a coat anywhere close to his size, she had nothing that a man would wear. “Sorry, Liebling, but I sold the last one I had not an hour before you came. But you might go down the way to old Herman’s cart. He had some the last time I saw him. Just look them over good.”

The old woman smiled, and just for a moment Simon got a glimpse of what she must have been like as a girl. That surprised him. He’d never thought before that old people had to have been his age upon a time.

“So how much?” Ursula asked. This commenced the bargaining over his new clothes. Simon listened, awe-struck, as the two women chaffered back and forth, eventually arriving at a sum that almost made him choke. It didn’t seem to bother Hans, though, when Ursula waved at him. He stepped up, pulled a handful of money from his pocket, and counted a paper bill and a pfennig and bits of broken coins until Frau Anna was satisfied.

Frau Anna folded the clothes together, then tied the bundle with a bit of twine. She held it out to Simon. It took him a moment to realize that he was supposed to take it; he had never had a package of his own to carry.

Ursula said her farewells, then turned and limped down the street, Hans at her side. Simon followed behind, as usual, and noticed as he did so that Hans was very careful not to actually grab Ursula or hold her while she was walking but still managed to be close enough to provide instant support if she needed it.

Their progress was slow, but others would make way for them. Simon suspected this had more to do with Hans glowering at people than it did people giving way out of courtesy for Ursula’s infirmity. He knew that if Hans had glowered at him, he would certainly have moved out of the way.

Ursula walked with her head held high, moving with an odd grace, despite her limp. They passed one vendor after another, from cart to ramshackle booth to oilskin laid on the ground. Several of the vendors would speak to Hans or his sister. A few nodded to Simon as well.

They stopped in front of another cart. Simon assumed this must be old Herman’s.

“Fräulein Metzger,” a man stepped up and gave a short bow. “Herr Metzger.” Hans nodded in return. Simon was ignored for the moment, which was just fine with him.

Old Herman did not look so old, at least not when he was compared with Frau Anna. His bushy beard and the hair that stuck out like a fringe from under his small hat were iron gray rather than snow white. His face wasn’t as cross-hatched with wrinkles as the old woman’s was; instead it bore deep furrows and seams. When his mouth opened, there were teeth present; not a lot, mind you, but still teeth peeped out from behind his lips. He was of middling height and of solid build despite his age.

“A coat,” Herman said after Ursula had made known the object of their quest. He peered at Simon and beckoned him to come closer. “Hmm, yes, a coat for this lad. Have I seen you around here, boy?”

“Maybe,” Simon muttered.

“Ah, well, with my memory I would not remember from one day to the next.” Herman nodded several times with vigor, then started. “A coat. Yes, indeed, a coat.” He turned and began rummaging through the piles on his cart. “No, not that one . . . nor that one, either . . . tch, definitely not that one . . .” Simon smiled as the old man kept up a running commentary. “Hmm . . . this one?” Herman held it up and stared at it, then tossed it back in the cart. “No. Keep looking.”

After a few more minutes of searching accompanied by monologue, Herman pulled an item out of the bottom of the pile. “Aha! You just thought you would escape me.” He shook it out, and it took form as a faded green coat of a size to perhaps fit Simon.

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 27

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 27

Chapter 27.

          Impressive, DuQuesne thought. Not quite up to the standards Seaton and I set, but then, this is real.

As he’d guessed, Zounin-Ginjou was a luxuriously-appointed battleship, a warship with an admittedly thick coat of ocean-liner paint. The fact that Orphan was the lone member of the Liberated had obviously driven him to push the limits of automation in the Arena — and had drastically reduced normal requirements for crew quarters. Because of this, the cabins remaining were quite fancy, and he’d still sacrificed nothing in the way of warship readiness.

          There were missile batteries, and hypersonic cannon, and very powerful energy weapons, point-defense rotating cannon that would shred any approaching missile, chaff and reflective cloud dispensers to confuse attackers or even blunt energy attacks. Multiple, widely dispersed yet massive superconductor storage cells stored immense amounts of energy for the ship. Stowage for spare components for every system. And …

The hull of this thing … I think it’s multilayered, and judging from things he’s almost said, it might have reinforcement from decidedly non-standard sources. This wasn’t a terrible surprise; Orphan had worked with the Shadeweavers for a long time, and while he now was out of debt to them, he’d obviously taken great advantage of the affiliation in the past several centuries. I wonder if any of those extra features will be on the ones he’s lending us.

The surprising part was that Orphan had let such information drop, even in an indirect fashion. He glanced at Laila as Orphan was describing one of the arrow-shaped shuttles and its operation to a fascinated Ariane.

She nodded. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone so lonely, Marc,” she murmured.

She read me real well, there. It was things like that which could trigger Hyperion paranoia, and he hammered the suspicions down. Ariane made the decision on how we were going to treat her, and she was right. “Wondered if you’d caught that.”

The brown eyes were both analytical and sympathetic, gazing at the tall semi-insectoid figure. “He is almost unable to stop talking. For the first time in… perhaps centuries… he has people aboard one of his own ships that he can call friends.”

“Didn’t realize you were a shrink as well as a biologist.”

Laila chuckled. “There are relationships. I am interested in the behavior of life as well as its structure.” She shook her head with an amazed air. “Centuries. Marc, we live a long time now, but are even we able to live for as long as he has?”

“I don’t know. Hell, we haven’t had the chance to find out.” Marc didn’t mention that, as far as he could tell, he hadn’t actually aged significantly since he reached the age of about twenty-five — which was fifty years ago. Which is going some several steps past what the current longevity treatments expect.

“So,” he said, raising his voice, “we’ll take one of those down to the surface when we get to our Sphere?”

“To drop off Captain Austin and Sun Wu Kung at least, yes,” Orphan said.

“And me,” Laila said. “I’m going to be doing some sampling and studies on our Upper Sphere; it’s fascinating how there’s so much very Earthlike life on it that is, at the same time, utterly alien.”

“Undoubtedly,” Orphan agreed, and turned to lead them back up to the control room or bridge of the ship. “The questions as to exactly how — not to mention why – the Arena accomplishes all this are ages old, as I am sure you know.”

He looked at DuQuesne. “Might I ask, then, if Doctor Sandrisson will be able to accompany us?”

DuQuesne grinned. “My guess? You’d have to try to keep him out with a ninety-meter fence charged with a few thousand volts. This will be his first chance to look at what another civilization’s actually done with the Sandrisson Drive, since you use that for these Sky Gate transitions.”

Orphan’s buzz-chortle rang out. “Indeed! I had not thought of it that way, but of course you are correct. I will need at least some assistance in bringing the fleet across, even with the very finest automation and remote control, and I am sure you agree that we do not want to invite just anyone on this trip.”

“That’s for damn sure,” DuQuesne agreed, and both Ariane and Wu nodded emphatically. “But that’s going to only be three of us. Will that be enough? We do have more people now — first group’s settling in, and that’s quite a few more.”

