Eric Flint's Blog, page 327

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 24

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 24

Chapter 24.

          “I know it’s only thirty people, but that’s a hell of a crowd compared to us,” DuQuesne murmured. He glanced in the direction of the group that was waiting, mostly patiently, outside the entrance to the Guardhouse area, then looked back down at the cable he was rigging. Going to need a lot more power here.

          Carl Edlund paused in the middle of fixing the last brace for the table. “I don’t think they even outnumber you,” he said.

“Ha. Unfortunately it’s not that kind of outnumbering.”

“Be grateful,” Tom Cussler said, waving the first people forward. “They could have sent a lot more through, but I’m guessing they’re screening the first set very carefully.”

“I guess. And it’s plain as day that we’ll be needing a lot more people for everything we want to do. Just wish I didn’t have to worry how many of them might be more on Naraj’s side than ours.”

“Well, hey there, DQ!” called a cheerful voice.

DuQuesne stood upright, startled, and looked down at a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, hair done in streaks like a box of Neapolitan ice cream — brown, red, and white — with a dark tan and sharp hazel eyes. She had a large red duffle-bag slung over her shoulder and was gazing up at him with a broad grin.

“Tobin? You came to this madhouse?”

“DQ, once I heard you were involved, I had to come see what you’d gotten yourself into. After the Singularity project I’d thought the excitement was over, but judging from what I saw just on the way in, that was only a warm-up!”

“You know Doctor Tobin?” Cussler asked. “I’d heard of you by reputation, Doctor, but –”

“We worked together on the Singularity Power Project some years back,” DuQuesne said, still smiling. Damn, this is something of a stroke of luck. “Tom, Carl, and Steve, this is Doctor Molly Tobin, one of the best practical power engineering designers you’ll ever meet.”

“Another power engineer?” Steve said with some excitement. “Oh, that’s excellent! DuQuesne’s great, but he’s got so many other things on his plate that we have to practically beg him for help on this stuff.”

Tobin nodded, looking around, as Tom started getting information from the other two people he’d called up. “That’s DQ, all right; take on more work than any three other people and call it a good night’s work.”

“‘DQ’?” Carl repeated. “Never heard that one before.”

“And only Molly and about two other people get to call me that, so don’t start,” DuQuesne said in a half-serious warning tone. “What kind of equipment have you guys brought?”

“Couple more AIWish units and a whole bunch of key elements — the sort that’re harder to come by, not available in large quantities out on your upper Sphere, at least based on what you’ve sent us so far,” Molly answered promptly. “Efficient turbine designs and other components for various types of powerplants, of course, that can be coded direct to your AIWish. More power means getting more done, so we figured power engineering would be one of the key factors. Also brought a couple civil engineers, habitat analysis people, concept synthesizers, and so on.”

“That’s definitely going to help. A lot.” He glanced at the group more closely. “Most of ‘em don’t look too shell-shocked, either. Been picking from the ones who don’t rely on their AISages, eh?”

“That was one of Ambassador Naraj’s directives, yes,” she agreed. “And based on what we knew, that made a lot of sense.”

He bent, finished locking down the cable. “You been briefed?”

“Heavily. Enough that I just about believe this crazy place really exists, now that I’m here.”

He grinned at her. “Oh, it’ll get harder to believe before it gets easier. Well, we’ve just finished the survey above our Sphere and we have no fewer than eight Sky Gates. Simon’s preparing to send probes through to see what’s on the other side — hopefully one of them goes to Nexus Arena.” He turned. “Follow me, Molly. The others have to go through all the rigmarole, but I know you, you know me, and I want you to see the problem you guys will have to tackle first.”

He led Molly up through the Inner Sphere to the elevator. “Get ready to meet the Arena.”

“I thought the real Arena we couldn’t go to yet. This Nexus Arena.”

“In a way, yeah…” The elevator door slid open, and they walked into the foyer towards the door to the Upper Sphere. “But this is still part of the Arena, and the important thing about now is that you’ve arrived at night.”

They stepped through the door… and Molly Tobin stopped dead.

Above the dark jungle, silhouetted against a distant horizon and spanning vision in all directions, was…

There still aren’t words, DuQuesne thought. Maybe my long-ago creator, that bombastic Doctor E.E. Smith, could have described it. But I can’t.

The sky of the Arena glowed above the Sphere of Humanity; a shimmering of clouds in the indescribable distance, flickering and flashing with lightning strokes that branched and stretched not for instants but long, long seconds of seething electrical fire, blue-white and fire-orange and gleaming pearlescent white against blue-black; a deep ruddy glow was visible in another direction, and against it a dark, trailing line of clouds edged in rose and blood. Directly above, a roiling, majestic sea of deep violet and velvet and sparking, shimmering blue. It was the sky of storms the size of worlds and of lights that might come from another world, a moon’s distance away in that impossible airy gulf, and faint, barely-seen movement that might be creatures, living beings that dared to live and fight and die and perhaps even think, wonder, and love in the endless spaces between Spheres.

“Oh… my.” Molly said finally.

“Yeah, that’s about all you can say. Or something like that. Even more if you’re here in the daytime first; looks pretty much like some place on Earth then, with the Luminaire up. You have to squint pretty hard to make out anything funny in the sky in the daytime. So then the sun goes down… and you suddenly know you ain’t in Kansas any more.”

“Or down the rabbit hole. This place seems just about that crazy.” She shook herself in a way that DuQuesne found amusingly familiar; most of the original visitors had done the same thing when recovering from a typical Arena shock. “So… besides that, what did you have for me?”

“Listen.”

She cocked her head, and even in the dim lighting he could see her sudden smile. “Oh, now, that is hopeful. A waterfall?”

“And a big one,” DuQuesne said with an answering smile. “We’ve diverted a tiny portion of it so far with what we could rig up, but I know you worked on studying hydro plants before. My best estimate on this fall is it’s close to two million liters a second.”

“That is pretty big,” she said. “I admit… I’m having trouble grasping this. We are on top of a spherical construct, right? What’s all this… world doing on top of it, if you know what I mean?”

“It’s made to be similar to our home environment — though similar does not mean identical, so get that through your head. Near as I can figure, there’s a couple thousand kilometers of rock under us which acts like the actual mantle of a planet. Plate tectonics, the whole nine yards. You’ve got some kind of oceans out there — Simon’s probes were able to return some images, and we’re finally getting some idea of what the top of the Sphere looks like. Within the gravity area there’s some convection and condensation — but we’re not even close to figuring out how all this interacts with the stuff outside the gravity field.”

He shook his head. “It’s enough to drive you nuts, I’ll tell you. But the long and the short is, we get weather like Earth, pretty close, you get night and day like Earth, there’s volcanoes and earthquakes and all the rest like Earth, and I wouldn’t be surprised if there weren’t seasons to the … North and South of us, where the Luminaire’s light will be more oblique; I’ll bet its path slowly goes North and South over the period of a year, just like the apparent position of the sun varies due to Earth’s axial tilt. We’re pretty much on the equator right here.” He paused. “The effective equator of the Upper Sphere, not the actual Sphere’s equator. Damnation. We’ll need yet more new vocabulary.”

They stopped at the edge of the ridge overlooking the swift-running river. “That is impressive,” Molly said finally. “So you want me to design a power plant to use… that?”

“Figure we could get a few gigawatts out of it, which would go a long way towards giving us some comfortable independence here. And if there’s one waterfall like this, I’m betting there’s plenty of opportunities for water-power here.”

She nodded. “I can imagine the largest possible water power generator, actually.”

“What do… oh.” He suddenly began to chuckle, then laughed loudly. “Doctor Tobin, you haven’t stopped thinking bigger, have you?”

“It just seemed obvious to me, Marc,” she said, grinning back. “Given the description, there’s a wall, an edge, somewhere around this Upper Sphere, the point where the gravity stops keeping things comfortably on the surface. Go knock a hole in it and let the entire ocean start draining out until you reach equilibrium. With a few billion liters of water a second, I’ll start giving you some real power!”

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 31

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 31

“Yah. This guy’s no good. I will put him out next round, watch and see.”

The bell rang for the second round. Hans put his hands up and moved forward deliberately. This round he started the action by throwing a punch at the face of Sokolovsky. The other man tried to duck but wasn’t fast enough to evade it. It landed high on his left cheekbone.

          Hans gave Sokolovsky no chance to recover. One punch followed another, body, body, head, body, head. His outclassed opponent tried to fight back, but Hans would either evade his swings or he’d brush them aside.

There was no retreat. The other fighter tried to step back and Hans stepped forward in pursuit. Always there was a punch coming, left, right, left. Simon could tell the other man was losing strength because his hands kept dropping lower and lower like he couldn’t hold them up.

The crowd was still yelling when Hans put a fist in Sokolovsky’s gut one last time, then put one to his jaw. His opponent’s arms dropped straight down. He wavered, took one step, then stretched his length on the floor of the pit.

The crowd went wild while Herr Pierpoint counted to ten. Simon didn’t understand why that was. But there was no mistaking the meaning when Herr Pierpoint lifted Hans’ hand above his head and pointed to him.

