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Sequel to The Gryphon Stone
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THE BEACH BECAME A noisier place after the benediction. It’s always hard to believe such would be possible. But of course, that was when the feasting began. We joined the lines and filled a basket with fried fish and a variety of fruits, vegetables, and bread; also bottles of wine and fruit juice. We returned to our blanket, a dozen yards from the central bonfire, and ate our fill around a smaller fire maintained by the group of friends and neighbors with us. Finished eating, I sat cross-legged on a blanket with Sid beside me, facing the water, with a full view of the festivities up and down the beach on either hand. I could hear music coming from ships moored in the harbor, northwest of where we sat. I had no doubt there were parties going aboard them.
Daryamaya, our dark-haired toddler, so much like me in hair and complexion, was sprawled on her back, eyes on the darkening sky, watching for stars, oblivious to the noisy distractions around her. I don’t know how she came to have her fascination with lights in the sky. Not even sure when it developed. It was a private family game, by then, watching the sky darken and calling out when the first star appeared in the deep blue dome overhead. Grevin had disappeared into the gloaming between fires, seeking playmates. Even with the renewed rolling thunder of island drums, shouting and laughing dancers, and her big brother calling her out to join the chase game, Darya remained on her back, eyes locked on the sky. Darya usually spotted a star before any of us.
And — “Star!” she shouted up into the twilight, stabbing a pudgy forefinger up toward what she had seen. We obliged by looking up to where she pointed. The sky overhead was a clear, deep blue, with the only clouds well out to sea, or hanging among the mountains that made up the spine of the main island of Wulde.
As usual, Sid picked out the light Darya had seen in the sky before I could. Being an Islander, born and raised, and like all members of the Guild trained to navigate the open seas using the stars, Sid would be the one to name the light in the sky. That a few of the brighter lights were planets and not stars mattered not in the slightest to either of them. As Sid stared into the sky and seconds became a minute, Darya rolled toward her mother and frowned up at her. “Ma, what star?”
I looked at Sid, puzzled, since it was rare that she had trouble naming anything in the celestial sphere. And I saw the look of bafflement on her face. “Something wrong?” I asked.
“I am not sure,” she said, her words barely audible over the drums and singing. “Daffyd, stars should not move.”
“Move?” I peered up into the sky, and because it was indeed moving, had no trouble at all picking out the bright, silvery mote over our heads that cruised silently northwest to southeast, where it soon played hide-and-seek among the scattered clouds over the mountains. It was higher than those clouds. A lot higher. On my altEarth I’d have shrugged and said it was a satellite or space station. And in fact, as we watched, the light drifted ever east of south and started to fade, taking on a reddish tint as it dimmed to a faint ember. I’d seen orbital facilities around my altEarth do that as they passed into the world’s shadow, and like those, this one quickly faded from view.
Where I grew up, such a sight wasn’t at all unusual, but — a satellite around Adrathea? That was flat-out impossible, unless the Alvehn had somehow slipped something into orbit. I knew they were setting up a radio communications network for the world, but hadn’t heard anything about orbital relays. For good reason. To place such things in orbit around a planet in an arrested universe would require opening and stabilizing reality rips from another universe — in orbit. This is tricky enough if your plan is simply to drop down from the sky to the planet below. Put something in orbit using a rip above the planet? It could be done, but not easily, and the level of radio communication technology being introduced to Adrathea required no such relays. Adrathea’s ionosphere would be sufficient for the current needs. The Alvehn move very slowly when changing an arrested world.
Launching a satellite from the surface was not an option. On an arrested world, the power output required would be incredibly destructive. Anything like a rocket would be destroyed the instant it ignited, along with everything around it for a considerable distance. The powder bane, again. The Alvehn are a powerful people, but not even they can undo the work of the Pancreators, who set this restriction on so many universes before they vanished without a trace. So — no rocketry on Adrathea. And yet, there was that light in the sky, where no such thing could be. At least, not if it came from Adrathea, a world on which lighting so much as a firecracker could well be a death sentence.
“Da? Ma? Where’s star gone?” Darya sounded annoyed.
“We don’t know, Darya,” I told her. “It’s a mystery,” I added, waggling my eyebrows at her and trying to make light of the matter, knowing it would puzzle her for another five minutes and then pass from her thoughts. Darya giggled at my facial expression.
“Daffyd?” My tone hadn’t fooled Sid for a moment.
“I know what it looks like,” I replied. “I’ve seen such before, but it would be an Outworlder thing. Not possible here, unless the Alvehn are up to something.” The look I gave her was of concern. I knew she would read that, without upsetting Darya.
