The Quest for the Pure Child

The Quest for the Pure Child

By W. A. Welton

The Quest for the Pure Child

William A. Welton

Copyright 2013 by William A. Welton

Smashwords Edition

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying , recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Contents

Title Page

Synopsis

Dedication

Acknowledgements

Part One: In the Metaxu

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Part Two: The Rise of Minog

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Part Three: The Chaos Fruits

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

About the Author

Synopsis

The Quest for the Pure Child

The mortals of the Sixth Realm had been guided from time immemorial by the immortal angels known as Celestials. When a team of scientists undertakes the first mission of exploration in the Celestial’s home dimension, they are totally unprepared for the terrifying discoveries that will forever change the way they view themselves and their world.

Their leader is Tien Nen Cor, a cyborg, who is telepathically linked with his companion, the hideous Steln cyborg AS-147. Among their team are Quelia, an engineer and poet, and Nar, a young Jurnian scientist with three-dimensional dreams. When they encounter a strange angel who threatens all their beliefs about the Celestial Hierarchy and their history, they soon find themselves in league with rebel angels bent on restoring the rule of the ancient Pure Child. In the course of the quest, they must seek out the hidden world of the Stone Guardian, even as the monstrous, mythic evil called the Minog awakens once more to threaten all existence. The heroes of the Sixth Realm will be forever transformed by the Celestials’ dark secrets in this tale of ancient mystery, political struggle, doomed love, and metaphysical terror.

This book is dedicated to my mother,

Antonia Saja

To whom I owe EVERYTHING

Acknowledgements

I would like to thank the artist, Lilja K. Addeman, for her fabulous cover art.

I would also like to thank my friends, Elizabeth Howard and Ralph Megargel, for their hospitality during the time I worked on this novel, and my friends Kirk Shellko and Jack Cheiky, for reading and commenting on the manuscript. Finally, I would like to thank the people at 52novels for their work in preparing the manuscript for publication as an e-book.

Part One: In the Metaxu

CHAPTER ONE

Tien could see dim shapes of submerged organs through AS-147’s transparent exoskeleton. The Steln’s neural nets shone lighter green in the emerald fluids that gently bubbled in its crystalline shell. Through his link to the Steln Tien could feel its feelings in a muted way, but as usual he could only guess their meaning. Tien’s other mind was engaged in mathematics, but soon he would need to draw on it for a more immediate task.

Nar was at the com. Her silvery Jurn skin was faintly blue in this light. Tien noticed the age-lines that came out with fatigue had reappeared at the corners of both her mouths. Her four eyes had a nervous look.

The Steln drew a gossamer finger in Tien’s foremind.

Nar said, Conveyance beam will lock on in thirty. A moment later it did, and the platform on which they stood shimmered. Then it vanished, as the white ray caught them and pulled them up, floating, into its wide angle. It was like looking through a perfectly smooth fog, or through translucent frosted glass. The blackness of space through the clear dome of the departure bay was barely noticeable as a gray pallor at the beam’s edges. Soon even this was gone, and all was white.

With the violence of a clap, the room snapped into view. Tien was jarred as he dropped a half-centimeter to the ground. The Steln’s tracks let out a motor whine and rolled slightly back and forth.

Tien recognized the room. Trapezoidal, its walls were now a peaceful shade of gray. Before them stood a wall with a dark central door. Tien recalled the first time he had seen this room, when the angels interviewed him. He remembered the exhilaration he had felt when they informed him that he had been selected. Now he looked about, recalling the four cycles it had taken them to get here.

Then a coruscation of light passed over the dark pool of the door, expanding in a ring from center to periphery, signaling that the door had opened. Teleslee, the chief of the angels’ Mediation Program, came in.

Teleslee had been there from the beginning. He had announced the Hierarchy’s selection, and had approved Tien’s team almost unchanged (but for the addition of the Steln). Teleslee directed the multi-cycle training program, during which Tien and his team were subjected to a battery of psychological and physical tests, and given the training needed for their voyage into the Metaxu.

Tien and his crewmates were about to become the first mortals to travel alone inside the Metaxu, the primordial mother-dimension that was the source of all reality. All others had been escorted by Celestials. But now the angels had determined that exploration of the Metaxu -- still carefully, if remotely, supervised -- would help mortals reach the next plateau of cultural evolution. The hope was that mortals would eventually acquire the sort of understanding needed to reach a higher level of communication with the angels.

Teleslee acknowledged the excitement of the moment and the crew’s eagerness. His wings glittered faintly and stirred slightly behind him as he gave out his hand to clasp in turn the distinct appendages of each of the three crewmembers.

Through the visual processor in his left eye Tien’s computer was scanning the room, measuring ambient energies and the life-processes of the various delegates who had come to see them off, as they silently streamed into the room behind the angel’s entourage. But after a long day of official ceremonies, the three explorers were not to be subjected to too much more. There were words of encouragement, some final instructions, and then they were led down long, shining corridors into the black departure bay.

Here the Steln AS147 took the lead, employing the wide beams of its three headlights to illuminate the aperture of the Bathysphere. How strange it seemed now that the moment was finally here! The last moments crawled by in slow motion. The arc of the Sphere was lost in the darkness overhead where it passed beyond the compass of the light. The central portal swung eerily open and the platform lowered to accommodate the Steln’s treads. Nar was up the short side rungs and into the entry tube, and Tien followed closely. They heard the gates of the departure bay slide closed, solidifying the darkness behind them, even as they swung themselves up through the hatch onto the Sphere’s access deck.