Hans made a bit of a bow to each side of the pit, then walked back over to the ladder. Simon met him there with a huge smile on his face and handed him his shirt. After pulling the shirt on, Hans grabbed his hat and tousled Simon’s hair. “I told you, you are my luck. With you around, I cannot lose.” Simon’s heart swelled with pride, a most unfamiliar emotion. “Come on.”

Simon followed Hans up the ladder, coping with the lack of a hand better going up than he had going down. He managed to step off the ladder without needing Hans’ offered hand.

Hans slung his coat over his shoulder, laid his arm on Simon’s shoulder, and started pushing their way through the crowd. It was slow progress, as it seemed that at least every third man they encountered wanted to congratulate Hans on his win, or on how easily he’d defeated his opponent. Simon heard more than one voice murmur around them, “Stark Hans . . . Stark Hans . . .” One man even pressed some silver on Hans, saying that since he’d won his bet for him, he should share in the winnings.

Simon noticed that Hans kept his eyes moving over the crowd. Just as he was about to ask him what he was looking for, Hans muttered, “There he is,” and steered them back toward the pit.

They reached a place where Hans could reach out an arm and grab a man by the shoulder. When he turned, it was Ferret-face. Simon had to swallow a laugh when he saw the man again.

“Tobias,” Hans said, “pay up.”

“All right, all right,” the man whined. He pulled a roll of the new paper money out of his coat pocket and started counting bills into Hans’ palm. “One thousand dollars,” Tobias said, putting the now smaller roll back into his pocket. “Satisfied?”

“Yah. Let me know when you have another fight lined up for me, after a week or so.” Hans tipped a finger to his brow as the crowd started clumping around the pit for the next fight of the evening.

Simon tugged on Hans’ sleeve as they stepped away from Tobias. “How much is that in pfennigs?” he asked.

“About ten Groschen, maybe a little more,” Hans replied.

Simon’s head spun. Ten Groschen; one hundred twenty pfennigs. Hans was nearly rich, with what he had won yesterday at the arm wrestling, and now this! Simon had never seen so much money at one time. “How much does the other man make?”

“A half of this, maybe a third.” Hans’ teeth flashed in his beard. “I don’t know. I have never lost.”

There was someone waiting for them as they neared the edge of the crowd.

“A good fight, Herr Metzger,” Lieutenant Chieske said.

“Ach, it was a joke, lieutenant.” Hans hawked and spat. “That bum could not touch me. If Tobias does not find some better fighters, I will have to find something else to do. There is no fun in defeating the weak.”

“Fun?” Sergeant Hoch asked. “You enjoy beating people?”

Simon bristled at the sergeant’s tone. Hans turned and looked down to meet the shorter man’s eyes. “What I enjoy, Sergeant Hoch, is the contest — the matching of strength to strength, skill to skill, finding the best. Tonight . . . I take no joy in tonight. I ended the fight as quickly as I could.”

“And it’s to be hoped that fool learns from his bruises and aches and pains not to do something like this again,” Lieutenant Chieske offered.

“Or at least not until he has gotten a lot better at it,” Hans agreed.

“Indeed. Well, good evening, Herr Metzger.” With that, the two policemen nodded and moved on.

“So,” Simon said, amazed at the calmness in his voice, “now what?”

“Now we go home to Ursula and let her know that her brother has won again.” Hans shrugged into his coat. “Let’s go.”

****

          Byron and Gotthilf turned and watched the fighter and his companion walk away into the darkness. “Sergeant Milich said he’s connected to Schardius?”

“Yah. You think he can tell us what we want to know?” Gotthilf murmured under the crowd noise.

“Maybe.” Byron tilted his head. “But it will have to seem like his idea. If he thinks we’re trying to make him do it, he’ll just clam up.”

“Clam?”

“Okay, you know what a mussel is . . .”

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 30

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 30

 

“You got gloves and mouth protectors and everything going?”

“Working on gloves. The fighters we’ve got mostly don’t like the big 16 ounce ones. I’ve had someone make up some of the padded 5 ounce martial arts style gloves that leave the fingers free, and some of the fighters have started using them.”

         “That include Hans Metzger?”

“Yep. And some of the guys have started using pieces of thick leather for mouth protectors, too. That works okay, but I’d rather have rubber. I keep hearing someone’s bringing rubber in from overseas, but I haven’t been able to chase it down yet. That would be better.”

Todd looked over Byron’s shoulder and waved.

“Gotta go, there’s my cue. Watch the fight — it could be good.”

****

          Simon hadn’t dealt much with ladders in his short life; a one-handed man is at a bit of a disadvantage on one. Of course, a one-handed man is at a bit of a disadvantage everywhere, he thought to himself as he reached for the left pole. A couple of moments later he was standing on the floor of the pit, pleased with himself that he had managed to scramble down the ladder without knocking it over or falling off of it.

He looked up to see two men coming down the ladder at the other end of the pit. One of them began taking off his coat, followed by his shirt, which he handed to the other man.

Hans took off his own coat and folded it over one of the ladder rungs. His shirt went on top of it. His hat he dropped on Simon’s head, grinning as it settled on top of the boy’s ears. Then he dug a couple of leather gloves without fingers out of his coat pockets and tugged them on.

Without the shrouding of his clothing, Hans’ body looked like a solid slab of muscle. His waist wasn’t much narrower than his shoulders, which were wide enough. He smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand a few times, shook his arms, then stood waiting.

“What do I do?” Simon asked. He was nervous about being in the pit itself.

Hans looked over at him and grinned. “Just stand in the corner out of the way and wish me luck. I will take care of the rest of it.”

Just then another man came down the ladder at the other end of the pit and moved to the center. “All right,” he called out, in that distinctive up-time accent. “I’m Todd Pierpoint, and I’m the referee, the fight-master, for this contest. At this end of the pit, we have Hans Metzger.” Scattered cheers broke out. “And at the other end, we have Pieter Sokolovsky.” A couple of cheers and scattered boos. “This fight will be fought under the Markie of Cuiensberry rules . . .” or at least that’s what Simon thought was said. It didn’t make any sense to him. “. . . so there will be no biting, gouging, kicking, or blows below the belt. One infraction gets a warning. The second will stop the fight and give the win to your opponent. Do you understand?” Herr Pierpoint looked to Hans’ opponent first, and received a nod. “Do you understand?” Now he was looking at Hans. Hans nodded.

“Good. This fight will be fought for ten three-minute rounds. The sound of the bell,” he pointed to someone in the crowd and a bell rang, “will start and end the rounds. There will be one minute between the rounds. Now,” Herr Pierpoint looked up at the crowd surrounding the pit, “the fight begins in two minutes.” There was a rush of noise as the crowd members cajoled and argued with each other as they made bets.

Simon looked over at the other fighter. Sokolovsky was taller than Hans. His arms were longer, too. He looked soft, though; there was a bulge around his belly. Hans, by contrast, looked flat and hard. Stark Hans. The other fighter kept moving, picking his feet up and down, swinging his arms. Hans just stood there like a lump, waiting.

The two minutes passed quickly. Herr Pierpoint stepped to the center of the pit. “Are you ready?” The crowd packed around the pit roared as the two fighters nodded. Simon backed into the corner of the pit. “Begin!” Herr Pierpoint pointed up at the crowd and the bell rang.

Hans stepped forward, step, step, step, until he was close to the center of the pit. His opponent came forward at about the same pace. They started circling one another. Hans had his fists up in front of his face, Simon saw, elbows tucked in by his side. Sokolovsky was holding his fists in front of his chest with his elbows stuck out.

Simon started muttering, “Come on, Hans . . . come on, Hans . . .” over and over. The crowd was yelling and screaming.

The other fighter took a swing at Hans, a big wide looping swing of his right fist. Hans ducked the swing, stepped in while the other man was off-balance, and buried his own fist in Sokolovsky’s gut. Then Hans slammed his other hand to the other man’s ear. Sokolovsky was staggered, but manfully made a swing with his other fist. Hans ducked that one as well, then stepped back in to deliver another hammer blow to the gut.

The rest of the first round was like that. Sokolovsky would swing, Hans would evade the blows, then provide a punishing hit or two. By the end of the round, there were red marks and the beginnings of bruises on the body and face of the other fighter, but Hans stood untouched.

The bell rang. Herr Pierpoint stepped in between the two fighters and waved them to opposite ends of the pit. Hans came and stood by Simon.

“So, what do you think so far?” Hans asked.

Simon could barely hear him through the noise of the crowd. He was so excited he was bouncing on his toes. “You’re better. You’re beating him.”

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 23

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 23

Chapter 23.

          “I shall not waste more of your time this day,” Selpa said, and rose from the cradle-like seat that his species used. “And I will assuredly tell you of our decision when it is reached, so that you need not wonder what has happened. If you have not heard from us, then we have not yet decided.”

         “I guess I can’t ask for more than that. Thank you, Selpa’a'At. May your course be ever your own.”

“And yours as well. Until later, Captain Austin.”

