Heaven's Reach (33 page)

Sparkling explosions rippled along one edge of the wide cavity. He watched several of the giant quills or spikes break off and drift in slow motion, already dissolving as the aperture widened destructively.

Most of the havoc seemed to be wrought by sharp needles of light, generated somewhere deep inside the great shell. A dozen or so rays converged on a single point, a speck, near a rim of the great wound, creating a painful mote of brilliance. Reflections off this target did most of the glancing damage to the nearby shell.

The speck darted about, sometimes evading the shafts completely, leaving them to hunt as it fled outward from the gap at a rapid clip. Whenever a pursuing ray caught up with it, the distant spark glared so brightly that Lark had to blink and avert his gaze.

What's going on? What is happening out there?

Once again, he felt like the ignorant savage that he was. Wisdom hovered nearby—the Zang no doubt understood these strange sights. But it might take several miduras of patient puppet shows to explain even the simplest aspect.

An abrupt thrumming vibration shook the floor beneath Lark's feet. The masters of
Polkjhy
were doing something.

He recognized the grating tempo of weapons being fired.

Soon, a double handful of glittering objects could be seen darting away from this ship, tracing an arc across space, hurtling at fantastic speed toward the sundered ball-of-spikes.

Are those missiles?

Lark recalled how the Commons of Jijo surprised the Jophur by attacking this very ship with crude chemical rockets. He had a feeling the bright arrows out there were more deadly, by far.

At first he thought the weapons might be joining the attack on the bright speck. But their glitter swept on past it, following each of the cruel rays toward its source.

Another swarm of emotion-laden connotations swept through Lark's body. This time it was easy to interpret the Zang's critical commentary.

Hasty.

Unwise.

Self-defeating.

His tutors did not approve of the Jophur action. But there was nothing to be done about it now. The missiles had already vanished into the great cavity.

For lack of anything better to do, Lark nervously watched and waited.

A short time later, the bright beams began winking out, one by one.

Still glowing, their target kept darting toward deep space, while
Polkhjy
plunged to meet it.

Ewasx

C
ALMNESS, MY RINGS.
Cultivate serene reflection, I urge you.
Stroke the wax.
Respect the wisdom of our captain-leader.

TRUE
, that august stack has not been itself lately. Some of its component rings suffered wounds when human vermin infiltrated our control center, using a crude bomb to attempt sly sabotage.

TRUE, a far worse shipboard infestation has now driven our proud crew from several decks, forcing us to abandon and quarantine portions of our dear
Polkjhy-
vessel to the Zang blight.

TRUE, our leader's rings-of-command have fumed odd-smelling flavors and scents lately, prompting a few priest stacks to vent mutinous steam, fomenting rebellious vapors among the crew.

NEVERTHELESS, be assured that I/we shall remain loyal to our commander. After all, was not
this
conjoined pile of ill-fitting rings put together as an experiment, designed and implemented at the behest of our captain-leader? If another chief takes charge, the new leader might order our/My swift disassembly into spare parts!

MY RINGS, SOME OF YOU DO NOT SEEM ADEQUATELY OUTRAGED AT THAT PROSPECT.

Therefore, as your beloved Master Torus, let Me remind you (with jolts of electric pain/affection) that a Jophur is not the same sort of composite being as the
one you composed on feral Jijo, when together you made up the traeki sage, Asx.

We/you/I are much greater now.

Ever since the gracious Oalie intervened, rescuing our race from placid unassertiveness, the Jophur clan has risen to power and eminence among vigorous competing races of the Civilization of Five Galaxies. This is not a destiny to be given up lightly. Especially with signs and auguries now pointing to an onrushing Time of Changes. With each passing jadura it grows clear that fortune may turn around, presenting us with the clues/hints/coordinates/relics carried by the dolphin-wolfling ship.

HENCE, MY/OUR AGREEMENT WITH THE CAPTAIN-LEADER'S DECISION TO INTERVENE!

