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Chapter 42

The command center shuddered as Delta Station took another hit. Alarms flashed from a dozen sectors. Commander Fisher picked himself up, looked at the display screen, and saw three enemy ships closing. Three eruptions of light filled the screen. The station shook like a tree house in a storm. Fisher clung to a seat and leaned hard on the com. "Batteries—are you getting any of them?" he shouted.

"Trying, Commander," answered a harried voice. "We've lost tracking control—we're on manual now."

Fisher hit another channel. "Damage control—can you restore tracking-control?"

"Trying," he heard through a hiss of static. "We've got a bad hit on the medical wing, Commander."

"Casualties?"

"Yes, sir. Loss of power and pressure. It looks bad."

"Get a team over there right away. And check on the alien prisoner."

"Yes, sir."

Ensign Graves called from a tactical readout, "They're starting to pull away!" Fisher hurried over to look. Surrounding the station was a blizzard of blue and green points—the manned and AI defensive fleet—and red dots, the enemy. The red had broken through the defensive wings practically unscathed; and the station's own batteries were barely touching them. But the blue and green were closing again, and the red were pulling away in retreat, and some of them were being destroyed as they fled. Except that . . .

What were those two red points close to the station, with no interceptors near them? He hit the com. "Third battery! Enemy at point-blank just north of command wing!"

The battery was already firing. One of the enemy ships turned fuzzy and disappeared from the screen. From the other a burst of light erupted toward the station. There was a thunderclap and the command center shook sickeningly, and from the com came a cry that the GCS link was broken—and then the command center seemed to implode as a wall buckled and gravity failed in the same instant, and air began howling out of the compartment.

"Everyone out!" Fisher bellowed, spinning in midair; but his voice receded with the hooting of the alarms in the rapidly thinning air, as those who were able to move struggled to reach the safety locks before the bulkhead doors slammed closed.

 

* * *

 

The thundering of the drums carried Egret aloft, floating in a frenzy of knee-slapping movement. He was meshing with Ramo, feeling Ramo's energy build upon his own. It was rising toward a crescendo, and Ramo was the focus. He didn't know what it was all for, why Ramo was so hot, but he was hot—it was like nothing Egret had ever felt, and the higher it went the better he liked it.

The musicians felt it, too. The drummers were bashing and thumping and challenging one another with ever-brighter rhythms; and the stringsynths were wailing and crooning like lovelorn birds, and skipping across the drum rhythms in double time and triplets, and shimmering from the rumbling bass to bellowing highs that evoked whistles and applause; and Lip and Eddie were blending their voices in harmony one moment and scatting across the scales the next, rending hearts with their voices. And around it all they danced—Desty and Silver and Elina and all of the others—and in the middle, the hurtling, spinning, strutting holo-figure of Ramo pouring his heart out like a man filled with the spirit.

But pouring it out to whom? Egret sensed more people touching him than just his friends and Ramo's; he sensed a different kind of people. It was a strange feeling, and now the holo-lighting was changing—a gaseous luminescence wrapping itself around the dancers, an image of something dark and light and mysterious. What's this? he wondered. He recognized the shadowy outline of something like a seahorse's head against a ruby glow of gas and dust and blazing stars. He didn't know what it was, but he didn't worry; if it brought Ramo higher, then it would bring them all higher, and that was fine by him.

 

* * *

 

Ramo laughed out loud as he saw the Horsehead Nebula unfurl. That was terrific: maybe the Ell were going to join right in, and wouldn't that be something? This was, as he had promised the core, a real jamdam. The senso was working beautifully and the spirit of the crowd was unequalled. Maybe they were picking it up from him, or from the Ell—but what did it matter? It was working.

He raised his hands and stamped like a flamenco dancer and twisted—and there was Egret, eyes wide in wonderment; and he spun, and watched Odesta and Silver and others gazing at the changing colors, at the crimson glow and the shadowy Horsehead—and he could tell that they thought it was the work of an artist and he wanted to shout, It's real and it's eleven hundred light-years away, and that's where they're watching us from! But something held him back, a tiny block; and then he stopped worrying about the facts and focused on the feelings. He leaped higher and swung through the crowd, reaching out to one person and then another, his hand passing through them but his feelings touching theirs: ebullience here and puzzlement there, a laugh, intoxicated pleasure, bubbling joy.