Outward flick of the hands. “I am afraid the three of us will have to suffice. You recall our discussion in my embassy, some time back? I see you do. Well, I trust you, Doctor DuQuesne, and Captain Austin, and the rest of you,” he bob-bowed in Laila’s direction, “who were here in the beginning; and I will of course trust this most formidable warrior who guards your Captain,” another bow, this one to Wu Kung.

“But these newcomers are as yet untested, unknown to me, and I am quite aware that your ‘Ambassadors’ are not entirely happy with your position, Captain Austin. With that in mind, I cannot allow such people on board my vessel, for they may have goals and interests… not well synchronized with my own, shall we say.”

“Got you.” DuQuesne couldn’t argue that. He was pretty sure that his old friend Molly wasn’t on Naraj’s payroll, but the rest, not really. And even if they weren’t, there were things you trusted people with, and things you thought real hard about before you trusted anyone with them. “So we’re going to see your home system?”

Orphan laughed, even as the door opened and they entered the control room again. “I must confess, Doctor DuQuesne, I am not quite that trusting. But even showing you how to reach the system in which I have placed your vessels would bring you quite close to my home, and that is itself not knowledge I would trust with many at all.”

Ariane raised an eyebrow. “You now know where our Sphere is.”

“Which, you would admit, is necessary if I am to know how to bring your vessels here,” Orphan pointed out. “Really, Captain, are you expecting me to give up such a key advantage simply out of your sense of fair play?”

DuQuesne saw her shrug and grin. “No, I guess not. And if we don’t know it, we can’t accidentally blab to the Blessed.”

“Precisely,” Orphan said, and continued with just a touch of acid, “especially as you are currently engaged in extensive negotiations with them.”

“Really, Orphan, are you expecting me to give up such a potentially wonderful ally merely out of your sense of fair play?”

Orphan did laugh loudly at that, as did DuQuesne and the others. “Well turned, Captain Austin. Well turned indeed.”

Wu suddenly stiffened and bounded to the window, pressing his face against the glassy material. “Wow! What are those?”

What looked like a congregation of blue and red beachballs with tentacles waving from their surfaces was visible ahead and to the left. Zounin-Ginjou was rapidly overtaking the things, but they were clearly moving under their own power. As they drew nearer, DuQuesne could see multiple glittering eyes and other openings. They’re big — tens of meters across, maybe more.

“Ahh! Those are virrin,” answered Orphan, coming forward. “They are grazers, eating various native sky-plants such as yaolain. They must be looking for… ah, yes, over there.” He pointed, and DuQuesne squinted, seeing what looked like a drifting green-blue cloud. “There is yaolain. Something to avoid when flying, especially if you’re using an engine that sucks in air, like a jet; it will foul and damage your engine very easily in that case.”

DuQuesne nodded. “Seems to grow in clumps like sargasso weed. Do you get large fields of it?”

“Indeed you do, Doctor DuQuesne. I have personally seen masses the diameter of a Sphere and kilometers thick.”

“Ha!” said Ariane suddenly, pointing down and to the right. “Those look familiar. Zikki, right?”

The streamlined shapes were darting along in ragged formation, seemingly just ahead of Zounin-Ginjou. Which is really impressive when you remember that we’re doing Mach 2 here. How the hell do living beings manage that?

“Close, Ariane Austin, but not quite. Those are tzchina. They are, as near we can tell, of some close relation to zikki, but very much different in most ways other than the superficial exterior. Much smarter, for one thing — they evade most hunters easily and seem able to learn from almost any experience. As you can see, they’ve learned to take advantage of compression waves near vessels, as well.”

Laila was next to Wu Kung, and DuQuesne thought that she’d pushed her face up to the window even harder. “The virrin, they have panoramic vision and tentacles… are they also related to the zikki?”

“No, I do not believe so. The current belief, in fact, is that they are much more closely related to the vanthume.”

“Really? That twenty-kilometer long filter feeder?”

“Correct. That is the biological consensus as far as I am aware. For details, I am afraid you should find another biologist.”

They passed through a sparkling mist and DuQuesne heard faint tinkling sounds and possibly the slightest shift in engine noise. “That’s… air plankton, right?”

“One of many varieties, yes.”

He looked at Ariane, whose eyes showed the narrowing he expected. “I start to see even more differences for navigation and combat in the Arena.”

“Hm?” Orphan’s wingcases scissored for a moment, and abruptly he gave a handtap. “Oh, indeed, Doctor DuQuesne. In an ordinary atmosphere and gravity, such materials would not remain long suspended. Here, with air currents upwelling and descending, gravity shifting, the air of the Arena is often filled with everything from ordinary mists to clouds of silica-armored chimemotes.” He laughed. “Oh, yes, much different from what you will encounter on either a normal-space world or the deepness of space.”

“Eliminates one of the most basic principles of space combat,” murmured Ariane. “The idea that you can run, but you can’t hide.”

“And without AI-level automation, the old Mark I Eyeball plus telescopes is back to being important,” DuQuesne agreed. “Radar’s got limits in atmosphere — back home, you couldn’t get a straight line through significant atmosphere longer than a hundred kilometers or so, unless you were trying to transmit through a gas giant. Add in random wandering animals, floating silica-covered plankton, drifting water-ponds like the one you saw in your race with Sethrik? No one modality will be very good at any great distance, and because the Arena seems to give us some kind of cheat to see longer distances, visible light seems to be the best bet. And,” he grinned as a pale green-tinted mist streamed by, “with all this crap around, hiding gets a lot easier.”

“You grasp the issues well. Yes, battles in the skies of the Arena are often matters of stealth, ambush, and quick response to surprises.”

“I do recall wondering about things I had heard in Nexus Arena about what sounded like… pirates,” Laila said. “Is that common?”

“In some areas, I am afraid, yes. Much commerce of various types travels through Sky Gates, but many areas do not have direct connections to Nexus Arena; so there are shipping lanes of various convenience and distance… and safety… and travellers from one point to another may have to be wary of those who might seek to relieve them of their valuables, including their ships.” Orphan looked over to DuQuesne and Ariane. “Now, we do have some hours left to fly, even after the tour — and I thank you for your patience on that tour.”

“No need to thank us,” Ariane said quickly. “It was fascinating.”

“Thank you. In any event — I would suggest that we get some rest and then eat, and return here when we are nearing the proper area. I am sure we all want to be fully alert during the transition and arrival.”

“Sounds reasonable to me,” DuQuesne said, and the others agreed. Orphan had already shown them the cabins prepared for human use, so DuQuesne was able to find one and lie down on the prepared bed — slightly harder than he was used to.

Practiced as he was at resting when time allowed, he simply fell to sleep and woke up a few hours later, and made his way to the dining area Orphan had also shown them on the tour.

Orphan was already there, with several variously-shaped fruits which were the food he obviously preferred. “Ah, Doctor DuQuesne. I expected you would be the first.”

