Rhythm of the Imperium - eARC Read online

  “You’ve been in a reverie for hours,” Madame Deirdre said. “Would you like something to eat before we land? Mr. Billimun’s snack plates are as good as a feast. There is a cheese pie made with a local goat cheese that is worth dancing for.”

  “Got a good ale to drink with it,” our host added.

  I put myself out to smile at them, though my soul was still heavy with disappointment.

  “Thank you, no. I have no appetite.”

  “Ah, well, it’s all here when you want it later.”

  Billimun made contact through a local representative for rooms in the park lodge, should we choose to stay overnight. I knew we would not be making use of them, but I did not enlighten him. Better to remain within the subterfuge needed to fulfill the mission I had been sent to complete. A sense of accomplishment might serve to raise my spirits.

  The park itself made me reach for superlatives. Grand forests of dark blue-green and light green-blue rose along the upthrust continental shelf until they could stand the altitude no longer, leaving room for hardy conifers with splendid naked trunks with golden, mottled skin like that of Solinians. Eagles and other raptors soared on the heights, riding the thermals that issued up from the canyons that gave the Whispering Ravines their name. I thought I saw a herd of brown-furred, horned ungulates roaming the heights between rock and tree, as careless of the beauty of their surroundings as they could be.

  We had no similar series of river gorges on Keinolt that could rival the winding passages below me. I did my best to appreciate the complex and enormous canyons, comprised of layer upon layer of gorgeous colors that had been cut out by the busy river at its base. In the depths of history, this place had been under kilometers of ocean, resulting in strata, each of which must have caused questions to arrive in the minds of sentient beings to wonder why they were all so different. All of this, I reflected, came about in the eras—nay, the eons—before humankind had ever set foot upon the rim. This history did not belong to us. The prototype that became homo sapiens never arose within this landscape. Again, I felt that nostalgia for that which I had never possessed.

  Our car thumped to a landing on a gravel apron before a massive golden lodge constructed of the boles of those very trees I saw around me. No towers arose nearby, no hovering connection hubs floated on the air, no modern transport systems had been laid out to intrude technology upon the primeval nature of the site. One had only what one brought in with one. We were free, at least for the moment, from scrutiny by the Kail’s electronic minions. For that, at least, I was grateful.

  I assisted Madame Deirdre from the car. Redius threw a backpack full of emergency supplies and equipment to the ground and jumped down after it. I stood to take in the atmosphere of the place.

  Trees rose above us to stunning heights like benevolent ancestors. Local avians flitted about the branches so high up that they were tiny winged dots on the empurpling sky. A short walk in the company of numerous arriving strangers, most of them human, took us over a ridge from the landing area to the lip of the Whispering Ravines themselves.

  The dropoff of land just a few paces beyond the end of the path made my stomach fall, and my jaw after it. The words “river gorge” were far too feeble to describe the magnificence before me. Pink, gray and white stone had been carved into an undulating stream many kilometers wide and kilometers deep. The divide was so enormous that it only occurred to my logical mind after a moment’s shocked realization that the fringe of dark green on the far lip of the ravine was a forest of the same massively tall trees that towered over my head on this side. As they reached the same conclusion, my fellow tourists emitted the same awestruck “Ooooooh.”

  Everyone there, and the area was populated with hundreds if not thousands of fellow humans, seemed to be happy to be making this discovery afresh, taking millions of images for the Infogrid and their personal collections. I was the only one who was disappointed. Shame on me, I thought. I am surrounded by beauty and can’t bear to let it into my soul.

  I sighed.

  That didn’t sound sorrowful enough. I tried again.

  I inhaled until I had filled my entire belly with air. Then, deliberately, meaningfully, with all the artistry I could command, I sighed. My exhalation created a mournful sound and an emptiness in my belly that made me hunger for completion.

  I was satisfied. I had nostalgia in my soul. I allowed it to make my body move.

