Chakas stumbled over to stand on my other side. Clearly, he might throw up again. A disgusting practice and to little purpose, I thought.
I was flanked by humans, with the Didact before me, his back turned and arms extended, as if commanding the voyager to rise and grow by the very gestures of his hands—which might have been the case.
“They might notice that,” I suggested.
“From where they are, they see only a solid island and the water of the lake,” the Didact said. “The ship will grow and launch—and then they will know. The Librarian designs beyond her station. She has always planned well.”
“She made this for you?” I asked.
“For our greater cause,” the Didact said. “We fight for the grace of the Mantle.”
The Didact turned to face me as our chamber finished, and I saw we were within a large, fully equipped command center. My father himself could not have designed a more advanced ship. I could easily imagine the outer hull, a gray, gleaming, elongated ovoid, at least a thousand meters in length. The power and the expense had to be enormous—but, cleverly enough, rather than hiding a finished ship, the Librarian must have left a Builder’s design seed under the central peak, updating it as new technology was revealed. Forerunner technology still grew in spurts, even after millions of years.
She must have traded great favors for such an installation.
Displays flashed into action around the command center and showed views in many frequencies and aspects of the outer island, the distant walls of the crater, and above, I saw as I craned my neck back, the assembled, searching ships.
A single bright star gleamed just outside the circle of vessels at the center of the fleet spiral. That star marked our voyager’s calculated point of departure. In early slipspace, we did not want to pass through anything as massive as another ship.
We lifted from the island. The command center displays revealed our motion; we felt nothing. At this point, the ships must see us, I thought. Such a large vessel must leave a definite trail!
I felt that brief sensation of unencumbering—of all history and memory being cut loose, and then painstakingly reassembled, as every particle of our ship and our bodies was wrenched from the doubled hand of time, and had to find new scalars, new destinies, far, far away.
“Aya,” the Promethean said. “We are away. It is done.”
The displays tracked our course. We were moving outward along the great spiral arm that held both the Orion complex and Erde-Tyrene—just a few tens of thousands of light-years.
Hours at most would pass for us.
Had I known where we were fleeing, and what we would find … Against the greatest and most solemn instructions of the Mantle, I might have killed myself then and there.
TEN
I KNEW ENOUGH about interstellar travel to realize that time frames and reference-level fates were also adjusting. There would be no paradoxes, no curling or bunching-up of world-lines in slipspace. The secrets that lie between the streaking particles and waves that make up atoms are said to be vast. From those inner secrets, Forerunners have prodded sufficient power to change the shape of worlds, move stars, and even to contemplate shifting the axes of entire galaxies. We have explored other realities, other spaces—slipspace, denial of locale, shunspace, trick geodetics, natal void, the photon-only realm called the Glow.
But the vastness between suns is great and mysterious in a very different way. Our familiarity with these distances has, I think, almost been lost because we cross them so blithely, but no Forerunner memory would be great enough—perhaps not even the combined memories of all the Forerunners who ever lived—to remember the second-by-second events of a simple walk between two neighboring stars, this far out in the galactic arm.
We fly over and above but just barely through all that. And yet—this journey, in this ship, seemed to me to last forever. I felt it in my unarmored flesh and bones. I was naked to space for the first time in my life. I hated it.
We arrived. And then, perversely, I regretted that it was over.
* * *
We looked down over a huge, bleak, rocky gray world, a slagged and singed corpse which must have recently supported life, for it still wrapped itself in an atmosphere sufficient to allow armored Forerunners to survive—if not our humans.
Chakas and Riser lingered in a corner of the command center. Riser tossed in restless half-sleep. Chakas looked out at us with a frightened, angry expression. He knew he was far from home. He suspected he would never return. He owed nothing to Forerunners, least of all to the Didact.
I actually worried for him—strangely enough.
“This used to be a Precursor hub world,” the Didact said. “Once, it was covered with tremendous structures—mostly intact. Extremely impressive.”
I looked down, prepared to be awed. I had never heard of such a place. It made sense that the higher forms would conceal real treasure.
The Didact’s voice deepened. “It’s changed,” he said.
“How, changed?” I asked.
We walked around the command center, past the humans, the Didact leading the way, as we surveyed hundreds of magnified images gathered from our first orbit.
“No orbital arches. Looks as if they’ve collapsed out of orbit. Look at those long, linear impacts. Everything’s corroded. I recognize hardly anything—not the arena, not the Highway, not the Giant’s Armory. Nothing, really.”
“That can’t happen,” I said. “Precursor artifacts are eternal. They are with us as reminders of our littleness, forever.”
“Apparently not,” the Didact said. He seemed to be formulating a theory. Then he clapped his hands—massive, booming slams of armor and flesh—and pointed one arm up. The command center complied and began to search and magnify the sky across a broad spectrum.
“You’ve studied the basic principles of Precursor technology, what little we know?” the Didact asked.
“What little we think we know. No one has ever seen Precursor technology in action.”
