“That’s right.”
“Not a very old complex, then?” Rhiow said.
“Nope. A little finicky, this one. The population pressure built up around it in fits and starts rather than steadily, and it kept losing population abruptly—the city kept getting sacked, having plagues and fires, things like that. The matrices formed under touchy circumstances. But the Tower Bridge complex is good for long-range transits: better than ours, even. No one’s sure why. Convergence of ley lines, gravitic anomalies under that hill close to the bridge, who knows?” Urruah waved his tail. “Leave it to the theorists.”
“Like you, now.”
He put his whiskers forward, but the expression in his eyes was ironic. “Well, we’re all diversifying a little at the moment, aren’t we? Not that we have much choice.”
“You miss her too,” Rhiow said softly.
Urruah watched Arhu for a little, and then said, “She used to go on and on about these little details. Now I wonder whether she had a hint of what was going to happen …”
The interesting thing,” Rhiow said, “is that you remembered all this.”
He looked at her sidewise. “Shouldn’t surprise you. ‘He lives in a dumpster, he’s got a brain like a dumpster’, isn’t that what you always say?”
“I never say that,” Rhiow said, scandalized, having often thought that very thing.
“Huh,” Urruah said, and his whiskers went further forward. “Anyway, this complex handles a lot of off-planet work—emergency interventions, and the routine training and cultural exchange transits involving wizards here and elsewhere in the Local Group of galaxies. Bigger scheduled transits than that tend to go to Chur or Alexandria or Beijing, to keep Tower Bridge from getting overloaded, Saash told me. It overloads easily—something to do with the forces tangled around that hill with the old castle on it.”
“Should I try somewhere else?” Arhu said, now bored with looking at the traffic.
“Sure, go ahead,” Rhiow said, waving her tail in casual assent, and Arhu sat up on his haunches again and hooked his claws into the control matrix, while Rhiow looked thoughtfully for a moment more at that old tower. There were a lot of physical places associated with ehhif that acquired personality artifact over many years, probably as a result of the ehhif tendency to stay in one place for generations. People didn’t do that, as a rule, and found the prospect slightly pathologicaclass="underline" but there was no use judging one species by another’s standards—the One doubtless had Her reasons for designing them differently. Ten lives on, maybe we’ll all be told…
“It’s stuck,” Arhu said suddenly.
“What? Stuck how?”
“I don’t know. It’s just stuck.”
Urruah got up and stalked over to look the gate-web up and down. To a Person’s eyes, its underweave, the warp and woof of interwoven hyperstrings which produced the gating effect, were still plainly visible through the image of sunshine on that other landscape, the tangle of buildings and traffic beyond. Arhu was sitting up with the brilliant strings of the “control weave” now stretched again between his paws, pulled taut and in the correct configuration for viewing. “Look,” Arhu said, and twisted his paws so that the weave changed configuration, went much more “open”, a maneuver that should have shut down the gate to the bare matrix again.
The gate just hung there, untroubled and unmoved, and showed the bridge and the traffic, and the ehhif hurrying by.
Rhiow came up beside Urruah. “Do it again.”
“I can’t, not from this configuration, anyway.”
“I mean take that last move back, then re-execute.”
Arhu did.
Nothing changed. The morning was bright, and shone on the Bridge and the river…
“Let me try,” Urruah said.
“Why?” Rhiow said. “He did it right.”
Urruah looked at her in astonishment. “Well, he …”
“He did it right. Let’s not rush to judgment: let’s have a look at this.”
They all did. The strings looked all right … but something else was the matter: nothing that they could see. As she peered at the view, and the gate, Rhiow started to get the feeling that someone was looking over her shoulder…
…and then realized that Someone was. She did not have to look to see: she knew Who it was.
There’s a problem, the voice whispered in her ear.
Urruah’s ears flicked: nothing to do with the ambient noise. Arhu’s eyes went wide. He was still getting used to hearing the Whisperer. It took some getting used to, for the voice in your mind sounded like your own thought … except that it was not. It plainly came from somewhere else, and at first the feeling could be as bizarre as feeling someone else switch your tail.
Rhiow’s was switching now, without help. Well, madam, she thought, do You know what this problem is?
The gate with which yours is presently in affinity is malfunctioning, said the silent voice inside their heads. The London gating team requires your assistance—they will be expecting you. You should leave as soon as you can make arrangements for covering your own territory during your absence.
And that was it: the voice was silent, the presence gone, as suddenly as it had come.
Arhu blinked, though this time he didn’t drop the strings. “What did She mean?” he said. “Where’s London?”
The place we’ve been looking at,” Rhiow said, glancing at the Bridge again. “About a third of the way around the planet. Look in that fourth group of strings and you’ll see the coordinates.”
“You mean we have to go away?”
“That’s what she said,” said Urruah, dismayed. To London, yet.”
“I would have thought you’d be happy, Ruah,” Rhiow said, slightly amused despite her own surprise and concern. The butchers and all …”
“When you’re visiting, that’s one thing,” Urruah said, sitting down and licking his nose. “Working … that’s something else. It wasn’t so much fun the last time.”
“We have to go work on someone else’s gates?” Arhu said, letting the strings go, carefully, one at a time. “And you did this before?”
“We had to go help a team in Tokyo,” said Rhiow, “halfway around the planet: it was about a sunround and a half ago. We were there for nearly three weeks. It was something of a logistical nightmare … but we got the job done.”
“ ‘Something’ of a nightmare—!” Urruah muttered, and lay down on the platform, looking across at the commuters as they came and went. “You have a talent for understatement.”
“There’s no telling how long we’ll be gone on one of these consultational trips,” Rhiow said, “but they’re not normally brief. Usually we’re only called in for consultation when the local team has exhausted all its other options and still hasn’t solved the problem.”
“Why us, though?” Arhu said.
“We’re the senior gating team on the planet,” Urruah said, “because we work with Grand Central. It’s not that we’re all that much better at the job than anyone else—” and Rhiow blinked at this sudden access of humility from Urruah—“but the main gating matrices in the Old Downside, ‘under’ the Terminal, are the oldest functioning worldgate complex on the planet. All the other gating complexes which have since come into being have ‘affinity’ links through Grand Central to the Downside matrices.”
“Think of all those other gating complexes as branches of a tree,” Rhiow said, “and Grand Central as the last of the really big complexes that branched out closest to the trunk. There have been others that were bigger or older, but for one reason or another they’re gone now … so Grand Central is the last of the ‘firstborn’ gating complexes, the ones that Aaurh the Maker set in place Herself when the world was young. Since we routinely work with Grand Central, and less routinely with the Downside matrices, we’re expected to be competent to troubleshoot gates further up the ‘tree’ as well.”