Artemis Invaded

The morning after Terrell’s return, Griffin arrived in Leto’s complex to find Ring stark naked, clearly about to step into the blue spavek where it hung in its squire. Earlier inspection had shown that the garments typically worn by the Artemesians were too bulky to fit inside the armor. Griffin also suspected that heavy garments might block interfaces between suit and operator. Leto’s specs showed operators either naked or wearing form-fitting body suits. It was difficult to tell which—one of those cases when the person designing the art had not bothered with details “everyone” understood.

“Ring! What are you doing? Is that thing fully charged? Didn’t I tell you we were going to run some safety checks? It’s too soon to go hanging it off your body. In any case, some parts are still missing!”

“If we wait too long, we wait too late,” Ring said, which was practically clear, especially for him. He stepped back and up, inserting his feet into the armored boot, his legs behind the knee guards. Next, he fit one arm beneath the shoulder guard, through the elbow brace, then moved his fingers down into the hardened gloves. He stood for a moment, flexing his fingers. Griffin watched in fascination as the gauntlets moved as smoothly as if this was not the first time in five hundred years that anyone had worn them.

Next, Ring methodically closed the chest panel, then carefully fit the helmet into place, leaving the faceplate open. At the final click, a hum arose, soft in itself, but loud because it was so unexpected. In the wake of the hum, a glow began to rise from the suit, coalescing into a sparkling field the same color blue as the armor.

Momentarily, Griffin thought about telling Leto to cut the power, but he remembered what Terrell had reported. Certainly something splashing into Spirit Bay could be dismissed as unimportant, but what about that convocation of loremasters? What if they decided to send scouts to the prohibited areas to assure they hadn’t been violated? Even if Griffin’s own group had enough warning to move everyone inside Leto’s complex, there would be no hiding that people had been camping in the area for weeks. He knew what he’d do in that situation, if he were a loremaster.

I’d settle myself in and wait for someone to show themselves. I’d also alert my boss. Terrell isn’t a loremaster, but as a factotum he studied with them. I should ask him if the senior loremasters might have records that tell them how to get into these complexes. Maybe there’s even another set of those crystal keys on file in some vault somewhere, waiting for the appropriate moment.

The sparkling blue field flowed, filling in the armorless parts of the suit, creating a glorious whole that lacked the clunkiness of even the best modern power armor. Ring reached up and shut the visor. The faceplate showed a heart-shaped face, genderless, with large, slightly slanting oval eyes that now shone a brilliant metallic silver.

Griffin whooped aloud. They’d done it! For the first time since the fall of the Old Empire, a piece of intact seegnur technology was working—well, except for Leto, and possibly Artemis, but functioning intelligences and their peripherals were just not the same thing.

Terrell arrived just in time to see Ring step down from the squire. He put his hand on Griffin’s arm but, other than how tightly he gripped, he gave no reaction. Eventually, Ring’s voice, oddly sharpened, spoke: “Let us find out what this does or does not do. Poke the beehive with a stick. Trust me. I will not sting.”

“I think we have to, don’t we?” came Terrell’s hesitant reply. “Let’s poke the beehive.”

They quickly found that while they could touch the actual armor portions, when they tried to touch the connective field, hands and tools slid away as if they’d encountered greased glass. Griffin pitched a few stones at the spavek, softly at first, then with increasing force. They bounced off, more a hazard to him than to Ring. He contemplated tossing a spear or having Bruin shoot an arrow, but decided to wait until they had calculated whether the rebound would be a hazard to bystanders.

Terrell shook his head in wonder. “Someone wearing one of those suits would be unstoppable.”

“Only until he was fighting someone with similar defenses,” Griffin said. “That’s the problem with armor. You’re only invulnerable until you’re not—and then, for a short while, you’re probably even more vulnerable, because you’ve gotten used to thinking of yourself as immune to damage.”

The war games his siblings had played sprang to mind. Falkner was forever designing more and more elaborate weapons or vehicles. Thalestris and Siegfried were very good at turning these to their own use. Gaius and Boudicca preferred to assist, not command, though they made brilliant field tacticians. And Jada … Calm, quiet, domestic Jada … After a while, no one wanted her to play. Things turned nasty when she did.

