Chapter 30
Far from the station, the fleet of gensats encircling the sun moved through the searing heat of the photosphere like a flock of birds winging their way into a crimson sunset. This sunset burned at a temperature of thousands of degrees, but the satellites — powerful, intricate, intelligent machines — were undisturbed by the heat, feathered as they were by protective layers of n-space. Several of their cousins, whose shielding had failed, were now vapor, their meager elements added to the fiery plasma of the photosphere. This was the outer layer of the star, where visible light was emitted; the fire and violence here only hinted at the furies deeper within.
The gensats were bringing Alpha Orionis closer each moment to a violent and premature death. In an intricate choreography, they moved through carefully computed changes of position. Like felker birds riding air currents, they sailed in the convection zones of the Betelgeusian photosphere, hovering and maneuvering on the upwelling currents of plasma, their invisible wings of force spread wide to derive lift from the updrafts of ionized gases. Hovering with infinite patience, they spun their webs of spatial distortion, their threads of stardeath.
In the star’s core, nothing was happening quite according to normal. A three-pronged assault, most of it utterly invisible in the four-space continuum, was guiding the time of the supernova toward the correct moment for the capture of the hyperstring.
Aboard the K-space sats, powerful generators had already driven their talons deep into the sun. Two years ago, huge conductive magnetic fields had appeared around the “wings” of each of the satellites. Drawing upon the energy flux of hot plasma stirring through the magnetic fields, the wings had channeled power back to the K-space generators. And the generators had come to life as one.
Like the radial spines of a sea urchin, fourteen hairline cracks had appeared in the space-time inhabited by the star; fourteen threads of altered space opened, converging at the star’s center. From the center, a single spike of K-space shot out of the star, out into space, stabbing blindly into the infinite night … except that approaching from that direction was another wrinkle in space, the narrowing loop of the hyperstring, invisible to mortal eyes in four-space but incredibly massive and fast and, anchored at its far end by an enormous black hole, trillions of times tauter than a piano wire.
When the spike and the hyperstring met, the two spatial defects instantly combined, forming a stressed gravitational link between the n-dimensional heart of the hyperstring and the heart of the star. The hyperstring carried an astounding gravitational potential. Refracted by the K-space distortion into the heart of the star, that potential was joined to the existing gravitational field of the star, increasing the squeeze on the matter in the star’s core, drawing it tighter, hotter.
Another web of K-space projections reached out to a much closer target: the core of the companion star, Honey. That connection was wider, an actual channel: a siphon tube through which Honey was being bled from the inside out. Fiery matter from the core of the companion blasted through that tube onto the core of Betelgeuse — adding mass, stirring the flames hotter still.
The remaining sats generated not K-space but Ranlom-fields, wrapping the sun’s core in a vast neutrino-catching web. Most of the star’s energy was now being emitted in the form of neutrinos; and a fraction of that energy was being reflected back, focused with great precision into the core, driving the chain reaction still faster.
For two years, the fusions had been burning at an enormously accelerated rate, transmuting elements in an alchemist’s nightmare: carbon, neon, nitrogen, magnesium, oxygen, and others, the chain of fusions sliding rapidly toward silicon and iron, drawing the star ever faster toward the inevitable end. The iron core would grow until it reached the Chandrasekhar-Ruskin Limit — when it could no longer support its own weight, and in a single instant, would collapse. The temperature would soar to forty billion degrees; and as the core was crushed out of existence into a black hole, the implosion would release not only the shock wave that would blow the rest of the star apart, but also a stupendous blast of neutrino energy that would momentarily outshine the light of a million galaxies.
A portion of that neutrino burst, caught by the Ranlom-fields, would be channeled back into the K-space connection, shaping space-time at the final instant. If everything happened according to plan, when the hyperstring was nailed into the newly formed singularity, a gateway would ripple open down the length of the hyperstring, all the way to the center of the galaxy.
The gensats and their fields worked quietly, steadily, destroying the star. They could be controlled and throttled to the end; but in the absence of new instructions, they would execute their mission precisely as programmed.
Thalia was just coming to as the security squad arrived. She blinked and focused on the woman’s face peering worriedly down at her. It took a moment; then she recognized the face as that of Willard’s friend, Tamika Jones. What was she doing here? The woman pulled back, and a male security officer appeared, waving a medical diagnostic scanner over her.
“Get that thing out of my face,” Thalia grunted, brushing it aside.
“Are you all right, Dr. Sharaane?” the officer asked.
She levered herself up to a sitting position, wondering what she was doing on the floor in the first place. “Yes. I’m all right,” she murmured, though she felt a vague blur in the back of her mind that suggested that she was not all right at all.
“You gave us a hell of a scare.” The officer helped her to her feet. “There’s a smashed robot out in the hall. And what happened here?” He pointed to a large oval hole in what used to be a door.