Oscar Naraj entered as Selpa left. “Any luck?” The Ambassador’s face registered both concern and sympathy; she didn’t think it was feigned, either. Naraj might believe she was the wrong choice for this job, might want to get rid of her in any way possible, but he had, as far as she could tell, no personal animosity towards her at all.

“I’m afraid not,” she said. “He doesn’t want to drive a wedge between us, but given the potential value of a human being actually joining your faction, Maria-Susanna’s offer to join the Vengeance is just far too tempting for them to simply refuse outright. I can’t really hold it against him. At least he told me about it as soon as it happened, so I can start thinking about what the consequences might be if they do decide to let her join.” She looked around, feeling something was missing. “Oh. Where’s Michelle?”

“Ah, yes. I have given Deputy Ambassador Ni Deng the responsibility of finding some useful common ground between ourselves and the Blessed.”

“I thought you were… rather nervous about the Blessed, considering the fact that they’re controlled by their AIs.”

“I am, quite,” he admitted. “But at the same time, I have to consider all factors and try, as much as is possible, to react from rational policy instead of personal prejudice. The Blessed To Serve are an immensely powerful faction, and despite some considerable humiliation and provocation on our part — not,” he hastily added, “deliberate on your part, I know — they have chosen to let go of the past and offer us a chance for peaceful interchange.”

He sat down, and for a moment — just an instant — she saw Oscar Naraj looking tired, uncertain, and worried. “I’ve researched the Molothos rather extensively since getting here, Captain Austin,” he said slowly. “And… speaking entirely honestly… they terrify me. I had thought originally that there might be a way of negotiating with them. Then when that turned out… less well than I had hoped, I had thought there might be some political pressures or approaches which might be used.

“But there appear to be none, at least none that we can easily avail ourselves of. They are one of the oldest active factions, which is why they remain so powerful; they gained many Spheres on their own early, and — as we discovered ourselves — also expand by colonizing the Upper Sphere of uninhabited solar systems. No one can truly say how many of them there are, or what sort of force they could bring to bear in battle, except that it would be staggeringly huge. They are able to compromise just barely enough to keep the majority factions from uniting against them.” He looked down. “You recall Dajzail mentioned another species, the Randaalar?”

She nodded.

“His statement was pure fact. The Randaalar refused to bow to the Molothos about thirty thousand years ago, and apparently the Molothos found their homeworld and destroyed it — not merely conquered, but obliterated the planet itself in some fashion, and hunted down every member of the species for the next several centuries. Against something like that… I truly am reluctant to shut out any possible allies, even if they are themselves frightening in another way.”

“Ni Deng understands she can’t –”

“Oh, we both understand that any final decisions are yours, Captain,” Oscar assured her. He stood again. “But I wanted her to have some particular area to focus on, and this will likely be something that will take considerable time and delicacy to arrange. Michelle is extremely patient when the situation calls for it, and her attention to detail is what recommended her to me several years ago.

“In the meantime, I am seeking more allies in other areas. I have an appointment, in fact, with the Shadeweaver Gona-Brashind at their Faction House, so I had best be moving on.”

“Just be careful, Ambassador,” she said warningly. “Gona-Brashind didn’t, as far as I can tell, mess around with us the way Amas-Garao did, but he’s sure got his own agenda and we don’t know what it is.”

“Oh, I shall be careful,” Oscar said, and turned as he was leaving. “But do give me a bit of credit, Captain; I have spent years arranging things according to my own agenda, so I am not at all unfamiliar with the idea.”

Wu Kung looked in after the Ambassador was gone. “He’s a devious one.”

“You mean that in a specific way?” The last thing she needed was internal intrigues. She knew Naraj probably had some plans, but…

He wrinkled his nose as though he’d smelled something bad, and his little fangs projected momentarily; somehow, it made the little Hyperion look cute, a thought she had never expected to have. “Well… no. Maybe. He always smells like he has some idea underneath every idea, so I can’t tell if he’s planning anything. So you watch out, okay?”

“Isn’t that your job?”

He made as though to slap her head gently. “You like to take risks like me! And sometimes I am not there! So it may be my job, but it’s your job too!”

He turned smoothly away, obviously having heard something; a second later she picked up the sound of a pair of people walking through the entryway to her office.

“I beg your pardon, Ariane,” Simon said, with Laila Canning next to him. “But … could I speak with you in private, please?”

Oh, thank God. He’s got to be coming to me to talk about whatever’s bothering him, and I was absolutely dreading having to try to pry it out of him. “Of course, Simon.”

“And,” Laila said, “I will want the same opportunity afterwards. If you can spare the time.”

They came together… why? Did he talk to Laila first? Why? “I can spare the time, Laila. It’s not as though you demand much of it in the first place. Wu, just wait outside. I’m safe enough with Simon.”

“Okay.”

The door shut, and Simon looked at her for a long moment before sitting down slowly, sweeping his sword around and out of the way in a now-practiced, elegant gesture. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed –”

“I think most of us have. Something’s been bothering you for a while, and none of us know what it is.”

“Hm.” A weak smile. “Concealing secrets has never been my strong point, I must confess. But this one… was personally frightening. And I think you will understand my reluctance.”

Simon launched into his explanation. She was first struck with a feeling of self-reproach — why didn’t I recognize something had happened that time? — even as she realized she’d been in no position to really pay much attention to anything during the ritual that had sealed away the strange Arena-born powers she’d gained in that last desperate gamble against Amas-Garao.

Then he described what had happened in the Archives, and she felt the same cold chill she often got when dealing with the mysteries of the Arena. “Creepy, once again.”

“Oh, very much so,” Simon agreed, no longer smiling.

“But why keep it a secret, Simon? It’s scary, yes, but –”

“You really don’t understand?” He shook his head. “Oh, of course. Because it happened to me well afterwards, when we knew each other well, and –”

Then it suddenly burst in on her what he meant, what he’d been afraid of, and why he would have had to talk first to Laila before anyone else. “Oh, God. Simon, I’m sorry, that was very dense of me.”

Even as she said it, she felt — almost involuntarily — the calm, cold discipline she’d cultivated as “Captain Austin” coming forward. “You’re right, it is a concern. But — if I’m completely honest — it’s one that you should all have about me, too.”

Simon blinked, and then laughed, a chagrined expression on his face. “Oh, great kami, of course, of course. And I suppose DuQuesne…?”

“… confronted me with that question immediately afterwards. And I told him what happened and basically threw myself on his mercy.” Another thought struck her. “And you know, what you described… that was exactly what I saw, what I felt, when the change happened, and it sounds like what happened to Mandallon.”

“Yes, I see. But at the same time, that can’t be what happened to me. I haven’t shown the slightest trace of abilities such as Mandallon or yourself, and — if we’re right about when this happened — I have been living with this for months. You needed to be contained within a day of gaining the power, and I was given the strong impression that Initiate Guides are both carefully trained before the day, and are assisted afterwards for some time by other trained Guides. Based on what we know, if I had gained that power, I should have become a walking disaster within days or weeks at most.”

She nodded. Makes sense. “Then the only thing I can think of is that you somehow… retained a connection to what you saw. Not of power, but of information. And sometimes you can open that connection.”

Simon’s green eyes widened slightly. “That does make a great deal of sense, yes! Alas,” he continued, “it doesn’t actually answer my current questions, though.”

“Simon, the fact is we’re not going to get clear-cut answers to that kind of thing, at least not any time soon. All we can do us use our best judgment. And in mine you are still the Doctor Simon Sandrisson who brought all of us here in the first place. If you want a second opinion, ask DuQuesne. He’s the expert in seeing through phonies. He saw through Hyperion’s near-perfect illusions and survived breaking them. He’ll tell you if he thinks there’s anything wrong with you.” She smiled. “Simon, we wouldn’t have come here without you. We wouldn’t have gotten home without you. We might be able to do the rest without you, but I’m damn glad we don’t have to. I think you’re you, and that’s the end of the subject as far as I’m concerned.”

She could see the tension evaporate. “Then… thank you, Ariane. Arigatou gozaimasu, thank you very much. I’m sorry for not having come to you sooner –”

“Don’t apologize, Simon. With our worry about Laila and the way I behaved, you had every reason to wonder about my reaction. And that said, I’d better let Laila in and talk this out with her, too.”

“Of course.”

A few moments later, Laila Canning entered and closed the door.

“Sit down, Laila. After what Simon talked to me about, I have a fairly good idea of what you needed to talk about.”

The brown-haired scientist smiled quickly. “I don’t doubt it. Mainly, I had one quite specific question, though.”

A specific question? Puzzled, Ariane asked, “All right, what is it?”

Laila leaned forward. “You’ve been suspicious of me since I awakened – and it’s always seemed to me that you felt you had a reason for it, not just reasonable caution. I can’t say exactly why I felt this, but …” she looked apologetic, “but I just kept getting the feeling you didn’t trust me for some actual reason.”

God, I feel like such an idiot. “Not… not really a reason, Laila. Actually, after my conversation with Simon, I was just reminded of how stupid I sometimes can be. It was just a silly impression.”