Immediately they set about the final check of the equipment, and before long were setting the flight shields and other apparatus needed to protect them when they passed through the enshrouding radiation of the Metaxu. The rest of the crew was already onboard in stasis. Nar, AS147, and Tien finished the final preparations, stepped, or rolled, into their pods, and sealed themselves in. In Tien’s pod soft music played in the darkness as he breathed the treated air and waited to slip into stasis.

***

After a few moments of deep relaxation he opened his eyes, but it wasn’t a few moments; his computer-half made him aware of precisely how much time had passed, and now the human portion of his mind could even access his digital memories.

One of the many reasons for using his particular cyborg conformation for this expedition was precisely to have what would otherwise have been impossible: a human account of the transition through the Membrane that divided their universe from the Metaxu. Ordinary human consciousness would not survive it; thus the need for stasis. Yet the electronic portion of Tien’s brain could record the entire experience digitally and impart a safer, filtered form of the experience to his human mind after the fact. Nonetheless, Tien suspected it would be a bit anti-climatic for other mortals to hear him relate the experience. There was only so much of what his computer-mind told him that his human consciousness could process anyway—all that stream of data about the multidimensional topology of space-time at the Threshold would be more interesting once the analysts had time to study it. Tien could hear it in his mind, but it went right past him.

The pod opened as the Bathysphere came to life; the lights were dim at first so as not to stun their eyes. A com voice tickled in his ear: Good morning, Tien. It was Nar. We’re on our way. Checking internal com systems now. External senses are fine.

Good, said Tien, Everybody up? Sute?

I’m here.

Gom?

Yuh-huh!

AS147, how are you?

In response, he could feel the Steln mentate at him.

Quelia?

Yes, I’m ok.

Ok, said Tien, let’s get through full systems check carefully. We’re going to be here a long time and the Metaxu isn’t going anywhere."

He signed off and for the next unit and a half they worked quietly, only speaking as necessary. Then they met on the obdeck to gaze out the port at the strange world stretched between the known universes. The obdeck ran in the great circle of the Sphere’s equator. It had walls designed of metal that could be made transparent to light, to show what was directly outside the Sphere, or that could receive visual data from the ship’s sensory net, to project pictures of what the net detected, at any level of magnification.

When Tien got there the others were gazing out into the colorful coruscation of energy: red, green, purple, violet, blue, shimmering in fragments like leaves trembling on the surface of a long, slow wave. Nar and the Steln stood close to the screen. Sute hung back; in her form-fitting white jumpsuit, she looked relaxed and mildly amused. He was struck again by how attractive she still was after all this time, with her long red hair, purple skin, and eyes entirely of red. Her lover, Gom Quinn, was also a striking character. His purple-black hair fell to one side of his head in a braid; his brown skin brought out the green of his eyes (his were old-style, with the pupils, iris, and whites visibly distinct). Gom was a competent biologist and technician, and like Sute, had been friends with Tien for many cycles. Nonetheless, he still made Tien a little uncomfortable, owing to Tien’s own past history with Sute.

Quelia stood surveying the scene, her engineer’s cap set back on her head. Tien had not had time to know her well, but he knew she was quiet, sensitive, and brilliantly intelligent. In addition to being an expert in several technical fields, including the mannatech of the Celestials, which she understood insofar as mortals could understand it, she was apparently also a famous poet on her home-world. But Tien didn’t read poetry.

But for the Steln, and for Nar and Silgohar, who were both Jurn, the other members of the command crew were all some kind of human, but of various subspecies.

Isn’t it pretty? said Nar, smiling with both mouths. I think I could look at that for several cycles. As she said this, Tien received a feeling of agreement from the Steln, and he could sense behind it an intimation of something that bore little relation to anything a human being, or even, he suspected, a Jurn, would have called aesthetic pleasure. Yet he guessed it was probably the closest Steln analogy.

Well, Dr. Tien, are we going to stand here any longer admiring the view, or is it time to get underway to the first destination? It was Sute. Tien, of course, actually shared her eagerness, which was precisely why he had tried to show no sign of it while they were running through their check of the systems; now there could be no mistakes. This was the first time humans were ever in here without handlers, and he was planning to take a good, long time looking around. Alright, he said, We’ll be at Skaya in one hundred and thirty units. There’s not much to do until then. So I suggest for now everybody get comfortable.

Their first scheduled stop was a vast puddle of shining purple known as the Sea of Skaya. Although they were to be unescorted, Tien and his crew had been provided with an itinerary. The angels were quite cautious, out of solicitude for mortals.

Tien went back to his cabin, plopped down into his chair, and typed the number of an electronic concerto into the console.

CHAPTER TWO

When Quelia left the obdeck, she had to cross next to the Steln, who stood on its treads, a short, squat metaplastic casing filled with luminous green fluids, pulsing organs, and cryptic technology. Quelia had heard some of the other command crew joking about it, referring to it as the ‘translucent green latrine’ and such things, but the look of it, and the thought of its alien intelligence, set a small, tight nausea in her stomach and a prickling at her skin. Now when she passed it, in her nervousness she felt that she should extend some kind of greeting or acknowledgment, but its consciousness was so foreign that she was at a loss.

