Spheres of Influence-eARC (13 page)

Chapter 13.

The room stretched away in front of Simon, and to both sides, to such distances that he momentarily groped for a true sense of scale.
Bakana,
he thought.
It simply
cannot
be this large
.

But it
was
. The ceilings, set with arched windows from which streamed beams of what seemed pure, natural sunlight (though, perhaps, by the tint, not
Earth
’s sunlight), rose one hundred meters or more; yet it was low, almost oppressively low, compared to the extent of the room it covered.

Shelves kilometers long dwindled, perfect perspective lines, so far that the clear air began to soften the edges like the peaks of mountains on the horizon. And on those shelves…

Soft laughter penetrated his stunned consciousness, and he looked over to see Relgof with an expression and pose that Simon recognized as mirth. “Ahh, my friend, it is always a reward to see the reaction of a first-time visitor to the Archives of the Analytic.”

“My…God,” Simon said, and for once he meant the reverent tone. “This…this really is…”

“…the collected knowledge of the Analytic, in the original form—paper, electronic, carven in ancient tablets found on Spheres where no living being had walked in a million years, written upon metal sheets, absorbed in scent-matrices, recorded on nanotechnological writing pads or as patterns of light deep within crystals, written words and spoken, holographic images of motion and thought, all of them here, all studied, categorized, and preserved, the thoughts and hopes and fears and learning of a million worlds across a million years. Yes, it is, and it is my pleasure to welcome you here, where very few save our own Researchers have ever stood.”

Simon stood for a few more moments, just staring in awe. He could see some shelves built for things rather like Earthly books; others with row upon row of recording media; yet others that were more supports for huge monoliths of stone or steel; and still more holding less-identifiable objects that hummed or sparkled or flickered.

Enough rubbernecking, as DuQuesne might say. I have work to do.
“Why here on Nexus Arena? You have many Spheres of your own.”

“Many thousands of Spheres of our own, yes. Yet…where else, Simon? No other place is so central, and—you can understand—no other place is even imaginably so safe. A Sphere can be lost in a Challenge, or—though rarely—by direct conquest from without. But nothing can challenge Nexus Arena, nothing can conquer it or force its way in, unless it were something that could shake the foundations of the universe itself. And here, in one of the Great Faction Houses, we have room almost beyond limit.”

He nodded. “Of course. I had suspected as much, but it was worth asking. Then the information I seek is, obviously, somewhere here.”

“Undoubtedly.”

Simon noticed movement, and saw a Researcher of a semi-ceratopsian build climbing into one of many half-egg shaped objects scattered about the Archive. The polished white and silver egg rose and flew silently down the rows, carrying the Researcher with it.
Well, that answers one of the questions I had. Fifty meter high shelves and many kilometer long aisles could have defeated me before I started.
“And I can stay here…?”

“As long as you like, Simon. We were agreed on the value of your gift, and now that you have read its text to us, it is now part of our knowledge—and absolutely fascinating, I will add.” Relgof’s filter-beard flip-flopped in happy excitement. “You may return any time over the next year and a half, and spend as much time as you wish.”

“That is…extremely generous, Head Researcher.” Simon was astonished. Being allowed unlimited access to this facility for a year and more?
Even with the relatively limited hardware I can use in the Arena, I can learn so very much in that time…
“Where is the…index, reference work, whatever you might call it, that I would use to find my way around this paradise of knowledge?”

Relgof paused and tilted his head.
Oh-oh. I know that pose. Something both serious and amusing.

“It may be, my friend, that you will not find our gift
quite
so generous as you think at the moment—although I believe in the end you will still see it as more than fair.

“Still, you understand that knowledge is our currency. The discussion was…heated as to exactly what to give, and how to give it. I am Head Researcher, but that position can of course change, so I am obligated to satisfy at least some of the demands of my colleagues. Some of them…have interests and alliances of their own which may not be aligned with yours, I am sorry to say. I could possibly have gotten you the precise information you asked for, but nothing else—and it might have been in a rather limited format.”

I see.
“And…?”