When Ring started tramping around, every awkward step a threat to the terminals and devices in the lab, Leto reluctantly revealed that there was an arena designed for testing the spaveks. Ring stomped through the door Leto slid open, his gait more and more steady with every stride. Griffin wondered if some of his awkwardness had been faked, meant to prompt Leto into her offer. The testing arena was vast, opening out like a funnel so that the upper areas were wider than those below.

“Since this chamber was designed for testing,” Leto said, a note of pride in her little girl voice, “the walls are very strong and the ceiling can be raised to permit limited flight testing.”

“Today,” Griffin said, “we stay on the ground. No flying, Ring. Understand?”

“I would not challenge the sun,” came the calm reply. “For today it is enough to walk and run.”

He did this and more. Terrell suggested that they see how much manual dexterity Ring possessed. At first, Ring was incredibly clumsy, dropping items. Then, between one attempt and the next, his touch became very precise. When he picked up and wrote with a stylus that Griffin would have found difficult to manipulate if he had been wearing gloves, Terrell shouted in astonished pleasure.

“I put my mind to it,” Ring said, his voice rich with satisfaction. “Always I have been told ‘Put your mind to it.’ I have never found it possible before this.”

“You seem more…” Terrell hesitated, clearly not wishing to give offense. “More focused. I haven’t seen you cover your eyes once.”

Ring shook his head, the armored helmet with its silvery eyes moving with a grace that he had never shown in his own body. “I am where I am, doing what I am doing. For now, this is enough. Tomorrow, I would like to try the weapons. Leto, I perceive there is a safe place for such tests, yes?”

Leto responded, her child’s voice holding a peculiar politeness Griffin had never heard before, not even when she had first accepted him as the closest thing to a seegnur she could find. She sounded stunned, as if Ring’s actions were causing her to reevaluate not only him, but the entire situation.

“The firing range is designed both for real and simulated combat scenarios. It opens off this arena. I will apply myself to discovering how many applications can be activated within my current limitations.”

Griffin felt excitement rising, his earlier reluctance completely banished. “Why wait? Let’s try it now! Even if the range isn’t fully activated, we can learn a few things.”

“Not now,” Ring said, doing something that caused the force field to fade, then reaching up to take off the helmet. “It’s suppertime.”

Griffin was about to protest when the sound of Kipper’s bare feet running down the tunnel reached his ears and he realized that his own stomach was growling in response.

“Wow!” the boy gasped, looking up at Ring. “That’s amazing! You can really wear that stuff, make it move?” Then he collected himself. “Bruin sent me to remind you three that it is nearly dinnertime. We have lamb, roasted cattail tubers, and wild carrots.”

“Good,” Ring said softly. “My favorites. And I am very, very hungry. Very, very hungry indeed.”

Adara and Sand Shadow didn’t leave for Ridgewood immediately, since Adara wanted to make sure Bruin had extra game and firewood to hold him until her return. The supplies Terrell had brought with him from Crystalaire should do the rest.

After all, it was my idea to come here, not his. He should be at home in Shepherd’s Call, dispensing wisdom to his students and enjoying the fruits of summer.

She spent some hours of darkness foraging, then catnapped until breakfast. After breakfast, she and Sand Shadow went out once more. Midday, they curled up and got some solid sleep, awakening as Kipper went to bring out the group in Leto’s complex. Over dinner, huntress and puma listened as the men babbled about the breakthrough with the blue spavek, then prepared to depart.

“Unless the weather slows us down,” Adara said, shouldering her pack, “look for us in six to eight days. Kipper, Honeychild, I’m counting on you to keep my old bear and these young bucks out of trouble.”

“I promise!” Kipper said, the expression on his face so intense that Adara found herself regretting her words. Honeychild took Adara far less seriously. The bear made grumbly noises and scratched at her belly with long claws polished from grubbing about in these new meadows.