She smiled and nodded at it, anxiously, and was about to hurry down the hall, when suddenly she had a very odd impression: it was as if the thing had registered her, and all at once she felt its regard. It was as though something inside it, some awareness, had extended to meet her mind. It was like a sudden jog of feeling that made her know that she was seen.

Her anxiety sharpened to panic, and she hurried past. She moved quickly down the corridor and scurried up the rung ladder to her deck.

Switching on the lights in her quarters, Quelia went straight for the small bookcase built into the wall beside her bunk. Kneeling down, she pushed aside a clutter of old files, bags of miscellaneous items, and pulled out an old leathern case. Seating herself cross-legged, she opened the case and carefully removed a very ancient book. She caressed its cover, reminding herself of its familiar texture, and allowing herself now a deep, comforting breath. This book was soaked in her memories, and tied her to feelings of love and strength from her past. It was a like a great root that enabled her to draw inspiration and renewed energy from a time long gone by.

She opened the book and looked at the rows of flowing characters from the script of a dead language, elegant, beautiful, serene, mysterious, and she sounded out their music softly to herself until their magic, and the sound of her own voice in the quiet room, quieted her mind. Then she attempted this translation of what she read there, and in her soft voice, tried to do justice to the beauty and power of the original with the resonance and drama of speech:

O Niltiminide, black soil from which sprouts Wyesmose, the tree of Time! How long have You yawned beneath the feet of infinite Praweenahah, the Ocean of the World? Before there were cycles, before the Birth of the Sun, You already stood implacable, never to be known. Your depths cannot be plumbed. Your eye cannot be seen, yet it swallows all things in its gaze.

This book had belonged to her grandmother. When Quelia was young she had lost both her parents; she had been raised by her grandmother, an old but still very vibrant woman, who had spent much of her life as a scholar of dead languages, and then in her later cycles had worked as a librarian in the Central Library of Neen. Neen was the most populous and most affluent city of Drerar, a major planet of the Oussian Hub. The Central Library had vast collections in all kinds of information media, including a substantive collection of Celestial materials.

Nata had already retired when Quelia came to live with her, and the old woman was able to devote her full time to the activities that gave her joy: gardening, weaving and other crafts, and not least of all, her studies. Quelia had realized only much later when she pursued her own studies as a young adult that her grandmother was one of Oussia’s foremost authorities on the literary fragments of the Lost Age.

***

At first, during the time of Quelia’s very earliest memories, Nata had simply retold these ancient tales in her own words, as nursery rhymes and fairy tales. So long before Quelia had ever heard of Worlassians she already knew many of their stories. The strange and powerful ancient images of these myths filled her childhood imagination and gave it depth, vibrancy and scope. Thus, Quelia became a girl who lived in two worlds; for the world of her imagination lived inside and accompanied her. She waited for those periods of solitude and leisure that allowed her to enter it fully; but also, at times, it broke through into her mundane life at unwanted moments, wrapping her in daydreams and wishful, inadvertent fantasies. These were tales of great men and powerful women, of mysterious sages and kind wizards, good sorceresses, and enlightened, heroic queens; tales of dark nether regions and alternate dimensions, infinite abysses, and long tunnels leading into worlds of wonder and light; of pristine gardens and vast interstellar vistas, of sentient stars and lost planets, and impossible regions beyond all natural laws; myths of demons and Celestials, ridiculous and horrifying monsters of distorted passion and poisonous appetite, beasts that lived in other dimensions or struggled in neglected chambers inside oneself, so that when one was quiet and attentive one could hear their muffled sounds. There were myths of great quests and adventures, of secrets that slowly and seductively unwound, voyages, deaths and rebirths. These tales drew Quelia into them as she drew them into herself; and their fire and light guided and shaped her. They had been the blessing of her childhood, but she knew that if anything they had only grown sweeter, stronger, more resilient, more manifold in meaning, richer in possibility and mystery, the older she had grown. They were her companions and her strength.

The Celestials played an important role in these myths, and they had always seemed to Quelia the living representatives of these stories, emissaries from the lost world in which the tales were set. Thus, Quelia had always been unusually fascinated by, not to say obsessed with, the angels; she had both feared them with a kind of religious awe and in her better, fearless moments had even loved them with a familiar, filial, at times even intimate affection. Through this affinity for them and fascination with them over the cycles she had become as familiar as a mortal could be—a mortal who at first made no claim to professional or scholarly expertise on the subject—with what was known of them. She had known quite a few of them on a personal basis as well, and in one case she and an angel had even grown quite close.

Quelia was sure that this aspect of her personality was owed to her grandmother, who had in effect, whether intending to or not, raised her to take an interest in the angels and in the ancient religion of the Worlassians. Quelia still recalled how slowly Nata had revealed more and more of the stories and their background; and she remembered the day Nata brought out this old book, this magical, glorious book with its cover of dark, wooden brown—some rich-smelling synthetic material that seemed more natural and wonderful than any animal hide—a cover that seemed so deep, seemed like a portal to some immense world of secret space and wisdom. She recalled how Nata had taken it down from the shelf and had showed her that cover, caressing it once and opening it, and the crisp smooth pages had separated gently one from another, falling into beckoning folds; and the great unknown letters had stood forth boldly and cryptically on the page. She recalled how her grandmother had given voice to them, pouring out strange words in rich, resonant sounds, in long dignified, musical, entrancing cadences, bringing Quelia into the world of the spell.