“And so I allowed them to argue me into what they found a rather amusing yet, they felt, ultimately useless generosity. Namely, you have full access to the Analytic’s Archives…but no access to the Indices of Knowledge, which only a full Researcher may have.”

Simon realized his mouth had dropped open and he was simply
goggling
at Relgof, who at least had the decency to restrain his mirth after a single chortle. “I…
what?
This entire library of the gods and I won’t even know what’s
where
?” He felt anger rising and didn’t bother to hide it. “Head Researcher, I can’t even
imagine
what in God’s name possessed you to ‘allow’ this? What possible—”

“Simon, please. I understand your anger, and it’s quite justifiable…for the moment. But the fact is simply this: I was.. making a wager, a wager with myself against their assumptions.”

Simon looked at him. “A…wager? On what?”

“The group which were being obstructive,” Relgof said, “were interested in granting you as little as possible while gaining your prize in return. This struck them as an ideal method—giving you everything you asked, and more, but removing your chances of
finding
the key facts, leaving them as a single rope hidden in a forest of kelp. But I felt they were missing a key element: that you, yourself, conceived, built, and tested the Sandrisson Drive, the first of your people to do so, one of only a few thousand such in the history of the universe. Even if you cannot find your answers to the Sky Gates here, I believe—I absolutely believe—that you can derive
an
answer yourself.

“So I took a risk, yes. A risk that you might possibly not be as capable as I believe you are, against the ability for you to sample the knowledge of the Analytic freely, for the space of a year and a half.”

Simon looked around again. For a few moments, his anger only increased, along with a feeling of overwhelming futility. It was an impossible task, and even finding anything
useful
in that nigh-endless Archive…

But Relgof’s tone penetrated, finally. Those were not the words of someone who had managed to put one over on a sucker, but…“You have
that
much faith in me?”

Relgof spread his arms and bowed. “Have I not been at the side of Humanity almost since its arrival? Have I not watched you all closely?
You
chose your crew, Doctor Sandrisson, no one else, and that crew has done
extraordinary
things. I have faith that the man who brought them here is at least as extraordinary.”

Simon looked up at the towering shelves; but now he felt a tiny shift within himself, a feeling of stubborn certainty.
I am standing within the greatest repository of knowledge in the entire
universe;
even if I pull out books and records at
random
I cannot imagine I would fail to find
something
interesting
.

He turned back to Relgof. “I…thank you for your faith, Rel. Really, I do.” He surveyed the nigh-endless expanse. “I just hope I can live up to it.”

Relgof bowed again. “I thank
you
for your understanding…and I wish you good luck.”

Simon watched his friend—
and he
is
my friend, I think, and a good one—
leave through the door they had entered by, and then turned to face the Archives. Once more their infinite expanse nearly daunted him.

Yet…

Yet…

There was something almost…
familiar
.

That makes not the slightest bit of sense, you know,
he thought.
You’ve never been here, and not a
bit
of this is actually familiar. I’m not even sure I’ve seen anything vaguely
like
this place, even in a simgame.

The feeling refused to go away, however, and he found himself walking swiftly along, jumping into one of the egg-shaped craft and urging it forward. He did not quite understand
how
he knew how to operate the thing so well, but even that thought was distant.

Another part of him was simply growing more confused. He wasn’t sure
why
he was going in this direction, or where this feeling of certainty came from.

A flicker of memory came…a surge of energy, of Shadeweaver and Faith working together desperately, trying to contain the power that Ariane Austin had neither the knowledge nor training to control…The floor heaving, contacts broken, all the power of both…and perhaps of Ariane herself…momentarily focused through
him
…

He couldn’t remember that moment clearly; it had blurred, faded, and he realized that he had in fact
avoided
thinking of it since shortly afterwards.
But I
think
I took down notes just afterwards…I have to read them. I think…something
happened.

The silver and white egg had stopped, and his hand reached out, grasping a jointed object like a foldable piece of parchment. He looked on alien script written by a species he had never met, one perhaps a thousand years or ten thousand or a million years gone, and there was no translation, none of the Arena’s usual tricks…

Yet Simon realized he
did
understand, that it made
sense
…and even as a surge of triumph went through him, Simon Sandrisson felt the chill breath of fear.