“Perhaps you should go back to the house and contact Trey,” she said. “If it’s a thing of the Alvehn he would surely know about it.”
“And if he doesn’t?” I asked.
“Let the problem come to us, husband,” she replied, making a shooing motion with one hand. She spoke lightly, but would not have made that request of me if that strange light in the sky, and my reaction to it, hadn’t worried her.
I gave her a quick kiss and left her to mind the kids; Darya had already forgotten the moving star and was complaining about being hungry. I could only shake my head; the appetites of children boggled my mind. She’d already eaten enough to stuff a sand shark. I strolled inland and away from the beach commons, past the polished hulls of skimmers on their racks, gleaming in the firelight, and crossed the plaza at the feet of the towers. The fountain at the plaza’s center glittered in the light of multicolored glows in the tree branches overhead. The dolphin sculpture leaping from the center seemed covered with gems. Not much further inland I found the lane to our home neighborhood where it rose uphill from the plaza. Steps carved into the hill provided a shortcut to another lane between sturdy, square houses built from blocks of stone. Each had a pastel shade of its own, creating a patchwork of color by daylight that was muted, just visible, at that time of evening. Glows hanging from tree limbs lit my way. Once my feet were on the flagstone lane that led to our house, I had to force myself to walk, and not to run. The drums rolled and boomed behind and below me, now in time to a traditional Island song shouted out by the crowd into the gathering night. You normally couldn’t drag me away from the Equinox drums, spring or fall, but the anxiety created by the sight of something impossible kept me moving.
An impossible thing made manifest is, in my experience, almost always a sign of trouble ahead.
War of the Second Iteration, Book One
“The trap in which you played an unwitting role was laid many months before your probe came into this system. We knew a large scale offensive was in the planning stages, an attempt by the current rulers of the Republic to divert their people from their own internal divisions. We ordered our defenses to direct the offensive to this part of the Confederation, in an attempt to bring forces of the Republic as close to the point of contact between the Commonwealth and Confederation space as we could. You see, my friends,” and his gaze swept the room as he spoke, “we already knew you were out there, and that contact between the Commonwealth and the Confederation of Clans was imminent.”
The room was stunned into silence. No one even shifted in a chair. Then, finally, Moresh said, “You set us up from the very beginning.”
“Yes,” Kr’nai Ersha said quietly.
“How long have you been aware of the Commonwealth?” Sadov demanded.
“For almost three of your years,” the Leyra’an replied. “The system you name Eriola is actually within what we consider Confederation space. It has been our habit for many years now to quietly investigate new systems without actually sending ships, in case the Republic was there first. This time we spotted your probeship, instead. We have monitored the settlement of Eriola since then, withdrawing only when you started using the other node. This was only the first such encounter. We have quietly withdrawn from several systems, since then, in the hope that you would continue to expand into this sector. And you did.”
“Why not simply contact us, and ask for help?” Moresh demanded.
“I was unable to convince the Clan Councils of the wisdom of such a plan. In fact, I was forbidden to reveal our presence,” Kr’nai Ersha replied. “So, with the help of those who support me out here on the frontier, I made it impossible for the three civilizations to avoid contact. We fell back in a way that led the Republic through sparsely-settled systems and into this sector, and when your probe arrived here, we let the route to Pr’pri system become the path of least resistance.” He lowered his gaze to the table with a sigh. “There was never a very firm plan, of course. How could there be? So much was left to chance, and chance very nearly undid us.”
“We’re listening,” Moresh prompted when he fell silent.
“The fighting went badly for us. The systems under assault did not fall to the Republic in the order we expected, and a planned line of escape for refugees was lost, sending them all here, where the trap was set. We tried, oh how we tried, to get everyone away from here, before it was too late!”
“Everyone?” Moresh asked coldly.
“I speak only of our own people,” Kr’nai Ersha admitted. “Your presence in this system was, of course, essential. From my studies of Human history, or rather, that of the Republic, I knew they harbored certain fears concerning the Humanity their ancestors left behind. I also know that a great many citizens of the Republic have prayed for the day of reunion, hoping for reconciliation with the people their forefathers abandoned. No matter which opinion was held by the commander of the attacking fleet, and I did not know Andrew Kester would lead the inevitable assault, I believed the reunion, happening here, would be too great a surprise to allow them to follow through on their battle plan.”
“You were wrong,” said Moresh.
