Prelude
+Lydion!+
He stirred irritably. +Can't you let a man rest?+
+Not now. You need to wake up+
He shifted again. Something wasn't right. He
normally woke effortlessly, bright and refreshed, but this time something was
dragging him down. He sensed the delicate but soporific scent of nightflowers,
and vaguely recalled going to the Tyvian
Gardens to meditate.
+You're not in any garden. You've been given
twilight balm. Now focus, you idiot, while you still can+
Annoyance piqued his muddled senses. +Twilight balm?
Why in chaos did you give me that, Drusa? I can't think straight!+ But he rallied his perception, as she'd
ordered. There they all were - his friends, his Eldorian mistress,
his nephew. He knew them, not by sight or sound, but by their patterns. Only
Nefyrra knew how frequently he'd used that
unlooked-for ability, especially when working on resonance devices.
"I don't summon it," he'd confided sadly. "It just
happens."
Now the patterns shone out brilliantly, seemingly
masking the input from his other senses. Memory returned.
+Discord's dreams! He stabbed me - that excrescence
Pervain stabbed me! I didn't
even know he was there - he walked straight up to me and.... By harmony, I've
never seen Laura cry like that. Now she'll have to admit she loves me. I'll
tease her about it later. Oh, chaos, that's me on the operating table. Is this - what does Laura call it? -
an out of body experience? Laura? Laura!+
+She can't hear you+ said his companion.
+This is amazing. I can go anywhere. Wheeee!+
+Settle down. You haven't acclimatised+
+Anything to please you, Dru. I won't stray too far.
Can I just pop over to the generator room and see how Tonor's doing?+
+If it will make you happy+
Lydion ignored the sarcasm. Tentatively at first,
then more confidently, he focused on the Lyricon basement. +Would you look at
that! Tonor in a chair, asleep! I turn
my back for one evening and this is how he behaves.+ He drifted closer to the sleeping operator. +Hey, Tonor! Man that weathershield, you idle
lump. It's all yours for the moment, but if you want to keep your job - +
Tonor started awake. "Lydion?"
+He knew you. Interesting+ said the ever-present
pattern at his side. +Ah, that explains it. He's resonance-sensitive+
+Tonor? Never!+
+I don't make mistakes+
+Chaos, what's happening?+ Lydion flailed about in a
panic, assailed by a fierce new energy source.
+He's started the shield. Close off and I'll guide
you back. There's something you must see+
Lydion scanned near-emptiness. +Is this the
hospital? Where did everyone go?+
+Focus carefully+ came the response, quietly
impersonal.
And Lydion, with sudden appalling clarity, knew the
body on the table - his body -
was dead. He didn't flinch away, couldn't, not until he'd read every chill
inanimate detail. A trace of life at the cellular level mocked him with its
fading futility.
Drusa, alone with the corpse, kept vigil.
+Dru!+ Lydion tried to touch her, but his incorporeal
self had less substance than a dust particle. Then, in profound dread, he
refocused on the watchful pattern he'd presumed was Drusa in her healing mode.
How could he have been so wrong when the entity before him had haunted his
nightmares for decades? Even without the power and menace of the Synectic net,
there should have been no mistaking the coldly sardonic mindset of Sarune, once
the most reviled woman of her species.
+You don't fear me now+ she observed.
+Why should I fear anyone? I'm dead!+
+No, you're not+ she countered angrily, and dragged
him to a far corner of the hospital where a dying man peacefully breathed his
last. The aura of twilight balm hung opaquely in the air.
Suddenly a dazzling energy spike transformed the darkening
consciousness. Lydion drew back, recalling Pervain's knife. Then, just as
suddenly, the charge abated. The man's pattern broke free of his body, maintained its integrity for one brief moment, then
dissipated and was gone.
+That squandered energy+ Sarune explained candidly,
+is what the Synectics sought to harvest. It typifies
the death of the individual, whether Celestrian or Narvellan. I must confess
you nearly went the same way, as I'd taken my attention elsewhere. I thought
you had years of corporeal life ahead. Fortunately your pain summoned me back
in time to intercept you+
Lydion tried to muster some
anger, but could only manage weary reproach. +What have you done?+
+It was all done long ago+ she replied. +The night
you beguiled Eluthia. The night the Synectics cast their net+
+But you rejected me!+
+The others did. I liked your spirit of adventure,
so I marked you. And you began to evolve+
+No!+
+You absorbed the potential via Eluthia+ she went on
relentlessly. +You've always known. You knew it when you found the wall
writings at Ilonna. You knew it every time you worked on resonance theory+
+I don't want this, Sarune. Just let me go+
+If you insist. Personally, I think you want to
live. Let's find out+
She let her influence fall away, and Lydion tried to
will himself into nonexistence. Nothing changed.