“Yeah, I didn’t feel like that much sleep.” He saw a fair assortment of human-compatible food on a side table, including what appeared to be a loaf of bread. Not a type we usually stock. Wonder where that came from? “How much longer?”

“Until we reach the rough area, you mean? About an hour and a half.” He sipped from one of the fruits with the extensible tube that was usually concealed in his mouth. “Now that you have brought up the subject, I was wondering — how will we pinpoint the Sky Gate? I presume you did not leave a marker.”

“Nope,” DuQuesne said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be able to guide you.”

Orphan sighed, but the impression was more of a distinct smile. “Ahh, you will reveal the secret at the appropriate time.”

The others filtered in over the next several minutes, and most of the food disappeared rapidly. Shortly, they were all back on the bridge of Zounin-Ginjou.

“All right, Doctor DuQuesne,” Orphan said. “We are now well outside of the gravity band and in the region I would expect Sky Gates to be found.”

“First, I want you to check real well to see if anyone’s followed us.”

“An excellent thought. Direct your attention to the main window.” The window shimmered, became a display screen. “There. Now, we will scan. All of us should watch — automation is well and good, but living eyes are vastly better.”

Orphan used radar, visible light, and infrared to make multiple scans of the area; DuQuesne studied every readout carefully, but saw nothing that tripped his paranoia, and for the most part neither did anyone else. Aside from a few false alarms which Orphan identified positively as living creatures, not vessels, there was no sign of anything in their area or within sensing range. “And I will say that I have spared no expense in the scanning equipment on Zounin-Ginjou, so I am confident we are not at present being watched — save, perhaps, by Shadeweavers or Faith, but for that there is little remedy.”

“Okay, then.” Marc took out a camera and plugged it into his headware data feed. “Gimme the window view back, and point us down at Nexus Arena.”

“Oh, most clever. Of course, the simplest ways are still best.”

“Motion-based triangulation,” Ariane said approvingly, showing she understood. DuQuesne had loaded the image recordings from the probe into his headware, and using a similar view and the movement of Zounin-Ginjou he was quickly able to zero in on where their ship would have to move to in order to duplicate that view.

A few minutes later, he unplugged the camera and put it away. He could keep the calculations updating internally now. “Over that way. Lemme see…” he looked at the controls again. “Turn the ship… I make it a quarter-circle to the starboard side, and come up three point six degrees — that’s a hundredth of a circle.”

“And how far?”

“How large are these Sky Gates? That is, how close do you have to be to their center to use them?”

“Quite close — they are perhaps two hundred meters across — although objects of effectively any size may pass through.”

“Okay. Then… about four hundred kilometers.”

“Very close. Excellent. We shall be there in twenty minutes or so.”

The bow of Zounin-Ginjou was now no longer pointing towards Nexus Arena, which made the view less interesting in the sense that you couldn’t actually be sure you were moving except when something drifting in the sky went by you. Laila was off at a side port, staring at something, but other than that everyone waited mostly quietly.

Abruptly Orphan leaned forward. “Ah! There it is, I can detect it now. Prepare for activation.”

The huge ship slowed drastically; Marc noted that while they could feel acceleration, deceleration, and turns, it was not nearly as strong as those sensations should be. And that’s a major advantage in piloting such a ship. You get the tactile feedback without the possibility of being immobilized or injured by acceleration and turns.

“Activating in three… two… one…”

The swift burn of light streaked down Zounin-Ginjou, seeming to erase the ship as it came, then blotting out everything else.

The light of a Sandrisson Jump faded, and before them was…

Marc C. DuQuesne found himself slowly stepping forward, staring. Every time I think I’m getting used to the Arena, I realize I haven’t even started down that road.

Humanity’s Sphere lay ahead and below, covering a sixth of the entire sky even from twenty thousand kilometers away. The Upper Sphere looked almost like Earth, with swirling clouds, land of green and brown, and sparkling blue of oceans. The central point — where, Marc knew, the Outer Gateway was located — was high on one continent, roughly oval-shaped, which was bracketed by two others in what would equate to the north and south. All of them were surrounded by the gleaming blue sea, with white areas in the effective pole regions.

At this range, it was just the merest sparkling at the edge, but he could see that along the bulwark that marked the effective end of the Upper Sphere, the great ocean did in fact overflow its bounds; a mighty cataract — perhaps more than one — leapt from the edge of the world and plunged down, to douse part of the Sphere or simply vanish into endless space.

But all of that — the entirety of a world’s surface — was merely the top, a skullcap on a Sphere large enough to house the entire Earth easily within, and above it floated a huge, blazing sphere of light.

Orphan was nodding at their expressions. “Nexus Arena is impressive in its size; but to see a living world, continents spread out like a page on a book, held atop a Sphere larger than your home planet… truly, there are no words, are there?”

Ariane looked up at him. “Does it still… touch you, to see it?”

An emphatic handtap. “My friends, it is true that we can grow used to most things. But on any day that I truly think about what I see, I cannot help but be both awed and overjoyed – and, perhaps, sometimes, terrified — by what the Arena shows me. And when I see the wonder on your faces, I see it once more in the way I did when I, too, first looked down upon the Arena’s majesty, and I am humbled and challenged by it as well.”

For a few moments they stared. Then Zounin-Ginjou quivered and lurched downward.

“Ah! We enter the gravity field. Take your seats, if you will,” Orphan said. “Now that we have arrived — now that I know your home — we shall allow those who cannot remain to return, and bring aboard the good Doctor Sandrisson.” The huge ship rumbled to full life and came around, pointing directly at the Outer Gateway, hidden on the peaks of the world. “In but a week or two, my friends, these skies will no longer be so empty!”

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 33

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 33

PART II

January, 1636

For changing people’s manners and altering their customs there is nothing better than music.

Shu Ching

Chapter 20

          A new pattern had settled in Simon’s life. He arose each morning with Hans. They would share with Ursula whatever food was in the rooms, and then Hans would leave for his work at the grain factorage. True to his word, he had asked about work for Simon, but as with so many others there was no opportunity for a one-handed youth.

          Simon would sweep the floor and clean up after their eating, wiping the plates off and stacking them in the little cupboard that stood in the corner. Then he would settle on his stool at Ursula’s feet. She would pick up her worn Bible and read to him for a little while. Always it was something interesting, but Simon best liked the stories of the heroes from the Old Testament: King David, Joshua, the stories of the judges. Then they would talk about what she had read, wondering why the hero had done certain things and not done others, describing what they thought the characters in the stories looked like, sometimes laughing together over something silly one of them had said.

Ursula would always end the reading time by closing her Bible and putting it away, then picking up her current embroidery project. That would be the signal to Simon to go out and find what work he could.

****

          It was a Tuesday morning after the first of the year when Ursula all of a sudden noticed something that had always been in front of her.

“Simon, are those the only clothes you have?”

He ducked his head, feeling a sense of shame.

