This, their travelcaptain assured them, was Rovruetz, Direaliete, a weather district and gas region of Nhouaste, the system’s own gas-giant.
The Aumapile of Aumapile was delighted. Just as it had thought! It fairly bounced out of the Velpin’s gaslock into the vast, shaded scape of towering RootClouds and horizon-spanning RayCanopies. It twirled like a centrifuge from sheer happiness. They spent another day, perfectly undisturbed by any native Dwellers, investigating the supposedly Toiler remains, which actually looked remarkably like an abandoned Dweller globe-city sitting on top of a damaged and discarded mega-klick BandTurbine. All very impressive, but not, Fassin and Y’sul both realised, what or where they were really looking for.
· This is not Rovruetz, Direaliete, is it? Fassin asked the truetwin shortly after they arrived, while the Aumapile of Aumapile dashed to and fro throughout the ruins, calibrating instruments and grabbing screenage.
· Are you mad? Of course not.
— Direaliete’s on the far side of the galaxy.
· Take days to get there.
· A system? Fassin asked.
· A system.
· I’ve no record of it, Fassin told the truetwin.
· You wouldn’t. Direaliete is its name in the Old Language.
— Well, variant thereof.
· So, Fassin sent, — this is just a trick.
· Correct.
— Our friend has what it wanted, we have what we wanted. Two out of two. One of our more successful missions.
— Meanwhile, Fassin sent, — we’re wasting time.
— Time wastes itself.
— Who are we to float in its way?
After offering to leave the breathless Sceuri scholar behind and come back for it — it wasn’t quite that easily fooled — and then telling it they really needed to be getting back now — it declared there was too much it still had to look for — Quercer Janath just abandoned the Sceuri, waiting until it had whirred off into the centre of the abandoned city before telling Fassin that the Aumapile of Aumapile had finally seen sense and was coming aboard in a moment for the trip back, getting the human and Y’sul secured, and then closing the external doors and taking off, warning their passengers there was some fairly intense spiralling ahead.
— What the fuck? Fassin signalled to Y’sul before the gascraft’s systems were shut down. — What about the Sceuri?
The Dweller had been in on it.
— A good joke, eh? he sent back, laughing.
Fassin signalled at the wall-screen, getting through to Quercer Janath in the command space.
— Did you warn the Aumapile you were about to leave?
— Yes.
Fassin waited. No more came. After a few moments he sent, -And?
— Didn’t believe us.
— Laughed.
· So you’re just abandoning this fabulously wealthy, appar-ently politically well-connected, Dweller-naive idiot in a gas-giant in its home system?
· About sums it up.
— Can’t say we didn’t warn him. It.
· Conditions of Passage.
· Don’t you think it might get hunted or just die anyway?
Fassin asked. — Or get back home, eventually, deeply annoyed?
· Suppose it’s a possibility.
— Keep going?
— Get back home, eventually, deeply annoyed with all Dwellers? And that that might be a bad thing for the Dwellers who live in Nhouaste?
— Point.
— Could cause friction.
— Kudos loss!
— Maybe we should have warned somebody we were leaving the flop-backed suck-puncture behind.
— Thinking. Suggestion. Know! We’ll send a signal.
— Happy?
Fassin didn’t even get time to reply.
— No more talk time. Switch off now, start spiralling.
* * *
The Archimandrite Luseferous reviewed his forces. The nearest parts were right here, within the curved, concentric hulls of the Main Battle Craft Luseferous VII: they were his space and ground crack troops, all stood at attention by their sleek all-environments attack craft and high-skill-spec weaponry. The warships, support craft, troop carriers, landers, bombardment monitors, harrier drones, missile carriers, scout and surveillance machines and other vessels plus miscellaneous heavy devices he could discern — stretching as far as the unaided eye could see into the distance — were just projections. But they were live, real-time, and mostly clustered within a few light seconds of the invasion fleet’s core, whose absolute, steely heart was the Main Battle Craft Luseferous VII.
This was, in a way, the Archimandrite’s favourite bit. He had made a tradition of reviewing his forces like this before every major engagement, and especially before every system invasion, simply because it was such an astoundingly rewarding experience. Even the feeling of victory achieved — of having crushed and overcome, of having utterly prevailed — was hardly any better than this, when all the forces that would soon be thrown into the unavoidable mess and untidiness of battle — getting killed and shot up and dirty and lost and damaged and so on -stood or sat or lay or hovered or flew in perfect formation before him, gleaming, serried, grouped, exactly aligned, neatly laid out, symmetrically and systematically arranged, all just glistening with power and threat and promise.
He stood on the reviewing balcony at one end of the vast curved series of halls that formed the layered outer hulls of the giant ship, and took a series of deep breaths, eyes wide, heart pounding. God or Truth, it was a beautiful sight. This was, in a way, genuinely better than sex.
They were coasting in now, most of the deceleration completed, just one final burst of a few days’ weight and discomfort to come. Another week and they would be in the system, finally attacking. They had encountered little opposition so far, partly due to the high, angled course they’d taken. Any mine clouds and drone flocks that might have been set out to trap them would have been thrown across the more direct approaches, and by taking this longer but safer line they’d avoided them all so far. The only danger had lain in their mid-course correction, subjective years earlier, when their drives might have shown up on any deep-space monitoring systems in Ulubis, had they been turned in the right direction. The risk had been slight and as far as they could tell they’d got away with it.
At any rate, no fleet had emerged from Ulubis to do battle; they had decided to wait and fight on their own doorsteps. His tacticians thought this indicated that Ulubis was prepared but weak. They might encounter some probe and destroyer-level . craft, but that would probably be all until they hit the mid- and inner system. His admirals were confident their laser ships and close defence units could deal with anything else that might have been sent out to get in their way.
Luseferous became aware of noises at his back, where some of his more senior commanders were permitted to stand, backed in turn by his personal Guards. There were whispers, and hushing noises of fear and exasperation. He felt his body stiffen. Now would not be a good time to bother him with anything other than the imminent destruction of the whole fleet. They had to know that. The people behind him quieted down.
He relaxed, stood more upright in the spin-produced three-quarter gravity, and breathed deeply again, gazing out at the assembled men and materiel. Oh, this was a sweet and beautiful sight indeed, this was the very image of invincibility, an utterly thrilling spectacle of power made solid and real and uncompromising. This was his, this was him.
The imminent destruction of the whole fleet… He imagined that happening, imagined it happening right now; some cataclysmic hyper-weapon of the ancients wiping out the entire invasion force without anyone being able to do anything to stop them. Nonsense — well, vanishingly unlikely, anyway — but just think of it! He’d be able to watch everything here just blink out of existence, one by one, or explode in flames or bright blasts of light. He’d be able to watch it all being destroyed around him!