Thalia stared at it and felt a sickening sensation in her stomach, a terrible rush of déjà vu. Whathad happened to the door? She felt as though she ought to remember.
She looked at the woman Tamika again. “Whatare you doing here?” she asked, and was startled to realize that she felt grateful for the woman’s presence.
“Don’t you remember?” Tamika asked.
Thalia closed her eyes. “No.”
“You don’t remember being attacked?”
Attacked …Yes, she’d been attacked. She remembered now. But by what, or whom?
The security officer whirled on Tamika. “What do you know about this?”
“I remember now,” Thalia interrupted. “I looked into this room, and —something — attacked me …” Her voice trailed off.
“Who was it, Dr. Sharaane? Do you know?”
Thalia shook her head. “No,” she whispered, suddenly remembering her fear. “I’d never seen him before.”
“Then —” and the officer cast a suspicious glance at Tamika — “we’re talking about a Human?”
“I think so. Yes, a male Human, muscular, with harsh features.” Thalia blinked, shifted her gaze to Tamika. “Did you see? Does that sound right to you?”
“Yes,” Tamika said softly. “That sounds about right.”
The officer scowled. “Would you mind telling me who you are, Miss?”
“Tamika Jones. I —”
“Jones? The companion of Dr. Ruskin?”
“Yes, I —”
“Do you have clearance to be in this area, Ms. Jones?” The officer’s tone was brusque.
Tamika silently held up her left wrist; on it was a silver-and-iridescent bracelet. The officer looked taken aback and rubbed his nose thoughtfully. “As I was saying, I came in,” Tamika said, “and saw what was happening —”
“And stopped it?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I — well, I guess I startled him. I shouted; I remember that.” She swallowed, evidently having trouble getting the words out. “And he dropped her, and … ran away. I don’t know where he went.” She shifted her gaze back to Thalia. “I came over to see if — if Dr. —”
“Sharaane,” Thalia said.
“Yes. To see if Dr. Sharaane was all right. And that’s when you arrived.” Tamika looked at Thalia, as though for confirmation. So did the officer.
Thalia gazed silently at the woman, feeling that somehow she hadn’t told the entire truth, but not knowing just how. Thalia felt a curious urge to back her up, nevertheless. “That’s right. The truth is, I believe that Ms. Jones here saved my life.”
The officer scratched a note, scowling. “But your assailant is on the loose at this time — is that right?”
Thalia blinked. “Yes — yes, I suppose he is. Please put out a full alert — and keep searching for Dr. Ruskin.” She drew a breath with difficulty. “There may be a connection with his disappearance. I don’t know.” She squinted, trying to realign her thoughts. Her mind was reacting strangely to all this. She felt oddly calm. Drawing a breath, she smoothed down her torn and rumpled clothes. “And now I must get to the control room.”
“I’ll send someone with you.” The officer snapped a finger at one of his men. “Now, Ms. Jones, would you please —”
“I need her to come with me,” Thalia interrupted. She was surprised by her own words.
The security officer looked unhappy. “Dr. Sharaane, Ms. Jones was granted observer status only. I don’t even know why she’s —”
“She has a bracelet, and she’ll be there on my authority,” Thalia snapped. She had the feeling that there were things she wanted to ask this woman.
The officer opened his hands, surrendering.
“Thank you,” Thalia said. “And now, Ms. Jones, if you please.” She gestured toward the door.
As they stepped out into the corridor, flanked by a guard, she glanced to her left — and for an instant thought she saw someone approaching. But when she blinked, there was no one. Just a shadow, perhaps, through one of the crystallike walls. She shook her head and pointed to the right. “This way … Tamika. You’re going to see the control center.” And as she said it, she wondered why she had made that particular decision. There was a great deal she didn’t know about this woman — including how she had gotten that bracelet, and how she happened to have appeared, just when she was needed. Nevertheless, the woman had saved her life from … whatever, whoever, that monster had been. Against all logic, Thalia felt unshaken by what had just happened. She felt unafraid. And she felt, for whatever reason, that she should trust this woman, this Tamika Jones.
Ruskin found Ali’Maksam in one of the observers’ lounges, talking to two noliHuman Querayn. He paused just inside the room, watching them from a distance, feeling an odd reluctance to interrupt. What was Max doing with the Querayn? And noliHuman, no less. And why did Max look angry?
The assassin … noliHuman, I believe …
He drew a slow, unsteady breath, remembering Grissondon City, and the assassin. Had it indeed been a noliHuman? Was it conceivable that Max, after all, was involved?
((Take a look at this, before you start distrusting your best friend.))
Before he could ask Dax what that remark meant, a scene opened up in his mind, an image so vivid that he had to grope for the door frame behind him to keep from reeling.