Chapter 14.

“I thank you for being so open-minded, Captain,” Oscar Naraj said to her with a more genuine smile than he had given in the first few hours after learning the truth.
A couple of days to look at things and mull it over has at least given him some perspective…I hope.

“I won’t say I’m
open-minded
on this subject, Ambassador—actually, I’m pretty certain I know exactly what’s going to happen—but I’m willing to let you and Deputy Ambassador Ni Deng try anything as long as one of us is there to keep anything Arena-related from going wrong.”

The Grand Arcade was the one truly neutral location in the Arena—and thus the only place Ariane would let them try to meet the Molothos. All the Factions traded here and no matter their attitude towards other creatures, that included the Molothos—perhaps even more than many, since as a Great Faction they had a huge need for trade.

This also allowed her new guests more chances to become used to the strangeness of the Arena and see the thousands of other species that Humanity would have to interact with in one way or another.

Ambassador Naraj stared in wonder at the immense expanse of open-air and enclosed markets, stalls, restaurants, amusement centers, and other things possibly less identifiable. Ni Deng’s expression was awed, perhaps a touch frightened at first, but it swiftly became more chagrined. “I admit…this is somewhat overwhelming, Captain,” she said finally. Her eyes tracked a large, multi-legged lizardlike creature with an upright torso—
a Daelmokhan
, Ariane thought,
One of Sivvis’ people
—walking alongside a Daalasan and carrying on an animated conversation, while another creature of unfamiliar species—some sort of strange floating gasbag—drifted next to them, occasionally flickering and gesturing.

“That’s an understatement,” she said with a smile.

“I think it’s
exciting!
” Wu said, then looked somewhat contrite. He really
was
trying to manage the silent stoic bodyguard approach, but sometimes…

“Oh, it is
certainly
that, Wu Kung,” Naraj agreed. “But overwhelming…yes. I admit I have had relatively little experience in more fantastic simulation areas—not my preferred sort of game—and perhaps that might have prepared me a bit better. I understand
you
, Captain Austin, were quite the aficionado in such games.”

She nodded, grinning.
And that saved my ass in ways you can’t imagine
. “True enough—but believe me, you two are doing humanity proud, as Gabrielle might say. We were still pretty much gobsmacked after this long, and we’d at least spent time working our way through our Sphere before we got here. You’re doing just fine.” She pointed. “Here, let’s get a little something to eat. Hi, Olthalis!”

The blue-green jellyfish-like alien was behind his usual stall near one of the main thoroughfares of the Arcade, moving on tendrils too delicate to support him in Earthly gravity; Ariane knew that the Arena provided each visitor to Nexus Arena with its own proper environment so that all were on equal footing here. Olthalis waved a pair of tendrils in a complex pattern. “A pleasing sight always, that of a customer and leader! Ariane Austin of Humanity! The currents flow well today?”

“Well enough, Olthalis. Ambassador Naraj, Deputy Ambassador Ni Deng, this is Olthalis of the…Dispersants, is that correct?” At Olthalis’ back-and-forth affirmative gesture, she continued, “of the Dispersants of the Chiroflekir. Olthalis was the first merchant with whom we dealt and he’s been very helpful in helping us get supplies and learn what we can and can’t eat or drink here, along with Mairakag Achan—you’ll meet him later.”

“It is an honor and pleasure to meet you, Olthalis,” Oscar Naraj said cheerfully. “We very much appreciate your assistance. ‘Dispersants’…would that be a particular, oh, political group of your species, then?”

The same affirmative gesture, followed by a negative one.
Yes and no?
“The Dispersants travel the currents, journey to the far reaches, return to the seas and join the Contemplative. Within the Contemplative there are political groups.”

“Ah!” Ni Deng said, brightening. “An intelligent species with at least two lifecycle stages, then?”

“Exactly,” Olthalis agreed. “The Contemplative remain in one place but are much larger, much wiser as they learn and exchange thoughts with many others. But not all agree on all things, so where their Dispersants go, this varies much.”