She remembered how her grandmother said: These books are where the stories I’ve been telling you come from. There are many, many other stories in them. Stories of wonderful, beautiful, holy things…stories of very sad and frightening things. Treasures without number, placed into your keeping. You will learn to know them all. So Nata taught her granddaughter how to read the Old Speech, taught her how to read the old books.

Quelia’s eyes scanned the next lines of the Niltiminide in the original: Chorna quorass cuaar lequem, nede gowa ne sone le tas…erdzen aaten o oun tul a ze, beede dooual lowoe one kooun. Carnta coohne. Then, translating into Oussian Common Speech, she read aloud:

Reveal to me the first Moment, the slow shape of the drop of Time as it commenced, before it fell into Your hollow body, dragging the past and the future behind it. As it did so, the Stream of All Things began.

The Worlassians had employed a great variety of information media, but the fragments of Worlassian culture that had been preserved were in the form of the more primitive technologies of paper and the book. Although there were some remaining ancient computer cells as well, little of their data was retrievable after the Great Destruction.

There had been in the keeping of the Central Library a priceless object of unparalleled historical value - - an ancient codex of the kind still used in the time of Worlassi. The Codex of SaRee, as it was called, was the only remaining original chronicle of one of the earliest contacts with the Celestials. It was written in two scripts, one the familiar alphabet of the high Worlassian tongue, but the other of unknown origin, as yet indecipherable. Scholars had long hoped that the codex held the key to understanding the unknown script and that the information it contained would shed new light on the earliest mortal-Celestial interaction.

Neen had developed into an oligarchy, and as the leaders tightened their control, they ruthlessly went after their opponents by every means. Quelia’s family had made enemies among the city’s ruling elite; her grandmother in particular had been a vocal critic of many of the city administration’s policies. When the Book of SaRee was stolen, Quelia’s grandmother was falsely accused.

She was incarcerated, tried and convicted; Nata’s enemies were too powerful. They stripped her of Quelia’s guardianship and confiscated the family properties. Only Nata’s spirit was undiminished. She seemed as though prepared to withstand the hardships of incarceration and to continue her protests of the regime from in prison, as part of a network of fellow dissidents, when suddenly, for no clear reason, she died.

When Nata died, Quelia understood that she was supposed to carry on her grandmother’s knowledge.

***

She heard the soft buzz from her door, and leaving the book on the floor by the bed, she sprang to answer it.

Hey, Quel, mind if I drop by? It was Tollant, a human from the Teelem system, his skin pale green. His hair was black streaked with white, and hung down straight, thin, and greasy. His shirt was half-open. Around his neck he wore a chain on which hung the white circle, with its center of blood red, the symbol of Devotion for the Dedicated. Sure come on in, make yourself at home said Quelia, turning from him and going back to her book to put it carefully and quickly away.

I got the holos from yesterday’s departure ceremony. You interested? Then he noticed that she was hastily rewrapping and stowing something. Whatcha got there?

Nothing, she said, Just mementos from my family.

You homesick already? He laughed, and leaned forward slightly, then rested against the curved rim of the open door, his one leg crossing the other, his bare toe, through his sandal, probing the carpet behind his other foot. His dark eyes were big and earnest, and he smiled openmouthed, looking like a happy dog. We ain’t hardly got going yet. Tollant worked in Cuon’s section, and took every opportunity he had to chat with Quelia. There was no mystery about his interest.

So have you watched ‘em yet? She gestured faintly at the tiny cubes in her fellow engineers’ hands. Yeah, actually I have, he said sheepishly, But I’m wanting to see them again. They’ve got Teleslee in ‘em, and other Celestial dignitaries that are truly awesome…and then too there’s that strange creature—

The Steln?

Yes. And Dr. Tien, of course— He sighed slightly. "It shows him shaking Teleslee’s hand. I wonder what he really thinks when he does that."

Who, Tien?

"Yeah. You know his people, not many Dedicates, among them. He narrowed his eyes. Why do you think they would choose one of his kind?"

You mean a cyborg? she asked, but she knew very well what he meant.

Tollant had shown this bigotry before, his disdain for the azure-skinned humans of Tulsloee, known as the Jaireen, of whom Tien was one. She hoped that her joke would signal to him to change the subject, but the Teelemian was dense. He continued: "Those joams got no reverence for the angels, for the most part, anyway; and then this one’s a cybie on top of it. I think he’s got too much ‘puter in him! Or too much joam!"

Quelia grimaced, sighed, and shot the young man a nasty look. "Language, please. You don’t even know Tien Nen Cor. The Celestials selected him and his exploration program out of thousands of applicants. He’s the head of his field, a decorated veteran, and his cybionic enhancements make him ideal. He is probably the most celebrated of the Oussians with cybionic interfacial consciousness. A part of his brain can survive and record crossing the membrane, and he can be telepathically linked to the Steln—"

Yeah, I know, that explains it. Tollant was sullen, but at last he could see this topic had lost him some points. He jostled the holo vids in his hand and was about to suggest they pop them in the hp, when Cuon appeared beside him in the doorway.