It was Grissondon City: the concourse on which he’d glimpsed the assassin while walking with Tamika. And there was Tamika, at his side, talking about the supplies they might need; and every detail seemed as clear as if it were happening this instant, the noise and smells of the crowd, the movement of Tamika at his side, and the people passing by on his left, going the other way. At the edges of his vision, there were certain blurred areas, where his eyes had not quite caught everything. But as his head turned — there, framed dead center, was the figure that had caused his heart to falter when their eyes met for a fraction of a second; the figure that had evoked a memory from the forest, where a tall figure had killed him and then killed him again.
He stared at the remembered figure, the image burning into his inner eye. And he saw, yes — a tall, vaguely dark figure whose features were somehow indistinct, but who resembled a noliHuman.(It wasa noliHuman, then.)
((Maybe. But look carefully.))
(I am —)And the thought died half-formed. The image in his mind seemed to become clearer; it was as though he had somehow blinked something out of his eye that he hadn’t even known was there, obscuring his vision. It took a moment to realize that the figure was shorter than he’d thought — and now it didn’t look like a noliHuman at all.(How are you doing that? Dax, this guy is Tandesko.)
((Righto.))
(Why didn’t you tell me before?)
((I didn’t know. I’d wondered; but it was only after certain other memories had unfolded that I was able to filter this image for extraneous nonvisual elements.))
Ruskin was stunned. He was aware now of several individuals in the room, including Ali’Maksam, turning and noticing him. Max started to walk in his direction, but he held up a hand, signaling the Logothian to wait.(What do you mean, “filter this image”?)He blinked. It was hard to concentrate on two realities at once.
((I mean, the image in your mind was not formed entirely from the visual input of your eyes.))
And then he understood. The figure he had seen was a Tandesko illusionist, capable of manipulating visual perceptions at a distance. Then, in fact, he had only beenmade to think that what he had seen was a noliHuman …
((The telepathic component was something I had been unaware of. But now that I know of it, I believe I can assist you in defeating it in the future.))
Ruskin was scarcely aware of Dax’s next words, because his gaze had just alighted on someone who had entered on the far side of the room a few moments after he had. He had at first taken the man for another noliHuman. Now, as he focused, his vision went through the same transformation he had experienced a moment ago in his memory; he blinked, and the noliHuman was suddenly ten centimeters shorter, and its face was no longer a noliHuman face. It was a Tandesko face. And it — orhir — was quietly and unobtrusively studying him. Their eyes met, and in that contact, Ruskin felt the same electric shock of recognition he had felt back at Grissondon City.
This time the killer did not disappear into the crowd. It turned its body a few degrees toward the front of the room and pretended to watch the scientific displays there.
Almost rigid with fear, Ruskin moved deliberately along the side wall, toward Ali’Maksam. The Tandesko remained still, but its eyes followed his movement.(Any ideas?)
((Stay out of its reach, if you can.))
(That’s helpful. Any other ideas?)
In response, he felt the band of tension in his chest ease; and his breathing slowed and deepened. Ali’Maksam had noticed his approach and was extricating himself from his conversation.
((If it followed you this far, it is possible that it is planning another attack. On the other hand, it may be here to observe.))
(Observe what?)
((The success or failure of the originalNAG s programming, I would guess.))
Ruskin steadied himself through a moment of dizziness.(Dax, do you mean that the Tandeskoesdid this to me?)
((Yes, I believe so. Tell me, Willard — how would you describe your feelings about the Tandesko Triune?))
The hatred that rose in him at the thought of the Tandesko worlds almost caused him to lose his balance again. He reached Ali’Maksam’s side at that moment, and as Max began awkwardly to introduce him to someone named Querayn Senior Karel, he shook his head, caught Max’s arm, and tugged the Logothian away from the startled-looking Querayn academician and toward the doorway. All the while, he raged inwardly at Dax:(I hate the Tandeskoes! You know that.)
((Do I? Then look at what I’ve found in the memory banks.))
(Dax, this isn’t the time —)His protest was too late: his mind blazed with a memory of the forest lodge back on Kantano’s World — him talking freely with two gentlemen and their robot; and as he talked, he was expressing a willingness to cooperate in a plan to ensure that the Auricle Alliance’s new stargate would not lead to a monopolization of the galactic frontier. And the two men, though they disavowed official ties, were from an outpost world connected with … the Tandesko Triune.(Dax — damn your hide! Are you suggesting that I knowingly sided with —)
He could not complete the thought; he suddenly felt as though he were floating in free fall. This could not be real. “Max,” he said breathlessly, “we’ve got to get out of here. We’ve got to talk.”
“Willard, what is the matter? Security has been paging you.
