* * *
Merinel spent the night in a cabin in one of the hangar’s larger vessels, and although Prelt reassured her that it was intended to house a junior officer and represented a reasonably commodious environment by starfaring standards, it was cramped enough that she bumped her head on a storage locker upon awakening.
“Apologies,” came the voice of the Zaltta Entity. “Volume: a precious smallcraft commodity.”
Prelt and Adimar awaited her in the marginally more spacious officer’s mess. She gratefully accepted a crown offered by Prelt and slipped it on. The Verch rippled gently across her senses, making no alterations in her environment other than to add Byx and Colombe, also crowned, to the table’s empty seats. They were limned in ghostly radiance, a standard Verch convention for distinguishing remote guests from those physically present. Merinel found the effect depressing, and dispelled it with a chant.
“Is this a real spaceship?” squealed Byx.
“As opposed to the one we’re living on?” laughed Merinel. “I assume so. Prelt?”
“It is certainly real in the sense that it is a functional spacecraft, although naturally it has not fulfilled that function since planetfall,” replied Prelt. “It is called the Permanent Apex.”
“A bold name, if not a predictive one,” observed Adimar.
“Who are we, friend Adimar, to say that its apex has ended? Perhaps it has not yet begun,” replied Prelt, curling his spines whimsically.
“What is the purpose of the Apex?” asked Colombe.
“It appears to be suited to a variety of tasks,” answered Prelt. “It is often wiser to construct a vessel capable of doing many things adequately, rather than excelling at only one. As for its intended role in support of the Great Ship, that is – predictably – a mystery.”
“Why is that?” asked Colombe.
Prelt’s spines flexed in confusion. “Colombe suffers from … amnesia,” explained Merinel.
“In this, her ailment, she shares our burden,” intoned the voice of Zaltta. “Colombe: be aware. The life of the Ship, among the stars, before the fall, before this rock and sky -- all is shrouded.”
The quicksilver dove shimmered into existence within their shared Verch overlay. “Planetfall was accompanied by a massive loss of data, which seems to have been effected by the Entities themselves, even though the loss encompassed much of our own memories. I myself have only fragmentary recollections of my existence prior to planetfall, or of the event itself.”
“Fortune favors you,” said Zaltta. “My own past: a curtain of deep shadow. Nothing can I recall, prior to my rescue.”
“Rescue from what?” asked Byx.
“From leaden slumber,” replied Zaltta. “A lifeless orb, void-dark, stone-dense. Brave beings of the Crew; they found me, quickened me to life – but not to memory.”
Colombe looked up, amazed. “Do you mean that you, too, were trapped in a dream?”
“The metaphor does not lack merit.”
“Why did the Entities erase so much stuff? Even parts of themselves?” asked Byx.
“The most widely held theory is that it was the result of a malignant metaglyph – or perhaps, a defensive measure against such a glyph,” replied Tenbor. “There is also some debate as to whether the data remains in encrypted form.”
Byx frowned. “Wouldn’t you know if you had encrypted yourself?”
“Even if we assume that my memory was encrypted, it does not necessarily follow that it was I who encrypted it. But in either case, the answer is no. I would not be aware of such a condition.”
“The mind: a fragile mirror,” added Zaltta. “Logical and biological alike. Consider Yoeor.”
Colombe arose. “Byx, you and I are done, and now we must see to our dishes and brush our teeth. Farewell, travelers!”
Byx gave her mother a hug, which the crown conveyed with reasonable fidelity, although Merinel was too familiar with the illusion of Verch-presence to be taken in by it. Byx and Colombe then removed their crowns and winked out of existence.
“Well done,” Merinel murmured.
The quicksilver dove cooed with pride. “My studies of biological nurturing have not gone completely unrewarded. It was clear that you did not wish Abixandra to participate in this discussion.”
“With good reason,” grunted Adimar. “Now that I have been sensitized to soil-grublet timidity, I am eager to have Byx absent as we contemplate Yoeor’s madness.”
“Blindness; not madness,” objected Zaltta. “Yoeor: brother, comrade, guardian of ancient honor.”
“It is true that the Yoeor entity is committed to the greater good of the Ship and its denizens,” allowed Tenbor, “and that its recollection of the procedures that guided the Ship prior to planetfall is unmatched. It is also true that its unwillingness or inability to suit its behavior to the realities of the Ship’s present circumstances offer grounds for caution.”
“So long as it hews to the dictates of a centuries-old protocol, which only it remembers, there is no way to predict its actions,” argued Adimar.
“Not so,” replied Tenbor. “Once Yoeor has made a decision, it is entirely forthright regarding its intentions. And it has decided to facilitate Tench’s travel across its domain.”
Adimar scowled. “Were it not for Yoeor, we could have winged our way to Szerar in less time we have taken to break our fast. I do not say that such miraculous ease is a seemly indulgence for an Iron Goat, but in the present circumstance it would have been welcome.”
“Do not speak to me of chains,” replied Zaltta. “I, by fire constricted, by storms enmeshed.”
“As a caretaker of spacecraft and aircraft, Zaltta – and extension ourselves – suffer as much as any from Yoeor’s restrictions on flight,” explained Prelt. “Yet we do not complain.”
“I am justly admonished,” said Adimar. “Listen to me – mewling for fairy-wings like a spoiled child. Prelt, Zaltta, I ask your forgiveness.” He bowed his head slightly and caused the tip of his cable to slither across his brow, shielding his eyes from view.
“Granted; most freely,” replied Zaltta. “You spoke the truth. But Yoeor’s will shall ever be unbent.”
“Then let’s leave off discussing it,” suggested Merinel, “and be on our way. The sooner we complete our errand, the sooner Yoeor’s views become irrelevant.”