Here you are. I might have known. Cuon seemed very tall and straight in his white jumpsuit, the brightness of which made such a contrast with his black hair and eyes. He was a handsome man, with delicate but masculine features, and in many ways he was the opposite of Tollant. Cuon was normally reserved, businesslike, but intense spirit and intellect were concentrated in his face. He was Quelia’s Cosupervisor of Engineering, responsible for the proper functioning of all the non-mannatech systems on the Bathysphere, as she was in charge of everything mannatechnological, and all systems that had a direct interface to mannatech.

Actually, though, Quelia’s responsibilities were the most extensive, owing to the nature of the vessel they were on, based as it was on a Celestial design, adapted for mortals by mortal technicians with Celestial aid. It was quite a hybrid, and although Quelia had now become the foremost human expert on mannatech, there were aspects of mannatechnology that no human, herself included, truly understood. Still her relatively greater knowledge accorded her a certain celebrity and even authority among her fellow Dedicates. Yet Quelia was not one of the more vocal of the participants in the Devotion; her feelings about the angels, the extent of her knowledge and experience of them, which went much beyond their technology, her interests in the ancient history of the Worlassians—these things were too personal, and she didn’t much discuss them with others. Cuon, on the other hand, although he was generally quiet, could be quite eloquent whenever, among his fellow Dedicates, talk turned to their convictions.

Quelia, I am trying to plan a study and meditation group among the auxiliary crew, he said, and I was wondering if you or perhaps anyone else on the command crew might be interested. We need to find some times in First Schedule most people can attend. Dubos has a similar group he wants to get going for Third Schedule.

Look, gentlemen Quelia chided them, you really have to stop loitering in my doorway and come in and sit down. Can I get you anything?

They came in and sat at Quelia’s kitchen table. It grew up from a metaplastic stem in the floor, surrounded by two curved chairs and a stool, all on rollers.

Soon the three of them had hot cups of peanut and chocolate flavored blan warming their hands, and they were blowing over them to cool them, or taking tentative sips of steaming sweetness.

After a few moments of chatter, Quelia said, by way of invitation to Cuon, We were just about to watch the departure ceremony on hp.

I’ve seen it. Cuon’s eyes in fact looked a little sunken, as though he hadn’t slept. It’s fascinating to see Teleslee and so many Celestial dignitaries. Their names and ranks in the Hierarchy are all listed in the hologuide. I’d be happy to watch it again and introduce them to you as they come up.

Not particularly pleased by this prospect, Quelia asked: So tell me about your plans for the meditation and study group.

"We’ll read the Tendessa, said Cuon, referring to the holy book of the Devotion, which tells the story of Tende, greatest of the Celestial Messengers who shaped early Oussia. We’ll listen to Xywheary, Celestial music by the greatest of the Angel minstrels ever to play for mortal ears, and use the Cara mandalas and meditate on the images of the Immortals. You know the importance of a regular practice. It takes vigor and persistence to bring the Inspiration of the Angels more fully into one’s daily life."

Quelia smiled politely. Yes indeed. It sounds like fun. And although it did sound like fun, still there was something about Cuon and his group that left Quelia feeling a little uncomfortable. She felt uncharitable admitting it, but there was just something about him she didn’t really like. He was smart, passionate, physically attractive, competent in his field, and he had never been anything but friendly and respectful; he was much more sophisticated and cultured than poor Tollant, and didn’t show any manifest sign of the younger man’s racial prejudice. Indeed, sometimes when he was speaking with his articulate passion, the spark in his inky black eyes seemed so joyful and welcoming that for a few moments she felt quite close to him. But at other times, like now, there was something in his manner, in his voice, that put her off. His enthusiasm for Devotion seemed just a little too insistent, as though it came from some unmet need within him that demanded the attention and even the obeisance of others. And that insecurity, that importunate quality, made him seem a little pathetic and caused her to feel a certain embarrassment for him—once, when she had analyzed it, she had realized that that was why he bothered her. And here and now she was aware of it again, and watched it happening, and watched her own reactions.

In a few moments they were reclining on the couch watching the holograms from the previous day’s ceremonies, a syncomcast with commentary. A sweet-voiced Teelem announcer gave the names and some quick background on each participant, and the holoimages sauntered in or milled around the ceremonial platform, in its miniaturized hologrammic version that now lived, nestled neatly, on the vid plate in the center of the room. When the angels entered, and Teleslee was announced, Quelia wondered aloud: I wonder what his true name really sounds like?

What do you mean? asked Tollant.

Well, you know that their proper names are from their own language, she explained, but humans cannot hear all the sounds the angels make. There are sounds in their names that go outside the range of mortal hearing. We never hear more than part of their names, so what is actually heard is only a reduced version of what is said…of what the name actually sounds like in the ears of a Celestial. So ‘Teleslee’ is not his real name at all, only part of it; only the distortion of the true name as it allows itself to be heard by our ears.

I’ve heard that, said Cuon. But Tollant was impressed; he had never thought of that and found it fascinating.

Moments later Tien, Nar, and the Steln appeared on the vid plate, seeming to emerge from nowhere because the actual door had been just outside the range of the holocameras. Perspectives changed, and now only the backs of the psychonauts appeared, filmed from above, as they approached the waiting contingent of Celestials.