“Oh?”

She deserves to at least hear how silly I was being. “Right after our first talk — after you woke up — I was leaving, and when I looked back…” she sighed, smiled with embarrassment. “This is really stupid. It will completely ruin my reputation as any sort of bright commander, I warn you.”

Laila waited.

“All right. I looked back, and for just an instant — just a split second — I thought I saw you looking back at me with a completely different expression.”

Laila raised an eyebrow. “What sort of expression?”

She thought back to that moment, and that same chill went down her spine again. “Sort of the expression I’ve seen used when you’re studying something under a microscope, but at the same time almost as though you found me … funny? Amusing?” She shivered. “It was probably just the stress of the moment, but that impression was pretty creepy and it stayed with me.”

Laila looked at her for a long moment. “Interesting. That is what you saw?”

“That’s what I thought I saw,” Ariane said, feeling even more embarrassed. “I probably invented it.”

Laila smiled slowly. “Possibly not. You have shown an … impressive ability to observe and act on your observations in the past; a combat or racing pilot who doesn’t notice things fast is likely dead thereafter.

“Your reaction isn’t scientific, no, and I deplore the idea that a simple emotional reaction would determine the level of trust… but I also have to recall that your ‘gut-level’ instinct has managed to get us all through this in prior conflicts, so I would be rather ill-advised to just dismiss it. I will say that I don’t even recall looking at you as you left — but I also have other scattered moments in which I am not entirely clear what I was doing. So… perhaps I am not, in fact, Laila Canning.” She looked steadily at Ariane. “But I would like to resolve how I’ll be treated from now on.”

“You aren’t giving me much of a break, are you?”

She snorted. “No. I’ll admit to an emotional reaction of my own, and that is that I resent the idea that you’ve been wondering if I’m not myself because you thought you saw something. But in any case, I cannot give you a ‘break’, Captain. This is your decision, and it should be made with full knowledge of what you might be doing.”

I wish DuQuesne was here!

She squelched that thought. DuQuesne wasn’t there, and if he was, he’d almost certainly just repeat Laila’s advice. That’s why they’d chosen her Captain.

She probably only sat there for a few moments, but to Ariane it felt like hours. Judging from the well-hidden tension in Laila’s face, it wasn’t a short wait for her, either.

“All right, Laila,” she said finally. “I’ll be just as honest, then. I owe you that.

“We don’t know if you’re yourself or not. You could be an agent of the Faith, or something else. Or you could be exactly who you always were. I think you’re a little changed — you don’t want to go back to who you were, with three AISages in your head, practically running your body while you studied. But honestly? First, I can’t afford to lose any of the people who’ve been here with me. Second, I really think you are you, or mostly you. Third… I can’t afford paranoia. If there is something not-you there, it’s never shown any sign of being anything other than helpful. Mandallon brought you back from what was basically brain-dead and gave you back to us, and I should be simply grateful for that. If the Faith did anything to you, well, they’ve already got all the information you have, and they haven’t shown any sign of it. So no matter what, I think you’re one of us, and you mean to stay one of us.

“So as of now, I’m going to assume you are the exact same Doctor Laila Canning who made that trip, and I will inform DuQuesne of this decision. I don’t have time for this kind of worry. If I’m giving Simon — with a lot more evidence of something funny going on — the benefit of the doubt, I have to give it to you. Especially,” she smiled, “since I’m asking you to give the same benefit to me.”

As with Simon, she saw tension seep away from Laila. “Thank you, Ariane,” she said. “I … did not want to leave here, but if I had to be always suspected –”

“I know. It’s over.” She reached out and gripped the other woman’s hand. “I’m sorry. Welcome back. Welcome really back.”

And Laila gripped back with a smile.

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 29

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 29

 

Chapter 16

A T & L TELEGRAPH

BEGIN: GVL TO MBRG

TO: FRAU MARLA LINDER

ADDR: SYLWESTERHAUS MAGDEBURG

FROM: ATWOOD COCHRAN

DATE: 14 DEC 1635

MESSAGE:

RIG STILL WORKS

BATTERIES STILL HOLD CHARGE WELL ENOUGH FOR ONE LONG SESSION OR TWO SHORT ONES

CAN TAKE TIME OFF FROM SCHOOL FOR GOOD CAUSE

IS THIS ONE

ATWOOD

END

Chapter 17

          Gotthilf turned away from the shift sergeant’s desk and stepped over to where Byron was pouring a cup of coffee. “Sergeant Milich says Metzger works in Schardius’ warehouse most days. He also says Metzger beat the charge, and is out on the street. Metzger has been keeping a low profile ever since, except that he does fight in the bear pit pretty often.”

Byron sucked at the coffee, and made a face. “This stuff isn’t any better than my mother’s coffee, and that’s pretty bad. So when’s the next fight?”

Gotthilf smiled. “By coincidence, the sergeant says he may be fighting tonight.”

His partner gulped the rest of the coffee down, shuddered, and said, “It’s rumble time, then.”

Gotthilf shook his head at yet another strange American idiom, and followed his partner out the door.

****

          Simon walked with Hans out of the city, even beyond the exurb of Greater Magdeburg. He was uncomfortable outside of his streets, especially as it was drawing to full dark. It didn’t take long, though, before they arrived where they were going.

“What is this?” Simon was mystified. All he saw was a big rectangular hole in the ground with timbers shoring up the sides and some bench seats around it.

“It’s the bear fighting pit.”

“Oh.” Simon had heard of it, too, but he’d never seen it before. Somehow he’d always imagined it would be larger and . . . grander. He became aware of an odor as they drew closer to it. “It stinks.”

“Yah. Lots of blood spilled in that pit, soaked into the ground.” Hans chuckled. “Some of it even men’s blood.”

“Dog fight two nights ago,” a stranger commented.

“Fresh blood, then,” Hans said. Simon made a face.

More and more people were arriving, all men as far as Simon could tell.

“Hello, Herr Metzger,” someone said from behind them. Simon turned with Hans to find two men: one tall and one short.

“Are you on the bill tonight?” asked the tall one. From his accent, he was an up-timer.

“On the bill?” Hans replied. Simon was confused as well.

“On the card. Are you fighting tonight?”

“Who’s asking?” Hans sounded brusque to Simon.

“Lieutenant Chieske of the Magdeburg Polizei, and my partner Sergeant Hoch.”

“Oh.” Hans seemed taken aback. “I am at that, Lieutenant Chieske.”

“Should be a good match, then,” said the short one, who was clearly a down-timer.

“Yah, Sergeant Hoch. I will give the people their money’s worth.”

The two men nodded to them and walked on. Hans watched their backs for a moment, spat and muttered something Simon couldn’t quite hear.

“Who are they, Hans?”

Hans looked at him with a sober expression on his face. “You know about the new Polizei?”

“Yah.” Simon nodded.

“Those two are part of it. In fact, they are mostly leading it, from what everyone on the street says. And they have got a lot of the street people and hard men nervous. They are sharp-eyed and, so far at least, incurably honest.”

“Why are they here tonight?”

“I don’t know. Probably heard about the fight and came to sniff around the edges like your Schatzi, looking for whatever they can find.”

Simon chuckled at the image conjured in his mind by Hans’ words.

A man approached whose pointed nose and receding chin reminded Simon of nothing of so much as a ferret. “Time to get ready,” he whined at Hans. Even his voice reminded Simon of a ferret.

“Right. Come on, lad.” Hans led the way over to the pit and climbed down a ladder. When he got to the bottom he looked up at Simon. “Come on, now.”

****

          Byron saw someone he knew. “This way,” he threw over his shoulder to Gotthilf, who followed him through the crowd. “Todd! Todd Pierpoint!”

An up-timer near one end of the pit turned. “Hey, Byron. What’s up?”

“You just here for the fight?”

“Naw, I’ve got a stake in this.”

“How so?”

“Tobias,” Todd pointed to a weasely looking down-timer who was walking with Hans Metzger toward the fighting pit, “he found a copy of Sports Illustrated that covered mostly boxing stories. Once he got someone to read it to him, he got ideas about starting a fight syndicate. Turns out there’s been some sort of bare knuckle fighting around these parts off and on for quite a while. Anyway, he started looking for someone to work with him on it. He got pointed my way, and here we are. I do some general training of fighters at Karickhoff’s gym, I referee, I put up some of the initial money, and I get half the profits.”

“Wow. From one-time county welterweight champion to 1635′s own Don King. In a few years I’ll get to say ‘I knew him when . . .’” Byron grinned and ducked as Todd swung a lazy roundhouse at him. “So, you make much from the bets?”

Todd’s smile disappeared. “You being a cop, are you asking officially?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, for the record, I don’t bet on the fights. Conflict of interest, see?” Todd’s head swiveled to find his partner. “Tobias, now, he might. He’s never said anything to me about it.” He looked back to the two policemen. “I haven’t heard of anyone making book on these fights. So far as I know, it’s just man to man here at the pit.” He spat. “And I hope it stays that way.”

There was a moment of quiet, then Byron said, “What’s with the pit? I’d've thought you’d put a ring up.”

