Book of Days: asher553

Sestris turns the gleaming egg over in her hand, admiring its beauty. A jagged hole in the shell reveals the tiny creature inside, some kind of bird or winged reptile, its eyes closed, its wings folded ... peaceful. All preserved forever in shining metal. It looks as alive as the moment she found it.

She puts the egg back on the shelf among her many ornamental treasures. From her chamber high in the Palace Compound, she looks out on the capital city. So many people, still sleepwalking ... if they only knew. But they wouldn't understand, even if she told them. They are all still asleep, like the creature in the egg.

In the stars beyond, there lies a fragile, scattered band of inhabited worlds. And out there - though very few know it - hides a fissure in the bedrock of space. It has lain hidden like a sleeping dragon since the first moments of creation.

Sestris thinks of the others, the enlightened ones. She only knows the names of a few, but there are many more. She knows what she needs to know, and that is enough - more than enough, since very few are privileged to serve the group in such a high position. But that does not matter; it is the group, with its sacred mission, that matters. They are the ones who will wake the dragon when the time comes. Soon, all the worlds will see the universe as it truly is - as it must be. The beauty of emptiness. The beauty of infinity. The beauty of the great onenesss. The beauty of ...

Sestris waits.

[This entry begins Part 2 of "Gone Into Night", a story which I have been posting in serial form. To read Part 1 in its entirety, click here: Gone Into Night - Part 1.]


Six generations after its founding, Planet 138 still hasn't got a name of its own, as if its inhabitants aren't really planning to stay. But with a total population that has never risen above 50,000, no ecosphere, and an economy far too small to support an independent space program, they haven't got much choice. Most of the inhabitants live in a single complex, which is divided into three sections. Although the bulk of the colony is underground, three domes can be seen rising above the planet's rocky surface. One part is the city, the manufacturing and residential area; the second is the hydroponic zone, and those who tend it live there. The third part is the library, and where the dead are buried.

It's recess time.

The suns are out today - and they will be for another five standard days, thanks to the planet's slow rotation - but they are not bright enough to spoil the view of the sky. The girls in Miss Orizhend's third-level class are discussing the mysteries of life as they get suited up for recess.

"I heard they make babies in a big lab'ratory," says Casima, whose mothers both work in bioengineering.

"Uh-uh", retorts Svadhi. "Maybe they do it like that sometimes, but mostly people get pregenant. They grow their babies in their tummy."

"I heard about a lady who got pregnant all by herself. Her spaceship crashed somewheres an' she was stuck an' she decided to have babies." It's Urkni, who has heard lots of stories.

"No way," says Svadhi, dutifully checking the radiation tag just inside the collar of her suit, "a lady can't get pregnant by herself."

Jharid has joined the group. All eyes turn to Jharid, because Jharid is Mature, and she Knows Stuff.

"She can," Jharid says deliberately, "but she's not s'posed to, 'cuz then the babies could grow up all 'tarded and stuff. That's why she's gotta get married. 'Cuz she's sposta have somebody with her when she makes the baby, so's the genes don't come out all the same."

"Yeah," Casima jumps in, eager to prove she's known it all along. "It's like when you clone a bean plant or something, they always get defective later."

"And that," Jharid continues, taking no notice of Casima, "is why you gotta have a Mama and a Nana, a birth mommy and a bond mommy. 'Cuz your bond mommy's gotta be around when your birth mommy gets pregnant."

"Yeah," Casima explains, undeterred, "she's gotta hold her hand an' stuff."

Svadhi, overcome with horrified fascination, says, "An' do they, like, kiss an' stuff?" Grownups kissing is still gross for her.

"Oh yes," Jharid says mysteriously, "an' not just on the mouth."

Svadhi is certain she doesn't want any more details, but somehow she looks at Jharid, silently begging her to explain.

Jharid, deeming her ready for the information, whispers something in Svadhi's ear. Svadhi shrieks and throws her hands to her face, her helmet bouncing noisily along the floor. "Jharid, that's the grossest thing I ever heard! You're lying! I hate you! I'm not ever going to talk to you again! You're a horrible person and I hope you die!"