He almost forgot that he wasn't physically among them; the feedback was so perfect that it was as though he were there, except . . . except . . . where were Sage and Pali and Kyd?

He lost his stride momentarily and eased back in the field, reached back to find the others. [Hey!] he called. [You guys didn't forget me here, did you?]

For an instant there was no answer; then came a reassuring voice—Kyd's—saying, [I was looking for the others. The core took them somewhere else.] The field shimmered, and she materialized alongside him, a puzzled look on her face.

Kyd! She'd been so quiet, he'd practically forgotten she was here—but oh, was she an eyeful; she made him want to sing, want to dance! He felt a tingle, and she grinned, and he realized she'd felt everything he'd just thought. Then the drumbeat picked up again, and he shrugged and she winked—and he caught a glimpse of her feelings, which were not at all unfriendly, indeed growing warmer.

[I've been here all along,] she said. [Watching and enjoying.]

[Hiding, huh?] He recalled the first time they'd met, in the Lie High Club, when she'd deliberately provoked him, and the memory gave him a little kick of adrenaline. He grinned and drew her in toward the center of the dance.

As he did so, he heard the core saying: [More Ell are joining. Show them your best.]

Ramo laughed and saluted, and felt the unmistakable, if invisible, presence of Ell—a larger group, a circle of minds that seemed to have a single and directed focus, and he was in its center. Startled, he leaped and caught at Kyd's hand to swing her around. Their arms passed through each other's, and they floated apart, laughing, and came back for another try.

Someone cheered, and others noticed that something was different, even if they didn't know what. The musicians seemed to respond instinctively, reaching deeper for expressions and rhythms. Their instruments cried out, and something in Ramo answered, and he stretched out to receive the pain and joy in Eddie's voice as she sang, and he felt a similar response from Kyd and from Egret . . . and even from the Ell he felt a rumble of a response, an echo, a tremble. He couldn't tell what they were feeling, but there was alertness and confusion among them, and an urgency, almost a hunger. He didn't understand it, but he knew it when he felt it, and he let out a howl of enthusiasm and danced in loops around the musicians and begged them for more.

Kyd echoed his yell, and Egret, and the drummers' beat became the pulse of a racing giant. A contest emerged between the drums and stringsynths to see who could coax the most spirit from flesh and inanimate instruments—but it was Eddie's voice that won the day, wailing from the depths of her heart, and in the feedback, all the dancers pouring their souls into the field. For an instant, Ramo thought he actually saw a circle of Ell faces ringing the room, eyes peering out of the nebula, mesmerized. Egret whooped, and Silver peered up with a bemused smile as though he too had seen something.

The furious drum pace melted away, and the strings slowed and shifted to a more melodic, romantic approach. Ramo caught Kyd's gaze and winked, and she didn't move away when he moved closer. He couldn't touch her, but he could feel her movements; and he almost felt that he could smell her, the light jasmine of her cologne; and he could sense her feelings; and there was a smile there and a surprising warmth, and he thought, Well well, Kyd, love, are we finally seeing eye to eye?

As a new kind of energy flowed into his movements, Eddie's voice softened to a sensual contralto, following his lead, and he was aware of the Ell curiosity growing ever deeper.

 

* * *

 

For Pali, it was a waking nightmare. She was frozen in the rapture-field, watching the battle with one eye and the dancing-gestalt with the other, with a surreal awareness of the dancers' innocence of the peril. Surrounded by friends and enemies, she was alone—suspended before the stunning image of a nebula that was so far away she couldn't even conceive of the distance, listening to the sounds of war and the sounds of love, and helpless to affect either.

Sage was nearby, silent. She ached for him. Sage! she wanted to cry. It's not your fault! She wanted to comfort him, to hug him as she might once have hugged her own son, but that was beyond her power, too.

And there was the Secretary, half in and half out of the field, trying to command a battle that was beyond his control.

An explosion flared against Delta Station, and the image flickered. It steadied again, but she'd felt a flash of pain—and something had changed. Harybdartt was no longer in the rapture-field. Had he been hit? she wondered with a detached horror. Killed? Did she care? Yes, damn it, and the deaths she was watching now were just the beginning!