Todd sighed. “You wouldn’t believe how change-resistant some of these people can be. It took me weeks to get the fighters to understand why a raised ring would be good. They’re used to the pit; they like the pit.” He shook his head. “I finally got them to agree to use it if we built it. Now I’ve got to get the money together.” Todd chuckled. “And it may not be square when it gets built. Might be more of a rectangle, like the pit is. Change-resistant, like I said.”

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 22

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 22

Chapter 22.

          “Simon!” Laila Canning said, and there was honest surprise in her voice. “What in the world… or worlds, I suppose… are you doing here?”

Simon looked around at the soaring lines of the Faith’s great hall, and the lines of people of all species filing in. “Well, partly I have never been here before, and I admit to a great curiosity as to the workings of a faith which is held by members of almost uncountable species.” He smiled, though it took some effort to keep the expression natural. “After all, humanity has never managed to agree on one set of beliefs, and I would be — am — surprised that a single belief could draw people of such diversity to it.”

         “Hmph,” she said, and the brown eyes were narrow and analytical. “You weren’t at our meeting yesterday — I’m sure you heard about that little event?”

“About Sun Wu Kung managing to get himself in trouble the first time he wandered free? Yes, I did, when DuQuesne stopped by to take over the scanning this morning.”

“Indeed. And that means you came here essentially directly from Transition, no stopover at the Embassy. What’s the real reason you came, Simon?”

So much for subtle approaches. “Yes, well… I wanted to talk with you privately, away from our Embassy, and this seemed one of the better choices.”

Her head did the quick, birdlike tilt he remembered from their first meeting. “I see.” She glanced around. “Well, not out here, certainly, unless you want random passers-by to hear whatever secret you apparently wish to tell me. This way.”

She led Simon through a low archway to one side, where they found Nyanthus, the leader of the Faith, apparently in the process of putting on ornamental garments for the ceremony. “Excuse my intrusion on your preparations, First Guide.”

The warm, mellifluous voice rolled out from the First Guide’s openwork candleflame top, and his symbiotic sensing-creatures flew out and circled them in greeting. “It is forgiven, Laila Canning, and I bid you welcome again to the house of the Faith. And to you, Simon Sandrisson, I bid a special welcome, on this, your first entry to our home.”

“Thank you, First Guide Nyanthus,” Simon said.

“First Guide,” Laila said quickly, “Simon and I need to speak privately. Might we…”

The tendrils that made up the candle-flame flickered open for a moment. “Of course, Laila. You may use one of the private rooms in the Path of Trust; there should be several free, as these are the days of the Cycle of Wonder.”

Laila thanked him and turned to go.

“Thank you very much, Nyanthus,” Simon said, and quickly followed the brown-haired scientist.

Dr. Canning led him about three-quarters of the way around the circular walkway that went around the perimeter of the great worship hall; by the time she turned down a side passage, Simon could hear alien but very pretty music starting to rise from the great hall. “I suspect a symbolism in which rooms he offered to you.”

Laila’s smile was quick and bright. “I don’t doubt it; Guide Nyanthus is very wise, and very smart, and always alert to what is going on. He signals both that he trusts me, and that if we have secret conversations then both of us must trust the other — with must being able to be read at least two ways.”

Simon tried to smile, but the tension was too great. “Yes, I see.”

Laila gestured and one of the doors opened slightly; she looked through, nodded, and waved again, causing the door to open fully.

Going through the door, Simon saw some human-style chairs and a desk. “Interesting. I suppose the Wagamia might use this, but is the design common?”

“I am not entirely sure,” she admitted. “Given that we are in someone’s embassy, I would not bet against the possibility that the furnishings rearrange themselves for each group that opens the doors.” She chose a seat and sat down.” Now, Simon, what is so secret and important that you leave the Embassy and come here — and that you don’t even discuss with Ariane?”

He tried to sit, but he was too tense, and sprang up, began pacing. “Laila… it must be very difficult for you. I know that Ariane has always wondered…”

“Ah.” She looked distant. “Simon, I won’t lie. It is very difficult. The more so since I can’t tell why Ariane is wary of me, other than just general caution, but I’m sure there’s some quite clear reason that made her nervous about me.

“And I confess — quite freely — that I don’t have any proof that I was not, in fact, modified by Mandallon in some way. I was nearly brain-dead after all, and it’s quite possible his attempt to fix me involved putting a part of himself in — perhaps putting in much more of him than me.” She sighed. “Honestly, I don’t blame DuQuesne his suspicions; given what we now know is his past? I’d be paranoid too, and the Arena’s given us more than enough reason to question everything we know.”

Laila stood — exactly as Simon decided to sit. The two of them looked at each other for a moment and Simon could suddenly not keep himself from laughing. Fortunately, the same impulse had struck Laila, and for a few moments they laughed, fading to chuckles. Laila Canning sat back down, a smile still on her face. “Oh, that was good. Do you know… I don’t think I’ve had a decent laugh since I came to this damned place, until now.”

“I’m terribly sorry, Laila.”

“Hardly your fault, Simon. True, you haven’t done anything to argue against their suspicions that I know of, but really, there’s nothing to argue.” Her lips tightened and she looked down, smooth, straight brown hair momentarily shadowing her face. “I have… been seriously considering joining the Faith.”

Not a surprise. “I did rather wonder about that. It would be the logical step if you felt you couldn’t stay with us.”

“Logical? Yes.” She lifted her head, and her expression was like iron. “And perhaps all too human. But I’m not giving up on my own people — even if I have somehow been changed. Not yet, anyway.” She tilted her head again. “So what is it that makes you think there’s a parallel between us? Because that’s the only rational reason I can think of for this line of conversation.”

The question was like a splash of ice-water, making him blink. Yes, of course she’d see it. She’s as smart as I am, and I wasn’t being subtle. “You remember when Gona-Brashind and Nyanthus had us help in the sealing of Ariane’s … powers?”

She smiled briefly. “Rather hard to forget. That’s the sort of event that even the natives of the Arena don’t see often, and we had never seen at all.”

“Well… just at the end, when things almost went completely wrong… something happened to me. The energies converged all on me, rather than around the circle or through Ariane, for just a moment. Mandallon was afraid it had injured me.”

“Yes, I vaguely remember that part. I was recovering myself; the … ritual, I suppose we must call it… was mentally and physically taxing for all of us.”

“I can’t really remember much of it directly,” Simon went on, “but I did take a few — very disjointed — notes and in essence they say that I ‘saw everything‘, and a few other cryptic notations, like being noticed, and not everything being good or bad, but power beyond belief.”

Laila nodded slowly. “Hm. So Shadeweaver and Faith powers converging at once on you, and you suddenly have an epiphany or something of that sort?”

“Shadeweaver and Faith and whatever power Ariane held, as well,” Simon said. “I didn’t give much thought to it afterwards — I think, honestly, because it frightened me in a way I just wasn’t accustomed to, and once I stopped thinking about it, it faded away. I felt something… odd when we went through Transition, but again it wasn’t anything to think much about. But then…” He told her about the Archives and what had happened there. “Laila, I knew what I was looking for. It was as though that moment of frustration and anger and need made something click into place, and suddenly I just knew, as though I’d already had the entire index in my head. I could operate that floating device instantly, even though I’d never seen the inside of one before. I could read texts in a language no one in the Arena has known for ten thousand years, read them as though they’d been written in English all along.”

He leapt to his feet again, pacing in agitation; thinking of the events brought the worry and, yes, fear back to the foreground. “And I could understand it all, Laila. Not just read the words, but the principles, the diagrams, they all were just absolutely clear, as though I’d already studied them. I could see exactly how these new principles could be applied, and I sat down and started sketching the sensing coils right there, with no machine backup, no second guessing, it was just all there, and I … I don’t exactly remember all of it, either.”

He found he was shaking. Why? I know this is a frightening thing, but why do I feel so much terror?

“Oh, good Lord, Simon. How … terrifying.” Her voice was as gentle as he had ever heard it.

“You understand, then?” He tried to sound light, humorous, and knew he was failing. “Because I’m not entirely sure I do.”

“Of course.” She smiled wryly. “Same problem I have — how do I know whether what my mind does is because I want it to, or because someone else made me want to? You can’t remember, yet you actually finished designing something in that time you can’t recall. That would be frightening for anyone. For you? For me? Utter horror. We make our livings with… we are… our minds, even more than most people, and to not even know what we ourselves were doing? Terrifying. The more so because of what you think it might mean.”

“That I… am not entirely myself any more.”

“Exactly.”

Not for the first time, he desperately wished Mio could be there to help and advise him. She would know if I was truly me. But no AISage could make that journey, and he wondered if this uncertainty, this being alone in his own head, was one of the things the Arena specifically desired or required. “Yet I don’t feel any different in my self, if you know what I mean.”

“All too well. Then again,” she said with the same wry smile, “how do I actually know what my self felt like before?”

That was the key question, Simon admitted to himself. If you were facing something that could change natural law, could it not change you in a way that you could not detect? That you would believe was completely natural and consistent with the you that had existed before?