When Tien Nen Cor’s name was announced, Tollant said: Cuon, tell me again what you said before about why you think the Beautiful Ones chose a non-Dedicate as mission director.

It bothers you, doesn’t it, Toll? Cuon said with a superior smile. "But you know that not everything they do can be in our range. That’s part of what we who love them have to accept. It’s why we love them."

"It doesn’t bother you?" said Quelia, teasingly.

Does it bother you? Cuon said, playfully, but perhaps tacitly a little offended that she might class him with Tollant’s small-mindedness. No, I was just teasing Toll here. In other cases they have deep unfathomable purposes…but in this case, I don’t think it’s that hard to understand.

"I know you think that, said Tollant. I’ve heard your take on it before, but I couldn’t remember what you said. I thought it was profound; I just wanted you to repeat it for Quelia."

Please do, said an amused Quelia encouragingly.

Well, first of all, said Cuon, it’s entirely consistent with the angels—their characteristic lack of favoritism. They’ve never distinguished between Dedicates and non-Dedicates in their treatment of people, except to respect our different beliefs. But who knows? You know how subtle they are, how gentle, how they won’t impose themselves or the knowledge or practice of their way. Perhaps choosing Tien was a way of reaching out to the non-Dedicates. It is the non-Dedicates most of all who need to know and love them better than they do. Trillions of mortals on countless worlds are focused on this mission; thousands of young non-Dedicates who will perhaps acquire a deeper and more spiritual interest in and understanding of their Celestial benefactors. You can bet those children all want to be Tien. Look at him! Cuon gestured at the images with his cup of blan. Handsome, muscular, a decorated war hero, a famous cyborg, one of the world’s most respected scientists—he seems superhuman.

Or subhuman, maybe, said Tollant.

Serious cyborgism is becoming more and more common, said Cuon. "You’re going to have to get used to it. Prosthetic limbs, sensory implants, regenerated and enhanced organs…all of that is nothing now; but Tien’s the next big thing. Sharing minds with machines. He’s got the whole Corporation in his head, and the whole world’s information. Who knows what it’s like to think with the speed, the precision, and coldness of a computer?"

Yeah, said Quelia, "and that was before they plugged him into that." She pointed with her foot at the holo of AS147.

Ah, yes, the Steln, said Cuon sagely. Tien is our leader, hand-picked by Celestials. He’s half machine, with a computer-mind, and now he’s in total telepathy with a creature so strange that it’s incomprehensible. I mean, have you ever had to deal with AS147?

I have as a matter of fact, said Quelia, He seemed nice enough, she said, unconsciously using the masculine rather than the neuter pronoun for the Steln. Then she corrected herself: I couldn’t really tell though, because it was just transmitting digits into my codecom at the time. It was ‘discussing’ its accommodations with me, I think… or rather I should say with my computer. She deliberately did not mention how just a unit earlier she had been frightened by the Steln.

The weird thing about it, said Cuon "is that you don’t even know which part of it to look at. I mean, where’s its head, its back, its front? I swear I’ve seen it move forward in all directions."

They all laughed quietly, and then fell silent for a while. Then Quelia said: Hey so what was this profound thing you were supposed to be saying; I think I missed it.

Cuon said: Ask Toll.

I just thought you had the right idea about how the Beautiful Ones have reasons. As you say, they probably want to bring more of the non-Dedicates to the Way…to make them more aware of the mystery of the Metaxu, give them more exposure to Celestial things— said Tollant.

Yes, even our strange director’s sharing of consciousness serves it purpose, Cuon added, It brings even the Steln in…the Supremes Ones don’t want to leave anyone out. Their care is universal, without prejudice—

As he said it, Quelia thought he placed special emphasis on it for the benefit of Tollant. Perhaps following his lead, she said: The Steln, though, …they are interesting. I mean I find them as strange as the next person, even a little frightening; but they are just mortal beings like us after all. Strange as they are, we have some kinship with them even so.

Quite so. Cuon agreed. Moreover, you can see in people like Tien that we are starting to head in their direction.

How do you mean?

"Well, as I was saying before, cyborgism is on the rise, and in the future it will be less and less remedial and more and more elective. It has already started happening outside of medical contexts. Tien for instance; his last several implants had nothing to do with medicine; he wanted to enhance his abilities. Humans find that irresistible. The Steln are at the other end of the process; they’re what comes out the other end: fully integrated with machines, indistinguishable—you cannot tell where their machines end and they begin. But I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, of course."

Yeah, everybody’s always talking about creative evolution these days, said Quelia, who can afford it, who should do it, who can control it, where it will lead…

"They should be talking about it! said Cuon, warming to his subject. We’ve made great strides in all the sciences needed to give us control over living matter and machines, and we’ve seen ever new ways to connect them. We’ve learned about cells, about genes, about the brain and nervous system, body chemistry, organic molecules; also about nanochips, biochips, artificial intelligence, virtual reality. But you know…here’s a prediction that cannot fail to come true: When people know enough about the human brain they will forget that it is the seat of ‘the soul’, or that it ever had to do with something sacred and human about us. It will become another type of tool, another kind of technology thought of in terms of its potential practical applications. If you know enough about something, you know how to control it, to create it and mould it; and when you can control it, it’s no longer the same thing. It necessarily then presents itself as your tool, as a device among other devices to be used for your purposes. It’s as inevitable as death…or at least as inevitable as death used to be. It won’t be inevitable much longer."