“Well, we cannot have that. Hans . . .” she turned to her brother, “Hans, Simon needs clothes. His shirt is almost cobwebby thin, his pants are tight and torn and much too short, his jacket does not fit around him. Tell your crew boss today that you have to take me to market tomorrow.”

Simon discovered that although Ursula was normally the most agreeable of souls, when she chose to exert her will it was like encountering granite. It astonished him to see Hans, Stark Hans himself, nod his head and say, “Yes, Ursula,” as if it was the most ordinary thing in the world for her to issue commands.

And on Wednesday, the world ordered itself to Ursula’s intent. After they had eaten, she retired for a moment to her bedroom, then returned with a large bonnet on her head and a coat worn over her dress. She stood lopsided and held her arms up in what was almost an imperious manner. Hans said nothing as he stepped up to her. There was a swirl of movement, then she was in his arms, one arm across his shoulders, the other holding her cane.

“Come along, Simon,” she directed.

Simon started when Hans nodded at the door and stepped forward to open it. Hans moved through the doorway sideways, being most careful not to bump Ursula into the doorframe. When he started down the stairs, Simon came behind, closing the door with a loud thump. He clattered down the stairs, wooden shoes banging on the treads, and caught up with them at the bottom.

“Where to, Uschi?” Hans asked.

“Frau Anna’s first. After that, we will see.”

So Hans took off down the street, Simon following close behind. Before long, he was marveling at his friend’s strength. He had seen men pick other people up before, but never for very long, and never when walking down the street, block after block. “Stark Hans, nothing,” he muttered. “He should be called Eisen Hans.” And indeed Hans seemed made of iron. There was no droop to his shoulders, no sagging of his arms. He carried Ursula as if she was only the weight of a feather.

“What did you say, Simon?” Hans called over his shoulder.

“Nothing.”

Otto Gericke’s rules for markets in Greater Magdeburg were considered liberal by the conservative Bürgermeisters of Old Magdeburg. Due to the size of the population, markets were allowed three days a week, and were allowed in more than one location, such that after a while the various vendors started grouping together.

It wasn’t long today before Ursula and her entourage arrived in the area of town favored by the sellers of second-hand clothing. It was one of Simon’s favorite parts of town. People there would talk to him freely, and sometimes send him on errands.

Hans walked up to one particular cart and gently set Ursula’s feet to the ground in front of it. His sister straightened herself as best she could, adjusted her coat, and faced the proprietress.

“Frau Anna,” with a nod.

“Fräulein Ursula,” came the response from what had to be the oldest woman Simon had ever seen. Under her scarf her hair was pure white, the skin of her broad face sagged in a very tapestry of wrinkles, and there did not appear to be a tooth in her head. But she stood straight and her alert eyes gleamed from their nests of wrinkles like those of a cuckoo. She also had a hearty chuckle, which sounded at the next moment.

“It’s not that I’m not glad to see you, Liebling, but I wonder what has brought you to old Anna on this blustery day?” Simon had some trouble understanding her. Her words lisped without teeth in her mouth to shape them.

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 26

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 26

Chapter 26.

          “And finally,” Orphan said, with a dramatic bow and sweeping gesture, “I shall complete the introduction so rudely interrupted these many months ago. My friends and allies, the flagship of the Liberated, the Zounin-Ginjou.”

          Compared to the many kilometers-long dock extending from Nexus Arena, the Zounin-Ginjou might have seemed small, but at this range Ariane realized that the ship was huge — and beautiful. The size and massive presence of what was obviously a warship was both accentuated and mitigated by its construction — deep, rich browns and mahogany colors of polished wood, shining gold trim, silver highlights, sparkling crystal ports. Zounin-Ginjou was a gigantic yet streamlined spindle-cigar shape, with recessed rotating jets, bulges of hidden equipment and obvious viewports, and sculpted ridges symmetric around her long axis, ridges that ran straight down or curved gently, to meet and dovetail and curve away again before the hull tapered to a four-vaned tail.

“She’s gorgeous, Orphan. Did I get a … sense of meaning from that name?”

The crested head tilted comically. “What you may have sensed I cannot say. What was this meaning you thought you sensed?”

“Something… a brilliant star in the depths of utter blackness.” She glanced at DuQuesne, Laila, and Wu, who all nodded.

“Yes, indeed. The Arena continues to amuse us, does it not? Sometimes a translation, sometimes an equivalent name, sometimes a hint of meaning.” He laughed. “But that is indeed the essence of it. Final Light, the Sentry in the Dark, Point of Light? All of these, and more.”

That makes sense, given his position as the last of the Liberated. She frowned at the hull. Something bothered her. Hmm. Those strange ridges make a pattern… The hull seems thicker there… “Orphan, are those… sails?”

“Sails, air-brakes, turning-vanes, yes. And the thicker ones to the sides can be wings, for gliding within a stronger gravity field.” Orphan nodded. “I had forgotten; you are just now coming to understand the Arena’s… odd constraints in such travel.”

“We’re learning,” DuQuesne said. “But it’s gonna take a while. For us, if you’re in atmosphere, you’ve got gravity, if you don’t have atmosphere, you might or might not have gravity — but usually not, in practice.”

“Here, atmosphere of some sort is a constant, but gravity is a fickle master,” Orphan said, leading them aboard along an extended ramp.

The ramp brought them onboard and was longer than it seemed — meaning that Zounin-Ginjou loomed even larger as they approached. This ship really is huge, Ariane thought.  Well over a kilometer long.

Orphan continued, “You already know that each Sphere is surrounded by a wide band of gravity — although Nexus Arena rather breaks that rule, since off the Docks the gravity goes to effectively zero for some distance.” When they nodded, he went on, activating the external door, “So. In between Spheres, there is usually gravity, though quite weak, and it varies depending on where in the Spherepool you are. You will have a tendency to be drawn inward — towards the center of the Spherepool — and planeward, towards the ideal plane which passes through the Spherepool from side to side. ”

DuQuesne grunted. “So, like the overall gravity of a galaxy, then.”

“In essence, yes.”

The door swung wide, and Ariane saw a wide, well-lit corridor with what seemed hand-rubbed wood paneling, engraved in alien yet generally pleasing patterns, lining the walls. The walls themselves had strange traces of alien design, neither circular nor square but with curves just slightly greater than a normal human designer would feel comfortable with. Still… “This seems… almost normal.”

“If I understand the implied question, indeed. In the days following your departure, I considered a number of things, and decided that as it was very likely you would remain some of my most valuable allies, it would be wise to adjust my ship to allow you some comfort.” He extended wings and arms a moment in a walking bow. “I am, of course, well used to adjusting to change.”

“It’s beautifully done,” Laila said. “I can see where you must have done the modifications — these curves are part of the essential structure, but other areas are obviously modified. What’s left still is quite interesting from a biological point of view.”

Orphan looked at her with mock concern. “By the Minds, you will discern my uttermost secrets in my architecture! What an error I have made!”

Ariane laughed, as did the others. “You’d already learned more than that from our stay in your Embassy. And here you’ve put that to good use.”