  My hands reached out to collect all the memories made in this place since it was discovered by humankind. I tried to gather them into one small jar that I treasured to myself, clutching it to my chest, but those memories kept escaping from the top of the jar. Covering it did no good. Those fleeting moments escaped between my fingers. I pursued them, like fugitive butterflies, seeking to pluck one, then another from the air.

  “That’s it, Lord Thomas!” Deirdre said, seating herself on a nearby boulder. Her hands fluttered up like the butterflies, offering me encouragement. “Beautiful interpretation! Now, work it into a narrative.”

  In spite of her kind words, I could hardly bear to do so. I still felt sad and disappointed. I had not believed Counterweight to be Old Earth when we had landed upon it, but Billimun’s coy suggestions awoke hope in me and fed it. I could not blame him. He was a salesman, and his commodity was the sights and legends of his homeworld, however spurious the latter. He would not be the first person who sold fleeting dreams and moonbeams to willing buyers. I felt as though I should congratulate him for taking me in so completely, but I fancied it was not a testimonial he would enjoy showing to other clients.

  I spun around, seeking where my true memories might reside. A few, a very few, points of starlight began to limn themselves on the deep blue sky. Were they in that star, or that one? I had no idea in which they lay.

  My earthly surroundings caught me again and again, with a glimpse of a rare red flower here in a stand of crisp green grass, a shy furry woodland creature there underneath the leaves of a hardy bush with flat round leaves. The rich blue of the sky enveloped a vividly-hued land that was beautiful beyond belief. Optimism kept pressing at me. I damped it down as best I could, but it was hard to remain devastated. This was a really very pretty place in spite of its not being Earth. There was too much to like, too much to enjoy. I saw beauty all around me. Doggedly, for the sake of my art, I fought to remain depressed and sad.

  Then I saw her.

  As wild and shy-looking as the small furry animal, this woman attracted my eye and drew it to her as a needle draws thread. Dainty of height, curvaceous of frame and lush of hair, she seemed exotic even in a land that appeared to define the word. She wore a long robe that combined russet and celery colors in a weave that almost caused it to be a camouflage among the knee-high plants. It was tied around a small waist with a simple cord of dark green. This lovely person looked as though she belonged to the earth, with her terracotta complexion and dark eyes that were nearly almond-shaped. Masses of dark hair cascaded over her shoulders and down her back in waves that tossed like the sea. Her nose was tip-tilted. In fact, her face could have been that of an exquisite doll, except that when her eyes met mine, a burst of intelligence flamed forth and crisped me into ash. I was besotted in an instant. With all my energy focused upon those eyes, I moved forward, my hand out, offering my soul to this goddess.

  “Lord Thomas?” a squeaky, high-pitched voice, entirely out of keeping with the exquisite face, issued forth from the soft mouth. She put out a tiny hand and grasped mine. “I’m Laine Derrida. That was really pretty! Nice to meet you!”

  At her rusty squeal, my brain reasserted itself and pulled the reins of my body back from my heart.

  “Dr. Derrida, what a pleasure!” I said. The rush of infatuation had caused my pulse to race. Annoyed, I willed it to slow to a reasonable pace. My wits hurried back into their accustomed place, and I bowed over her hand. “I am very glad to have found you. I was concerned that we might miss you.”

  “Oh, no,” she said. Her laugh shril
led so high that anyone who had not been drilled in manners as I had from birth would have recoiled visibly. Alas, Redius, with his keen hearing, allowed his discomfort to show. “And call me Laine. Proton would have had us wait until you arrived, no matter how long it took.”

  I glanced around. “Is he here?”

  “Zang prefer the neuter pronoun,” Laine said. “Genders are so last eon.” She tittered, as though it was a familiar joke. I smiled. If she thought it was funny, I would do my best to see the humor. “Come on. I’ll bring you to it.” She turned and strode purposefully toward one of the narrow passages of sandstone that led downhill.

  “A Zang?” Madame Deirdre asked, leaping off her stone couch, her eyes brimful of curiosity. “We’re going to meet a Zang here?”

  “Yes, Madame,” I said, lowering my voice. “We need to bring him—it—back to the ship.”

  “That’s marvelous! I thought we would have to wait to see one. What a treat! Did you know about this all along?”