“I have,” the Didact said, and gave me a look from the corner of his dark, slitted eyes. “Once. Tell me what you know, what’s changed in our understanding in the last thousand years … and I’ll judge whether you might be of use to me.”
“The basic principle was called neural physics,” I said. “Precursors felt the Mantle extended to the entire universe, energy and matter as well as living creatures … some say. The universe lives, but not as we do.”
“Some say. Since my exile, have we cracked their techniques, acquired their learning?”
“No. That is why I seek the Organon.”
“Well, it doesn’t exist,” the Didact said. “Not as such.”
Another layer of disappointment fell over my thoughts. “I suppose I knew that,” I said. “But the quest is the joy of it.”
“Aya. Ever so. The quest, the fight—never the finding or the victory.”
I looked up at the Didact, surprised.
The voyager’s sensors scanned heat and other radiation signatures in the sky, latencies in cosmic ray patterns from the inner galaxy and outer reaches of the spiral arm.
“Our humans should feel right at home here,” he said. “Once, they knew these worlds better than Forerunners. They fought and died here, surrounded by Precursor ruins…” He slowly turned, the displays silently precessing with him. Then he pointed out a void in the system’s magnetic flux. “There was recently a huge construct nearby, no more than three hundred million kilometers from here.”
“Precursor?” I asked.
“No. Forerunner—but big enough. The size and mass were sufficient to create a persistent distortion in the system’s field. See that—it even leaves a mark in the stellar winds.”
“How recently?”
“Judging by the diffusion of its magnetic shadow, four or five decades ago. Portal technology has grown enormously more powerful, but to move such an object, they must be slowing other traffic throughout the galaxy.”
/> He swept out his hands like a sculptor and tugged down virtual charts, diagrams, simulations based on the sensor’s measurements. What they revealed was a circular gap in the interstellar medium, and a drawn-out loop in the star’s vast, slowly wobbling magnetic field, its patterns smearing outward for hundreds of millions of kilometers.
“This world was recently used as a test subject,” the Didact said. “I can guess by whom.”
“Test for what?”
“They transported a great, sinful weapon into the system—and fired it. Then they left and took it with them. The Builders are going ahead with their plan—complete neural destruction. When I entered my exile, the designs had not been finalized. Apparently, that’s changed. This time, they tried it on a limited scale. However … there has been an unfortunate side effect, one I hope they did not anticipate. We must act quickly.”
The displays quivered and vanished. “The Librarian heard about the test. Knowing she would try to alert me, the Builders set up surveillance to watch her. She could not come to release me herself, but she had made other arrangements by using what she loves most … our more problematic brethren.” He glanced at the humans. “Ultimately, they helped save me from being captured. They are her servants, whether they know it or not.”
“They know,” I said.
“And whether I like it or not, she knew they must become my allies,” the Didact said. “You as well. We are going down to the planet. All of us. You’ll require armor. The ship will outfit you.”
ELEVEN
THE ARMOR TOOK an hour to grow up around me, with numerous half-visible engineering units, small and large, flitting from the bulkheads to adjust and connect the necessary parts, then to activate—and then cut me and my fresh armor lose.
At first, the humans refused, but after being chased around the command cabin by rippling bands, they were finally cornered—and forced to submit. Chakas seemed more willing than Riser, even curious, but the poor Florian was mortified, growling to himself and trembling. The Didact tried to reassure him with a finger-stroke across his cheek. Riser bit him.
The Didact withdrew, then waited impatiently.
As there was nothing else to do except wince at some minor pinching, I observed my Promethean kidnapper with what I hoped was more discernment and sophistication, based on the experience I had gained in the last few pentads.
I had never met anyone like the Didact.
Warrior-Servants as a rule kept to themselves, except to respond to commands from political leaders, most often Builders. A few Warriors, among them Prometheans, had once served on various councils but only in an advisory capacity. Skill at war, however necessary at times, has always seemed shamefully contradictory to the basic principles of the Mantle. Still, Forerunners had used Warriors many times and likely would again.
Hypocrisy is its own collapsing mineshaft, my swap-father was fond of saying.
The Didact walked around me, punching my shoulder and torso ribbons, poking a darkly shielded finger into the interstitial at my neck, and generally putting my armor through a series of forceful tests, none of which I felt was strictly necessary. My armor—smoothly curved and silvery gray, helmet edges sweeping back from my facial features, with trim-lines of white and green—was already sufficiently functional to provide me with lists of command structures, such as would be made available to Manipulars. But here, on this ship, access seemed to be expanded—as if I were tapping into the Didact’s own stores.
And then I heard a familiar voice.
The little blue feminine shape reappeared in the back of my head. I felt subtle tendrils establish the necessary connections with memory and thought. My ancilla …
“I am here, Manipular,” she said. “I cannot establish a connection with your previous ancilla. Until that connection is made, may I serve you to the best of my ability?”
“You’re from the Librarian’s staff,” I said.
“That seems to be the case.”