He suddenly laughed. “Well, now, I do understand DuQuesne more. It’s rather an inverse of his problem, isn’t it?”

Laila thought a moment, then laughed herself. “You’re right, of course. He remained himself, but the entire world he thought was real turned out to be false. And he probably can’t help but occasionally wonder if this world is real or just another layer of arranged fantasy.”

Simon remembered the time, shortly after they arrived, when Steve Franceschetti had proposed exactly that. “Yes… I’m sure he does. When the subject came up he was terrified. The only time I’ve ever seen him look really frightened, actually, and the only reason for that is not just that the idea repels him, but that it could be true but, this time, so well done that even Marc C. DuQuesne of Hyperion can’t tell. So now here we are, sure that the world is the same, but not knowing if we are the people we think we are.”

She looked at him levelly. “So what are you going to do about it?”

The talk with Laila had clarified a lot of things — not the least of which being his priorities. “Well, I suppose the only thing I can do. Talk to Ariane about it and let her decide what she wants to do. It’s not up to me to make decisions on whether to risk having me part of the active crew, that’s Ariane’s decision, and I’ve been avoiding telling her because I’m afraid of what that decision will be.”

Laila brushed absently at her bangs, the straight-shining brown hair shimmering slightly in the pale-gold light from the ceiling. “And I’ve been avoiding confronting the issue… which also isn’t the right way to go, now that I really let myself think about it. If I’m thinking of going to the Faith, I should at least talk it over with someone else, shouldn’t I?”

“I would say so — assuming you don’t feel an inherent hostility towards us, that is.”

“No,” she said quickly. “Not at all. A bit of pain over the fact that there’s some mistrust that isn’t my fault… but I can’t blame them, as I said.”

Simon rose slowly. “Then… why don’t we do this together? Might be a little easier than doing it separately?”

This smile was more genuine, with a tinge of gratitude. “I think that’s a good idea, Simon,” Laila said; her smile then sharpened, just a hair. “It almost sounds romantic, in a facing-execution-together, sort of way. And here I thought your eyes were only for Ariane Austin.”

He returned the smile and offered his arm. “I would never deny my interest in that direction, but I am not yet committed, and certainly not blind to beauty in any direction.”

She took his arm and stood. “Then let’s go see what the firing squad has in store for us, shall we?”

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 21

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 21

Chapter 21.

          “I’ll want to talk to you later, Wu,” DuQuesne said as they got up to leave. “But first I have to talk with the Captain. Privately, if she will.”

Wu looked to Ariane, who nodded. “Stay in the Embassy, Wu Kung,” she said, warningly.

         “I already promised…” Wu Kung began, then, seeing her start to straighten, quickly said, “I mean, yes, Captain!”

Once the room was empty except for the two of them, Ariane slumped back into a chair, chuckling. “Do you know how hard it is to stay mad at him?”

“Of course I do,” he answered, taking his seat again. “None of us could be ticked off at him for long, no matter what he did. But you handled him like a pro. He won’t forget that talking-to for a while, at least.”

“I sure hope not. Marc, I don’t want to keep him penned up, so to speak, but I won’t have much choice if he can’t keep from getting himself — and potentially all of us — in trouble.”

“I know. And I think he understands that, now. He had to go through a similar thing on his own Journey to the West, and with luck you won’t have to make his headband into a pain generator.” He studied her, the deep-blue hair, the eyes just a shade lighter, the slender body that hid startling strength (not to mention an electric-eel derived biomod that she’d used to great effect once on Amas-Garao), the shape of the face… “And you could probably get away with it, too, if you had to.”

“What?”

“He almost called you ‘Sanzo’ during that raking over the coals. You look a lot like her. And she was just about the only one in his world who got away with talking to him like that… well, except for Sha Wujing, after he was more friend than enemy.”

“Shouldn’t ‘Sanzo’ have been a man? Or do I misremember my admittedly very faint grasp of the mythology?”

DuQuesne laughed. “No, you don’t misremember. There were at least fifteen or twenty different versions of the Monkey King myth that got put into a blender and used to produce what we have out there,” he jerked a thumb at the closed door. “And some of those versions were… very far from the original, let me say. That’s not necessarily bad, but it means that only the broadest outlines of the myth are still there. Anyway, that’s probably one reason he’s willing to listen to you.”

He straightened. “But I didn’t hold you up here just to talk about Wu. Ariane, when I left, Simon had already located one of the Sky Gates.”

Her face lit up. “That’s wonderful, Marc!”

“Well, with a slight caveat that it depends on exactly where they go, but yes, I think it is. I’m guessing we may have an above-average number of gates, unless Simon just got real lucky on his first pass.”

“The Sky Gates are just outside of the high-gravity area, right? So we should be able to put some kind of permanent station-keeping guards around them once we’ve located them all.”

“Right. Armed to the teeth, too, at least until we know what’s on the other side of each one — and where any Sky Gates from those go to. Can’t afford to assume an innocuous-looking destination couldn’t be a potential staging-ground for the Molothos or someone else out to get us.”

She looked up and sighed. “Marc, there’s just no way we can do all of this ourselves.”

“I know. And there’s people coming through any day now. I’ve given strict orders that they’re not to come through Transition, though, unless you say otherwise. More people to work on the Inner and Upper Sphere, great. More people here? No, not until we’re damn sure where we stand.”

She nodded her agreement, and he moved forward to the next subject. “Okay, that’s where we stand on that for the moment. I also wanted to ask you about something else.”

Another nod. “Simon.”

“So you’ve noticed it too.”

“Something is bothering him,” Ariane agreed, “but he hasn’t said what it is, or why. He’s clearly trying to hide it, even from me — which has me a little worried. Why would Simon hide something from me?”

DuQuesne didn’t need that emphatic “me” explained. Simon’s affection for Ariane was quite open and obvious, and Ariane had often used Simon as a sounding board and advisor, nearly as often as she used DuQuesne. “I don’t know, either, and that’s definitely got my back up. Seemed to happen around the time he was doing his research on the drive physics and adapting them to being a sensor, but I’ll be damned if I can guess what it is that’s got him all twitchy.”

“Well,” Ariane said after a moment, “I suppose I’ll just have to ask him, if he won’t bring the subject up himself. I’ve let it slide for a while, but…”

“But it’s not Simon’s normal behavior, which means it’s something that worries him in some way, bad enough to feel he shouldn’t or can’t tell us.” DuQuesne shrugged. “Yep. I know you hate prying, but that’s just about the only way you can make this thing go.”

“All right,” she said. “I’ll give him one more day, and if he doesn’t come to me, I’ll tell him he has to talk.”

“Good enough.” He rose. “Thanks, Captain.”

She saluted from a sitting position, so he left, not waiting for her. Just as well. I have to catch Wu.

He found Sun Wu Kung in his suite, practicing lightning-fast staff-work. The red-enameled, gold-tipped staff stopped in mid-action as he entered. “DuQuesne! What is it? Do you need me to go back to guarding?”

“In a minute, Wu. Look, I’ve been thinking hard about what happened back on the Sphere, and I want you to keep that a dead secret. From everyone, even Ariane, at least for now.”

He looked puzzled. “Why?”

“Because I think what you did is pretty much impossible. I don’t think any of the other factions can talk to their animals as though in their native language, and I think I know why you can. I’ve got a couple other pieces of evidence that tell me I’m right. And if I am right, Wu, that’s one big secret weapon, a whole armory of secret weapons, waiting for us to unleash.

“But that kind of secret tends to leak easy, and it’s a lot less effective if you know it’s there. Especially if learning one secret might lead you to another. The various Factions already might have enough to make some guesses — especially the Shadeweavers, who can cheat — but something like this might give the whole show away.”

          Wu studied him, then nodded. “Okay, I understand. I think. But what is it that you’ve guessed?”

DuQuesne grinned humorlessly. “Sore wa… himitsu desu, as one particularly annoying guy we knew used to say. I’m keeping that secret, at least for now. Until I’m sure.”

“This had better not be anything that will put Ariane in danger,” Wu Kung said, and for a moment the eyes were green-gold stone.

Excellent reminder of what I chose him for. “No, Wu.” He gazed into the distance, guessing, estimating chances. “No, Wu. If anything… that secret might just save her life one day.”

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 28

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 28

 

Chapter 15

Magdeburg Times-Journal

December 14, 1635

The office of Mayor Otto Gericke made the following announcement yesterday:

“At the request of Fürst Ludwig von Anhalt-Cöthen, the Schöffenstuhl of Magdeburg, capitol city of the USE, has reviewed the actions of Axel Oxenstierna, Chancellor of Sweden, in secluding the emperor, attempting to convene Parliament in Berlin, arresting Prime Minister Wettin, and attempting to assert authority over the government and citizens of the United States of Europe. The Schöffenstuhl has rendered their opinion, and it is being prepared for publication in full. In summary, the Schöffenstuhl today declared Chancellor Oxenstierna’s actions to be illegal and unconstitutional, and further set forward that no citizen or resident of the USE owes the chancellor any obedience or recognition beyond that of common courtesy.

