"So what are we to do? Accept the tyranny of the system we've got, or bring in a new, different kind of tyranny on the theory that any change will be an improvement? The Guard has always refused to make that choice for us--and this is because they recognize that they do not have the right.
"The Guard's correct not to make the decision for us," she shouted out to anyone who would hear. "For it is our decision to make. It is time for us to take collective responsibility for our situation, and decide: do we accept that we will only ever be able to use those few primitive technologies that Candesce permits us to use? Will we command the Guard to throw open the Gates of Virga and let Artificial Nature into our world, thus changing it irreversibly? Or is there some middle way? Maybe we can send our youth to study in the outside universe, let them return wiser and more knowledgeable than we can be. Maybe we should stop isolating ourselves, and begin asking for news of that wider universe. Allow immigration, emigration, and the transit of ideas even while we use Candesce's power to maintain Virga's technologies as they are.
"Maybe," she said, and now her smile was genuine and confident, "maybe we have other choices."
The talk wound down but now it was all theatrics and calls for action, and when it was done Antaea bowed to the usual applause. The message had been sent, her gauntlet thrown down. Now all she had to do was wait.
She signed books and chatted with people for a while as the crowd slowly dispersed. One of the suns was going out for local night, and in a formerly dark quadrant of the sky, another was coming alight. Antaea yawned as the last autograph-seeker flapped away, and eyed Candesce, which was the sun she set her watch by these days. It blazed as brightly as ever, but she knew it wouldn't be long until it shut down for the evening as well. Then, this unbelievable sky would reveal a sight even more beautiful than the fine colors that reigned now, as millions of windows and running lights lit up across hundreds of miles of clear air. She could go to sleep in the embrace of a measureless galaxy of home and city light. When she closed her eyes, some nights that light remained in her dreams.
"Time to retire, my lady," said Richard Reiss, her agent. She turned and smiled at him.
"What did I say?"
"Nothing." She shrugged. "How was our take tonight?"
"Respectable." He held a thick satchel. "Best get to the drop-off before someone tries to mug us for it."
They shared a smile. There were few people alive who could best Antaea in a fair fight. The money wasn't the bait for their trap, anyway. She'd already laid that out.
Now, as the purple light of Candesce's evening began to wash across the principality skies, she climbed into their twin-engined aircar and took the satchel from Richard's hand. Slipstream's former ambassador to Gehellen was proud to turn his wine-stain birthmark to the light these days; notoriety, he'd discovered, suited him as well as respectability once had. His knowledge of principality fashions and customs was invaluable to Antaea during this junket--as he'd known it would be.
He settled into the cockpit. "Our hotel? Or a good restaurant. I know of one," he said.
"I'm tired," she admitted. "Maybe the hotel tonight." He nodded and turned to his controls, and she reached out to shut the hatch.
"Excuse me." A large figure blocked the outside light. "Are you Antaea Argyre?"
Her hand shot to the little pistol at her belt. "Sorry, show's over," she said quickly as she hauled on the door handle.
A large hand reached up and the door wouldn't move. Antaea pulled out the pistol and aimed it straight at the silhouetted man's chest, her own heart suddenly pounding. "Let go or I'll shoot!"
"Shooting will be quite unnecessary," said another, familiar-sounding voice. A slim silhouette moved into the light, and Antaea's grip on the door eased. "Captain Sayrea Airsigh, of the Home Guard's Last Line," she said. "I believe we met four or five years ago, at the Gates of Virga? --At least, I gather I made an impression on you, since I hear you've been using my name as one of your aliases, lately."
Damn Crase anyway. He'd obviously reported her presence in Sere. She smiled anyway. "Yes, Captain, it was quite a party, and I do remember you. It's good to see you."
"And you," said Airsigh in a sincere tone.
"Apart from catching up on old times, though, I've been instructed to invite you to a small meeting my people have organized. We'd like your opinion on something--or rather, someone."
"Do I have your guarantee that I'll be let go again safely afterwards?"
Airsigh took the question seriously. "You do."
Antaea glanced at Richard, who shrugged. "What do you mean, you want my opinion on someone?"
"The Last Line has a visitor--from outside."
"Outside? You mean--"
"The First Line have sent us an ambassador from beyond Virga, and we don't know what to make of him.
"We'd like you to help us answer a question. Is he--"
"--a monster?" Antaea nodded grimly. "Yes.
"I can do that."
13
"KEEP UP" WAS all Venera Fanning said. So they tried.
Five countries in five days: that had been Keir's first week with Venera. Her viciously thin yacht, the Judgment, would scream from destination to destination while Venera stood up from its hatch to hold out her hand to men on passing jet bikes, like a falconer waiting for her bird to alight on her wrist. What the passing hands exchanged with her was letters. Outbound, she sent announcements (or, perhaps, warnings) of her imminent arrival at this or that palace or pavilion; inbound, she received cautious, fawning, or stiffly cool acknowledgments.
A very public campaign was under way by ambassadors and senior public officials of both Slipstream and Aerie; they, too, were fanning out across the world, visiting capitals and city-states everywhere from the principalities to Virga's cold outer reaches. They brought reminders of the two incursions into Virga that had occurred within the past several years, and proposed that all concerned heads of state send delegates to a grand colloquy, to be held in Aerie's new capital city, Aurora. The Virga Home Guard were invited as well--though whether the semimythical organization would show up was anybody's guess--to give an accounting of their own actions to the people of Virga.
Venera's mission was not so public. Her extensive spy network had spent years researching vulnerabilities and finding the skeletons in everybody's closets. For those nations and cities which proved reluctant to attend the colloquy, she was acting as a discreet second strand of persuasion. It was a process that was fascinating to watch.
As they approached the mauve or peach or lime-colored airs of the next nation on their itinerary, Venera would order one of her men out to hang gay banners off the more wicked-looking of the yacht's fins. Twirling Slipstream's colors, they glided into port like some fabulously long-lived firework. Then, the fast-and-furious game would begin.
Keir usually watched that game from a distance.
"What is she telling them?" Leal Maspeth hissed now; she was craning her neck to see the head table at tonight's banquet. The nation was Unduvine, the city Greydrop. More than that, Keir didn't know, except that they built their town wheels of iron and asteroidal stone, and that this great hall whose corner he and Leal sat in was ancient.
He glanced over his shoulder. Venera Fanning had leaned forward, across the table, and was putting most of her weight on the dinner knife she'd plunged into the oak tabletop. The ambassadors, admirals, nobles, and members of parliament seated with her were to a man cringing back in their own chairs, for all the world as if Venera were radiating some force field.