“That’s the least of my problems. Can we find an empty room?”(Dax, can you change my appearance — enough to keep a security scan from spotting me?)
Ali’Maksam led him to an observers’ study cubicle, just off the main lounge. The Logothian’s scaly forehead wrinkled as Ruskin closed the door and locked it. “Willard — your face is changing! Are you in danger of —”
“No,” he interrupted, “that’s already happened, and I survived it. This is — I’ve asked Dax to disguise me. Look, I don’t have time to explain, but —” He hesitated, suddenly afraid to share too much.
((Don’t be an idiot. You need every friend you have.))
He grunted and continued, “I want you to listen to my thoughts, to pick up everything you possibly can. I want you to tell me if I … if I can trust anything I’m thinking, Max.”
The Logothian nodded soberly, settling into a crouch. “I will try, if you will dim the lights.”
Ruskin sighed his gratitude and hit the lights and in the darkness turned his attention inward.(Now — out with it, Dax! If you’re suggesting what I think you’re suggesting …) And he felt a thickness in his throat, and he didn’t have to hear Dax’s words to know what it was saying, because the memories were spilling over his mind like water from a burst dam, and he thought he heard the terrakells chuckling (Are they going to pry looseeverything in my subconscious?), but it didn’t matter, because he knew now that it was true:
He had spoken to two men named Broder and Gorminski, whom he’d met through Tamika’s Omega group; and he’d agreed to work with them. Furthermore, he’d agreed to a set of hypnotic implants that would help him to carry out their plan, that would protect him from betraying his own intentions, while he manipulated the gateway formation in a way that would open it to all worlds, not just the Alliance. The memory hitting him now was so vivid, it made him feel that he was turning inside out. “It was all a lie, then,” he whispered, scarcely aware that he was speaking aloud. “I never hated the Tandeskoes at all.”(They planted that to keep me from betraying my real intent. But Dax — I insisted that my own autonomy be protected! That robot Jeaves, damn it to hell forever, assured me before it put me under for hypnosis!)
((That’s right.))
(AND I NEVER AGREED TO BEING INFECTED WITH NAGS!)
((No — and perhaps it was that inner resolution that made you rebel when they double-crossed you and made theNAG s implant instead.))
As though it had happened yesterday, he remembered the rage that had bubbled up inside him as he’d talked with the men after the supposed hypnosis session. He didn’t know what they’d done; he only knew that he was angry, that something was trying to work its will in him, that his mind was coming apart on the inside. And finally he’d threatened them, hardly knowing what he was saying; he’d threatened to expose all of them for traitors and criminals, and he’d stormed out of the lodge.
And they’d — regretfully, no doubt — sent their agent, their Tandesko assassin, to have him destroyed. But thanks to theNAG s, he couldn’t be killed.
((Their control through theNAG s was powerful but not foolproof. To them, you were an experimental animal gone berserk.))
He was scarcely breathing now; he forced himself to take a deep breath; he was aware of Ali’Maksam’s presence at the edge of his mind as he tried to fit these pieces together.(So they sent me to kill Thalia? That was their plan?) He took another breath as Max stiffened in surprise, then relaxed as the memory of Tamika’s rescue passed through his mind.(And then I was to change back to“Ruskin” — only theirRuskin — and I was to map the gateway. Not for everyone — but for them!And they sent the killer to destroy me if I failed … because they realized that theirNAG s programming was unreliable.)
((So it would seem.))
(And by now they must know why I survived, the last time they tried to kill me, and they will have taken steps to prepare.)
((That would be my guess.))
(Then I must kill the killer — or go where it cannot reach me.)
((Yes …))
And into his mind came the one place where the killer could not reach him — where he might still have the power to do what was right with the gateway, if he could decide what was right. And the thought frightened him half to death.
“Willard!” whispered Ali’Maksam.
“Yes!” he groaned. “Max, tell me! Am I in my right mind?”
“There is so much I cannot judge! But I sense much of it; I sense that you may do something irrevocable. And I cannot be sure that it is right. Willard, do not rush into this!”
“The programming is set. There’s no time for any other way!”
“But who is this killer?” the Logothian cried. “I saw no Tandesko in the lounge!”
Ruskin stared at his friend in astonishment.(Dax?)
((Your friend is an empath. Without prior warning, he may be even more susceptible than you to the illusionist’s arts.))
Ali’Maksam tilted his head to an alarming angle. “An illusionist? I do not know, Willard, I cannot say.” His voice was filled with fright, with despair.
Ruskin rose. “Max, I have to go. I have no choice.”
The Logothian’s visor snicked shut. “Then I shall go with you.
“It will probably cost both of us our lives.”
There was no hint of irony in Max’s answer. “Haven’t we come this far together, Willard?”
Ruskin’s heart nearly broke. “Yes. Damn it, then, let’s go.”