+Convinced?+ inquired Sarune.
+Why did you come back for me?+ Lydion asked,
curious in spite of himself. +With the Synectics gone, aren't I surplus to
requirements?+
+Not at all+ Sarune answered coolly. +I'd value your
company+
Her audacity was boundless. +Perhaps I don't need
yours+ Lydion retorted.
+Are you sure? I'd planned and rehearsed my
transition for years, decades - and I still wasn't prepared. I hung cravenly
around my life-bonded and his love-child because I couldn't face the solitude.
Could you? Could you survive,
in the knowledge that only a few sensitives could
divine your presence - and then but rarely?+
+Mallina - + began Lydion.
+You have no bond with her. She's oblivious to you.
Look, she's dried her tears. Your true life-bonded is long dead+
+Yet I sensed her+ Lydion mused, almost to himself.
+Even after her death+
+That wasn't Tarlatine. It was me+
For once Sarune hadn't meant to be cruel, but she'd
destroyed Lydion's most cherished illusion. Desolation smote his fragile new
senses; he tried to retreat from it, lost focus, then lost awareness. Sarune
adroitly encircled his faltering pattern with her own, supporting him.
+All this fuss over an elite-wife+ she crooned.
+Sleep, then, if you must. Gather your wits. Then I'll teach you all I know:
which resonances sustain us and which threaten us+
Unaware, he drifted. Kalyx portrayed him at the Lyricon,
Mallina fell victim to a sniper's bullet, war raged at the edge of the Alda
system. The Gloriana took her leave and Scapirian divers raised a time capsule.
Clemis gave birth to a son. And throughout these events, Sarune - not normally
the most patient of beings - kept faith with her task.
Lydion's pattern began to stabilise just as the
scolia-tech tried out the Cadence - two notes at a time.
+Your work, I presume+ Sarune remarked, unsure if he
could perceive her. +It has your signature all over it. You couldn't have done
it without the enhancements I gave you, so be sure to thank me later. I've
observed every detail of this grubby little conflict, so I'm ready for your
questions. Now stop moping and snap out of it. I'm not letting you be my second
failed experiment!+
Lydion made no reply, but his pattern continued to
grow stronger.
Presently he began to dream.
Chapter One
Alda Mexa 4.4.6.4030
"What's next
on the agenda?" asked Laura.
Administrator
Dessin briefly raised a hand. "I have the statistics you requested,
First Citizens, concerning the number of scolia-sensitives in the post-Escir
generation. To ensure accuracy I've worked closely with Custodian Nefyrra and
regional scolia leaders..."
Idenion, as he
was apt to do at such times, let his mind wander. Six years ago, Dessin had
been in the forefront of the student rebellion against the Eldorians. It was so
improbable that he'd choose city management as a career. Yet the young man had
a natural flair for coordinating Alda Mexa's many
changes. He, Idenion, would have become fixated on details.
"...so we've
established that one in five children is scolia-sensitive," Dessin was continuing,
"and some of these have highly developed perception as
well. Tafret Academy is looking forward to training
new relayists."
"This is
marvellous news, but please tell your teams to exercise care," Laura said. "Scolia
sensitives must be nurtured, not goaded, and the same applies to relayists.
Kyrin often spoke of the frightening tests he had to undergo as an infant, and
we don't want a repetition of that - even if we have to make a game of it for
the very young."
"Understood,"
replied Dessin soberly.
"Having said
that," Laura went on, "the advantages of early learning are well known, and a
sensible tuition programme should be introduced across the city states as soon
as one can be devised. We'll make it a priority."
Recordist
Sheyell looked up from her notes. "Dare we hope that this increased musicality
might lead to a return of the singing voice?"
"I doubt it,"
Laura said regretfully. "We seem to be heading in a different direction
entirely."
"In that case,
First Citizeness," ventured Dessin, "couldn't you reconsider our proposal for a
statue?"
"Not that
again!"
"It's our
tradition, Laura! The First Singer has always commissioned a likeness in stone
to preside over the Lyricon stage. If there are never to be any other
contenders, you should allow us to proceed."
"I've given my
answer many times. After the Narvellans left, after the Eldorians were kicked
out - and just last year when the Masons' guild asked me again."
"Guildmaster
Cleve would render an excellent likeness."
"This isn't a
vanity issue, Dessin. Where I come from no one puts up statues to anyone until
they're dead. I promise before witnesses that when that happens you can
commission as many as you want. But not until. Now, is
there any other business?"
