“Do what you can,” Shaz insisted, “and we will speak to you on Derius.”
Kane eyed the woman and forced Dyson to smile. “I don’t believe we have met.”
Phan knew the look and allowed a smile to touch her lips. “No, I don’t believe we have. My name is Du Phan.”
“Du Phan . . .” the disincarnate said experimentally.
“Well, Du Phan, until next time then.”
As the assassin ran the tip of a pink tongue over her already glossy lips, Kane felt Dyson’s body respond. And so, for that matter, did the being to which it belonged. Because while slightly out of phase with his physical form, the sensitive was conscious of everything that took place and didn’t like the way in which Kane was making free with his body. He struggled to push the invading spirit out, eventually managed to do so, and found himself soaked with sweat. Somehow, Dyson had been thrust to the forefront of a war he didn’t understand and wanted no part of.
“Good work,” Shaz said emotionlessly. “Come on . . . We have things to do.”
The spaceship She who swims the void
Like a silvery fi?sh in a large black pond Shewhoswimsthevoid slipped past a gravelly asteroid belt, swung round a planet-sized orange-red boulder, and began to decelerate. Because up ahead, only ship hours away, lay her next port of call, the planet that the biobeings riding deep within her ancient hull knew as Thara. It was a planet that she had orbited many times before. For such was her purpose, and what she experienced as pleasure, even though the doing of it would eventually lead to her dissolution. But, like the natural laws that governed what the great vessel could do in space, the urges inherent in her programming limited what Shewhoswims could desire, and thereby ensured that so long as the ship could carry people from one planet to another, she would. Regardless of the cost to her. The question wasn’t if she would die, but when, and even though it lay within her power to carry out the necessary calculations. Shewhoswims chose not to do so. Because for the moment she had purpose, and that made her happy. Cool nothingness caressed the ship’s hull, galaxies wheeled in the unimaginable distance, and a thousand suns lit the way.
The city of Tryst, on the Planet Thara
The public market occupied the topmost level of Tryst, where golden sunlight shone through the glass panels set into the domed roof, and goods were hoisted from the ground below by means of wooden cranes. Each massive swing arm was named after the family to which it belonged and was served by a team of sturdy angens. They made squalling sounds as they walked endless circles around brightly painted capstans.
Just to the rear of the cranes was an extremely busy thoroughfare that the cart men used to transport newly arrived goods, even as hundreds of people swirled around them. There were red hats, black hats, bakers, soldiers, scribes, metalsmiths, townspeople, tailors, heavies, herbalists, and gangs of schoolchildren all weaving a transitory tapestry of thought, language, and color. It made for a heady atmosphere and one which Norr, who rarely got a chance to spend time with Rebo, enjoyed. Because right then, as the couple strolled hand in hand, they could interact in a way that just wasn’t possible when others were around.
Having entered the market proper, Rebo and Norr found themselves following one of two dozen aisles that converged on the center of the pie-shaped fl?oor plan. That was where all of the food vendors were forced to gather so that their smoke could be channeled up through a single hole at the center of the domed roof. The odors of freshly baked bread, roasted meat, and brewed caf combined to make Rebo’s stomach growl. But it was too early for lunch—and there was work to do. “The fi?rst thing we need is a gunsmith,” the runner mused, as they paused at an intersection. “It will take them time to crank out fi?ve hundred rounds—so the sooner they get going the better.”
“That makes sense,” Norr agreed. “Then we’ll shop for fuel, dried food, and personal items.”
And so it was agreed. It took half an hour to fi?nd a gunsmith who could perform the work to Rebo’s specifi?cations plus an hour to gather up the other items they needed. And it was then, while Norr was waiting for the runner to return from a consultation with a Ju-Ju master, that Norr ran into the old crone. She was a sensitive by the look of her, albeit an ancient one, who told fortunes for a living. Her booth consisted of little more than panels of blue cloth stretched over a wood frame. She had straggly white hair and, judging from the wrinkled skin that hung around her face, had once been heavier than she was now. Cataracts clouded her eyes, but her second sight remained clear, and she could sense the young woman’s presence. “Come over here, dear. I won’t hurt you,” the old woman said reassuringly. “Even though there are others who would!”
Norr felt sorry for the seer and found the last statement to be intriguing. “Here,” the sensitive said, as she pressed a coin into the oldster’s palm. “Tell me more.”