It is our expectation that the USE Supreme Court in Wetzlar will issue a similar ruling when they conclude their deliberations on the issues.

The Times-Journal will bring you the full text of the judicial opinion as soon as it is made public.

Ed Piazza, President of the State of Thuringia-Franconia, lowered the paper and whistled. “Well, now, that’s certainly set the weasel among the chickens.”

Those assembled in Rebecca Stearns’ parlor all laughed. Gunther Achterhof’s laugh morphed into an almost snarl. One of the chief leaders of the Magdeburg Committee of Correspondence, his views on political maneuvering tended to be very direct. “More like set the wolf among the sheep. Nothing plainer can be said to place the truth out in plain view.”

“That is all to the good, isn’t it?” asked Helene Gundelfinger. She was the vice-president of said state of Thuringia-Franconia.

Gunther shook his head. “Sheep are dumb. Stoo-piid,” he drew the syllables of the English word out.

Constantin Ableidinger, leader of the Ram movement in Franconia, grinned and responded, “Not all sheep, Gunther. Not all sheep.”

“Maybe not,” Gunther acknowledged sourly, “but too many. Just watch, this will make no difference to what is going to happen.”

“Maybe not,” Gunther’s words were echoed by Rebecca Stearns, “but it will possibly make a huge difference to Michael’s plans.” Her husband Michael Stearns was now serving as the commanding general of the Third Division of the USE army. No one knew quite for sure yet what his plans to deal with this crisis entailed, but they all had faith that he had them.

“And afterward,” Ableidinger rumbled. “As Michael has mentioned before, history is written by the winners. Being able to point to a judicial condemnation made before the fur — or rather, the lead — started flying can only strengthen us afterwards.”

“Mmm.” Gunther’s expression was still sour. “Maybe.”

Gunther Achterhof was not exactly a “glass is half full” kind of fellow.

****

          Across town, behind the walls of the old city, three men met in the council room of the Rathaus, home of the Regierender Rat, the official city council and governing body of Old Magdeburg. One of them had just finished reading the same article from the newspaper. Three glum faces stared at each other.

“Ach,” Georg Kühlewein huffed, “the chancellor will not believe we did not have a hand in this.”

“Alemann is behind this. You know he is,” said Johann Westvol, Kühlewein’s frequent and accustomed partner. “The others on the Schöffenstuhl would not have stirred if he had not rousted them out of their holes. I told you we should have brought him into this deal with us. If he stood to make the kind of money we are starting to gather, he would have kept his peace, but ‘No’, you said, ‘We need all the money we can get for ourselves,’ you said. Now see where we are.”

“Well, if you had not cheated him on that saffron deal, he would not have been so ready to seize an opportunity to heave a beam into our spokes.” Kühlewein was getting red in the face and his voice was getting louder.

“Both of you just shut up.” Spoken in a cold tone by the third man in the room, that phrase froze both Kühlewein and Westvol in place. Their mouths clacked shut, but the glares they focused on the speaker should by rights have set his clothing to smoldering.

“Better,” Andreas Schardius said. “We do not have time for bickering and recriminations. Now, Georg, you’re the mayor this year, correct?”

Kühlewein nodded.

“Then keep everything quiet and everyone in line. Do not give Alemann or Gericke or the Schöffenstuhl any more reason to look in our direction.”

There was a mutinous look on Kühlewein’s face. He was not used to taking orders from anyone, much less someone who was not a member of the Rat. “But . . .”

“Do it.” The ice returned to Schardius’ voice. “Or I pull out of your little group, and take my money with me. And without me, you do not have a prayer of finishing the hospital wing on time, and you certainly will not skim off the money you expect to make on this deal.”

Now there was a look of panic in both the other men’s eyes. Westvol immediately acquiesced, nodding vigorously. Kühlewein was a bit slower in signaling affirmation, but he was no less firm when he did so.

“Good. And send a note to the chancellor and explain that you had nothing to do with the Schöffenstuhl’s verdict. You are correct; he will probably not believe you. But if you do not send the message, he will begin to wonder even more about you. And we do not want that, now do we?” He gave a thin smile as the two men nodded in unison.

 

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 20

Spheres Of Influence – Chapter 20

Chapter 20.

          “What the living hell is wrong with you, Sun Wu Kung?”

Despite her anger, Ariane found it difficult to maintain the grim expression; the Hyperion Monkey King looked so utterly hangdog that part of her wanted to laugh, and another wanted to give him a hug.

          But I can’t. This is far too important. I have to make this point.

None of the others looked like they were laughing. DuQuesne’s brows were drawn together like a line of thunderclouds, Gabrielle’s lips were tight, and Laila Canning had the cold clinical stare of a scientist looking over a dissection table. And Marc didn’t sound like he was in a great mood to begin with when I called him in. Well, that’s okay; Wu needs to face a little hostility now.

She had not called in Naraj, Ni Deng, or Abrams. This was her problem.

“You were specifically told to avoid confrontations, Wu Kung! I gave you permission to see the Arena, not to fight it!” She transferred her angry stare to DuQuesne. “He was under your wing when you left. What happened?”

DuQuesne waited a moment, making sure that Wu Kung saw his directed glare before he looked up. “Ariane — Captain. Captain, I had a talk with him just before we parted. I said, and I quote, ‘try to stay out of trouble’.” He looked back at Wu, who seemed to be trying to shrink inside his flamboyant robes. “God-damn it, Wu! I should have known it was a lost cause, but for cryin’ out loud, couldn’t you have managed one multiply-qualified hour without getting into a scrap?”

“I’m sorry!” the little Monkey King said, and he sounded almost on the verge of tears. Emotional swings. What did they do, those bastards of Hyperion, in the name of making some twisted dreams come true? “But I couldn’t ignore it, I just couldn’t!”

He leaned forward. “DuQuesne, you know! They were mocking him, and he couldn’t do anything!”

DuQuesne’s face showed just a momentary flicker of softness, but it hardened immediately. “Wu, the problem isn’t just what you did, it’s what you could have done.”

“I don’t have all the details yet,” Ariane said, keeping her voice at the same deadly level tone, “but I did ask Mandallon to give me what he saw. He says that you, in effect, promised that your opponents could make YOU issue a Challenge — meaning we’d be stuck with it, and whatever they chose to use as the medium of the Challenge — if you lost.”

“Well… yes, I did, but –”

“No buts!” she cut in. “Sun Wu Kung, I have no doubt you were confident of your ability to beat them. You were obviously right, this time, in these conditions, with that particular group. But you did not have the right to take that risk.”

He fidgeted, started to open his mouth, then closed it. Good. She moderated her tone just a fraction. “Understand, Wu Kung, this isn’t about whether you know what you can do, or what you think you can do. It’s about the fact that you potentially exposed our Faction to a Challenge that we would have a terribly strong chance to lose, and — honestly speaking — we can’t afford to lose. Humanity’s only got so much to give, and we’ve got a war coming with the meanest bastards in the Arena. All it would have taken is one bad break — you being thrown just far enough that you fell off the Dock, someone sneaking in a weapon that could take you down for a minute, or a one-in-a-billion slip by you in combat, and suddenly you’re forced to issue a Challenge to someone who might be a stooge for our worst enemies.”

She sighed. “Wu, for all we know, the scene that drew you in was meant for you. These people play games exactly that deep.”

“Let’s be fair, Captain,” said Gabrielle. “I don’t think they’d know enough about Wu yet to be able to set up something like that ahead of time.”

“Probably not,” she conceded, “but there’s no telling for sure; the Shadeweavers might be able to guess a lot about him, and even if they couldn’t touch his mind directly, there’s nothing preventing them from arranging some kind of psychological test.”

Wu’s head tilted a bit at that, and the green-golden eyes flickered quickly towards her before dropping their gaze back down. “Um… Captain… The one called Amas-Garao did speak with me for a bit before then.”

Coincidence? I’d like to think so. Maybe it is. But… “So we don’t even know if it was a setup.” She sat slowly down, gesturing for Wu Kung to take his seat. “All right, Wu, I’ve given you the dressing-down you deserve — and you damned well better remember it. But right now I want the whole story, from the time that Marc left you to the time I called you back.”

The story that unfolded was as straightforward as Wu himself, and as clear. Damn. If that hadn’t been a setup, it should have been, because it was virtually flawless as bait for someone like Sun Wu Kung.

Be honest with yourself, her conscience spoke up. It probably would have worked on you too.

Another part of her protested that she knew better than that. I would think I’d be smart enough not to risk our whole faction for something like that.

But the events that had brought them into the Arena and farther into their challenges — her intervention between Orphan and the Blessed, the Challenge that led to a desperate race between her and Sethrik, her direct Challenge to Sethrik which turned out to be a trap by Amas-Garao — those had all been caused by her own actions. Amas-Garao was influencing me on two of those, yes… but I can’t say for sure that I wouldn’t have done any of those myself. Maybe I would. Maybe I wouldn’t.

