Edges

Chapter 31

Riffan returned to the containment capsule, nested for sixty-three years now in Dragon’s tissue. He’d visited it daily since the entity’s brief appearance. “Come speak to us,” he invited. “All of us. We don’t need to be enemies.”

When he’d learned the entity had entered his cottage, dissolved its avatar in his generative wall, he’d been badly rattled. Logic suggested it was a coincidence and no reflection of his early efforts at communication—and yet illogically he felt called out, compelled to establish a bridge between the entity and the ship’s company.

So far his efforts to persuade the entity to come forth again had gone unrewarded, but he kept at it, and with increasing urgency, because each passing day left him more fearful—not of the entity, but of the growing division among the ship’s company.

Many, maybe even most, desired compromise. Riffan counted himself among this faction. They had all joined the expedition to learn, to explore, to discover what lifeforms had survived among the Hallowed Vasties and here was one such lifeform now living among them.

When he’d first encountered it at the Rock, Riffan had been terrified, and when it had infested the ship he’d hoped desperately that Urban would be able to eliminate it, erase it utterly, because he’d believed their survival was at stake.

Survival excused many behaviors that would otherwise be criminal.

Riffan said, “We understand you did not attack this ship as a hostile act.” He hesitated, then amended this statement. “Well, most of the ship’s company understands that. The question of your own survival left you no choice. And you’ve done nothing to threaten our survival. Better for all of us to be allies than enemies. And more among the ship’s company might be persuaded of that if you were to come forth again, talk to us, answer our many questions, allow us to know you.”

A sense of peaceful amiability came over him. He recognized the effect of the harmless behavioral virus he’d experienced once before. His excitement ramped up. This was the first response he’d gotten in sixty-three years! He breathed deeply, taking in the virus, wanting to extend its effect, knowing his defensive Makers would swiftly break it down. Such a small thing—and yet he felt victorious knowing the entity was aware of him, that it was listening to and considering his words.

So speak again, you idiot!

“You may already know,” he said hastily. “But there is another assembly scheduled to begin in forty-five minutes. I want to encourage you to come take part in it. Speak to us. I know your presence will change everything.”

As Riffan returned to the gee deck, he debated with himself. Should he announce that his visit to the containment capsule had finally won a response? He wanted to believe the behavioral virus was a meaningful communication, a promise that events were moving forward, that all would be well. But at the same time, he didn’t want to read too much into it. He was wary of setting up expectations only to have them go unfulfilled—and the assembly was about to start anyway.

Let’s just see what happens, he concluded.

He composed himself, employing his acting skills to hide his excitement. Then he reached the amphitheater, saw the sparse turnout, and nearly changed his mind.

Daily assemblies had been held since the entity’s visit to Urban, but it had been seven days, and attendance had fallen off. Everything that could be said about the entity’s anomalous appearance had been discussed, and those open to persuasion, persuaded, one way or another, leaving only the most stubborn among the ship’s company to carry on.

Riffan lingered at the amphitheater’s entrance as those who had arrived ahead of him took their seats. They murmured and joked and taunted one another, sorting themselves into knots of allies scattered among the first three rows, leaving the back row empty.

Naresh was present, and Alkimbra, sitting several seats away. Kona wasn’t there, and Urban hadn’t attended since the first two days. But Clemantine had come, and Pasha too. They sat side by side at the center of the front row.

Vytet loitered beside the dais, waiting to call the assembly to order. Her amber gaze caught Riffan’s eye. She said, “Not many today. I think we’ve talked ourselves out. I’m going to move that this be our last assembly until we have something new to discuss.”

Riffan nodded, thinking he should tell Vytet about the behavioral virus—that was something new. Instead, he turned to look outside to see if anyone else was coming—but there was no one.

Vytet joined him. “We should start, but if the discussion devolves into accusations, I’m going to make a motion to dismiss. We can’t afford this strife.”

“Yes,” Riffan said. “I’ll back you up on that.”

A figure appeared on the path that wound between the cottages.

“A moment,” he called to Vytet who had turned to mount the dais. “Someone else is coming.”

As the individual entered the pavilion, Riffan caught his breath, recognizing the entity’s avatar. “Vytet!” he cried in a frantic stage whisper. “It’s here! It’s come!” He hurried out to meet it, disregarding any response Vytet might have made.

The avatar had regenerated itself to look just as it had when it visited Urban. It presented itself as a man of moderate height and features, attired in simple clothing. Its complexion was flawless. Each strand of its short black hair was carefully placed. Its dark blue eyes were bright, literally aglow with the intensity of its gaze—which it focused on Riffan.

It regarded him with head cocked, eyebrows arched, looking amused. “I came at your invitation,” it reminded him.

“Yes, come in,” Riffan gushed, gesturing it toward the assembly. “Come and be welcome. Welcome indeed.”

Clemantine shot to her feet when she saw the avatar enter the amphitheater. She instructed a DI to send out a general alert.

Pasha stood too, a cautioning hand on Clemantine’s arm. “It is not the entity,” she reminded in a soft voice nearly lost amid the stunned murmur of those around them.

“I know what it is.” Every muscle taut, ready to spring, as Riffan accompanied the avatar to the center of the dais.

The thing was no more than three meters away. Clemantine studied its handsome young-man’s face—default male, attractive, inoffensive. Its eyes, gleaming dark blue, shifting to assess each individual present, even as it spoke in a confident—no, an arrogant voice, acknowledging a polite greeting from Vytet.

She heard it say, “I have many names, but you may call me Lezuri.”

Running footsteps on the paths outside as the balance of the ship’s company responded to the alert she’d sent. Those already present left their seats to push toward the dais. The new arrivals crowded in. Vytet’s voice rose above the clamor. “Let’s all sit down. Let’s show good order. Our guest, Lezuri, has agreed to stay a while.”

Pasha’s grip tightened on Clemantine’s arm. In an undertone, she said, “We shouldn’t let this go on.”

“No,” Clemantine answered, recovered now from her initial shock. “It’s too late to stop it. This has to play out.”

She spotted Urban on the dais, circling warily around the avatar.

Moth to a flame.