The contact caused the old crone to cock her head to one side and frown. “What is this?” she demanded. “Some sort of trick? You have the gift . . . Tell your own fortune.”
“No,” Norr replied gently as she took her place on the low stool that fronted the oldster’s well-worn chair. “You know what they say . . . The seer who looks to his own future is blind.”
“What you say is true,” the older sensitive replied, as she revealed some badly decayed teeth. “And I know what it is to be blind! Give me your hand.”
Norr reached out to take the fortune-teller’s hand. It was extremely warm. “Ah,” the old woman said knowingly.
“You are but halfway through a long journey . . . and the greatest dangers lie ahead.”
“What sort of dangers?”
“Beware of the thief,” the seer cautioned importantly.
“Lest you lose that which is most precious.”
Norr nodded. “Go on.”
“There will be a battle,” the other woman predicted.
“And when it comes you must seek that which you already have.”
While the fi?rst message seemed like an obvious reference to Logos, the second didn’t make any sense at all, but Norr was polite nonetheless. “Thank you,” the younger sensitive replied. “I will keep that in mind.”
“And there’s something more,” the fortune-teller added, her eyes seemingly focused on something Norr couldn’t see.
“Yes?”
“An angel is watching over you. A dark angel but an angel nonetheless. There is a momentary alignment between you. It cannot last but could be helpful in the short run. Does that make sense?”
“No,” Norr replied. “It doesn’t . . . Not right now. But perhaps later it will.”
The reading came to an end shortly after that, Norr went to lunch with Rebo, and a metal man followed the couple back to the guildhall.
The spaceport, or what hadbeen the spaceport, had been transformed into a huge crater some 4,216 years earlier, when an ark ship crashed there. Most of the ship’s hull had been salvaged and converted into tools, implements, and construction materials that were still being recycled and used. But a few pieces of riblike metal continued to curve up toward the sky and harkened back to days only dimly remembered. A sobering reminder of what could happen to those who traveled among the stars. But that didn’t stop thousands of runners, merchants, thieves, holy men, assassins, romantics, con artists, scholars, and lunatics of every possible description from gambling their lives each year. A fact made apparent by the long column of heavily burdened people who wound their way down out of the elevated city of Tryst to follow a narrow footpath out toward the crater. Of course, some of the people were spectators, children in tow, who would return to their homes by nightfall. But those who wore packs, or carried bundles between them, were intent on boarding the shuttle if it landed. Those who were veteran travelers, individuals like Rebo, Norr, and Hoggles, carried just what they needed, while neophytes had a tendency to neglect essentials like fuel, food, and medicine in favor of frivolous items like folding furniture, elaborate shelters, and fancy clothing—much of which would either be stolen by their fellow passengers, converted into fuel to ward off the cold, or abandoned as impractical. For his part Rebo felt pretty good about the provisions the three of them carried, especially the locally made fuel tablets, packets of dried food, and the hand-loaded ammunition acquired the day before. And, adding to the runner’s sense of well-being was the powerful talisman that he had purchased to supplement the much-stressed amulet that had seen him through the last few months. Norr believed such things were silly, not to mention superstitious, but Rebo knew better. He was alive, wasn’t he? Even though plenty of people wanted him dead. That spoke for itself. The runner’s thoughts were interrupted by a sound similar to rolling thunder as a wedge-shaped shuttle broke the sound barrier and circled high above. There was a shout of jubilation as spectators and travelers alike paused to celebrate the ship’s return. They couldn’t see Shewhoswims, of course, since the vessel was far too large to negotiate a planetary atmosphere, but the sight of the shuttle was wondrous enough, especially for those who had never seen a fl?ying machine before. And there were at least a thousand pilgrims, many of whom had walked hundreds of miles in hopes of bearing witness to a landing and thereby confi?rming what some people said. Out beyond the darkness lay other planets, populated by humans just like them, all having a common ancestry. The visitors were understandably excited as the fantastic apparition lost altitude and prepared to land. Horns sounded, drums rattled, and bells tolled as the long, colorful procession followed the seldom-used path down into the crater and the mound of hard-packed earth that dominated the center of it. For it was there, on what amounted to a huge pedestal, that the space black shuttle would put down.