The Summer Star was held captive, like the Twins themselves, by the thing that was swelling across the screen now: the Black Gate, the revolving black hole at the heart of this stellar cluster, which for a millennium had given the Hegemony its only access to Tiamat.
Utter blackness became the focal point on the screen, limned by a flaming halo of energy as countless particles of matter were sucked down into the insatiable maw of the black hole’s gravity well. He felt a prickle of terror, gazing at it, even knowing that he was actually far away, safely out of reach; that this monstrous whirlpool in the sky was only a data simulation. He thought of the times he had calmly and acceptingly let a coinship carry him into that maelstrom, always confident that he would emerge from the other end of the wormhole through space unscathed. He had taken that leap of faith far more casually than he had taken this one. But then, no one had ever shown him this sight before…. Ignorance is bliss. He remembered passing through the Black Gate one last time, leaving behind an impossible love; believing that it was forever, and believing that there would never be a way for him to change his mind … or to change anything else. He shook his head, and sighed.
The image of the Gate began to shimmer, transforming back into an image of Tiamat as suddenly as if his own thoughts had willed it. The world was larger now, its details clearer. The assistant navigator said, “Locking into stable orbit now, Captain.”
Tabaranne murmured acknowledgment, turning with Gundhalinu as half a dozen more people entered the bridge.
Gundhalinu kept his face expressionless as he observed the various states of distress of Vhanu and the other ambulatory representatives of the provisional Hegemonic government. He watched their faces change, saw the same play of wonder and relief that he knew had filled his own, as they took in the reality of Tiamat on the displays before them. It had already been announced through the levels of the ship that the Ilmarinen had reached its destination. That was why they were straggling up here now like the walking dead. But the difference between hearing it over an intercom, and actually witnessing it with one’s own eyes was unimaginable.
He let them congratulate him, a part of him savoring their praise, unable to resist the admiration of a people whose respect was not easily won, and somehow meant so much to him even now…. But always there was a part of him that kept its distance, a still, small voice reminding him that in his heart he was no longer completely one of them.
He had tried to use his influence to surround himself with people he thought he could trust, who were at least flexible enough to bend his way when he tried to set policy, to listen when he tried to explain that there was a larger picture to consider… who understood the real parameters of the Great Game, whether they were Survey or not.
But every favor had a price; every faction had its influence and its own agenda. In trying to negotiate who would be on his staff, he had been forced into compromise after compromise, until he felt like a highborn bridegroom trying to decide who would attend his wedding. He thought suddenly, with poignant regret, of Pandhara— how she had insisted on an automatic notary marriage, scandal or no scandal, as soon as he had given her the first hint of what they would face if they so much as announced their intentions publicly. But he had had no choice, in this matter. … He looked around him, seeing Vhanu, who was his new Commander of Police, the only one on his staff whom he knew well enough to trust completely; and HM Borskad, a Survey colleague, but one who believed more strongly than he liked in a Kharemoughi-centered vision of order. Behind Borskad was YA Tilhonne, a grandnephew of Pernatte’s, of unproven competence and loyalties; and beside him stood VX Sandrine, a Foreign Service career man who had spent time on a number of worlds but did not seem to have learned much from any of them. They had in common right now only their various expressions of awe and discomfort.
Another small clutch of officials entered the bridge, as he watched. Still more remained below, recovering from their ordeal. They had all made this journey willingly, but he could only begin to guess their individual motives for it. If a quarter of them had the vision and flexibility he had hoped for, he would be lucky.
Women were a distinct minority among them. Equality depended less on sex than on social standing for Kharemoughis, who valued brain over brawn, unlike most of the cultures of the Eight Worlds. But he had forgotten, until he returned to Kharemough—if he had even realized it before—how the Foreign Service seemed to attract the most rigid and inflexible of his own people. He had wanted a higher representation of women, because Tiamat was more egalitarian and more matriarchal than any world he had ever been on; understanding and cooperation would be more likely on both sides if his own representatives were equally divided between the sexes. But because of the biases and restrictions built into the Foreign Service, there had been few women even qualified for the positions he had needed to fill.
The Ilmarinen carried not only the staff of the new provisional government, but also a squadron of Police, the backbone of the new government—virtually all of them Kharemoughis as well, most of them Nontech, all volunteers. They were all Kharemoughi because it was both convenient and efficient; but it also meant another link in Kharemough’s chain of control. It meant that he would understand the mentality of the police working for him better than he had understood the largely Newhavenese force he had served with on Tiamat before. Whether they would understand the people of Tiamat any better than the Newhavenese had was the question he could not answer. He had had them working with cultural indoctrination tapes, learning the language with enhancers, even before they boarded the ships. But he remembered how much good that had done him, in his smug, self-satisfied youth….
He realized, with a pang of irony, that he had finished the last of his gracious, automatic responses to the congratulations of the new arrivals. Their comments had barely even registered in his mind. He looked out at Tiamat, watched the planet’s cloud-whorled arc of blue move slowly from day into night. He looked away, shaking off the vision, refusing to read any symbolism into it.
“This time tomorrow, Gundhalinusadhu,” Sandrine said, beside him, “all this will be ours.”
Gundhalinu looked at him, and said nothing.
“Excuse me, Commander,” Tabaranne said, coming back to his side. “I thought you would want to know that we’ve completed one orbit of Tiamat. We’re about to begin positioning the high defense weaponry.”
Gundhalinu turned back to the image of the world on the screens before them, unable for a moment to make a response. “Thank you, Captain.”
Tabaranne moved away to his station, and input a brief, irrevocable series of codes into the waiting systems. Gundhalinu tried to concern himself with the conversations and speculations going on around him for the time it took to make another complete orbit of Tiamat; knowing that at preset intervals they were dropping the components of an orbital weapons system into place—weapons that could be turned on potential invaders, illegal entries … or any rebellious activity occurring on the planet’s surface.
“We have verification, Captain,” one of the crew reported. “Systems are completely deployed, and coming on-line.” Images of the new defenses came and went in the corners of the display; he watched them spread arrays of microwave lasers and plasma weapons.
“Good,” Tabaranne said. He looked back at Gundhalinu and the silently attentive audience behind him. “Tiamat is secure, sadhanu. You can sleep easily in your new beds tonight.” A murmur of appreciation filled the space around him. “I’m bringing the starport on-line … now.” The view behind Tabaranne changed as the ship’s remote sensors brought the surface of Tiamat spiraling up suddenly, disconcertingly, toward their eyes. “We’re passing over Carbuncle right now.” And Carbuncle appeared, pushing the image of Tiamat aside, like a split-screen hallucination. It was barely more than an outline of lights against the burning sky on Tiamat’s nightside… but still it looked the way he remembered it, an immense shellform, like some incongruous jetsam cast up on the shore of Tiamat’s omnipresent sea. “Send the signal to activate.”