“So,” Ariane said, “You’ll have to return eventually to your home planet and become one of the Contemplative?” She seemed to remember there were some creatures on earth, maybe a kind of jellyfish itself, that went through a similar lifecycle.
Have to mention this to Laila, if she hasn’t heard about it herself; she’ll be fascinated.

“Eventually,” Olthalis agreed, while opening one of the panels of his shop-stall. “But enjoying this time and not ready to go; a Dispersant does not have to return until they feel ready, and I have much to see yet!” The creature flickered with cheerful bioluminescence. “Especially with your people to provide more entertainment.”

The two ambassadors chose something from Olthalis’ collection of human-certified foodstuffs; Ariane got one of the red
nidii
for herself. Wu Kung bounced forward, sniffed at the various offerings, and grabbed a pair of things that looked like blue cinnamon sticks coated in a rippled glaze. “How much?”

“Three point seven vals, Captain,” Olthalis said.

Gabrielle’s foresight is paying off
big
time,
Ariane thought as she reached into the pouch to get out Olthalis’ payment
.
She caught sight of the blonde doctor just entering one of the larger shops, carrying several wrapped packages with her. Gabrielle had already exchanged several pieces of unique human artwork and cultural pieces for a lot of “vals”—short for simply “value units”—which were the common currency in Nexus Arena.
Until now we’d been relying on Steve’s big winnings from our early days here. Now…now we all have money for regular outings and reserves in case we need to buy bigger things. Such as recharges; we could afford to just
buy
a recharge from the Powerbrokers now, if we had to.

After the incredible lengths they’d had to go through to get that recharge the
first
time, that thought felt
extremely
good.

“How is Dr. Sandrisson’s work coming?” Naraj asked, even as he continued watching everything around him.

“He thinks the designs he’s working on now, with Steve, Carl, and Marc, should allow us to locate the Sky Gates,” she answered.

“Excellent news.”

It
was
good news—
great
news, really—but Simon had been astonishingly quiet about it, almost
withdrawn
, and she didn’t understand why; obviously his negotiations with Dr. Relgof had gone spectacularly well, as Simon had informed them that he was now able to visit the Analytic’s Archives any time he wished for the next year and a half; yet he’d come back seeming…disturbed about something.
If this keeps up I’ll have to try to yank whatever it is out of him, but I just haven’t had the time yet.

Naraj was continuing. “As I understand it, that will give us a direct route to Nexus Arena from our own Sphere, correct?”

“That’s not
guaranteed
,” she said cautiously. “According to what we’ve been told, it’s a very good chance that one of the Sky Gates from our Sphere will lead here, but there is a small minority which don’t have a direct connection. While the latter might be preferable for some security applications, overall I’d
much
rather we had such a connection.”

“As would I,” Naraj agreed.

“Hey, over there!” Wu Kung broke in.

Following his pointed finger, they saw a group of four Molothos, the crowds giving the all-hostile aliens a very wide berth. Ariane squinted, bringing up vision enhancements.
Yep, that’s the pattern
. “Well, here’s your chance, Ambassador. That’s Dajzail himself, Leader of the Faction.”

She allowed Naraj and Ni Deng to lead the way, though she and Wu Kung stayed close. She wasn’t sure whether to smile or tense up; violence rarely went very far in Nexus Arena, as the Adjudicators would show up out of nowhere to intervene (barring direct interference by the Shadeweavers or, she presumed, the Faith), but with the Molothos you could never quite be sure…

Oscar Naraj placed himself directly in front of the advancing Molothos, but at a considerable distance, so that it became clear that he was waiting for them when he remained still and the rest of the crowd began moving away. “Dajzail of the Great Faction of the Molothos, might we speak for a moment?”

Dajzail slowed and halted, tilting the crested, lamprey-mouthed head slightly; its wraparound yellow eye glowed faintly. “Ariane Austin of Humanity, is this one of yours?” he rasped, ignoring Naraj for the moment.

“He is an ambassador of my people, though I remain Faction Leader. Dajzail, this is Oscar—”

“I care not for your names,” Dajzail said, cutting her off. “Nor for ‘ambassadors’ from enemies of the Molothos. What words would matter?”

“I was hoping, perhaps,” Naraj said, unfazed, “that we could recognize that while our initial contact has been unfortunately hostile, the crew here was not intended to speak with and establish relationships with other species.”