They entered what proved to be an elevator — one that seemed to have a minimal number of stops. Probably a quick travel mechanism for the crucial areas of the vessel.

The door of the elevator slid up, rather than sideways, revealing a gigantic control room so filled with gleaming consoles, levers, solidly-placed viewscreens, and padded, anchored chairs that Ariane found herself irresistibly reminded of something from the Age of Steam. “These are all hand controls!” she said.

“Well, some by foot. And normally one or two for the tail, but I’ve redesigned that. But yes, all manual. Trusting automation in the Arena is a game for the newly-hatched. Some automation works, as you have discovered, but it is rarely as good as a living person at doing anything. Does this bother you?”

Ariane was already examining the controls. “Oh, no, not one little bit. I just need to learn how all this works.”

“And that is of course why you, in particular, are here, Captain Austin,” Orphan said. “No better student to learn the basics of piloting this vessel and pass on what you have learned.”

“Hold on,” DuQuesne said. “You’re not giving us this one, are you?”

Orphan flicked his hands out in the no gesture. “Oh, my apologies. I did indeed mis-speak. This vessel shall remain mine, of course. But the others have all had their controls modeled in the same way, allowing for difference in size and particular mission, so if you learn the ways of Zounin-Ginjou you will be prepared for any of our vessels.”

“Why the big window?” Wu Kung asked. “This is a warship. Why weaken it?”

Orphan laughed. “An obvious and direct question, but one which makes too many assumptions, Sun Wu Kung. While it is true that the failure mode of the window is an abrupt shattering rather than the bending of ordinary metal, that window — and those of most warships — is composed of carefully layered carbon with reinforcement of the crystal structure via specific structural…” he apparently noticed Wu’s expression. “Well, never mind. In short, while sufficient force can shatter the window, such a force would puncture the hull as well, and you will find such windows on many vessels throughout the Arena.”

“Transparent ring-carbon composite,” DuQuesne said. “Yeah, we use it too — and it is a pain to make a lot of it, compared to regular hull material. The microstructure needed to make it pass light is pretty complex — that’s what makes it shatter instead of just bend and tear, also.”

Orphan seated himself at the central control panel. “Observe carefully, Ariane Austin. By the time we arrive at your Sphere, I hope to make you a decent, if not yet expert, pilot of such a vessel.”

I’ve got a lot to learn. Just the sheer size of the Liberated battleship was vastly different from anything she’d flown before; it was much bigger than Holy Grail even counting the Grail‘s drive spines, and Holy Grail had been by far the largest ship Ariane had ever flown. Adding into that the idea of sails — for purposes she could guess but had never actually had to address — variable gravity, and so on, it was going to be a great challenge.

Engines thrummed to life and lights blossomed across the board. “Have I got the lighting correct?” Orphan asked. “I deduced from the devices I have seen that the color green is for things in good condition, red for poor condition or emergencies.”

“Pretty darn close,” DuQuesne said with an impressed tone. “Given that your color receptors aren’t ours and whatever your experience of green, it isn’t ours either. I’d adjust the color a bit — these look more blue-ish than green to me.”

“We shall do so once we are well under way.” Orphan’s long-fingered, slightly clawed hands danced over buttons, pulled levers, and she felt Zounin-Ginjou waking up, starting to shake off inaction, moving more and more swiftly up and away from the Docks. “Did you see what I did there?”

“Okay… those are for the side thrusters. Those are the angle… you can adjust them for side to side or up and down as you want. That was for the main engines, and the pedals are for the rudders and elevators.”

“Excellent! I knew you would be a quick study given your background, and it is good to see my expectations confirmed.”

“When we get to our Sphere,” Ariane said, glancing to DuQuesne, “I think I’ll sit down with Carl and Steve and work up a full emulation of one of these control rooms. Then we can get people practicing in virtual first.”

“Good thinking.”

“Now that we are well away,” Orphan said, “would you tell me where your Gateway is?”

“Go vertical,” DuQuesne said. “When Simon’s probe popped through and got pics, we could tell he’d come out well above Nexus Arena.”

“Very good.”

As Zounin-Ginjou began to climb, Ariane suddenly blinked. “Holy sh… I mean, what the heck? Orphan, you haven’t increased power since we left the docks and we just went vertical… so there isn’t any gravity here, since we’re still accelerating just the way we were before…”

“And so…?” She swore the nearly-human face wore a sly smile.

“So how come I’m still standing on the deck instead of floating around? Have you guys figured out how to generate gravity yourselves?”

DuQuesne shook his head. “I think I know the answer, and it starts with Shade and ends with weaver. Right?”

Orphan looked somehow slightly put out, as though he had been looking forward to a more convoluted explanation. “In essence, yes. When possible, most Factions will try to put such gravitic stability on their vessels through a bargain either with the Shadeweavers or Faith. In my case, the Shadeweavers. It makes things so much easier for most species.”

They were now climbing well away from Nexus Arena. Ariane caught her breath. “My God.”

DuQuesne, who had been studying the controls, glanced up, and mumbled one of his ancient anachronistic curses.

“Ahhh,” Orphan said. “This is the first time you have truly seen Nexus Arena.”

“I thought … it was just a larger Sphere,” Ariane heard herself say.

Nexus Arena was not a sphere, but a gargantuan cylinder with slightly rounded ends, a hundred thousand kilometers high, perhaps half that across. It had no ecosystem on top, no emulation of some other world; it was a bare, perfect sweep of the invulnerable quark-latticework material Simon had named CQC, Coherent Quark Composite, fifty thousand gently curving kilometers of polished, shining armor which made ring-carbon composite look as soft and fragile as cotton candy. Layers of clouds and mistiness of atmosphere softened the distant bottom of Nexus Arena into near-invisibility against the endless multicolored abyss of the Arena. The Docks which had seemed so huge were now tiny things, of less consequence than the hairs on a man’s arm, clustered around one tiny section of that incomprehensibly huge construct – which was itself not even a dust-mote within the indescribably larger construct which was the Arena itself.

Zounin-Ginjou‘s engines now roared with power, a keening thrum vibrating the deck; the vibrations rose and then suddenly diminuendoed away. Ariane realized that without significant gravity to hinder her, Zounin-Ginjou was climbing at the same rate she would move forward in level flight on Earth — and Zounin-Ginjou had just passed the sound barrier and was continuing to accelerate. They had been driving upward for many minutes now, yet still the top of Nexus Arena loomed beneath them like the Earth below an airplane, so huge that the mind could not grasp it.

To distract herself, she looked slightly up, studying Zounin-Ginjou in flight. She noticed suddenly that it looked somehow different than it had when they first took off. The hull had flattened out slightly and she saw the “sails” had puffed and curved subtly. “Oh, I see. They’re also part of conformal aerodynamics.”