Let the senior priest stack rant about law and decorum. Should we stand back and allow the Earthlings to be incinerated? After all we have been through, chasing them across vast reaches and five levels of hyperspace, with our prey/prize finally in sight, should we now let panicky members of the Retired Order lash out and destroy the greatest treasure in the known cosmos?

TRUE, we have no legal standing here in Galaxy Four. No formal right to fire missiles into the fractal sanctuary just ahead. But it is their own fault that we were forced to act! The Earthship and its contents are of rightful interest to
our
life order—we descendants of the Progenitors who still cruise star-speckled lanes. Retirees should mind their own business, contemplating deep thoughts and obscure philosophies, preparing their genetic lines for transcendence, not meddling in affairs that are no longer their concern!

One by one, our superlight projectiles strike their targets on the habitat's inner shell … and one by one, disintegrator beams flicker out.

BEHOLD! The last one goes dark, leaving the Terran vessel still driving ahead under its own power.

Success!

Now the wolflings sprint with alarmed speed toward the transfer point, hoping to escape this trap toward
some unknown sanctuary beyond. But their hope is forlorn.

We are here, in good position to pounce.

{But how is it possible?}

Our second stack of cognition makes this query, venting steam-of-curiosity.

{Truly, we/I are glad to see the Earthlings survive those terrible, destructive rays. But how was it achieved? Should they not have vaporized during the first moments they fell under attack by such voracious beams?}

The same question travels in muted tones among Jophur stacks responsible for tactical evaluation. Pastel shadows of troubled concern flash across light-emitting ring flanks, while a worried mist wafts over that portion of the control center. Specialist toruses grow hot as they interact with computers, laboring to solve this quandary.

How
did
the Earthship survive such a fierce assault?

Is this yet another insidious wolfling trick?

Are they still receiving protection from the meddling Zang, in violation of the basic rule that each life order should mind its own business?

Are the hydrogen breathers truly willing/ready to risk Armageddon over matters they could not care about, or comprehend?

Now the senior priest stack ventures to challenge our captain-leader openly.

Striding forward on its ring of legs, that illustrious/sacred composite being nods its oration peak in a circle of righteous accusation.

“THIS IS INTOLERABLE! BY SENDING THOSE MISSILES, YOU/WE HAVE SURELY ALIENATED ANY AFFECTION THIS COLONY OF RETIREES MIGHT HAVE NURTURED FOR OUR RACE, CLAN, AND ALLIANCE!”

The captain-leader, perhaps sensing a precarious
situation, replies in calmer tones, venting aromas of sweet confidence.

“O
F REPERCUSSIONS THERE WILL BE FEW
.

“O
F LEGAL FAULT
,
WE HAVE NONE
,
SINCE THOSE DIRECTING THE RAYS WERE CLEARLY OUTLAWS
,
ACCORDING TO THE CODES OF THEIR OWN LIFE ORDER
.

“W
E ACTED TO PROTECT A TREASURE SOUGHT BY ALL OXYGEN
-
BREATHING CIVILIZATION
.”

Many crew-stacks vent agreement. But the priest-stack is in no mood to be mollified.

“FEW REPERCUSSIONS? EVEN NOW, EXPLOSIONS CONTINUE ROCKING THE HABITAT WHERE OUR MISSILES FELL! THE ENTIRE GREAT STRUCTURE IS IN JEOPARDY!”

No denying that it is a serious matter. Lawsuits may result, dragging through the courts for thousands, or even millions of years. Nevertheless, confident-soothing aromatics swell from our glorious commander.

“T
HE SOCIAL AND PHYSICAL FABRIC OF THIS HABITAT WAS ALREADY TORN APART BY THE MERE PRESENCE OF PATHOGENIC
T
ERRANS
. N
OW
,
ALL STACKS TAKE NOTE
: O
UR ONBOARD LIBRARY HAS DOWNLOADED POPULATION DATA FROM THIS MACROHABITAT
. R
EGARD HOW A MAJORITY OF OCCUPANTS HAS ALREADY DEPARTED
!