"There's one
more item," said Dessin. "A request for
technical assistance, submitted two days ago by Habbon's team on Alda Four."
"Habbon?" inquired
Sheyell. "The Eldorian
archaeologist? I thought he was on that
dustbowl Dral, looking for evidence of a lost race."
"The race we
reputedly destroyed," Idenion said quietly.
"After five thousand years there was very little to find, and after
suffering breathing difficulties Habbon relocated to Alda Four. He said he'd only gone to Dral for selfish
reasons, curiosity mainly, and that now his stamina was failing he wanted to give
something back to us, his benefactors."
" He didn't
want people - Escir, specifically - finding out he was ill and ordering him to
stop work," Laura explained. "So we
hushed it up."
"It's only a
four-man team and they're living on the base last occupied by the Narvellans,"
continued Dessin. "But it's in need of
constant maintenance and the repairs are diverting the men from their
research."
"Which is?"
Sheyell asked.
"Habbon had
been told about the subsidence at the base, the one that killed Chisrin and
almost cost Dena her life," Laura answered quietly. "He believed there had to be a reason for the
cave-in, some underground remains of our lost civilisation perhaps. That's what he's looking for."
"He wants at
least two full-time engineers to keep essential systems running," said Dessin
reading from the communications transcript.
"He's well
aware every technician's working overtime to support our growth
programme."
"We can't let
him down," Idenion decided. "Alda Four's yielded many artefacts and we
shouldn't assume we've found them all.
We'll send him the men he needs, subject to frequent review."
"Seconded,"
said Laura briskly. "Now, if there's
nothing else - "
"There is,
actually," said Idenion. She looked at him quizzically.
"It's
regarding the library upgrade and the transfer of old stock to the basement,"
Idenion went on.
Dessin tried
not to look bored. The library was
no-one's priority save Idenion's. "I
thought the transfer hadn't begun?"
"It hasn't. Before we can shift any material we have to
know there's space for it, and nobody knows exactly what's in the
sub-levels. I requested an inventory."
"And?" Laura
prompted.
"This morning,
the workers found a locked door."
Instantly, he
had everyone's attention. Locked doors
were synonymous with one person:
Tralvar. Had the late tormented
genius one last surprise for his people?
"And this was
why you delayed the start of the meeting," Laura surmised.
"Correct. There was no key, so I ordered a forced entry
and stayed while it was done."
"What was
inside? A weapon?" asked Dessin eagerly.
"Recording
equipment?" asked Laura.
"Neither. Behind that door we found the entire contents
of Alendis' apartment. Mirrors,
furnishings, clothes, all dumped in a heap and forgotten."
"Tralvar could
never face clearing those effects," Laura recalled. "He must have had everything shifted
downstairs until he felt ready to deal with it.
And he never did."
"So what's the
problem, Idenion?" This was
Sheyell. "Tell your workers to dispose
of it. We don't want any reminders of
that man."
"Not so
fast!" Laura objected. "I'd like to inspect the clothes. Alendis had the best designers working for
him."
"Get rid of it
all," reiterated Sheyell.
"Or start a
museum," Dessin said jokingly. They all
glared at him.
"May I
finish?" Idenion enquired. "The room
also contained a cabinet of Alendis' writings - not just speeches, but private
diaries and texts dating from his years as a healer."
Sheyell looked
outraged. "You surely don't have any use for those?"
"On the
contrary," replied Idenion calmly. "I intend to study them."
Even Laura
looked taken aback.
"I daresay
you'd all oppose this decision, given the choice," Idenion continued. "So, much as it offends my democratic
principles, I'm denying you the right of veto.
You seem to forget that Alendis' dictatorship lasted a mere six
years. As a healer, he had a profound
knowledge of the Celestrian mind - not just scolia-sensitives, but relayists
and empaths like himself. He may even have foreseen the traits we're witnessing
in our children. Laura, will you support
me in this?"
"There are
always lessons to be learnt from the past," she replied, "even from such an
unlikely source. I'll support you as
always."
"That
concludes the day's business," Idenion said thankfully. The sub-committee broke up in near
silence. The third administrator,
Ansela, had as usual said nothing throughout the proceedings and voted with the
Chair. Now, suddenly, she spoke up.
"First
Citizen, what's the use of convening these sessions if you overrule the
objections we make?"
"If memory
serves me correctly, today's the first time I've done so," Idenion said with
quiet courtesy. "Merely naming Alendis
was bound to prompt emotional reactions and I wanted everyone to have time to
think. Also, this is purely an akron matter at the
moment. If it becomes a city matter
we'll have a further debate."