One of the other Molothos started forward. “You waste our time on—”

To Ariane’s surprise, Dajzail flicked a claw backwards, silencing the other instantly. “Go on.”

Naraj glanced at her with a raised eyebrow, then turned back. “While our emergence into the Arena has been quite successful, we are still a small and new faction; I was hoping there is some way we can find to eliminate what, as I understand it, is a virtual declaration of war from one of the most powerful factions.”

“Not
virtual
. There is no such thing. Either it is war, or it is not. Molothos have declared war on Humanity,” Dajzail corrected, “and even now our ships seek your Sphere. Perhaps have already found it.” He groomed his claws in a manner similar to a praying mantis. “Still,” he said finally, “we have many wars and goals to pursue, and much effort may be wasted in this search. As Leader of the Faction of the Molothos, I am empowered to make peace when necessary, even with inferior species.”

Which includes everyone who isn’t a Molothos, of course
. She could sense Wu Kung standing, tense as a bowstring, at her side.

“Of course you are, sir. So I ask you if there is in fact anything we might be able to do in order to make peace with your people?”

Dajzail groomed again. “I can see three such paths before us, Ambassador,” he said, and Ariane did not like the suddenly-silky tones. “The first, and simplest, is that your Faction voluntarily ceases to be, by becoming a vassal of the Molothos. We do not make war on our own, and even lesser species can be of great use. As few join voluntarily, you would be accorded greater status among the slave species.”

Oscar Naraj maintained a pleasant smile, though Ariane thought it must have been something of a strain. “I…see. The second?”

“In the interests of being reasonable,” the Molothos leader went on, and something about the tone and posture was like a mocking grin, “we could also be satisfied with your ceding your Upper Sphere to us. Our people had landed upon your Sphere and claimed it, so I would be…willing to end the state of war if you were to give us that which we had fairly claimed.”

“I can understand that position,” Naraj said, still with a pleasant, neutral tone. “And your third offer?”

“While my prior offers are most generous for the Molothos, we are often…accused of being both hostile and unreasonable,” Dajzail answered, and his tone was almost
unctuous
. “So, in the interests of…fostering a more cooperative atmosphere with others and showing how…willing we are to enter the greater Arena community, we will be satisfied with a much less expensive act—even, I would say, a mere symbolic trifle, given the injuries we have suffered.” His voice suddenly shifted back to the rasping screech she expected from Molothos. “Give us Marc C. DuQuesne and Stephen Franceschetti. Let us kill them with our best executioners over a period of two weeks. We will even allow you to take back the bodies when we are done.” He spread his claws in a grotesque parody of open-armed welcome. “A fair bargain indeed, would you not agree?”

DuQuesne threw one of their bodies down right in front of them; Steve…Steve was the one who figured out how to get past Dajzail’s blockade of Transition, when we were about to lose our Sphere by default.

“Certainly a vastly more…diplomatic and reasonable offer than the others, Dajzail,” Oscar said slowly. “I will…think about these offers.”

“Yes, do that,
Ambassador
,” Dajzail hissed silkily. “And while you do, ask of news of the Randaalar, who rejected similar generosity a thousand years ago. The head of the last survivor is mounted in my council-chamber.”

The Molothos swept forward, and Oscar and the others drew back, letting them pass. After a few moments, Naraj spoke again. “I shall think about these offers, and how they show that there truly exist monsters with whom negotiation is not possible. My apologies, Captain; if
that
is what they have chosen as the leader of their entire species—which if I understand aright will have thousands or tens of thousands of Spheres…well,” he smiled wryly, “we have no use for diplomats in that particular case. I will so report as soon as possible.”

“Will you have to go back for that report?”
It’d be nice if they’d be leaving the Arena periodically.

“Oh, not at all,” Naraj said. “A message…torpedo, I suppose you could call it—supplied with Sandrisson coils and sufficient charge to travel back and forth—will allow two-way communication. The first of these should be ready by now, in fact, and I would expect more ships will follow very soon.” He smiled broadly. “You did say we would have to establish a larger presence, didn’t you?”