She waited for Wu to finish, which he did and sat there with the expression of a child waiting to be scolded — something very much at odds with the overconfident, brash, dynamic Monkey King. I can’t cut him much slack yet, though. So she paused another several seconds — an endless time in that tense silence — before speaking.

“Thank you for telling us the whole sequence of events, Wu,” she said finally. “That did make everything clear. Does anyone have any questions or comments before I go on?”

Laila spoke up. “I find coincidence of that level very difficult to swallow.” Gabrielle nodded, as did DuQuesne. “At the same time,” she went on, tones as precise as her scientific work, “I find it hard to imagine how it was arranged so swiftly, if arranged it was, unless Amas-Garao did so.”

“And I just don’t think he did,” said Gabrielle reluctantly. “Maybe I’m just an optimist, but I think he was satisfied with the last results and wouldn’t be playing games with us now.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” DuQuesne said. “But I’ll admit, it just doesn’t quite feel right for one of that Shadeweaver’s tricks. But that might just be because we don’t know what he’s planning to get out of the whole mess.”

Ariane nodded. “In any event — plan or accident — this could have been disastrous. Sun Wu Kung, I want your word that you won’t ever do anything like this again, at least without consulting me.”

Wu opened his mouth, closed it, and then sat there, a startling agony of decision on his face. “I… San… I mean, Captain! Captain, I … I can’t promise that.”

That brought her up short; she had assumed he would give his word when directly asked. And what was it that he almost called me, and why? “You can’t? Wu, do you understand how serious this is? Why I have to ask you not to do things like that?”

“Yes! I do understand, Captain! I’m not stupid. I’m sometimes distracted and I get excited and I don’t have patience, I guess, but…” he muttered something in that mangled language she didn’t understand. “I… I see things that are wrong and I can’t ignore them, Captain.”

She found herself looking to the ceiling as though for guidance. And do I want to order people to ignore things that are wrong? Ariane pushed her hair back, as it had started to fall forward over her face, and rubbed the back of her neck. “Wu… All right, I don’t want you to ignore things that are wrong. But you have to weigh the cost to us. It’s wrong to endanger the rest of us without us even knowing, isn’t it?”

He looked down. “Y… yes.”

“Then all I’m asking is that you talk to me before taking action like that. Or if I’m not available, DuQuesne, and if neither of us, any of the others of the original eight — Gabrielle, Simon, Steve, Carl, Tom, Laila.” She looked at him steadily. “I realize there still may be exceptions — if it looks like someone is about to be killed and you really feel you must act, I can’t argue with you about it. I can’t tell you not to be yourself, or — to be honest — not to do what I would probably do in your position. But in this case you could have called ahead, given me at least some idea of the situation, let me make the call as to whether to intervene.”

“And would you?” Wu Kung’s eyes were a hair brighter, and the question held a hint of the old energy.

She hesitated, then with a sigh she nodded and smiled. “Yes, I suppose I probably would, though I would hope I wouldn’t offer a free-for-anyone Challenge as the prize to the winners.”

“So does she have your word, Wu? That you’ll ask her before you act, if it’s at all reasonable to do so?” DuQuesne’s voice was just the tiniest bit less hard, following her lead.

“Yes. Yes, Captain, you have my word. I won’t do anything even the tiniest bit like that without asking you if there’s even a little bit of time to ask in.”

I suppose that will have to do. “Thank you, Wu.” She leaned back. “And it wasn’t, in this case, a disaster. We gained face, didn’t lose any, and you’ve just made a personal ally — one that we know from prior observation is both honorable and formidable.”

“More than that,” DuQuesne said with a slow smile.

Laila raised an eyebrow, and then suddenly both lifted, wings of surprise. “Ah. Of course. They will be the newest Faction, First Emergents, if they succeed in their Challenge. And an excellent set of allies, if we maintain close support to them prior to that time.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It was obvious once mentioned, though; those who arrived in the Arena with a single Sphere to their names were First Emergents like Humanity; what else would the Genasi become, then, except the first native Emergents? “And we can use all the allies we can get — as could they.”

Gabrielle tilted her head in thought, straight gold hair forming a momentary curtain. “Well, they haven’t won their Challenge yet. It’s a nice thought, but you know what they say about counting your chicks before hatching.”

“They will win,” Wu Kung said positively.

Ariane remembered the tiny Genasi battling down to the wire against the huge Sivvis — and how the honor between the two led Sivvis to send his opponent to victory, undoubtedly pissing the Vengeance off mightily. “They’ll sure try,” she said, “and I think we should be ready to help them any way we can.”

Because, she thought, it sure couldn’t hurt to have the best warriors in the Arena on our side before the Molothos come calling.

 

 

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 27

1636 The Devil’s Opera – Snippet 27

 

Chapter 13

A T & L TELEGRAPH

BEGIN: MBRG TO GVL

TO: ATWOOD COCHRAN

ADDR: LOOK IT UP

FROM: MARLA LINDER

DATE: 14 DEC 1635

MESSAGE:

DOES YOUR PORTABLE RECORDING RIG STILL WORK

IF SO, CAN YOU BRING TO MBURG FOR A ONE SONG GIG

PROBABLY ON OR AROUND JAN 14 TO 16

WILL PAY EXPENSES AND GOING RATE FOR RECORDING

OR IF TROMMLER BUYS IN YOU CAN TAKE ONE FIFTH OF DEAL

RESPOND BY TELEGRAPH

TELL MARCUS HI

END

Chapter 14

          Simon’s day turned out to be a good one. He ran messages for several merchants and delivered a package as well. At the end of the day, as he walked toward Frau Zenzi’s, he had three pfennigs in his pocket, and that was after spending the one Hans had given him for a piece of grilled sausage on a stick. That and the remaining roll from yesterday, despite it being a little the worse for wear, had given him more of a day’s meal than he could remember having since forever.

So he was in a good mood when he arrived at the bakery, whistling on his own as he claimed his broom and began sweeping.

“You are in a good mood today,” Frau Zenzi said as he worked.

“Yah. I made a couple of new friends yesterday, and pulled in a couple of coins today.” Simon bent down to look under the edge of the counter to make sure he had swept it clean underneath.

“That is good,” Frau Zenzi replied.

Simon continued sweeping. His good mood made the time pass swiftly, and before he knew it he was done. After he put the broom back in storage, Zenzi gave him a roll. He gave a florid bow in reply, then exited the bakery with her laughter ringing in his ears.

He looked around, but Hans was not in sight yet. There was still a bit of light coming over the roofs of the western houses, so he might be a bit early himself. He sat down on Zenzi’s steps and bit into the roll. It was crusty and filled with flavor. Before he knew it, he was almost done. He was about to finish the last piece, when he realize he hadn’t seen Schatzi yet today.

No sooner had that thought crossed his mind, than Simon saw her, nosing her way down the street. He whistled and she looked his way, ears perked. “Schatzi,” he called, holding out the last scrap of the bread. As always, she approached him slowly, getting just close enough to grab the bread, then scooting back out of his reach to eat it. A few chomps and it was gone. She looked at him for a moment, then moved on her way, following her route, sniffing for the scraps of food that would keep her and her pups alive.

“What was that all about?”

Simon jumped. Hans was leaning against the front of the building next door, hands in pockets, watching him.

“She is the only creature I know who is worse off than I am. I always give her a scrap of my food when I see her.”

Hans straightened. “Do you think that makes her yours?”

“I used to dream that it did, but no. She is too afraid to trust anyone.”

“Hmmph. I know people like that, too.”

So did Simon, and he nodded in agreement.

“I am surprised the knackers haven’t caught up with her,” Hans said.

Simon’s gut twisted at that. He knew that the knackers were charged with clearing stray animals from the streets. “We do not see them around here very often. And Schatzi’s smart, very smart. She would get away from them.”

“That would not take very much smarts. One whiff of them and if she had any sense at all she would be running the other way as fast as she could.” They both shared a laugh over that. Simon remembered the odor that clung to the last knackers he’d seen. Working with dead carcasses did not produce the finest of perfumes.

Hans turned. “Well, come on.”

Simon hurried to catch up with him. “Can I ask you something?”

“Ask.”

“What did you mean when you told Fräulein Ursula there would be a fight tonight?”

“A fist fight.”

Simon was confused. Hans knew he was going to be in a fist fight?

Hans looked over at him and laughed at his expression. “For money, boy. A fist fight for money. See, there are men in town who arrange these, and other men in town, especially the well-to-do ones, come and watch them. Bets are laid on who will win, and a lot of money can change hands because of one of these fights.”

“Ah.” Simon nodded. “I have heard about those, but never saw one.”

“Look, boy, Simon, you remember what it was like last night at the arm wrestling?”

Simon nodded vigorously.

“It will be like that, only louder and more excited. People really like this.”

“Oh.” Simon thought about it. “Do you do this often?”

“Every few weeks.”

“Do you win?”

Hans laughed. “Every time so far. And with you as my luck,” he reached over and tousled Simon’s hair, “I am sure to keep winning.”

Simon thought about that as they kept walking. He was Hans’ luck. Okay, as the Americans said. He would be the best luck he could be.