He paused for his last gulp of blan, and then went on: The cybernetic and information technology is merging with the bioengineering technology. Machines will be made out of biological materials —artificially designed protoplasm and cells and genes—and human bodies and brains will be integrated with plastic, silicon chips, etc. Soon people will design and grow various kinds of brain parts for various purposes. They will build brainlike elements into machines and machinelike elements into brains. Eventually, the whole distinction between a person and an android will be meaningless. People will eventually forget that there ever was a distinction between a person and an android… or only remember it as a dim historical memory, the way we remember the time before unified field spectroscience. Everyone will see themselves as partly or even wholly artificial, artificially produced, because their parts will be, partially or even entirely, endlessly replaceable. When that day comes—-it’s not that far off—we probably won’t be able to tell ourselves apart from the Steln.

Scary thought, said Quelia. She said it mildly, but Tollant seemed as though he had actually been frightened by his friend’s speech. These were not the upbeat counsels of wisdom he had heard before; left to himself it would probably never have occurred to him to have such dark thoughts.

But Cuon continued on in the same vein: "How will human emotions be regarded? If we learn what they are, and how to produce them artificially (and we undoubtedly will), will we be able to resist the temptation to create on and off switches for them? Or to artificially amplify them? Or to experiment with them to create wholly new kinds of emotions no one has ever had before? No, we won’t be able to resist.

Meanwhile, the various kinds of human relationship—family, friendship, love—what would all of that mean in a world in which our relationships, our emotions, could be viewed as devices to manipulate or fix?"

Tollant was now staring at the floor as though it was a thousand miles away, with a look on his face that could have been consternation, or could have been indigestion, but was just the way Tollant looked when he was made to have unpleasant thoughts. Quelia almost felt sorry for him, having a friend like Cuon, who was the sort of person who would let neither himself nor anyone else rest in complacency. Tollant wrapped his faith around himself like a comfortable blanket; Cuon, however, was more searching, more challenging, more strenuous. What he liked about Devotion was that it made him work, called out his best, and challenged the mediocrity he saw around him. It appealed to his belief that more could be made out of life. Quelia shared these sentiments of his, and yet Cuon made even her a bit uncomfortable. Perhaps she felt that Cuon always evaluated her. It was some consolation, however, that she knew it was because he was always evaluating himself, always wondering how he himself measured up to his own standards. To be devoted to the Celestials called one ever higher; one always had to stretch. But perhaps she had a bit of Tollant in her, after all. Reflecting on this very point, she had often thought that perhaps the fact that Cuon made her a little uncomfortable, that he seemed a little too exacting—perhaps that only meant that he was keeping her awake and forcing her to think about herself. And so perhaps it was good thing, although it was uncomfortable.

"Well, all of that would be true said Cuon, if we were left to ourselves. But now at least some of us will have something better. Who knows, maybe the angels, with the example of this very trip…maybe we’ll be able to bring back to everyone a message of hope."

After the holograms, she invited them to stay for dinner, which they did—a simple repast consisting of microwave dinners and some bread washed down by synthetic beer.

When they had finished the meal, she offered them dessert –chocolate and lemon custard and strong, flavored blan—cherry red and orange. As she was putting out fresh plates, Cuon said: "So tell me about The Stone Guardian."

For half a moment Quelia froze; it was a brief moment, just the slightest hitch in her movement, and then she flowed back into the natural rhythm of what she was doing. So…how do you know about that? Her fellow engineer was referring to her most recent book of poetry, the most famous of her poetic works on her homeworld. But outside of the Drerar system few people had heard of it or of her work as a poet. Perhaps she should have been flattered that the young Xamoxian engineer had discovered her and taken an interest. But she was not. She felt trepidation, in fact, waiting to see what he would make of this information about her.

The tone of his response did not reassure her: I take an interest in good poetry. And your poetry, I have to say…, his words were interrupted by another sip of blan, I’ve been reading it, and honestly, I find it quite extraordinary.

She smiled tensely.

Really, he continued, it’s hard to believe we have such a talented person on this ship. The imagery—

Did you find any of it familiar? she asked him.

No, no, not exactly, not in particular…but there’s something about the feel of it that I know very well. I feel a kinship with it. She nodded, registering his comment without a sign to indicate what if anything it meant to her.

They’re angel images, right? I mean, they have something to do with Celestial lore? Worlassian, she corrected him. "One of my interests, ancient Worlassian

mythology and culture. But there were Worlassian images pertaining to angels; they’re a big theme."

So I’ve gathered, Cuon said. I’ve always wanted to know more about the Worlassians. While he was saying this Tollant was staring down at his food, poking at his custard with his fork. I studied a little in school, of course, Cuon continued, but since then I haven’t really had the time.

You should make time, said Quelia. It would be worth your while.

Well, how do you mean? he asked, shoveling a dollop of custard in his mouth.

It might bring you closer to the angels.

Hey, Quel, is it okay if I get more blan? Tollant broke in.

Help yourself, she said, as she brought her eyes back to Cuon and looked him over as if estimating something.

So, what did the image of the one-eyed dog signify? Cuon asked.

