“How so?” The Prince brought up the internal map of the structure being constructed by the sensors on the Navigator’s console. “We’ve passed numerous secondary openings—are these doors?—large enough for a dreadnaught to enter—how are they not suitable for
our
entry?”
“They are closed to us,” Gretchen said, attempting to smile reassuringly at him over her shoulder. The resulting expression was almost feral, for a wild, heedless light had come into her face. “We need just the right kind of way in … nothing fancy,
Tlatocapilli
. That would be dangerous.”
“And you can tell that which is dangerous and that which is not?” His attempt at sarcasm sounded shrill, for his voice was tight with fear.
“We are still alive, aren’t we?” Gretchen turned back to her console.
Oh, what is this?
Illuminated by the
Moulin
’s running lights, a constellation of new structures emerged from the darkness. Tall pylons ascended from pooled shadow below to disappear into equal indigo above. Between them, another of the structures which seemed to be a portal door had appeared: a triangular shape several hundred meters high, comprised of four smaller triangles. Each of the inner triangles contained a further inverted, and recessed, triangle. This arrangement, unlike many others they had passed, held a darker hue—almost night-black itself, but irregularly mottled.
Anderssen’s console flickered, all of the v-panes abruptly closing and then reopening again. She stiffened, feeling a flood of heat warm her chest, even through the z-suit and the equipment rig. The edges of the analysis displays on the console began to distort, the lettering transforming into the unintelligible glyphs which had overcome the
Naniwa
’s navigational system during their transit of the Pinhole.
Uh-oh. Node
3
3
3 is connecting—but it’s not plugged in!
Gretchen felt the pattern of her analysis matrices shifting. The pulsing back-and-forth of her comps and storage nodes shaded as well, starting to move faster—much faster than she could follow. Dreading what she might feel, Anderssen slipped her right hand under her jacket, fingertips brushing against the surface of the bronze block. It was very warm and vibrating faintly. She looked down and was stunned to see that a hot, golden glow was shining between her fingers.
What the—
“Anderssen, what
is
that?” Xochitl had finally noticed the grouping of pylons.
“We are very close,” she managed to say. Löjtnant Piet, without even a look to Captain Locke, had turned the freighter towards the four-sided diamond. Their speed slowed, now the
Moulins
was inching along. The exterior floods angled forward, trying to illuminate the blackened surface. The beams played across the portal, but did not even generate a reflection, as though the material were drinking in the light.
Then a point of hard jewel-like radiance appeared at the center of the innermost diamond. A distinct collimating beam stabbed out and washed over the
Moulins
, causing the forward cameras to polarize, reducing their view to nothing but a scintillating white point. In Anderssen’s equipment rig, the bronze block stopped vibrating and went cold. Gretchen gasped in pain as her perceptual gestalt abruptly collapsed, leaving her blinking owlishly at her console, which had terminated all of the v-panes simultaneously.
Behind her, the Prince stiffened in alarm.
* * *
The vision overlay generated by Xochitl’s exo was awash with unknown and indecipherable datagrams and hieroglyphs. Voices were speaking in his mind in a lilting, singsong tongue like calling birds; but though the cadence of the sounds seemed terribly familiar he knew none of the words. Alarmed, he surged upward out of his shockchair. “What the—”
“A Gate opens before you,” said an unexpected voice. A seamed old hand, hard as bog oak, settled on the Prince’s shoulder and forced him back down. The Méxica looked up, astounded to see that Green Hummingbird—now clad in a Fleet z-suit—had slipped quietly into the back of the bridge. The dyspeptic face of the Hjogadim Sahâne peered down over his shoulder, red-rimmed eyes staring accusingly at the Prince. The
nauallis
met Xochitl’s gaze with a serious expression. “I advise you not to enter this structure.”
“You would exhaust God’s patience, sorcerer.” The Prince threw aside the old Náhuatl’s arm and pushed up from his seat. “You
do not
command me! You serve the Empire and in this place I am—”
“It is my purpose,
Tlatocapilli
,” Hummingbird interrupted, “to keep humanity from harm—and this
place
is beyond our skill to use, our power to hold, and our intellect to understand. We must leave before we come to grief. Or worse, bring disaster home with us.”
“You threaten me?” Xochitl bit out the words, struggling to keep his temper.
The Prince’s exo had already summoned
Cuauhhuehueh
Koris and the marines, who now appeared in the hatchway. The Jaguar Knight ducked inside, shipgun leveled on Hummingbird’s back.
Sahâne found himself surrounded by the marines, who were watching the alien warily, but they kept their distance. The Hjo licked his lips, long head darting from side to side.
Hummingbird affected no notice of the activity: “My duty to your father compels me to try and save your life.”
Xochitl drew his sidearm, thumbing off the safety. “Unwise choice, old man. You are utterly—”
“Lining up a new approach vector,” Gretchen’s voice cut in. She had ignored the Prince and the Judge and their spat, even the appearance of Sahâne, instead watching the progress of the diamond-hard light which had traversed the hull. Now the radiance flickered out as swiftly as it had appeared, and the Navigator’s panel in front of her woke to life again. Now, however, all of the v-panes and controls were displaying the tight curlicues of the alien hieroglyphics which had come and gone from her vision over the past days.
Landing beacon locked,
one of them suggested to her and, nodding in acknowledgment, Anderssen tapped the glyph. The nav system on the freighter kicked in, adjusting their approach. Piet started in alarm—then looked to the captain for guidance—his face tight with distress. Locke shook his head
no
, the movement barely visible even to Gretchen, who was seated only two meters away. Both men watched her intently and Gretchen suddenly tasted a little of their desire, which matched tone and color with hers.