Ansela thanked
him. "Against that time, please be aware
that I'd have voted to keep the documents."
She drifted
out. Idenion gazed after her in
surprise.
"So, we'd have
won the vote after all," Laura said.
"That's interesting to know. I'd
better view this material, hadn't I, before you have it sent to our apartment."
"Not a bad
idea. I should warn you, there's a lot."
"Then I'd best
help you read it. Otherwise you'll be
accused of neglecting your duties."
Idenion
ushered her down a back stair, then another.
"Duties, yes. That's something else I've been meaning to discuss with
you."
"Do you want
me to take over some of yours? I think I
could manage a few more."
Idenion didn't
reply straight away. When he did, it was
with another question. "How old are you,
Laura?"
She looked
puzzled. "Thirty-seven, of course."
"And in Earth
years?"
"Sixty-one,"
she answered reluctantly.
"And since you
always have trouble with the conversion, I assume you already knew that."
"Since we're
not on Earth," she replied caustically, "I don't see why in chaos it
matters. Surely you don't want us to
retire?"
"We can't be
First Citizens for ever." Idenion
steered her along a narrow corridor. "We
both have our careers. At least let's
start thinking about our successor."
"Who do you
have in mind? Trevone?"
"No," Idenion
said emphatically. "He's a bright and
innovative First Scientist, and to put him behind a desk would be a big
mistake."
"Dessin,
then."
"He shows
promise, but he's more engineer than diplomat.
And he's still very young."
"About the
same age as you were when you took over," Laura reminded him. "One for the shortlist, then, along with
Kalyx."
"Ah. Kalyx."
"We know he
wants the job."
"I'm not sure
how much that qualifies him. Let's see
how well he does in Scapirion. Whilst
we're making our minds up, we could maybe curtail our admin work. There's no need for both of us to be at
committee meetings, for instance."
"Today being
an exception, of course."
"Of
course." Idenion paused by an ancient
timbered door. Near the latch, one of
Tralvar's intricate spring-locks hung uselessly by one nail. The door creaked grudgingly open after a
hefty shove, and a damp must odour wafted out.
There were no windows.
After a few
moments of fumbling, Idenion switched on a temporary light left by the
workmen. "Sorry about the mess. I did warn you."
Laura was
silent, staring at a tarnished bedstead which stood adjacent
to the door. Its red and black
coverlet was stained and faded, but the motif was still starkly visible under
the bright lamp.
"Was this on
the flags too?"
"There's no
need to whisper," said Idenion, though his face was sombre. "I guessed you'd recognise it."
"I know what
it's trying to be." Laura turned aside,
to be confronted by a portrait of the dead dictator. "So that's your urban myth confirmed. I never quite believed he'd been to Earth."
"I didn't try
too hard to convince you," Idenion confessed.
"I thought it might have sent your younger self on a guilt trip. Well, let's see if we can salvage anything
from his ruined life."
At the far end
of the room was a polished wooden cabinet with sliding doors. Inside were rows of neatly bound folders,
labelled and dated, containing page after page of
Alendis' graceful handwriting.
"At least we
won't need anyone to decipher it," Laura remarked. "Are you sure we won't be wasting our time?"
"Positive. He was taught by the best healers on Corayn -
and healing employs resonance, similar to perception and the lattice."
"How much of
this have you read?"
"Very
little. But I heard plenty from the man
himself, when he took me on tour. I was
something of a captive audience, and a willing one." Idenion grinned shamefacedly.
"Until I came
along and rescued you."
He kissed her
on the nose. "Come on, let's find
someone to take these files to the study before Sheyell decides to send them
for recycling."
"I wonder..."
mused Laura. "Sheyell's about our age, isn't she? Do you think she had some
kind of run-in with Alendis?"
"Maybe,"
Idenion conceded. "But if she did, it's something she doesn't want to share.
There's no point in challenging her about it. Do you fancy a trip to Tafret
tomorrow?"
Laura blinked.
"What?"
"We need
Nohal's input on the entrainment programme. It's important, Laura. There's a
lot of raw talent out there - I didn't realise how much until today - and if it
isn't correctly managed it can atrophy. And that would mean withdrawn,
discontented children."
"You're
thinking about Dena."
"Absolutely.
Because we were shunted from family to family, her abilities were neglected
until she couldn't utilise them. Remember how inhibited she was?"
Laura sighed.
"All right, point taken. We'll speak to Nohal at once."
"And we'll
tell him about Alendis' files," Idenion declared. "I can't think of a better
person to advise us."