Adara gave Bruin a kiss on one bristly cheek, saw the look on Terrell’s face and gave each of the other men a quick hug. “Don’t make a fuss. I’ll be back before you have time to miss me.”

“Don’t count on it,” she heard Terrell mutter, but he was smiling as he said it.

Adara and Sand Shadow made good time that first night. They’d hunted throughout this area and knew the game trails. Whenever possible, Adara avoided places where she’d leave footprints. She didn’t know if anyone would be looking for them, but she hadn’t forgotten Julyan’s attack on Griffin back at the Trainers. Neither Julyan nor the Old One struck her as the types to give up.

The next several days’ travel were rather less swift. The storm seemed hooked on the mountain peaks and stubbornly refused to move on. As she hiked, water dripping on her nose from the peak of the hood of the rain cloak she was now very grateful Bruin had insisted she take, Adara found herself wondering if the rain was Artemis’s way of showing her displeasure that Adara and Sand Shadow continued to resist her hints that they inhale some of her spores.

But that’s ridiculous, Adara thought. She’s still working on getting herself reoriented on ground level. She can’t control storms.

Nonetheless, the idea persisted. Being in a demiurge relationship with Sand Shadow was—is—enough of a challenge, but at least neither of us can dominate the other. Each of us is better at some things; each of us has a lot to contribute. How could the relationship be the same with Artemis, especially when she finishes recovering? I don’t want to be arms, legs, and mouthpiece for a powerful force. Would I even be me anymore? That’s what keeps bothering me.

Despite the rain, the pair still arrived in the Ridgewood area more quickly than they would have following the roads. Not wanting to be seen—if the Old One was looking for them, he would have learned of their earlier visit here—they waited until dark to make their final descent. There were lights on in several of the buildings, but Adara headed directly to the main house.

The house I might have called home, she thought with a trace of her old resentment. She pushed it away. And where I now know I will be welcome.

The rain had left the summer evening pleasant and refreshingly cool, though the day’s heat still vibrated from the buildings. The sound of her mother’s spinning wheel and the rise and fall of her father’s voice as he read poetry aloud were familiar, not just from her recent visit but now, Adara realized, from her own childhood. She followed the sounds to one of the porches that wrapped around the house and found her parents, Hektor, and Elektra doing handwork.

Adara spoke softly, so as not to startle them. “May I come to the fire?” The greeting of travelers met in the wilderness.

Everyone jumped just a little. Akilles set his book in his lap and slid off his reading glasses, better to peer into the darkness beyond the firelight.

“Adara, Sand Shadow,” said Neenay, slowing her spinning, rising to give her daughter a kiss on the cheek. “Come to the fire. Have you eaten?”

“Those grow higher up,” Hektor said, accepting the bag at his father’s direction. “You must be soaked. The rain was heavier there.”

“Are you alone?” asked Elektra, looking into the darkness. “I mean, except for Sand Shadow?”

“If you’re hoping to find your swains,” Adara said, “I left them far behind. It was faster for me to travel alone.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” Akilles suggested, “and tell us why speed mattered. Hektor, Elektra, why don’t you find a bowl for those berries and a towel for your sister. She looks damper than she’ll admit.”

“We want to hear her story, too,” Elektra said with a trace of stubbornness.

“If Adara wants you to hear, you will,” Neenay replied, her voice holding steel to shear any stubbornness. “Go!”

“I don’t mind them hearing at all,” Adara said, making sure her words would carry, “though I would ask that news of our visit won’t go outside of the family. We have enemies and I would rather you not be drawn into our quarrel.”

“Reasonable,” Akilles said. “What brings you here again? I hope none of your group is hurt.”

“Everyone is well,” Adara assured him, “even thriving. However, we’ve been wondering about events back in Spirit Bay. We left the place while it was very unsettled and…”

Hektor, coming out bearing a tray holding the bowl of snowberries, a pitcher of something that smelled wonderfully of peaches, a wedge of cheese, and half a loaf of bread, said, “And you want to know how things are before you go back that way? Makes sense to me.”