  For answer, I patted the air and made furtive gestures to gather in secrets and tuck them within an invisible cloak over my hunched shoulders. Deirdre nodded. She remained silent, but her gray eyes remained alight. How nice it was to be with someone who was intelligent enough to read a second language that few around us could understand. Redius, who had been copiously briefed before we left the ship, merely bobbed his chin. Mr. Billimun would probably goggle like a fish when we returned to the car, but I trusted that he would feel honored to have such an august being as a Zang in his conveyance.

  Outside the confines of the ship, however, the Zang might be vulnerable to attack or capture by the Kail. I did not wish to draw undue attention to our mission.

  I glanced warily at the large crowd of humans in the valley. Adults, single or paired, with or without children, hurried here and there, looking at the waves of wind-carved sandstone. Those who had been watching me lost their interest in a split second and went about their business. They had not heard Deirdre’s exclamation. They did not care about me or my concerns. I was ephemeral. Another interesting notion that I had to take on board. I would explore the concept at my leisure. In the meantime, I was full of eager anticipation for my next new experience.

  It became evident, the farther we walked, why the Whispering Ravines were one of the most popular beauty spots on all of Counterweight. Nature, cunning artifice, or a combination of both had created a site that fascinated the eye. Every visible surface curved or undulated in a manner that made it look alive. Rocky escarpments had been tunneled and molded, rather than hewn, so that the entire landscape looked as though it would be smooth to the touch. In my mind’s eye, I ran a hand over it and found it to be soft as the back of a kitten, even rising to my caress. Though my immediate goal filled most of my attention, I still gathered impressions that I would hold in my soul for eternity, and, not incidentally, add to my vocabulary of movement, as Madame Deirdre would have it. I glanced over my shoulder at her. I could see that she was doing the very same thing.

  “So beautiful!” she said, her gray eyes twinkling. “One of my most famous performances in my youth was the Dance of the Winds. Those impressions had been gathered from Harsul, the second planet circling Leo’s Star. I might revive that dance and add my interpretation of this place to the landscapes I described.”

  “I would be honored to produce that performance for you,” I said. “If only for the joy of seeing it done.”

  “We should perform it together,” she said, taking my arm in a companionable manner. “We will have very different moments to recreate. Look there!”

  As we strode in Dr. Derrida’s rapid wake, she pointed out things that I had noticed in passing, but had not remarked upon.

  “See that?” she said, pointing upward to a horizontal mass of stone. “That hanging rock tells such a story about the passage of time, and how we are all so temporary! It hangs upon the balance of fate itself!”

  In fact, as we walked along the gentle downhill slope through the maze of curves and hairpin turns, there were numerous hanging rocks. I found that fascinating. It was a very good thing that this wonderland was so very far away from Taino, because my cousins and I wouldn’t be able to resist such a temptation. In a week, there wouldn’t be one left on its eternal fulcrum. Redius met my eyes. I knew he was thinking the same thing.

  As we went along, I saw fewer and fewer tourists. I was certain the Zang had chosen its spot with care, choosing isolation rather than drawing attention. Night was sweeping its midnight-blue cloak closer and closer to us. I feared that the park would fall into total darkness before we reached our destination, and that I would not be able to see our distinguished guest.

  “Through here,” Dr. Derrida called. I turned. She was astoundingly far ahead of us, beside a natural archway hewn from pink and tan stone. Her athleticism more than made up for her diminutive size. My admiration rebounded. Truthfully, though, it had not faded in the least from my consciousness. It had only receded into the near distance, where I was uncomfortably aware of it. She was such a lovely woman, intelligent and attractive, as well as being engaged in an enviable and amazing occupation.

  I was aware that my infatuation colored my impression of her. It would take a while for me to get over it, but in the meantime, I intended to enjoy it.

