"An interstellar empire makes no sense, economically or politically. There is no possibility of meaningful trade save in information; fabrication will always be cheaper than any possible transport. The taxes we pay are punitive, and don't even enrich the Shiras; they only serve to pay for the Navy ships and bases which enslave us. The purpose of the Empire is purely ideological, purely intended to make us bow down before the light of a star so dim and remote that most of us have trouble finding it. And the Empresses' political control is destructive, even when it is not harsh. It hinders our own political development, our exploitation of this system, and the colonisation of others. Even this, however, we might have tolerated, for all empires wither in time."
"But something has changed/' Densel guessed.
"Yes. We believe the latest Shira represents a grave danger to us all. Do you know anything of the court?"
"I met her once," Densel said. "Shira XXXII. She touched my head; she blessed me in Sol's light, before she sent me to die. I learned nothing of her."
"Then you've never heard of metamathematical spaces—of logic pools? Of a man called Highsmith Marsden?"
"No ... "
"Marsden ran secretive experiments more than a thousand years ago. The result of his meddling was the destruction of a moon of Sol VIII."
"Neptune."
"Now we fear that the Empress's meddling with the same technology is liable to cause an even greater danger."
"Even for us, here in Alpha system?"
"Even here," Flood said seriously. "Shira must be stopped."
Densel felt cold, as if his heart were being stopped by nanomachines once more. "You're going to invade Sol system."
"Yes, we're going to invade. We intend to defeat Sol's navies and armies, to occupy the Earth, and to depose Shira herself. We call this programme the Starfall, the falling of the wrath of the stars upon the Earth."
Densel laughed. "You can't be serious. You can't defeat Earth. The starborn number a few tens of thousands. Earth's population is billions."
"We have advantages—the principal one being that nobody has attempted a war on this scale before. And you are honoured, Densel Bel. Because you're going along for the ride. Come to the port." He put an arm around Densel's shoulders. "Can you walk?"
Densel took cautious steps. The smart webbing released and embraced him smoothly, holding him to the floor.
Beyond the window GUTships hung in space like toys. Flitters moved between the great vessels, and bots and humans worked on scuffed lifedome bubbles and balky GUT drive pods. This clumsy armada drifted over the nightside face of Footprint.
"So this is how you're going to defeat Shira XXXII," he said bitterly. "With these rusty scows."
Flood was unfazed. "Our assault will proceed in four waves, which will arrive at Sol system more or less simultaneously. The First Wave is a lightspeed viral attack and will actually be the last to be launched. The Second Wave, a deeply-sublight stealth assault, was assembled and launched some decades ago. These GUTships constitute the Third and Fourth Waves. The Third Wave ships are weapons platforms and troop carriers. I myself will be embarking on the Freestar, the lead ship, very soon.
"And you, my friend, will be aboard one of the Fourth Wave ships, which we call the Fists. You don't need to be launched for another nine months. You'll catch us up, you see."
"How? By accelerating at higher gravities?"
"Oh, no. It's just that you won't be slowing down."
Densel Bel stared at him. "Why put me on this ship of fools?"
"I told you. We always thought you were useful. You'll have plenty of time to think it over in flight—more than two years subjective, in fact. But I don't have to tell you any more now. You see that, don't you?"
"Yes," Densel said. He did see it. For effectively, as Flood had said, his life was over, his ability to make choices about his future already gone.
"Now let's get on with it. There's only a few more hours before the Third Wave ships light up. My daughter, Beya," he indicated the young woman at his side, "will take you to the ship that is to be your home for the rest of your life ... "
Densel gazed down on the planet's sparse lights helplessly, wondering if even now Su-su and Fay were looking up at him.
AD 4815
Starfall minus 4 years 8 months
Sol System
Stillich's orders were clear. As soon as the Facula docked at Port Sol, he was to make his way direct to Earth and report to the imperial court, to expand on the reports he had been narrowcasting from space.
But as he passed through Port Sol he could not help notice what had become of it during his twenty-seven-year absence.
Port Sol, mankind's greatest GUT-technology interstellar harbour, was a Kuiper object: a two-hundred-kilometre ball of friable rock and water-ice that circled the sun beyond the orbit of Pluto, along with uncounted companions. As Stillich's flitter dipped low over a crystalline landscape, on its way to the Interface to Earth, the work of humanity was clear. The primordial ice was gouged by hundreds of craters: deep, regular, these were scars left after the supply of the great interstellar GUTships with ice for reaction mass. There were buildings too, housing for dock workers and ship crews, even a couple of hotels, with domes, pylons and arches exploiting the microgravity. But many of the buildings were closed, darkened. Thin frost coated their surfaces, and some of the domes were collapsed. GUTships hung all around the little world, as if jostling for a place to land.
"Lethe," said Pella. "Something bad happened here."
Now the flitter lifted away from Port Sol, and a cluster of wormhole Interfaces swam towards them, giant tetrahedra built of struts of electric-blue light. The wormholes to the stars had been cut, but the ancient fast-transit routes within Sol system itself still connected Port Sol to the rest of the system. Without hesitation Stillich's flitter thrust itself towards the largest of the wormholes, the gateway to Earth, only minutes away. Pella watched nervously.
Stillich was paging through a data desk, looking for information about Port Sol. "Some kind of 'industrial accident', it says here. A GUTship blew up in dry dock. It's put the construction facilities out of action for a decade, and the maintenance facilities are stretched."
One shimmering triangular face grew huge in their view, an electric-blue frame that swallowed up the flitter. The ship shuddered, buffeted, and blue-white light flared around them.
"And guess where that GUTship came from? Alpha. Of course Alpha is a pretty common destination. It might be coincidence. Or it might not. Get some images, Pella, and dig around in the data mines. See what else you can find on this."
"Sir ... "
Stillich looked up. Pella was gripping her data desk, trying not to cower.
The wormhole was a throat in space and time: a region of stress, of immensely high curvature, lined with exotic matter throughout its length. Now fragments of light swam from a vanishing point directly above their heads, swarmed down the spacetime walls and, fading, shot down over the horizon. This was radiation generated by the unravelling of stressed spacetime, deep in the throat of the flaw. There was a genuine sensation of speed, of uncontrollable velocity.
Stillich took pity on Pella, and let her endure the rest of the transit without making her work.
The flitter burst out of the destination Interface, amid a shower of sparks and exotic particles. Now they were among another cluster of wormhole terminuses, even bigger, even more crowded with jostling ships. This was Earthport, the system's central transit hub, positioned at a stable Lagrange point in lunar orbit. In contrast to the desolation of the outer system, Stillich had a powerful, immediate impression of bustle, prosperity, activity.