Elektra hurried after not only with a towel but with a loose housedress that probably belonged to Nikole. As she handed these to Adara, she produced a heavy brush, used for grooming the dogs, and a battered towel.

“Be careful around the ears,” Adara advised. “Especially near the earrings. If she yowls at you, stop. And thanks for thinking of both of our comfort.”

She began peeling off her damp clothing, using the rain cloak as a tent to preserve her father and brother’s modesty. Neenay’s spinning wheel began humming again, followed a moment later by the woman’s voice.

“Had you heard about the storm that hit Spirit Bay on a night without any clouds?”

Adara thought this must be when waves had unsettled the harbor, but she thought it would be a good idea to get another variation of the tale. She encouraged her mother to talk. Although she didn’t learn much over what Terrell had already reported, what she did hear unsettled her more.

Neenay’s source was one of her fellow weavers, who had the story from her own brother who had been in the harbor area at the time. The man had a good eye for detail. As Neenay had the story, whatever had caused the waves had entered the water so smoothly that had it not been so huge, it would have cut the waves like a knife.

“Orion and Willowee might know more,” Hektor suggested. “They should be back tomorrow. They went down to deliver a load of cloth to Willowee’s father who is in Ridgewood port.”

“Hektor, maybe come dawn,” Akilles suggested in a manner that made it an order, “you could go down to the river and catch them before they come home. I’m sure they’ll be grateful for your strong back to load those barrels of sweet syrup into the wagon. You can also make certain Willowee asks a few questions about Spirit Bay if the matter hasn’t come up already.”

Hektor looked as if he might protest, saw the look on his father’s face, and nodded. Then he brightened. “Can I stay in town long enough to ask the cobbler to measure me for new boots?”

Adara smiled her thanks. “My luck is in. May I beg a bed? It’s been weeks since I slept on anything other than a bedroll. I’ve been fantasizing about a mattress all the way here.”

The tunnels were enormous. Julyan hadn’t registered their size during his initial glimpse. Now, as he sped through them, riding behind Alexander on one of the scooters, he admitted to his awe—if only to himself.

I thought the opening of the tunnel was a reception area of some sort, not the beginning of an underground roadway. There’s not a brick or bit of stone, not even a seam. It’s as if this was blown, like glass.

I won’t have Alexander mocking me, Julyan thought, forcing anger to replace fear. It was bad enough how he acted when I didn’t want to get on the scooter. How was I to know that those flimsy saddles could bear the weight of a man as large as myself in comfort? Yes. I know Siegfried was already sitting on one, but he’s a soldier. They’ll put up with all sorts of discomfort. Catch me locking myself up in some sort of metal suit like I’ve heard they do farther north.

In an effort to make himself relax, Julyan leaned against the invisible back of his seat. The support felt firm but with a certain amount of give, like a tightly stuffed down pillow, without any prickle from the tips of the feathers. He knew that what he rested against was translucent, even to the point of transparency, only a faint, nacreous glow showing where the scooter projected what Alexander had called an energy field to support its passengers. A similar field, clearer than glass, for it lacked all the tiny bubbles and imperfections, protected them from the rushing air. Alexander assured Julyan that another would slow their fall or cushion them if they crashed.

“We can also activate a field for protection if we’re attacked, but Falkner advises against routine activation, since that draws a lot of power and we’re not sure how well the ambient recharge will work here.”

The tunnel was wide enough that the three scooters could have traveled side by side. However, Siegfried had decreed that he (and the Old One, who rode with him) take point. Falkner, with Seamus, rode behind to the right, Alexander and Julyan to the left. “Speakers” enabled them to talk with each other without shouting.

Guided by some sort of clock, Siegfried called regular rest breaks. Each scooter carried supplies of food and water. Waste was taken care of by a tidy little device that must be larger on the inside than the out, given how small it was. Julyan, worn out with miracles, did not even try to figure how any of this worked.

They encountered surprisingly few obstacles. A few times, Siegfried ordered a halt so they could examine some oddity.

