TIAMAT: Carbuncle
BZ Gundhalinu gazed out through the mirrorshielded windows of the hovercraft as it made its slow progress up Carbuncle’s Street—moving slowly for effect, and for the sake of caution. He shared its insulated space with Vhanu, who made desultory conversation and asked an occasional innocuous question, which he answered absently, and with Echarthe, the new Minister of Trade. A well-armed Blue in a regulation uniform piloted the craft, doubling as security. Two more craft followed, carrying other officials and other security personnel, all equally equipped with shields and weaponry, at Vhanu’s insistence.
Gundhalinu studied the clusters of Tiamatans who lined the Street to watch them pass. Some of the natives looked hostile, but most simply looked unblinkingly curious, probably more interested in the strange vehicles than in their nearly invisible occupants. A few actually waved and made gestures of triumph—Winters, he supposed.
Even before the first shuttle had set down on the starport grids, the Ilmarinen’s sensors had begun to pick up data about Tiamat that had made everyone on board—except himself—abruptly paranoid. Their routine EM scans had turned up evidence of widespread, if primitive, use of electronic equipment where there should have been complete EM silence; evidence of factories and new construction: real progress, instead of the primitive lifestyle and cultural stagnation they had been told to expect.
He had kept his own responses muted and cautious—downplaying the concern of everyone around him as much as he could without revealing too much, second-guessing every word that came out of his mouth for fear some casual comment would reveal that he knew too much, about the past, about the present … about the Summer Queen.
He had sent Vhanu as his emissary to the palace yesterday—since that was where the local constabulary said that Moon Dawntreader made her home now—but
Vhanu had not seen the Queen. He had been met by her representatives, led by a blind woman named Fate Ravenglass, who was a sibyl … and a Winter. Vhanu had not remarked on it, still too unfamiliar with the social situation here to comprehend the significance of that fact. They had formally set the time of the meeting he was about to attend, and that was all.
He let his eyes shift focus, no longer registering the gaping natives or the strangely familiar forms of the hive-like buildings behind them, half as old as time … seeing instead his own reflection. His tense, expectant face looked back at him, as insubstantial as some ancestor’s spirit. But he saw in his mind’s eye the unlined, unremarkable face of twenty-five-year-old Inspector Gundhalinu, whose memory still haunted this city that he had not seen in nearly twelve years.
“There seems to be remarkably little change in the city itself,” Vhanu said beside him, “compared to the data we have, at least.”
“Superficial changes are all anyone, including the Hegemony, has ever made on Carbuncle,” Gundhalinu murmured. “Carbuncle is … almost mythic, in its way. A functioning relic of the Old Empire. That was what made me choose it for my first duty post, when I joined the Police. I wanted to see it for myself, before that became impossible.”
“And were you disappointed by the reality?”
Gundhalinu’s mouth twitched. “By its superficial realities, yes—I suppose I was. But there is a deeper level of reality here, a depth to this place, and that did not disappoint me at all. I found it unforgettable.” He smiled selfconsciously. “I suppose that sounds like a lot of mystical drivel, doesn’t it?”
Vhanu laughed. “Well, yes, actually… . But then, I wasn’t here. You were.”
“Yes … I was.” Gundhalinu looked out the window again, taking a deep breath to ease the aching tightness in his chest.
“Tell me,” Echarthe asked, “did you ever meet the previous Queen?”
Gundhalinu grimaced. “I had that misfortune, on more than one occasion. Everything the reports said about her is true. She was a soul-eater.”
“Did you meet the new Queen?”
“I… Yes. Briefly. But before she had become the Queen.” He felt Vhanu glance at him in surprise. “She had come to the city looking for her pledged—her husband. I helped her find him.” He glanced at Echarthe, away out the window.
“How did she strike you?”
Gundhalinu looked up again, said carefully, “Determined. Smart. Deserving.”
“She bears an uncanny resemblance to the Snow Queen, in the holos I’ve seen,” Echarthe said. “There were questions about it in the departure records. In light of what we’ve seen so far, this push toward technological development, it raises some serious questions in my mind—”
“Many Tiamatans bear a striking resemblance to one another,” Gundhalinu said abruptly. “The population is small and isolated; that means a concentrated gene-P°ol.” He gestured at the window. “Just look out there along the Street. You’ll see what I mean.”
“Do you think the Queen remembers you favorably?” Vhanu asked. “It could help us in establishing the new government here, if she does.”
Gundhalinu shrugged; the corners of his mouth turned up slightly. They were nearly in the Upper City already, almost to Street’s End. “We’re about to find out,” he said.
They came to Street’s End at last, and the wide, alabaster courtyard before the palace entrance. Cundhalinu felt a strange sense of deja vu as he discovered workers there, sweeping, scrubbing, keeping the surface pristine—just as they had nearly two decades ago, in local time, the last time he had laid eyes on them. He wondered if any of them were actually the same people, still at their same task after all these years, their lives that stable and unchanging. He saw the local constables on guard at either side of the palace doors. They no longer wore the imitation offworlder uniforms of Arienrhod’s security force, but plain everyday clothing instead. An armband and a crested hat were all that set them apart as peacekeepers.
The hovercraft he rode in, and the two craft accompanying it, settled without noticeable impact onto the alabaster pavement. The high carven doors of the palace began to open toward him, like outstretched arms, across the square.
He shook off the image, as the door of his hovercraft unsealed and rose, letting in the breath of the city, rich with exotic smells that were both strange and strangely familiar. He climbed out, flanked by a phalanx of guards in the dusty-blue uniform that he knew so well, but no longer wore himself. Any of them could have been his companions, in the former time… could have been himself.
He felt the years fall away from him in a sudden, almost dizzying rush. From a distance, as if from that other world, he heard faintly echoing voices speaking Tiamatan. The workers had gathered at the far side of the courtyard, pointing and murmuring. He had recovered his skill with the language, using the same indoctrination tapes he had made everyone else study. But here, confined inside the echoing city walls, the words sounded different in a way he could not define. More real, in this three-dimensional context of real place and real people.
He turned, forcing his body to move, looking toward the palace. Its entrance stood open, but no longer empty. As the small crowd around him began to step aside, making way for him, he saw clearly who it was who waited for him there. He stared, all other motion suddenly impossible, every other human being around him ceasing to exist. It was only himself … and her, inside a moment where time had stopped. He went on looking at her, sure that he must be dreaming, because he had dreamed of this moment so many times.