“An ancilla like you got me into this situation. Are you here to serve me, or the Librarian?”
“Are you disappointed by your present circumstances?”
That took me aback. I looked across the command center. The humans were clumsily adjusting to their outfits. Riser was much taller than he was used to, walking stiffly on long legs that put him on a level with Chakas.
The Didact was deep in study of the system’s trace in the photonic realm of the Glow, which might reveal even more evidence of what had happened here.
“I’m in way over my head,” I said to the ancilla. “I don’t like being twisted around and held against my will—even to compensate for my foolishness.”
“Do you feel foolish?” the voice asked.
Chakas approached. “I also have a woman in my clothes,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. “She says she will help me. She’s blue. Where is she, really?”
“She doesn’t exist except in your armor and your head … and wherever she gets her information from, perhaps the ship.”
“Can I sleep with her? Marry her?” Chakas asked.
“I’d like to see you try.”
Chakas was not much enlightened by this answer. “What kind of help do I need?” he asked.
Riser walked about with increasing confidence and joined us, eyes darting as if he were being shown things only he could see. “Doesn’t itch. Pretty in here, but I can’t see my family—only her. She looks like hamanush, but she is not part of my family.”
I found it interesting that the ancilla would adopt Riser’s physical form.
Chakas turned to me. “Hamanush live with ancestors in their heads. Chamanush do not.”
“She will answer your questions,” I said, “both of you, if you figure out what to ask.”
Riser nodded. “Perhaps she is somebody’s ancestor.” And he closed his eyes.
The Didact broke from his study and approached us. “They look silly,” he said of the humans. “You look … What’s wrong?”
“My ancilla was programmed by the Librarian.”
“So is mine,” the Didact said. “We’re here at her request, to fulfill a mission we set for ourselves a thousand years ago. It’s not starting at all well.”
“I don’t feel free to ask what I need to ask, or study what I need to study,” I said.
“You are certainly not free, if by that, you mean free to act like a selfish Manipular.”
“You mean, suck it up,” I said.
“Exactly.” He drew down more displays. “From orbit, I can’t make the necessary inspection. We’re going down to the surface. All of us.”
“The humans are just animals—they’re not ready for this,” I said.
“I fought those animals once,” the Didact said. “Believe me, they’re capable of surprising you. Make sure they’re prepared. This will not be an easy landing.”
Chakas put on a statue-like expression of calm disdain as I passed along this information. “There’s a barren planet below,” I said. “We’re going to land.”
“What’s he want with us?” Chakas asked.
“I’d sell him for a bag of fruit,” Riser said.
I was dismayed by how much sympathy I felt for these two inferiors. Animals, perhaps—but not fools. What then was my excuse?
Atmosphere sang against the hull. The ship shuddered at the new strains on its fresh construction. It hadn’t yet integrated—hadn’t tested itself under all conditions, especially planetfall.
“The Librarian protects you,” I told them. “But the Librarian looks after him, too. Something big happened here—something other Forerunners have kept secret.”
I returned to the Didact. He was lost in research, his armor connecting with the ship to take on new volumes of knowledge. Somewhat to my surprise, my ancilla synced with his, and I accessed an intricately stepped and footnoted chart of relationships concerning the Didact himself.
He wanted me to know more about him.
Ten thousand years ago …
<
br /> The Librarian and the Didact had first met on Charum Hakkor, the political center of the human-San’Shyuum empire. The final battle of Charum Hakkor had broken the human-San’Shyuum alliance and destroyed the last reserves of human resistance. That battle had been notorious, a great victory—but from the point of view of Mantle orthodoxy, of course, supremely disgraceful.
Victory did not bring joy for the Didact.
The limb of the barren gray planet expanded. Our ship took on an aerodynamic configuration, bowing out at the sides, altering its propulsion, growing huge landing pads and radiating fluxor shields against blowback.
We were about to land on a dead world in a dead system. The horizon was rugged in the extreme.
“Below … This is Charum Hakkor, isn’t it?” I asked.
The Didact did not answer, but I sensed the truth.
“The fools,” he murmured. He looked at me with a deep sadness. The contrast between his face and mine—the depth of experience, sorrow, character … “And they claim that Warriors violate the Mantle.”
Slowly, we descended through the last few kilometers of atmosphere. Our armor locked itself to the deck. Behind me, Riser chirruped bitterly about being unable to move.
The command center shifted its bulkheads and opened a direct view port to the surface. We were landing in darkness.
“Humans made Charum Hakkor the center of their empire to be close to one of the greatest collections of Precursor structures,” the Didact said. “They believed they were the true inheritors of the Mantle.”
“Heresy—right?” I asked.
“It was one cause of our war,” the Didact said. “Not the primary cause, however. Humans resented Forerunner expansion outward. For fifty years, scattered through the galactic arm, humans probed our settlements and positions. Then they allied with the San’Shyuum, combined their knowledge, and created weapons against which my warriors had little defense.”