Let us see what lies beyond,
a memory echoed, bringing with it the smell of oiled wood and a perfume she’d last worn as an undergraduate.
Beyond the door of the unopened tomb, beyond the rise of the next hill, within unplumbed space, beyond our conception. This is the fever which drives us to create, to innovate, to overcome.
Outside, the mottled black wall had divided into three parts, and each triangle receded from sight. Beyond, in a chamber whose comprehensible size—only a few hundred meters in each dimension—seemed puny and cramped, was the age-etched shape of a landing cradle.
“Entering an active g-field,” Piet reported, taking over the controls. “Docking jets adjusting…”
THE
KADER
I
NBOUND TO THE
P
INHOLE
Hadeishi listened intently to the z-suit radio, his throatmike replaced by a vocoder Cajeme had assembled from the components of an entertainment 3-v scavenged from the main mess deck. As he listened, the eager voice of a Khaiden
Kabil Rezei
aboard the battleship
Sokamak
buzzed away into silence.
“Yes, my lord.” Mitsuharu keyed into a v-pane on his display. A second later, the ’coder produced a yipping bark ending in a sibilant growl. To Hadeishi’s poorly trained ear, it sounded like proper Khadesh.… “One of the Imperial capsules had a scientist aboard—he sought to barter service—and questioning has revealed a way to detect the Wall-of-Knives. I am bringing him to you now with his instrumentation.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hadeishi observed the other officers standing watch in Command were keeping their mouths shut, as ordered. They were, however, grinning and signing “victory” to one another.
Morale is good,
he thought, waiting for a response.
As befits those snatched from Mictlantecuhtli
’s
dreadful embrace.
The
Kader
plowed through the dust at a swift pace, transit deflectors up full, shrouding the ship in a cascade of brilliant interference. The Pinhole was now only moments away. The
Hayalet
-class battleships deployed around the broken hulk of the Imperial research station showed clearly on her sensors.
Five minutes to deceleration burn
,
Thai-i
Inudo keyed to each of the other stations.
Hadeishi bid proper farewell to the hunt-lord, then closed the circuit.
I miss Captain De Molay. But she has her ship back, only a little worse for wear.
The old woman had not been happy about the mess they’d left behind on the
Wilful
, but accepted it as the cost of survival. A handful of the walking wounded had been left with her as well, to crew the little freighter.
In their last conversation, on comm between the two ships, she fixed him with a bellicose stare, saying, “If you were my fosterling, I would rap your knuckles sharply,
Chu-sa
. You play recklessly, risking yourself at every turn—but I cannot fault your consideration for the other children. They are always in your thoughts, and you are always the first to offer them a hand up from the ground. I hope—and I doubt we will meet again—that you will consider that
your
life may be just as precious, to others.”
The
Wilful
had slipped away hours before, vanishing into the vastness of the
kuub
, leaving no trace of its passing which the
Kader
’s sensors could detect.
“All stations secure?” Mitsuharu asked on the command channel. A frenzy of confused activity followed amongst the Imperials on the unfamiliar bridge. “Weapons—confirm that guns are cold? Missile racks and penetrator pods are locked down? All hands, brace for combat acceleration.”
A ragged chorus of
Hai, Chu-sa
arose, both in Command and on the channel from downdeck.
Hadeishi nodded to Inudo. “Pilot, point-and-a-quarter to ventral. Begin deceleration burn.”
The
Thai-i
rotated a glyph on his display just a fraction and then slid a gauge lower. “
Hai, kyo
. Point-and-a-quarter, ventral. Beginning deceleration burn.”
On the plot, the
Kader
’s icon closed swiftly with that of the
Sokamak
, the largest of the Khaid battleships. Lovelace’s translation of the ’cast chatter had gleaned only fragmentary information for Hadeishi, but he knew some of the ship designators now, and a little bit about his enemy. He knew that one of the more vocal Khaid commanders was named Zah’ar, and he had at least two rivals. The late, unlamented captain of the
Kader
had been Begh-Adag—and that fellow seemed to have been the least respected of the clan-lords involved in this escapade.
“
Chu-sa
, point-and-a-half turned. Deceleration burn complete.” Inudo shook out his shoulders and hurriedly called up a new slate of course and speed settings on a side pane.
“
Joto-Heiso
Cupan, ready shuttle in bay three for launch,” Hadeishi said into the throatmike. “Damage control parties, starboard wing, stand by for decompression.”
The chief petty officer from the
Asama
tapped in amongst the chorus of
Hai, kyo
from the damage control teams. “Shuttle in bay three, ready for launch,
Chu-sa
.”
The light cruiser matched velocity with the
Sokamak
, and the shuttle jetted away on an intercept course for the battleship. A v-pane on his console showed Mitsuharu the boat-bay-three doors cycling closed.
“Shuttle away,
kyo
,” Cupan confirmed.
Hadeishi shifted uncomfortably in the shockchair, one eye on a replay of the missing battle-cruiser’s escape, the other on a series of panels showing thermal readings from the profusion of broken ships, fusion detonations, and other hot-spots in the immediate area. The dust clouds, which seemed to have thickened around the invisible Barrier, were slowly shifting color as the component particles soaked up the hard radiation.
“Pilot, turn two points to starboard, one point dorsal.”
Inudo nodded, his neck shining with sweat. “
Hai, kyo
. Two points starboard, one dorsal.”