In twenty years, Svadhi and Jharid will be married. But that is another story.

As Svadhi runs headlong into Miss Orizhend, the teacher is wondering for the billionth time why she does this. She'd been hoping to have a break from watching thirty-five girls (hers and Miss Hara's seventeen) and making sure they don't get lost, rip their suits, or overstay their recess and exceed their radiation exposure limit. Now she has to inspect Svadhi's helmet for damage, and just to be on the safe side, she should probably keep her indoors anyway.

"Svadhi," she says, "was Jharid being mean to you?" Svadhi nods petulantly. "Then I think you should stay inside this recess, so she doesn't bother you." Svadhi isn't sure whether this is intended as a privilege or a punishment, but whatever, she'll take it.

The class from the room across the hall are already waiting, and they file together along the corridor that runs the perimeter of the school level. Miss Hara is there, and it's her turn to hold recess duty. The two classes share the elevator ride to the surface, as they usually do.

Miss Orizhend reflects that, after all, they're not a bad lot. It's hard to say whether things have changed much since she was in school. She'd be tempted to say they have, but she can't put her finger on anything, exactly. They say the older girls, especially, are very well-behaved these days. Some of them have even formed some sort of social club - like a knitting group, she supposes, at any rate it's harmless enough, and those are the girls that seem to do best in their studies. That's what people are saying, anyway.

The elevator door slides open and the two teachers and their girls make their way down the walkway with their helmets on, except for Miss Orizhend and Svadhi. Miss Orizhend nods to Miss Hara, and realizes she's feeling a little relieved, because she's wanted to have some time to talk with Svadhi alone.

And that's when they find the dead girl's body in the airlock.

Gone Into Night


It's a word every schoolgirl knows from astrophysics. And long after she's forgotten all the equations and gotten on with the business of working and raising a family, she'll remember the word. It's just the kind of word you remember.

Atubis is thinking about the word now. It means something else in these times, though, and it has precious little to do with stars or the universe. It's closer to home than a black hole, and much uglier.

For some reason, Atubis finds herself thinking back on her other life, the one she had before she became a Priestess. The life none of her disciples know anything about.

***

Amira stares into the screen, trying to glean some information. There's more to the picture than Kathris has told her, but she can't see it. She doesn't know what to look for. All she sees is the tiny blips of an alien fleet advancing slowly, steadily, toward an even tinier blip. She squints to see the writing beside the blip, but it tells her nothing; it is simply a number: 138.

***

Kathris fingers the pages of the printed book. There's something reassuring about printbooks, and somehow she's glad that, no matter how far civilization advances, people never seem to lose the need for the simple permanence of the printed word. "Durable media", the technologists like to call it. She has a need of durable things these days; everything feels as if it's slipping away.

A search of General Information would be too dangerous, even with the highest levels of Imperial security. The encyclopedia before her tells her nothing, only rehearsing familiar truths about zero denominators and infinite quantities. It is, literally, a lot of nothing.

The comfort of her private study is all she has now. Surrounded by the old books, she wishes she could stay there. But there's work to do, and not much time. So little time. She stares around at the volumes of physics, poetry, astronomy, philosophy, history. Where to begin?

The scrap of paper is moist in her hand, tattered as she clutches it, unable to look at it, unable to erase its one word from her mind.

***

Dess descends to the lower section of the Hunger of Lilith, to get ready to go planetside. Her teacher is already there, seated in the reclining chair and facing the rear of the spacecraft in preparation for the twenty-minute deceleration and atmospheric entry. A deep-space craft would need much longer, but the Hunger of Lilith, coming through the hyperspace portal, has no spatial velocity except the orbital speed of the portal itself.