“I’m pretty sure this was originally a chameleon mine,” Falkner said, examining a squat heap of something in the middle of the tunnel floor. “It was probably activated by vibration or heat—possibly both. When the nanobots spread to this point, the chameleon field would have failed. The explosives might still be live, so take care.”

“What good would these defenses be,” Alexander asked, a slight sneer to his voice, “if their own nanobots would disable it?”

Falkner, who’d been squatting to wave various devices over the thing, eased back onto his heels. “A couple possibilities. This could have been in place since the tunnel was built. Or it this might have been set by the invaded, not the invaders. If it was set by the invaders, then they probably did have it sealed against their own nanobots. However, even the best seals break down over time.”

Siegfried added, “It’s long been a mystery why the invaders didn’t destroy Artemis. Most people think this is because it was a prize they wanted for themselves.”

“Although why the planet would be a prize,” Alexander said slyly, “has been debated.”

“Indeed,” Siegfried said, shooting a warning glance to remind his brother that the Old One and Julyan were present. Julyan, who was hunkered against a wall, as far as was prudently possible from this potentially explosive thing, pretended not to notice. The Old One looked blankly attentive as always. Siegfried continued, “But we must consider, how many years did the invaders think would pass before they returned? Twenty years? Fifty? A hundred at the outside. I doubt they anticipated the extent of the destruction and fragmentation that happened once the war they triggered here spread through the empire.”

“I agree,” Falkner said. “Another bit of evidence that they intended to return relatively quickly is that they did not design the nanobots they released here to mutate into a neutral form. We have evidence that they employed automatic deactivation elsewhere, so I take this to mean that they thought they would return within a relatively short framework and could employ an antivirus at their convenience.”

“Or the lack of deactivation could be evidence that they were being very careful for some other reason,” Alexander said. This time the glare Siegfried sent him was far from subtle. Alexander must have realized he’d overstepped some invisible boundary, because he quickly added, “Or perhaps they wanted to make certain the planet stayed an undeveloped paradise. It would have been a pity to preserve Artemis for her wilderness wonders only to return to a planet in in the midst of a full-blown, pollution-filled industrial revolution.”

“Sounds good to me,” Falkner agreed. “Shall we get going? At the rate we’re traveling, we’re going to need to camp down here at least one night.”

“At least,” Julyan said, “we don’t need to worry about getting soaked. It gets rainy in the mountains this time of year.”

The three Danes looked at him blankly. Belatedly, Julyan realized that the energy fields on the scooters probably kept the rain out, too.

But they wouldn’t keep the ground dry, he thought with a flare of anger. I’m fed up with being treated as if I’m only a little brighter than Seamus.

When Julyan glanced at the Old One, hoping for who knew what reassurance, those cool grey eyes only said, “So, then, keep your mouth shut.”

The next several days were almost too much fun to be called work. Ring insisted on trying the flight and float capacities of the spavek. He bounced off the walls and ceiling as he learned how to control velocity and arc, but soon was managing the suit with uncanny skill.

Leto had reactivated the simulated firing range, so Ring explored the various elements of the blue spavek’s weapons systems. Eventually, they planned to move to live fire, but not until Ring was scoring at least ninety percent in simulation. The spavek could generate beams of various kinds, some intended for fine work like cutting, others with no other use than as very destructive weapons.

Griffin was reminded of the ruined military installation Adara had shown him on his second day on Artemis. The entire side of a mountain had been sheared off, the rock not just exploded, but melted. It would have been an astonishing show of force anywhere, but on pastoral Artemis—well, Griffin had had no problem understanding why, five hundred years later, stories were still told about the single armored figure who had caused all of that destruction.

Although the spavek could fire small missiles and some were stored in racks nearby, Griffin suggested they avoid using projectiles except in simulation. “The charges might have broken down over five centuries. Even the damper and containment fields built into the range might have trouble dealing with some random recombination of elements.”

No one—not even Ring, who was showing quite a bit of assertiveness these days—argued with Griffin on this point. Ring was less cooperative when Griffin suggested that he, Griffin, might activate another spavek, so they could try some sparring.