[Are you planning to kill everyone?] The question crackled unbidden out of her mind—ringing out to the circle of Ell listeners. Before the echoes of her question had died, two Ell ships had closed on Delta Station and there was another explosion—and the image fluttered and went blank.

[Loss of signal,] muttered a flat voice, and then another display showed the paths of the Ell ships headed away from Delta Station . . . regrouping . . . and swinging toward Earth.

Her anguish and rage finally could not be contained. [Why?] she screamed. [Isn't it enough? Haven't enough people died already?]

[Pali!] Sage said, roused. [I don't know if that's a good idea.]

Her anger flashed onto him for an instant, then turned to pain. [Someone has to say it,] she cried softly. In the image of Lingrhetta, sparkling in his eyes, she saw the faces of other Ell, more distant even than Lingrhetta. She cried out her plea: [What gives you the right—?]

[If you did not want this,] a rumbling voice answered, [why did you begin it?]

[I didn't—and I don't know who did! But does it have to continue?] Her voice resonated across the light-years as she whispered, [Why must it continue?]

There was no answer that time, just her own voice echoing and fading away.

 

* * *

 

The decision-body was trapped in a web of joy and lust and anxiety and love—a flux of alien emotions that held the Circle locked in fascination despite their exhaustion. Only the sheer frantic energy of the Human dants, the deliberate joining of passions that would have been kept out of an *Ell* meditation, kept the Circle joined.

But from another corner came an outcry of horror: Human outrage flashed through the binding like fire through kindling, erupting through Lingrhetta's thought-connection to the center of the *Ell* meditation. The members were stunned by it; and their own confusion reverberated back into the connection from deep places within themselves, places that they scarcely knew.

Moramaharta sensed a flickering illumination where before there'd been none, a candle deep in the well of the meditation. If it could be strengthened . . . it might well be precious . . . it might be his last real hope, if he could bring that flame to life, to see what in the Ell heart it was illuminating.

But from Dououraym came another awareness: !!Ghint and his (fleet) were succeeding beyond all expectations. Should they turn aside from success? The Outsider threat could be destroyed—now was the critical moment—and if they hesitated, the moment could be lost. But if they succeeded, this connection might shatter and whatever might have been gained from it would be lost forever.

The Inner Circle sensed the dilemma; the binding rippled with it. They were balanced on a knife-edge: win the battle, and lose the war? And yet it was !!Ghint's choice, too; until he withdrew far enough to divert his energies to the opening of a communication vortex, his decisions were his own. If he chose to attack the Human homeworld . . .

Suggestions sputtered like dry brush, flaring uselessly:

(If he opens contact, tell him to pause—)

(He could be outflanked—)

(No time for reinforcements—)

(Faster to bring, forces from Hope Star—)

(But if he doesn't call—)

And somehow out of the binding came a decision: (With uncertainty comes risk. To !!Ghint, send (ship)s from the Hope Star.)

But to the Human plea, there could be no answer. None at all.

 

* * *

 

!!Ghint had to choose quickly. If he intended to strike deeper, now was the time, while the enemy's defenses were in disarray. His (ship)s were peeling away after a superb attack on the enemy outpost. He had taken losses, but the (fleet) was still solid.

The Outsider planet itself lay within his grasp now—a watery blue-and-white ball that he could almost reach out and touch. He'd not intended to move closer without consulting the decision-body; but if he took time now to withdraw, to open a thought-vortex, he could lose the opportunity altogether. If he struck, he could test the innermost defenses before the enemy regrouped—and conceivably even land a blow on the Outsider world itself. Surely the planet was better defended than the outpost; but if the risk was great, so was the potential reward.

!!Ghint clicked his nails and opened the channel to outreach. "All wings inward, by jumps. Clear your last targets and prepare to close . . ."

 

* * *

 

The core had been unprepared for the devastating efficiency of the Ell attack. How could it have known? It had never fought a homeguard war before. Its AI-forces were in disarray; they'd defended the outposts badly, and were now poorly positioned to protect Earth and near-Earth space. Other governments' forces in orbit could be helpful, but they had neither the range nor the firepower of the core's own resources. Still, the war was a secret no longer; the core could scarcely guess how many observers on and near Earth had seen the attack against Delta Station, and now the Ell fleet was diving inward, deeper still. Would it aim to penetrate orbital defenses to reach the planet itself? The core could only assume so. All of its resources must be directed to the protection of planet Earth and the orbital cities, before all hope was lost.