  I had had crushes since I was quite small. I had become fond of girls beginning at infant school, always aware that as a rule, they were distant relatives. A young teacher, a commoner, had drawn my interest when I was ten. I was fascinated by her fall of red-gold hair and her delicately pointed chin. Every time her green-gold eyes fell upon me, I felt as if I had been given a gift. I followed her devotedly as though I was a serverbot. She was amused by my infatuation, I dare say, though she never humiliated me by showing she knew.

  When I was old enough to understand but not old enough to have put my desires into motion, my mother had sat me down for The Talk. She did not trust it, as other parents had, to the nannies or carebots that looked after us. She explained that because of the responsibility to my rank and position in the nobility, I could not simply indulge myself in hopeless passions or casual affairs. We of the Imperium dynasty needed to be careful. It was rude to break hearts or make promises we knew we could not keep. Going farther than that was out of the question. Not only was it unlikely to result in a long-term relationship, but it was against the laws created to protect the succession. None of us denied our natural impulses absolutely, of course. My cousin Xan was the most profligate among us as far as casual relationships went.

  But this girl, something about her fascinated and attracted me. My heart told me to declare itself, but my brain reminded me that it would come to nothing. Dr. Derrida, for all her accomplishments and long string of academic titles, not to mention her amazing vocation as companion to an enigmatic and ancient alien, was a commoner. No real alliance between us was possible. Still, my imagination insisted on painting for me a whirlwind courtship full of moonlight and laughter, followed by a formal wedding, which dissolved into a charming cottage home in the middle of a green valley, with adorable, dimpled children that looked just like her running around and laughing. I was shocked, all the more because I did my level best to avoid any emotional entanglements that might propel me into one of those uncomfortable and interminable ceremonies which were de rigeur for one of my rank formalizing a sanctioned and approved permanent relationship. The rest of my family, had they the least inkling of what my imagination was up to, would have called an intervention and removed me from the planet, at least until the lady had decided to move on to a different locale, preferably in a galaxy far, far away.

  Something must have showed on my face, because Dr. Derrida—Laine—gave me a peculiar glance as I approached her.

  “What are you thinking?” she asked.

  Her shrill voice brought me to my senses. I improvised hastily, something at which I was becoming more adept by the moment.

  “I am fascinated to meet the Zang,” I said.
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  “They are fascinating,” she said. She stopped in a narrow arroyo where the winds blew on us from five different passageways at once. They all looked rather alike, but after a moment’s hesitation, she took the second opening on the left. “This way.” She scurried forward at speed, crunching over the fine gravel. I opened my stride to catch up with her. Redius and Deirdre hurried in our wake.

  “What shall I say to it when we meet?” I asked.

  “They don’t really speak as we know it,” Laine said, glancing back now and again over her shoulder. “It has only spoken to me a few times, even though I’ve been with it for many years. Most of the time I gain impressions, which are pretty accurate. I’ve always been good at body language. Please don’t be offended if it never looks at you. Most humans aren’t real enough for it to notice.”

  “But it’s here to try and notice us, or so I have been informed,” I said.

  “That’s right. As Zang go, it’s a scholar of lower orders . . . Please don’t be offended,” she said hastily, as my brow drew down at her words.

  “I’m not.” I was pleased to realize I felt the truth of my assertion. “To the Zang, even my family is of a lower order.” She gave me an odd look. I changed the subject to cover our momentary mutual discomfort. “This is quite a labyrinth. How do you know where to find the Zang?” My voice echoed off the pink, tan and white sandstone walls and was lost in the distance.

  “It has a presence,” she said, taking my hand. I fancied that I felt a spark as we touched. Had she noticed it? “You’ll know as soon as you meet it. Can’t you feel something ahead of us? It’ll grow stronger as we go.”

  I opened all my senses. I was becoming accustomed to gathering impressions, but nearly all of them had been in the realm of the most common seven, including sense of place and time. I realized I did feel a presence, so to speak, almost a pressure upon my prefrontal cortex, my third eye, as I might have said, with reference to my previous enthusiasm. The sensation warned me to be wary of what lay ahead. I glanced back at my friends, to see if they felt any of that. They did. Redius’s eyes were open as wide as they could go. To my surprise, Madame Deirdre was enjoying the experience.