“Precisely. The automatics to do much of that… are reliable enough, and you can adjust manually at the console. As we are not in a terrible hurry I do not think we need reconfigure for maximum speed. Still, since we will have to pass the gravity sheath at twenty thousand kilometers to reach the gateway area, some speed is advised. Even at this speed, it will be quite some hours before we reach the Sky Gate region.” He flipped a control which was obviously for a simple autopilot and stood. “Let me give you a tour of this vessel — for you shall soon have some of your own!”

 

Spheres of Influence – eARC

Is Available!!!!!

 

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Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 25

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 25

Chapter 25.

          Ariane rose slowly to her feet, favoring her side. “Okay, I think I know when I’m beaten,” she said, bowing to her opponent, Orphan.

Wu Kung had been expecting her to yield earlier. But she’s a real fighter, he thought with admiration. Won’t give up even in a play fight without showing what she’s got in guts.

          Orphan leaned back on his tail with a buzzing chuckle. “Oh, now that I doubt in the extreme, Captain Austin. If you had the capacity to even believe you were beaten, how then could you have faced a Shadeweaver — and won?” He bowed to her. “Still, it is a wise tactician who recognizes they no longer need stay in the battle. And you did quite well.”

“You managed to hit him a few times,” DuQuesne said with a grin. “Take that as a compliment. Orphan’s good.”

“So I see. If I ever have to fight you for real, Orphan, you’ll pardon me if I cheat.”

The chuckle turned to a full, rich laugh — though still with that buzzing undertone. “Oh, Captain Austin, I would expect you to cheat. Of course,” he said, with a lean forward and tilt that somehow conveyed the impression of a roguish grin, “if ever I must fight any of you, rest assured I will cheat as well!”

“I sure don’t doubt that,” DuQuesne said.

Gabrielle checked the signals from Ariane’s medical nanos using a handheld scanner. “No serious damage, Arrie.”

“Of course not,” Wu said defensively, wondering if they thought he’d let her get hurt. “If I thought Orphan was actually going to hurt her — past a few broken bones or something like that — I’d have stopped him!”

“I’d much rather you stopped it before any bones got broken, thank you kindly,” Gabrielle said with a sigh. “But in this kind of sparring I suppose that’s a forlorn hope.”

Wu was going to protest that if you were going to let things like that stop you, you weren’t ready to learn serious fighting… but he remembered that a lot of other people didn’t think that way.

Ariane seated herself on one of the benches set around the large exercise and practice area that Steve had figured out how to create inside their Embassy. Wu looked around admiringly. It’s not anywhere as big as what they showed me for some of the Great Factions, but it’s still a great sparring and exercise place!

Currently, the room was configured in something that more than hinted at some of the Arena’s combat challenge areas: different levels of the floor, upright and sideways obstacles like tree trunks and branches, irregular obstacles like rocks, and so on. In this first contest — which, Wu understood, was partly a way of strengthening ties with the Liberated — Ariane had tried to use her smaller size and maneuverability against Orphan, but he was lightning fast and very strong. Fast and strong, and he hasn’t shown what he can do for real, not yet.

“That was indeed a fine warmup,” Orphan said. “But you have been stretching yourself on the sidelines long enough, Doctor DuQuesne. Or perhaps you, Sun Wu Kung, would care to give me the instruction Dr. DuQuesne promised me?”

Wu grinned a fanged smile but didn’t take the bait. This part of the contest DuQuesne and he had talked out in detail. DuQuesne wasn’t going to push himself past the point Orphan had already seen, in the battle against Amas-Garao, so Wu could push past that point, up to roughly where he knew DuQuesne would be if he started to push himself, which would be somewhere around Tunuvun’s skill and strength. “I think DuQuesne wants to try you first.”

The door opened, and K — no, he reminded himself, Oasis Abrams, have to remember who she’s pretending to be — came in. “Sparring with aliens and no one invited me?”

Despite the lighthearted comment, Wu sensed unusual tension from her — and a whiff from DuQuesne, too. There was something going on there, but neither of them had said anything to him. No one does if they think it will upset me. And that upsets me. But then, maybe that proves they’re right. If something upsets me not to know, maybe it would be even more upsetting if I knew… He stopped there, realizing he was about to really get confused.

“Oasis!” Ariane said, obviously surprised. “Aren’t you –”

“Ambassador Ni Deng and Vantak are at the Arcade, meeting with some of the Blessed’s allies, and the Ambassador said she didn’t need me.” She shrugged. “I suppose they could try something, but being too reluctant would probably be insulting too, so it’s her judgment call.” She grinned, and Wu could sense more honest relaxation. “And this looks a lot more fun than watching their discussions, anyway.”

Ariane nodded, smiling. “I suppose so. But if she’s making good progress — and Ambassador Naraj thinks she is — she could be helping get us a major support in our coming war. If we get enough support, the Molothos may even back down.”

“Yeah, good luck with that,” DuQuesne said. He rose to his feet. “Okay, Orphan, time for us to find out what you’ve really got.” Then he paused. “Unless you want first dibs, Oasis?”

“Hand to hand only?”

“Well, appendage to appendage,” Orphan said, wagging his tail obviously. “I have no intention of handicapping myself to that extent.”

“Oh, of course not.”

The redheaded woman faced off with the tall, massive green and black patterned Orphan. For a few moments, the two stood still, measuring each others’ stances. Then Orphan exploded into motion.

But Oasis was not there; she was above the two meters and more of alien, flipping effortlessly from projection to projection.

Orphan gave a surprised laugh and then bounded up in pursuit, his chitinous armor and leaping motion combining with his occasionally flaring wing-cases to give him the aspect of an immense locust.

The two figures came together in a looping motion, and suddenly the red-haired figure was plummeting downward, barely saving herself from impact with the ground; she leapt aside desperately as Orphan followed her. But she should be doing a lot better than that! What…

Even as he thought that, he remembered. She’s pretending to be human, ordinary human. Very good, very trained — better than Ariane — but not like she really is. So…

The end came quickly, as she evaded two ordinary strikes only to be caught by a brutal tail-strike. Gabrielle was sprinting quickly to Oasis’ side even as she came to rest. “Okay, that’s hard enough! Good Lord, do you people want to kill each other?”

But Oasis was slowly trying to get up already. “We’re… just doing some … friendly sparring,” she managed to say.

“Friendly … well, maybe, but that’s enough for you.”

“All right,” DuQuesne said, as Oasis sat down heavily on the bench next to Ariane, “Now it’s my turn.”

Orphan bowed to DuQuesne, and the two came directly at each other.

Wu laughed and clapped his hands. This was much more like it! For moments the two stood nearly toe-to-toe, blocking each other’s blows, evading strikes, delivering others of their own. Simultaneously a kick from a shining-black foot hammered home even as the strike of a massive fist smashed into a crested head, and both combatants staggered backwards, instantly coming back on guard. DuQuesne and Orphan circled each other, and then DuQuesne charged in, shrugging off a glancing blow but taking his opponent down with a Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu grapple. The bodies slammed to the floor, DuQuesne on top and driving hard, trying to control Orphan, render him helpless.

