Throwing back my head like an animal I let forth a howl, a shriek of rage and horror that surely would have frozen anyone who heard it; but who was there in that place to hear? When the echoes of my fury died away, I bowed, and covered my face with my hand.
There was a long silence. Then, “Have you another request?” asked the librarian.
I looked up. The ’file had looped back and started to play again. At the sound of my voice the image froze, the explosion like a brittle flower hanging in front of me.
“No! No, wait—yes, there is something else I would like to see.”
The destruction of NASNA Prime flickered off. The scholiast reappeared, assumed his usual patient expression. I leaned forward, my hand stabbing at the air.
“The footage you just showed me, of the NASNA Prime Station—where did it come from?”
The scholiast’s image froze as it searched for data. After nearly a minute it announced crisply, “Lyapang Wondot 3—that is, Autocratic News Service 3.”
“No—where did they get it from? Who actually ’filed it?
Was there a person’s name? Who knew that station was going to be destroyed? ”
Again the scholiast accessed its files. This time golden letters flowed through the air, spelling out the source.
UNKNOWN HOLOFILER, HELENA AULIS AUXILIARY CAPSULE PERDITA.
“Helena Aulis,” I said dully. The auxiliary capsule had been deployed from the colony that Lascar Franschii claimed held one of the leaders of the geneslave rebellion. “Run a personnel check on the broadcaster for that transmission.”
High-pitched squeals as the loop was played back and analyzed.
“Nonhuman auxiliary personnel,” the scholiast said at last. “Point of origin, HORUS colony Helena Aulis. Clearance Code 7, Energumen, male, Kalaman Cluster 579.”
An energumen. Again I stabbed at the air.
“That footage of the Campbell station,” I barked. “Who ’filed it? Who knew Campbell Prime was to be destroyed?”
Another golden banner.
UNKNOWN HOLOFILER, HELENA AULIS AUXILIARY CAPSULE PERDITA.
I waved impatiently. “Run a personnel check.”
More squeals. Then, “Nonhuman auxiliary personnel. Point of origin, HORUS colony Helena Aulis. Clearance Code 7, Energumen, male, Kalaman Cluster 579.”
Another energumen—or the same one—had witnessed and probably instigated the destruction of both NASNA Prime and the Campbell Station. Seemingly random acts of terrorism, and no one had ever thought to trace the news sources.
Or if they had, the correct information was never revealed.
The pressure in my mind roared like flame.
Kalaman Cluster 579.
Months before anyone was aware of it, the energumens had already begun their assault on the Ascendant Autocracy—and the Emirate, and no doubt the Balkhash Commonwealth as well.
“One more question,” I said. The shrill echo of my voice shivered in the cool air. “You said that Jawa was destroyed by Ascendant troops in retaliation for a presumed attack by the Emirate on Kalimantan and Araboth.
“But there was no attack, not according to your records. A tsunami destroyed Araboth. Who notified Quirinus headquarters otherwise? Who told them Araboth had been destroyed by the Habilis Emirate?”
The scholiast flickered in and out of sight. A disembodied voice announced, “That is classified information.”
“I am the Aviator Imperator Tast’annin!” I roared, then shouted my clearance code. The scholiast’s impassive face shimmered back into sight. After a few moments it said, “Medusine Kovax received a transmission on 19 June o.s.c. informing her of Emirate hostility in the North American theater. Ascendant troops responded within fourteen solar hours.”
“And the source for this transmission?”
A beat. Without emotion the scholiast recited, “The relay was traced to the Perdita, an auxiliary capsule from Helena Aulis.”
It was as Lascar Franschii had said. The energumens and other geneslaves had declared war on humanity.
I turned and stalked across the room, trying to calm myself; trying to call upon all my decades of training to keep from being overwhelmed by the sheer simplicity and lunacy and effectiveness of this campaign. After a few minutes my rage and sense of helplessness began to ebb. I stopped at the window and stared out, not really seeing anything.
For a terrorist movement—one that could only have burgeoned in the last year, even the last few months, else surely I would have heard rumors of it—it was amazingly well organized. They had the same weapons as the Autocracy; more of them, now that they had assumed control of HORUS. And seemingly they had at least one intelligent leader in this male energumen from Cluster 579. Every one of the places destroyed by their ragged troops had been an Ascendant stronghold, an armory or military base or resource holding of particular strategic value. It was not the sort of information geneslaves would have access to, even infernally gifted ones.
Unless…
Unless their maneuvers were all being dictated by another leader. One who knew the exact placement of the Ascendant armories and the more ancient weapons stores that had been lost over the centuries.
“The Oracle!” I cried.
“Your request?” The scholiast appeared and inclined its head to me.
“The Oracle—the messenger that has been appearing to the energumens in the HORUS colonies—do you have it on ’file?”
The scholiast blinked from view. An endless minute passed, and another. Finally it wove back into sight.
“There is an urgent ’file message for you, Imperator. Please stand by.”
In the air before me a darkness appeared, an oily cloud that swirled in slowly widening circles until it formed a viscous globe roughly man-sized, the color of a black pearl. A faint lavender light candled within its heart, a violet radiance that grew more and more intense, until I had to shield my eyes from it.
“Imperator Tast’annin.”
I lowered my hand. Within the shimmering globe stood the figure of a man, his outlines blurred by the shifting light. But as I stared, I saw that this was not a man at all, any more than Nefertity was a woman. It was a construct, a replicant, but more beautifully made than any I had ever seen, save for my nemosyne companion.
And of course that is what it was. The Ascendant’s missing military unit; the nemosyne I was searching for.
“Metatron,” I whispered.
He bowed slightly. “Imperator Tast’annin. I have been anxious to meet with you.”
My voice rose angrily. “Where are you transmitting from? How did you know I was here?”
“Agent Shi Pei informed me, shortly before she was relieved of her duties at Cisneros.” Silvery threads rippled across the violet mask of his face, and he smiled.
“How did you know I was at Cisneros?”
“A breach in their security system.” He gave a dismissive wave, an airy gesture that seemed charged with supernatural meaning. “They have all been relieved of their duties.”
Slow horror built in me as I asked, “What do you mean?”
He cupped his palms as though holding some living treasure, daggerwing butterfly or wormwood moth. When he opened them, a tiny jeweled box floated above his violet fingers. Sparks of light leapt from it like luminous spray. I leaned forward. The scintillating rays resolved into minute towers crashing in upon themselves; the flashing gems became blocks of residential units exploding into bursts of gold and crimson and black. I was looking at a ’filed image of Cisneros in flames.