“And I acknowledged such a possibility, to myself at least,” Kr’nai Ersha replied. “This is why the fleet remained concealed the entire time you were here. I could not help the fear that whoever commanded the Republic’s fleet would refuse to believe you, and so I made ready a back-up plan, which in the end was the plan I used. That particular deception was as much for your protection as any...”
“They think we are on your side,” Moresh said in a low voice, the tone of which seemed to lower the temperature of the room.
Robert studied his Captain closely, his heart beating so hard he felt the pulse clearly in his throat. This was not the woman he had known for so many years. She could be hard, he knew, as well as uncompromising. But he had never seen in her such a capacity for rage, and anything but a cold rage, as it turned out.
“In time they will...” Kr’nai Ersha began.
“They think we’ve taken sides, damn you!” And her right hand slammed down sharply on the tabletop.
Robert jumped in his seat at the hard sound, and was aware that everyone around him flinched and blinked, as if evading a blow. He had never heard Captain Moresh raise her voice in such a way, much less provide a visible demonstration of anger. Even the Leyra’an flinched, almost in unison. Robert found that he had clenched his fists, and with an effort relaxed them.
“You want us to mediate an end to this war of yours,” Sadov said more quietly. “To do that it is essential we appear neutral. You have badly and deeply compromised that neutrality!”
“Only for the short term, I am sure,” Kr’nai Ersha insisted. “Yes, we hope you can bring peace, but I cannot ask my leaders, my people, to begin negotiations while the Republic is actively invading the Confederation of Clans! I needed you here to stop their advance.”
“Did you ever send the message we prepared for the Republic?” Sadov demanded.
“Yes, but apparently they did not take it seriously,” Kr’nai Ersha replied.
“If they had done so,” his niece added, “none of this would have happened.”
“Gaia,” and Sadov rubbed at his temples as if in pain.
“You should have abandoned your plan,” Moresh said in a voice that returned to a normal volume, but remained frigid in tone. “If not for us, then for the sake of those ships by the node that you knew could not defend themselves. Or did you feel the need to motivate us?”
Robert braced himself for furious denials from the Leyra’an, but though Kr’nai Ersha stiffened and clenched his fists, teeth flashing for a moment into clear view, he made no reply. It was Kr’nai Melep who spoke, meeting the Captain’s anger eye to eye without flinching. “We had watchers posted,” she said softly. “They were to warn us of any fleet movements toward the node in Arla’not System. We should have had time to move the ships back. The watchers failed us, which means they are dead. The loss of so many ships was not a part of our plan!”
“Nor did we expect the Republic to attack unarmed ships,” Kr’nai Ersha said bitterly, his eyes directed toward the table. “This they have not done before, and is why we used ships in disguise,” he added with bitter irony. He looked up at Moresh, eyes flashing with emotion, wet with tears. “You have no idea how that felt, to see my calculated deception take those innocent lives. To stand on your ship and watch my people die and be able to do nothing!” His voice had an odd, strangled catch to it. He paused and seemed to hold his breath for a moment as if fighting for self-control. “I wanted to kill them, the invading ships,” he went on darkly. “I wanted to watch them die! And I had at hand,” and he stretched out his right hand toward the Captain, “the power to utterly wipe them out!” Now he was meeting the Captain’s eyes and he clenched that hand into a fist as he nearly shouted the words at her. When he continued his voice was harsh and broken, a struggle to push words through powerful emotions. “But even more I want this all to end! Can you not see?” He looked around at those assembled, eyes glittering. “It must end! And to accomplish this I will do whatever I must. Use whatever I must.” The upraised arm dropped to his side. “My apologies I reserve for my own people. Those who paid the price, and those who must now grieve.”
Books by this author:
Science Fiction
Chance Encounters — Three Short Stories
179 Degrees from Now
War of the Second Iteration
The Luck of Han’anga
Founders’ Effect
The Plight of the Eli’ahtna
The Courage to Accept
Setha’im Prosh
Tales of the Second Iteration
All That Bedevils Us
The Autobiography of David K. Render, Colonel UNMS, Retired
The Gryphon Stone
The Lesson of Almiraya Bay
Fantasy
Variation on a Theme: A Fantasy in Four Moments
General Fiction
Toby
Nonfiction
Amateur Astronomy
Mr. Olcott’s Skies
Tales of a Three-legged Newt
Writing
The Process: Nine Essays on the Experience of Writing Fiction
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I am a writer based in Tucson, Arizona, with a background in botany (B.S. Plant Sciences, University of Arizona) and a passion for astronomy. In my spare time I study history, nature, and any other subject that holds still long enough for me to get a good look at it.