You can’t really ask that kind of thing to a poet, she said. "Go back and read it again. Read it, and go read about the Worlassians. Steep yourself in their culture. Just browse through an introductory text about them and see what catches you. Then let your mind go free…go back to the poems and let it wander through the words. Then tell yourself what it means. That’s how you find poetry; you have to find it yourself. That’s what makes every poem a message meant just for you."

Tollant sat back down with his blan, but the quiet passion in her voice had captured his attention, and for the first time since the boring poetry talk started, he was listening.

That, by the way, is what might save people from making themselves into androids anyway, even without Celestials to help us, she said, That freedom to wander…to listen, to let things speak to us without our first having to force them to ‘mean’ something. She gulped a bit of cooled blan.

They finished their desserts in silence. Then Quelia offered them one more round of beer, and as they toasted to the start of their voyage, she asked: So are you ready to make history? As a fellow Dedicate, she knew that for those of her faith there could be no more momentous, no more magically providential circumstance than the one in which they found themselves.

The Dedicates were those who fully acknowledged, from their very depths, that the Celestials were superior entities, vastly beyond the state of mortal beings. The Dedicates strove, by every thought, feeling, and action, to realize profoundly this disparity and all that it entailed, and to allow this realization to transform them. In this way, through the awareness of their distance from these divine beings, they turned this very distance into a bridge of communion. Although the angels would always treat everyone with equal justice, those who turned their hearts and minds to them with love received spiritual gifts. Those who did were favored by the angels’ Grace, the power of the inspiration which came to mortals and blessed their weakness and imperfection, through mortal love and worship of Celestial perfection. On this point, Quelia, Cuon, and Tollant were as one. In response to her question, her friends nodded, and then they all drank deeply.

As she looked into their eyes she could feel their shared excitement. They were all conscious of the significance of their voyage. Under the guidance of the Immortals themselves, they would be ushered into a new way of being, a new phase of understanding. Nothing like this expedition had ever happened before in mortal history; it was an event as profound as the First Encounter of the ancient Worlassians with the Celestials. Now the Divine Order was allowing mortal imperfect ones to enter into the very heart of the realm of Spiritual Substance, translating them beyond the world of physical energies, and enabling them to move and grow in the ether of Higher Nature. For the Devoted the trip had special meaning. They hoped to be selected for Translation to the Metaxu—a transmogrification of their mortality that would cause it to ascend to the higher plane on which the Angels had their being —to exist as the attendants of the Celestials.

CHAPTER THREE

Gentle ethereal music rose tremulously around Tien. Everyone on this flight, he mused, their names would be forever linked, forever remembered. His thoughts turned once more to Sute Balla Gorn. Their former relationship was twelve cycles behind them, and he felt a little silly about the fact that he still had some of those old feelings after all this time. She knew it too, he could tell; there was no way she would not have suspected it was part of his motive for recruiting her. She was one of the finest scientists in the Exobiological Research Division of the Oussian Spaceguard Corps, as was her lover, Gom Quinn. It seemed so long, that fifteen cycles, since the time when they had served together in war, but they had remained in touch, and Tien certainly needed people he could trust as the coordinators of scientific research on this mission.

Tien had served in the war in a command capacity and had been decorated for valor, but his experience had left him with little love for the military. His days with the Oussia Spaceguard Corps had ended after the battle that took the three of them out of the war. Once his injuries had led to his becoming a cyborg, he decided to pursue science in a civilian capacity. Gom had recovered with relatively few prosthetic implants, and Sute had, thankfully, fully recovered from her wounds, save for some loss of bone that gave her a sauntering gait.

Not long after the war, it was over with Sute. She and Gom remained in the Corps in a non-military capacity. Eventually, Sute gravitated to Gom. Tien still had unresolved feelings about it.

His eyes closed, Tien meditated on the music. The machine part of him was calculating silently to itself. He saw the faces of his friends waver before him under his lids. Both hands under his head, he reclined on the chair, picturing the music.

With the interfacial gain turned down on his cybermind as it streamed through assorted mission data, Tien let his human mind rest; and soon it drifted back to the previous evening. He had been sitting in his room, not unlike his quarters here, when she had dropped by.

Director. He opened his eyes. It was Sute, standing in the oval door, holding a green bottle.

Director? Is that what you’re going to call me on this trip? C’mon in. He motioned her forward, but didn’t sit up in his chair.

It seems a little like old times… and I thought this might be the chance to bring by a little gift. Of course, I am expecting to share it with you, she said, moving directly to his pantry. She found two stemmed glasses, and soon had the bottle open and filled them with wine.

Very good, he said. So how does it feel?

How does what feel? she handed him his glass. You mean finally getting a chance to rest, or finally getting underway, or finally not being scrutinized by docs, Celestials, and those media vampires? Or maybe you mean the prospect of being out of range of all the Comnex blather about us? Which of those things do you mean? Or am I leaving out something?

No, you got it just about right, he sighed, and held up his glass in the sign of a toast. She, having made herself comfortable on a nearby stool, signed back. To your health, she said, and sipped. He slurped his drink and, without meaning to do so, drained more than a third of his glass. I feel like feeling good and happy before our departure, he confessed, but on the other hand I’m too excited to get drunk.

Yeah, she said. She suddenly shot him a sentimental glance; it was not a look he had often