“S
OME FLED TO OTHER RETIREMENT HOMES
,
FARTHER FROM THE DANGEROUS PASSION
-
WAVES OF YOUNGER RACES
.

“O
THERS HAVE CHOSEN TO ABANDON RETIREMENT
! E
VEN NOW
,
THEY REJOIN OUR LIFE
-
ORDER
,
SEEKING COMPANIONSHIP AMONG THEIR FORMER CLIENTS
,
BECOMING ACTIVE ONCE AGAIN IN THE FLUX
-
TURMOIL OF THE
C
IVILIZATION OF
F
IVE
G
ALAXIES
.

“A
THIRD PORTION OF REFUGEES HAS MOVED ON
. A
HEAD OF SCHEDULE
,
THEY DEPART
,
AIMED FOR TRANSCENDENT REALMS
.”

Reverent silence greets our commander's news. Within this very stack—among our/My own conjoined rings, there is brief unanimity of spirit. From Master Torus all the way to the humblest greasy remnant of old Asx, there is agreement about one thing—I/we/you are privileged to live in such times. To take part in such wonders. To see/observe/know events that will be legendary in eras beyond the morrow.

Our captain-leader continues.

“So,
LIKE THE EMPTY SHELL OF AN OUIUT EGG
,
THIS HABITAT IS
LESS IMPORTANT THAN IT MAY APPEAR
. A
MERE FEW TRILLIONS REMAIN IN THOSE TORTURED PRECINCTS
. F
OR THAT REASON
,
LET US CONCERN OURSELVES NO MORE WITH ITS FATE
. A
NY REPARATIONS ADJUDGED AGAINST US CAN BE PAID TRIVIALLY OUT OF OUR REWARD
,
WHEN THE
E
ARTHSHIP IS SAFELY IN CUSTODY
,
SEALED BY
J
OPHUR WAX
!”

The captain-leader's supporters cheer loudly, emitting joyful scent clouds. And yet, our/My contribution to the acclaim seems weak, lacking enthusiasm. Some of you rings, as tender and compassionate as a traeki, dwell dismally on the bad luck of those “mere few trillions.”

Relentlessly, the priest-stack maintains its indictment.

“SUCH FOOLISHNESS! HAD YOU FORGOTTEN OUR OWN DIFFICULTIES? WE HAD EXPECTED/HOPED TO FIND AID HERE, IN RIDDING DEAR
POLKJHY
OF ITS HUMAN-PLUS-ZANG INFESTATIONS. NOW SUCH HELP WILL NOT COME AT ANY PRICE!”

Our captain-leader hisses, rearing higher upon the command dais, clearly losing both temper and patience. Underlings quail back in dismay.

“T
HAT SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL
. Z
ANG PESTS ARE ISOLATED
. W
HILE THE QUARANTINE HOLDS
,
NO PRIORITY EXCEEDS THAT OF CAPTURING THE
E
ARTHLING
S
HIP
!”

Others may be impressed, but the priest-stack is not intimidated by shouting or physical gestures. Instead, that revered ring pile moves closer still.

“AND WHAT OF COMMUNICATIONS? WE HAD PLANNED USING LOCAL HYPERMAIL TAPS TO CONTACT OUR CLAN/ALLIANCE. NOW THOSE SERVICES ARE RUINED. HOW SHALL WE INFORM SUPERIORS OF OUR DISCOVERIES/OPPORTUNITIES ON JIJO? OR SEEK AID IN PURSUIT OF THESE EARTHLINGS?”

Subordinate ring piles scurry away from this confrontation between tall, august stacks, who now stand nearly close enough to press their gorgeous, fatty toruses against each other. Dense, compelling vapors clash and swirl around them, driving to confusion any lesser Jophur who happens to get caught in a backdraft. Stretching higher, each great lord tries to overawe the other.