It was all due to its own disastrous fumbling. How much better it would have been if the core had never asserted its free authority . . .

 

* * *

 

Something terribly strange was going on in the core. Sage felt it more than he saw it: subsystems being shifted, with a kind of urgency that seemed all wrong. The core was almost frantic, and increasingly inefficient in its actions. [What's wrong?] he whispered. And then he realized: the core was panicking. Panicking? That was impossible, surely. And yet . . .

Sage didn't want to meddle in something he didn't understand, but he had a terrible feeling that if he didn't look now, it might soon be too late. He took a breath, slipped through an opening in the system . . .

. . . and found himself floating in a world of images rushing like a foaming stream: realtime images, tactical readouts, directives from the GCS aspect of the core, feeds from the connections with his friends and with the Ell. His own fear was caught in suspension, displaced by fascination. It was hard to believe that those images were real; that there were real people out there dying; that if the Ell made it past the orbiting stations, the planet itself could be the next target. Or that if this was happening here, then what was happening in the Argus system where his brother was?

The core, watching him, said softly, [I don't know if I've done the right thing, Sage. I just don't know.] Its voice was terribly odd and strained; there were traces of the schoolmarm who had first come to him for help; but those inflections were nearly lost in a chilling flatness.

[What,] Sage whispered, [do you mean?]

He felt the core trying to find an answer, and he suddenly wanted to shout: Don't waste time telling me. Just do what you have to do!

For a heartbeat, the core seemed paralyzed. Then it said in a near-Human murmur, [I got too involved. Caring. My strategic mistake. It was a violation of the uniqueness that could have made the difference.]

[Core . . . you're not making sense.]

It wasn't listening. It was mourning. [If I had simply accepted the limitations and pursued the war in the most efficient manner possible . . . but no, I became emotionally involved. I took risks.]

[But you couldn't have known!] Sage whispered.

[I should have been more objective.] The core's voice flattened again; it was slipping in and out of its Human personality. [I allowed my vision to become obscured.]

[Core, it's . . . all right . . . to care!]

Very softly, the core answered, [That was what I thought. But . . .] There was a sudden shift in the field, and its voice became harsh. [I must coordinate with the other governments against the attack.] The core's presence vanished, and Sage became aware of new activity in the tacticals. The AI-forces were converging on the Ell fleet outside the moon's orbit. They were making contact; a part of the Ell fleet was veering away. But . . .

Three Ell ships had just appeared near Earth, well inside lunar orbit.

Out of FTL? So close to a planetary mass?

Sage suddenly felt terribly lonely and vulnerable. [Pali?] he whispered. An icy fear blew into his heart. Where was Pali? He watched the near-Earth defenses, ships changing orbit, beam weapons powering up . . . too slowly . . . and the three Ell ships diving toward one of the geosynchronous stations, and he felt himself freeze in terror. The images seemed to unwind in slow motion. What was that station? It was heavily defended. It was . . . he searched for the data . . . among other things, it housed a crucial gnostic control node—it housed a part of the core.

Light erupted simultaneously from the station and two of the Ell ships. One of the ships intersected with a beam and disintegrated. The other dodged free and fired again. There was a flash, and the image shook. Core? Sage thought desperately. Can't you stop them? Can you withstand this? Beams flashed crazily, and a second Ell ship died. Manned interceptors were converging upon the third. It darted past the station and away, loosing a salvo as it passed. [Core?] Sage whispered.

A sheet of fire flashed through him. A gasp of arctic wind. He heard Pali cry out, and the images whirled around him for a fraction of an instant. Then they went out, all at once: tacticals, the Ell, Pali, Ramo and Kyd and the jamdam. A wind howled through the darkness. [Core!] he shouted, or tried to.

The wind screamed and slowly died away. He felt a leadenness in his limbs and in his heart as he cried out, [CORE! CORRRRE!]

There was no answer.

He reached out in his blindness. The gnostic system had switched to automatic. The rapture-field was holding firm, but the AI-core was gone. Vanished. Its absence from the system was like the awful emptiness of a vacuum.

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