But human martial arts were generally intended for human opponents, and Orphan’s flexible, sting-equipped tail made that approach far too dangerous. DuQuesne was kicked away, bleeding from his nose, but grinning a savage warrior’s grin. Orphan rolled to his feet, crouching now with tail raised like a scorpion’s, and he was giving a buzz of warlike amusement.

The two made several more passes; Orphan used a lightning-fast wing strike that took down DuQuesne like an axe, but couldn’t capitalize on it; DuQuesne caught Orphan off-guard and almost battered him to his knees, but instead got taken down himself; for a few seconds the two even locked arms in a contest of strength that seemed likely to go on for a long time.

Finally DuQuesne bowed out. “I think,” he said, breathing a little hard — and exaggerating it, too, Wu thought, “that we could go on doing that for quite a while. Now, like I promised — you get to try Wu.”

Wu stepped forward, knowing just by the other’s posture that he was having a hard time taking such a tiny opponent as seriously as he should… but he was going on guard anyway. “This looks like fun!” he said, and bowed to Orphan.

“We shall see,” Orphan said, and did a pushup-bow.

Wu waited for Orphan to get prepared.

Then he leaped up, grabbed one of the branchlike supports, and scrambled up and around as though he were back in the jungles of the Mountain. He heard Orphan already coming after him. He’s moving in… coming from that direction… he’ll be arcing up, trying to get the height on me. Ha!

The green-black figure spun in from above, Orphan’s tail allowing him to grab and shift direction in motion while leaving arms and legs free. But Wu Kung ducked and ran right up Orphan’s back, caught the tail as it started to unwind, anchored himself with his own tail, and pulled.

Caught in midair, with nothing to catch hold of, Orphan was slung up and over, somersaulting through space. He twisted, flared his wingcases to catch air and guide his fall, blunted the impact, but his posture now showed he had full respect for Wu’s abilities. “Well done!” Orphan shouted, even as he moved back in, this time more cautiously. “I should recall that you and I share certain anatomical advantages.”

“You should, because now is the time for us to see which of us is better! Let us not run and dance!”

“As you wish.”

Orphan dropped lightly to the ground and waited. Sun Wu Kung evaluated his position, landed several meters ahead, paused, and then met Orphan’s charge with his own.

A charge which he evaded at the last second, ducking aside and kicking Orphan just between the wingcases. The leader (and sole member) of the Liberated was smashed unceremoniously to the slightly-yielding floor, skidding and tumbling for a few meters before managing to turn the fall into a roll. Orphan was up almost immediately, but the turn was slightly … off, not quite as quick and precise as his prior moves. Is he faking? … no, he is stunned for a moment.

Wu didn’t hesitate. He bounded in, blocked a kick, a tail strike, and one punch, got in a double-footed kick that sent Orphan staggering back – and made his wings flare.

There! From Ariane’s first encounter with the Blessed!

The pinkish tympani were exposed for that brief moment, and Wu delivered a lightning fast slap to each, one with each hand.

Orphan gave a coughing buzz of pain and collapsed. “Enough!”

Immediately Wu stepped back and bowed; a spatter of applause came from the watchers. Orphan slowly pulled himself to his feet, and did a push-bow to both Wu and DuQuesne. “I am… adequately instructed for my doubts, Doctor DuQuesne.” He turned to Wu. “You are truly a master of combat, Sun Wu Kung. I would venture to say you might match… or even slightly surpass… the best of the Arena’s warriors.” He looked at DuQuesne and Ariane. “I thank you for your trust in this.”

Ariane smiled. “I thought you would understand. Is it true?”

“That there are limits on how capable one might make oneself, using technological enhancement? Most certainly. But it is, admittedly, at least partially determined based on what you are to begin with. The Molothos and some others, such as the Daelmokhan, began their emergence into the Arena already extremely formidable, and thus their enhancements can reach somewhat greater levels. The Genasi, of course, are native to the Arena, so what rules THEY follow… is not yet entirely clear. What is clear is that your people obviously must have started from most formidable stock indeed, if this is the result.”

Orphan seemed now fully recovered. He’s tough! Very good! “I now regret, even more, not happening to be present for your impromptu challenge, Sun Wu Kung; that battle must have been magnificent, with you alongside one of the great Champions.”

Wu let himself smile broadly. “It was fun, yes. A lot of fun.”

The important thing — the real reason this sparring match had happened — seemed to have worked. DuQuesne had implied that Wu was better — but at the same time he really wanted both him and Wu to have some reserve, something no one knew about. So this battle was to convince Orphan that he knew what even DuQuesne and Wu Kung were capable of — and maybe get some information from him about how all these abilities worked compared to what you could do in the normal universe. He sure seems to believe he’s seen the truth. Doesn’t smell terribly suspicious — no more than he was coming in, anyway.

The door suddenly burst open, and Simon Sandrisson stood there, white coat flowing down, with a smile on the face framed by brilliant white hair. “Ariane! DuQuesne!”

Ariane jumped slightly — the door had opened right next to her. “Simon? I thought you were –”

“On the Upper Sphere, yes, I was.” Wu heard the scientist’s breathing. Boy, he was running fast! “And I suppose I could have called, but…”

He drew himself up. “But this was something I wanted to tell you in person. We have a direct Sky Gate link to Nexus Arena!”

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 32

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 32

Chapter 18

          Ciclope and Pietro ducked into the tavern. It was filled with smoky haze, partly from the fireplace at one end of the room, and partly from an old man’s pipe. Ciclope had to admit that the tobacco was aromatic — not that he had any experience with it to compare it with. Tobacco was still a novelty in northern Italy, and very pricey indeed.

          They bought a couple of mugs of ale, then found a table in a back corner away from the fire that was untenanted. Without thought, they each sat with one of the corner’s walls behind him.

Ciclope tried his ale, and winced. Not putrid, but not exactly something that he would have fond memories of, either. Ah, well.

“So, when does he show up?” Pietro asked.

“Keep your voice down or shut your mouth. The man will get here when he gets here.”

The fact that he was so short with his partner was a mark of Ciclope’s own nervousness. In truth, he himself was wondering how long they would have to wait. But the answer was the same for him as it was for Pietro; the man would get there when he got there.

Pietro had just returned to their table with their second round of ale when a man wearing ill-fitting clothes slipped into the chair across the table from Ciclope. Pietro started to say something, but Ciclope backhanded him on the shoulder as soon as he opened his mouth.

“Are you the pros from Dover?” the stranger asked.

Ciclope studied him for a moment before responding. Hard to see his eyes under the brim of the hat he was wearing, but his beard was very neatly trimmed and his hands looked rather clean for the kind of man his clothes would normally hang on. And that was the phrase his boss had told him to listen for, idiotic though it sounded. So this must be the new boss, the one that hired them to come to this God-forsaken hinterland of battlefields and howling Protestants.

“Aye, that is us,” he responded when the stranger began to shift on his stool.

“You are who Signor Benavidez sent from Venice?”