“Not you,” Ring said, “nor Terrell. The bear might fly in orange arms, and the fish, eventually, in yellow or pink, but, until you embrace the dark paths, neither you nor Terrell will spread wings of purple and green.”

Griffin was offended. He was getting tired of Ring’s refusal to speak plainly, though some part of him accepted that Ring was probably being as clear as he could be. What really ticked him off was that Ring clearly didn’t think Griffin could operate one of the spaveks.

“May I remind you,” he countered tartly, “that I am probably the only person on this planet who has ever operated a flying craft? Why can’t I operate the spavek? Take it off and let me have a try.”

The readiness with which Ring floated down made Griffin think he was destined to fail. From the impish grin Terrell quickly squashed, Griffin knew his friend thought so, too. Ring backed the blue spavek into one of the convenient squires set around the arena, did something to snap open releases, then stepped out. Meanwhile, Griffin methodically stripped down.

I’m a skilled small ship pilot. I’ve worn battle armor before. Why am I suddenly scared?

He knew why, even if he denied it to himself. Watching the ease with which Ring had adapted to the rig, Griffin suspected that there had to be some sort of symbiotic linkage. Nothing else explained a primitive who could barely sit a horse managing power armor with such ease. The horror stories of Kyley had been full of intelligent machines that started running their owners’ lives.

The anthropologist in Griffin whispered, Now you have a very good idea where those stories originated. How many of the Old Empire’s tools survived their makers and were found by those innocent of their power?

The skeptic in him countered, Yes. But could those tools use just anyone? Ring was created to synchronize with the old technology. Maybe Castor might manage, but you? You’re safe. Stop being a wuss. Back on in, fasten the snaps. Nothing’s going to happen.

At least you’ve got to try, said another voice, bossy, like his sister Jada. What sort of scientist is afraid of experimentation?

“A live one,” Griffin said aloud as he stepped into the suit’s embrace. He felt the squire hum. Remotes closed the panels, pressed the helmet down over his head. Starting at his extremities, the hum of electric current ran through Griffin’s nerves, surged along his limbs, intermeshed at his core, causing his muscles to spasm then release, spasm then release. Griffin would have screamed, but the helmet had possessed his head.

Linkages of spiked energy pricked against the rims of his eyes, swarmed up his nostrils, probed into his ears. Something larger, thicker, pressed between his lips, forcing them open. He refused to think about what the suit was doing lower down, but a very bad memory, something to do with his brother Alexander, flashed into Griffin’s mind, then vanished instantly to wherever he had kept it suppressed.

There was no pain, no pleasure, just a practicality that was somehow more horrible than either would have been. Griffin wanted to use the suit. The suit was doing what was necessary to find out if this was possible. This violation was Griffin’s own choice. Again, he tried to scream, and this time he heard a sound that might have been his own voice.

Terrell spoke, his voice tight and anxious. “Griffin? Griffin? Are you all right? The telltales on both the squire and the spavek are showing activation is complete. The squire has lowered you to the ground. You’re just standing there.”

Power armor, Griffin told himself. All this is is some weird form of power armor. Try to raise an arm. Your right arm.

After a tremendous effort, his right arm lifted. He heard Terrell cheering. Griffin moved his left arm. Then he raised and lowered each leg, managing a few steps. Each action required a tremendous amount of effort. He wondered why the Old Imperial technology—supposedly so much better than that of his own people—should be so hard to operate.

The buzzing through his nervous system, which had fallen to a numbing hum, intensified once more. It moved deeper, penetrating from the peripherals into Griffin’s core, vibrating along his spinal column. Prickling touched the inside of his brain. He knew he couldn’t really feel what was going on—didn’t the brain have minimal sensory nerves?—but Griffin would have sworn he could feel every ripple and convolution outlined in a painless but remorseless lightning.

Once or twice the inspection paused, as something of potential interest had been located. Then it moved on, digging deeper, layer by layer, eventually cell by cell. Griffin raised his hands, trying to rip the seals open, but the gloves, capable of such precise manipulation when worn by Ring, were stiff and unyielding, as if each finger had been dipped in plastic and was now hardening in futile clawlike curves.

