They left the wet landing platform and rode a lift tube down into a dazzling white chamber. Overhead, waves washed across the curved surface of the dome.
Through thism, Tamo’l sensed the presence of her patients, her friends. Many would come out to greet the new volunteers. With her lens-kith sensitivity, Tamo’l could feel the warmth of their exuberant welcome.
Shawn Fennis and Chiar’h looked uncertain, but friendly. They smiled as the first group of misbreeds came forward.
THIRTY-THREE
TAL GALE’NH
As the Kolpraxa approached the swelling black nebula, the emptiness grew deeper and darker. From inside the command nucleus Tal Gale’nh watched the sparse stars wink out in the observation dome overhead. The cloud swirled with shadows and expanded like the blood of night spilling out of a deep wound.
“This is a research ship,” he said. “We have all the sensors we need. Analysis?”
“It is not dust, Tal,” said one of the scientist kith. “No known astronomical phenomenon. Perimeter measurements are difficult to determine.” The other crewmembers studying their screens just shook their heads.
The oily-dark blob grew aimlessly. “Dispatch a probe,” Gale’nh said.
The small device shot from the Kolpraxa’s bow like a flying fish, sailing off with extended fins and antennae that sent pulses into the dark nebula.
Rememberer Ko’sh watched and waited with grim concern. “Darkness grows without the light.”
Gale’nh glanced at him, not sure what the historian meant. “Then we’ll bring the light.”
Readings transmitted from the probe showed nothing, and the response screens remained dark. The scientist kith were confused. “It is not just darkness, Tal. It is a complete lack of light and energy.”
When the shadow cloud extended toward the Kolpraxa, Gale’nh ordered the helm, “Alter course, keep a safe distance. Shields at full strength.”
The probe continued to send back signal pings, to the further consternation of the analysis team. “Trying to pinpoint the source of the shadow cloud, Tal. It seems to be emerging from a tear in space.” The chief scientist shook her head. “It is not composed of matter. Not solid. There is no substance whatsoever.”
The probe transmissions broke into static, then silence. Command nucleus screens went blank and dead. On the primary screen, Gale’nh watched the bright glimmer of the probe plunge into the dark cloud and disappear.
The scientist kith reviewed the readings and stared at one another, waiting for someone else to offer an interpretation. Finally, a small-statured male with fluttery hands said, “It is just… blind entropy.”
Gale’nh shored up his resolve, remembering the Mage-Imperator’s command. “We need to understand this. We will not succumb to a fear of the unknown.”
“There is danger, Tal,” said Rememberer Ko’sh. “The darkness is its own warning. We have a great deal of historical precedent.”
“We have a great many stories,” Gale’nh corrected.
Ko’sh looked offended. “Those stories are our history.”
Gale’nh knew thousands of tales from the Saga of Seven Suns, and some of those tales were no longer trustworthy. Ko’sh had reminded his crew of the Shana Rei, but the creatures of darkness were long gone from the Spiral Arm—if they had ever existed.
What did the Kolpraxa have to fear from a shadow?
Tal Gale’nh faced the tall rememberer. “What we do now becomes part of the continuing Saga. When faced with our first mystery of this expedition, would you have us turn and flee?”
Ko’sh lowered his gaze. “I merely record the history, Tal. You are the one who makes it.”
Gale’nh pressed, “You’re the rememberer—you know the tale of my father. What would Adar Kori’nh do in this situation? What is your assessment?”
“Adar Kori’nh would investigate.”
Gale’nh turned to the helmsman. “Approach with caution. Extend our sensors and map that shadow cloud.”
“Impossible to be accurate, Tal. It changes, it grows. It… emerges.” The blackness hung there in front of them.
Gale’nh directed his gaze to the communications officer. “Open a channel. Let me address it.”
“Do you think there is anything in that cloud, Tal?”
“I cannot draw conclusions until we know more.” He turned to the main screen. “This is the Ildiran exploration ship Kolpraxa. We are representatives of the Mage-Imperator, seeking to expand our knowledge.” He paused and listened only to silence as deep as an eclipse. “If there is anything sentient in that cloud, please respond.”
As the Kolpraxa drew closer, suddenly the helm and control systems began to stutter and shut down. Gale’nh gripped the command rail as the deck tilted. He called engineering. “What’s happening?”
“Everything is failing—massive systemic errors and shutdowns.”
The analysis crew called up diagnostics, but the screens flickered and blurred with static. Several panels went dark. Emergency lighting glowed from floor and ceiling rectangles. As the command nucleus dimmed, the faint light of sparse stars shone through the transparent dome overhead.
“Withdraw to a safe distance,” Gale’nh said.
“All systems are failing!” the helmsman responded. The engineers fought to reassert control of the ship.
The black nebula continued rolling toward them. Gale’nh stared up through the observation dome. Blind entropy?
A deep mechanical silence set in as the Kolpraxa’s engines died, and the exploration ship drifted. Sparks showered from control panels throughout the command nucleus, and the life-support systems shut down.
The main lights went out, then even the emergency glow was smothered.
Through the transparent observation dome overhead, Tal Gale’nh watched a midnight pseudopod reach out and swallow the Kolpraxa.
THIRTY-FOUR
OSIRA’H
The faeros frolicked in the churning photosphere of the star Wulfton. Ellipsoidal incarnations of fire itself, the elemental beings dove into the gas layers, while others leaped in joyous arcs, riding magnetic pathways, sailing along wide coronal arches to their apex, then turning and plunging back into the stellar inferno.
Alone in her insulated observation globe, bathed by the close starfire, Osira’h watched the faeros, sensed them, and felt her remaining telepathic connection to them. During the Elemental War, the faeros had wrought terrible damage, but Osira’h had forced them to obey her. Now, the fiery beings remained quiescent, tamed, yet still dangerous, incomprehensible. The faeros had returned to their unruly isolation. They still knew her and found her marginally interesting but also… irrelevant?
She concentrated harder, trying to maintain the link, but it was frayed. The faeros had little interest in her anymore. Osira’h had a difficult time translating their thoughts, which were so entirely alien. But they did understand that she was no threat to them—not any longer.
Reaching outward through the pathways of thism, Osira’h could sense the other Ildiran researchers in the nearby stellar analysis station, an orbiting facility outside the coronal zone. She was the only one who ventured this close to the inferno, and to the fiery elementals.
The Ildiran astronomers at the Wulfton station were nervous whenever she went out in her insulated observation globe, but she sensed the faeros would protect her if she called on them. The fiery ellipsoids were capricious, had been both enemies and allies, but Osira’h knew them—and they knew her. They remained a powerful, looming noise in her mind… if only she could grasp it.