“Aye.”

The stranger’s shoulders settle a little, as tension seemed to flow out of him. “Good. It took you long enough to get here.”

“Travel from Venice in the winter is not the easiest thing to do, my friend,” Ciclope said. “And Pietro ate some bad mutton in one inn along the way, and was sicker than a dog for days afterward.”

Pietro gulped and looked queasy at the memory of it.

“Pietro — he is Italian?”

Ciclope wanted to shake his head. If this was the measure of the new boss, maybe he and Pietro had best pack up and head south again. “Of course he is Italian. We are from Venice, you know.”

“Of course, of course,” the stranger quickly replied. “It’s just that you will need to blend in with these Germans, you see.”

Pietro spoke up in German. “Never fear, boss. I was raised in Graubünden, at the east end of the Swiss lands, so my Deutsch is as good as anyone’s.”

Ciclope chuckled. “If they speak Schwietzerdietsch, at any rate.” That part of Switzerland had a very distinct dialect.

The stranger shrugged. “So long as nobody thinks he’s Italian. And what about you?”

“Lower Saxony,” Ciclope said. “Dresden, to be exact.”

“Oh.” The stranger hesitated. Ciclope could guess why, given the news that had been circulating when they finally arrived in Magdeburg. Baner’s army marching on the Saxon city had everyone talking.

“And no, I have no kin left there, and it would not matter if I did, as they all washed their hands of me when I left twenty years ago.”

“Oh.” The stranger brightened. “Well enough, then.” He looked around furtively. “The reason why I brought you here . . .”

Finally, Ciclope thought.

“One of the building projects going on here in Magdeburg. I want you to hire on with the builder, and . . . keep him from succeeding.”

“What do you mean?”

The stranger leaned forward over the table. “I do not care what you do, but I want that project to fail, quickly and spectacularly. I want the people involved in the project to suffer, and their reputations to be ruined.”

“Does it matter if we hurt anyone?” Ciclope asked.

“Feel free.”

Ciclope and Pietro looked at each other, and identical smiles appeared on their faces.

****

          Logau wiped his pen’s nib with a very stained cloth and set the pen aside with care. He leaned forward over the desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. Done. Finally. Opening his eyes, he lowered his hand and picked up the page in front of him, careful to not smudge the ink.

Do You Hear the People Sing, translated into Das Lied des Völks. And done in three days. Once Logau had arrived at his room and pulled Frau Linder’s page from his pocket, he had been drawn into the work of translating the song, staring at the paper and alternating scribbling in a frenzy, balling pages up and throwing them over his shoulder, and staring at the wall with unfocused eyes. He knew he had thrown himself on his bed to sleep for a few hours at least once. He thought he had eaten. Surely he had.

No matter. He was done. Now to get this to Frau Linder and see what she would make of it.

Logau threw on his coat, plucked up his walking stick and gathered his hat. Halfway out the door of his rooms, he remembered to go back for the paper.

****

          “Frau Linder!”

Marla stopped and turned to see Friedrich von Logau hurrying after her on the street. “Herr Logau,” she greeted him when he caught up to them. Franz nodded, which Logau returned in acknowledgment.

The poet looked a bit worn to Marla. Wisps of hair stuck out at odd angles from under his hat, his coat looked as if it had been slept in, and his stockings were sagging from his breeches, all of which was intensified by the dark bags under his eyes. The burning gaze he directed toward her spoke more of a fever, though.

“I am glad to find you so quickly,” Logau said. He reached into the breast of his coat and brought forth a page, which he presented to Marla with a bit of a flourish. She smiled at that. “Here is the translation you requested, Frau Linder. I believe that it will prove suitable. However,” he pulled the page back with a bit of a smile as she reached for it, “I have decided I do have a price for this after all.”

Marla looked at him with a small frown, wondering what he was after. “Very well, Herr Logau. State your price, if you will.”

“I have three non-negotiable demands. First, that you call me Friedrich. Logau sounds so stuffy, so . . . so pompous.”

Marla smiled at that. “I can do that. Second?”

“I want to be with you when you first practice this, to hear it in case I need to change something. The words flow well on the paper, but that does not mean they will do so when mated with the melody.”

“Agreed. And third?”

Logau gave her what could only be called an evil smile. “I want to be there when you sing this in public the first time.”

Marla heard Franz chuckling behind her as she returned smile for smile. She held out her hand. “Agreed and done.”

They shook hands, then she looped her hands through both men’s arms. “Come with us, Friedrich. I have to make a stop at the telegraph office, then we’ll go christen your words appropriately.”

They strode off down the street with Marla humming “We’re Off to See the Wizard.” Neither man understood why she started laughing after a few measures.

Chapter 19

A T & L TELEGRAPH

BEGIN: MBRG TO GVL

TO: HEATHER MASON

ADDR: TROMMLER RECORDS

FROM: MARLA LINDER

DATE: 18 DEC 1635

MESSAGE:

HAVE A ONE SONG SPECIAL YOU REALLY OUGHT TO BUY UP

WILL EITHER WRECK MY CAREER OR TOP THE CHARTS

ATWOOD COCHRAN WILL RECORD

YOU IN OR OUT

MARLA

END

****

A T & L TELEGRAPH

BEGIN: MBRG TO GVL

TO: ATWOOD COCHRAN

ADDR: LOOK IT UP

FROM: MARLA LINDER

DATE: 18 DEC 1635

MESSAGE:

YEAH THIS IS ONE GOOD CAUSE

PITCHED DEAL TO HEATHER AT TROMMLER

EXPECT THEY WILL BUY

RECORDING DATE SATURDAY JAN 19

THIS WILL BE THUMB IN THE EYE OF THE POWERS THAT BE

YOU IN OR OUT

MARLA

END

****

          Marla looked at the two telegrams the delivery boy had just left with her, and smiled.

The first one read:

A T & L TELEGRAPH

BEGIN: GVL TO MBRG

TO: FRAU MARLA LINDER

ADDR: SYLWESTERHAUS MAGDEBURG

FROM: ATWOOD COCHRAN

DATE: 19 DEC 1635

MESSAGE:

CANT PASS UP CHANCE TO JAB THUMB IN EYE

IN

WILL TAKE CUT OF TROMMLER DEAL

ATWOOD

END

And the second:

A T & L TELEGRAPH

BEGIN: GVL TO MBRG

TO: FRAU MARLA LINDER

ADDR: SYLWESTERHAUS MAGDEBURG

FROM: HM AT TROMMLER RECORDS

DATE: 19 DEC 1635

MESSAGE:

WE ARE IN

SEND DETAILS ASAP FOR CONTRACT

HEATHER

END

She looked up at her husband.

“You are really going to do this.” Franz didn’t ask a question. He knew who he was talking to; he made a statement.

“Uh-huh.” Marla wrapped her arms around herself. She felt cold all of a sudden.

Franz said nothing more, but wrapped his own arms around her. She nestled in his embrace, and drew strength from him.