Had the examination continued, Griffin might have gone insane, but Ring came to his rescue. The big man touched the center of Griffin’s chest, pressing his hand hard against one of the spavek’s panels. The questing force that had been delving into Griffin rushed to meet Ring, meshing its energies with his, welcoming him. Griffin had the faint, embarrassing feeling that he was being complained about.

Ring’s reply was inaudible but somehow comprehensible. “He did better than I dared hope. Let him go. He has been stronger than you can know.”

Griffin felt grateful, even more so when Ring shoved the spavek into the waiting squire and triggered the releases. The suit let him go, withdrawing its connectors with apologetic grace. Ring, too, was apologetic.

“I had not realized that you were so almost alive. I thought that, but for a tiny vine, you were dead, that the roots would not find soil in which to bury. Forgive me. I would not have had you so used.”

Terrell caught Griffin, whose knees were buckling, and helped him over to one of the built-in benches that encircled the testing chamber.

“What happened, Griff? I thought you were doing all right. You were moving the thing, though stiffly.”

Griffin felt his friend’s emotions with an intensity that he never had before, at least when both were awake. Terrell’s fear mingled with a trace of anger, delight was ebbing before apprehension. This must be the “vine” Ring had spoken of. Whatever the suit had done to Griffin had—almost certainly temporarily—intensified his psychic link to the factotum.

“If I understood Ring, he let me put the spavek on because he didn’t think I had the necessary adaptations to let my nervous system mesh with whatever the suit uses to link with its wearer. The problem was, I had just enough that the suit kept looking to make a connection. It couldn’t find it, though, and my system was getting overloaded.”

“That’s horribly dangerous!” Terrell protested, looking at the suit as if it might come after him next, his earlier enthusiasm swallowed by a sea of distrust and apprehension.

“It was—but only because I hadn’t been trained how to operate the cancellation sequence,” Griffin said, knowing he was right, now recognizing what one of the pulses in his core had been. “If I had been, I simply would have told the suit to let me go and it would have.”

“So it kept trying,” Terrell said, “because you didn’t tell it to stop and it found just enough to convince it the effort was worthwhile? That still seems insane—like holding someone underwater and hoping he gets himself free before he drowns.”

“It felt rather like that,” Griffin said, forcing a shaky laugh. “Again, my lack of training was the problem. My guess is that the test pilots or whatever you want to call them were trained to recognize that they were not synchronizing correctly with the suit.”

“Why didn’t the suit know?” Terrell protested. “You talk as if it’s somehow intelligent.”

“Perhaps the completed models would have had safeguards,” Griffin said. “Remember, this was a test lab. These were all experimental models. Probably every one of them has some flaw or incomplete element.”

“And Ring didn’t have a problem because he has the right sort of adaptations?” Terrell asked, now sounding less angry, more interested, although his fear was still present.

Ring nodded. “I have dreamed of blue since the coming of the first star. I did not know what it was until after the second star fell. Then my heart sang that if I were not here to know the blue, all would be lost.”

Griffin tried to remember the weird prophesy Ring had recited soon after he had arrived with Bruin and Kipper. Something about there being no hope unless Ring was present, about the return of slavery, then that odd stuff about cats. “If the cats do not breathe in the dusty orb, if the thread does not learn that it binds tightest when it is knotted firmly into itself, if the dreamer does not wake from the visions, then even with Ring, with Bruin, with Kipper, still there will be disaster.”

He felt uneasy. The coming of the first star could refer to his own arrival. The shuttle burning through the atmosphere had been seen as a falling star, even in daylight. Could the second star refer to what had been reported in Spirit Bay? Had he been right to dismiss it so lightly? But they weren’t dismissing it lightly. Adara was off to make sure there was nothing to the rumors.

Space trash, he thought, comforting himself, letting his mind slide back to the fascinating problem of the secrets of Leto’s complex. That’s all it is. Just space trash.

needy

childish

vengeful

omnipresent

rusts

smuts

root rots

devouring to live

parasitism