For the trillionth time, Dess wonders why her teacher has to be the most beautiful woman in the universe. It just isn't fair. But now it's worse than that: something is troubling Atubis. Dess wants to ask her what's weighing on her mind, but that would be inappropriate. Besides, what comfort could she, Dess - barely more than a girl herself - offer to the silver-haired woman? And deep down, there's the worst thing of all: If something is worrying Atubis, with all her wisdom, she's not sure she even wants to know what it is.

***

The Hunger of Lilith doesn't like the smell of the atmosphere.

There's not too much time to ponder it, with three organics in a hurry to get planetside for reasons of their own. (Well, Dess isn't just any organic, but she's trying to be professional about this.) The Hunger can't quite put her finger on it, either - figuratively speaking - because there's nothing specific: no biological pathogens, no radioisotopes, nothing to indicate something badly amiss with the life-forms on Shakti. And yet, something isn't quite right.

Well, time to think of that later. Two of the organics are already belowdecks, impatiently waiting for her to start decelerating. The third lingers.

***

Somehow, the thought of seeing Amira again fills Joli with both longing and dread. Dess and Atubis are down below, and Joli makes herself an excuse that Dess probably wants a few minutes to be alone with Atubis. She knows all about her friend's crush on the older woman, of course, and finds it charming - and refreshingly innocent.

If only her own life were so innocent.

Joli wonders how Dess manages to be unaware of the Hunger's feelings (yes, she's sure that's the right word) for her. Probably it's never occurred to her; but stranger things have happened. Joli's been around, and she knows full well that intelligences of very different species can sometimes bond in the most surprising ways. It amuses her to think of Dess as part of a love triangle.

Yeah, she tells herself, biting her lip, I guess I ought to know about those.

The Hunger's voice is gentle but firm; it seems to come from all around. "Atmospheric entry in ten minutes. You are advised to be seated in a G-seat belowdecks."

"Acknowledged," Joli says. And now that she's got the Hunger's undivided attention, she thinks of something she's been meaning to ask. Just a chance remark she heard Dess make once, and Dess herself probably thought nothing of it. But Joli never was very good at minding her own business.

"Hunger," she says, "informational question."

"Proceed."

"What is Singularity?"

Shakti.
No one can find the planet now.

The race that once called Shakti home have multiplied, spread out, and grown strong - an ever-growing sphere, illumined from within like the shell of a supernova. But no trace of their ancient homeworld remains in all the light-years of known space, or in all the countless Ages that dwell side by side in imaginary time. And with Shakti, all knowledge of the origins of the Gilkesh race are lost forever. Not only that, but the Gilkesh remain divided to this day in every Age. The two Realms do not openly war with one another, but remain separated by mutual mistrust and a cultural gulf as deep as the one between any two alien races. So they are a paradox: mighty but divided, with a great future but no past.

No one can say for sure what brought about the loss of Shakti and the diaspora of its people, and as you may expect, the historians of the two Realms give widely different accounts. Nothing in our Universe is known with certainty, but mortal souls must guess as best they can.

This is how it might have happened.

( continue reading )

Department of non sequiturs: I want people to like me. I NEED people to like me. Therefore I've volunteered to moderate a number of internet discussion forums.

What's wrong with this picture?

{sigh}

New Year's resolution: I will not play moderator to any more internet forums. {writes 100 times on blackboard}

Anyway, I managed to get a halfway decent night's rest last night and I'm feeling somewhat better this morning. I was going to meet a friend for sushi yesterday but something came up - apparently she started getting harrassing phone calls and e-mails from someone and had to deal with that. I finally managed to reach her on the phone. Hope she will be ok ... she says the situation is under control now but I'm going to check back with her today.

Story update: "The Queen's Courtesan" is currently offline for work. I want to correct a couple of embarrassing goofs in the dialogue and expand the narrative somewhat, plus make a couple of changes in the setting so it makes more sense. Stay tuned.

Also I am thinking of beginning another story in that series (i.e. set in the Gilkesh universe) soon.

If all goes well, I should be meeting a friend for dinner this evening. Otherwise, it's looking like a nice, rainy, stay-at-home day in PDX.