The Second Lodestone Trilogy Box Set

Chapter One

"Life and death lie within the power of the seed."

History of the Kelanni—The First Sphere (as translated from Ancient).

The wooden door to the Hunter’s Folly burst open, admitting angry flurries of snow, followed by a tall, lithe figure draped in a carmine cape.

Patrons briefly raised their heads before seeking solace once more at the bottom of their cups.

The newcomer swept inside and the door thumped shut, severing the icy blast. I know you’re in here somewhere. Dark eyes scanned the mix of merchants, prospectors, seekers, and wanderers before finally settling on an individual hunched over a corner table, face hidden by a dark grey cowl.

She headed straight for the hooded man, drew a three-pronged dagger from beneath her cloak and rammed it into the table in front of him.

The mug jumped, spilling inky fluid onto the tabletop. Those nearby half-rose from their stools. The newcomer’s penetrating gaze swept over them, pressing them back into their seats. The man at the table remained motionless, staring at the spilled drink as if it were his own blood.

Finally, he spoke, his voice slightly slurred. Keris. I was hoping it would be you.

He raised his head to reveal a weathered pink face sprouting a mass of facial hair. Alexander Edward McCann—the last remaining hu-man on Kelanni. Despite the time they had spent together in the days leading up to the defeat of Wang and the fall of the keep at Chalimar, she could never quite get used to his repugnant appearance.

The innkeeper appeared at her shoulder—tall, with thinning hair and downturned mouth, sporting a grubby apron. Look, stranger, we don’ want no trouble in ’ere… His voice trailed off and his eyes widened as he registered the angular features, the flowing mantle of dark hair, and the red cape that signified her office. Sorry, m’lady. I—I didn’ know it were you. C—can I bring ya somethin’?

Keris did not take her eyes from the hu-man. Water. Hot.

Water. Right away, m’lady. The innkeeper hurried off to fetch her drink.

You’re not into the local brew, then?

She glanced at the effervescent stuff, darkling in McCann’s mug. Never touch it.

His twisted smile was half-hidden in scraggly grey beard. Can’t say I blame you. He shook his head ruefully. Marooned on a planet that serves the worst-tasting alcohol in fifty parsecs. He took a swig and grimaced, as if to prove his point. Ach, that’s truly awful. What I wouldn’t give for a decent single malt. He glanced over his mug at the dagger, as if noticing it for the first time. So, are you here to arrest me?

That depends, she said. I am investigating a report concerning the possible theft of an artefact from one of our ancient sites. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?

A mug of steaming water appeared at her elbow. She turned, but the innkeeper had shrunk back into the dimly lit corners of his establishment.

You must mean this. He reached into an inner pocket and extracted a transparent sphere, holding it between thumb and forefinger. The sphere was tinged with a roseate hue. Within it, she spied workings of green, silver and gold—a tiny, private world. He placed it on the tabletop.

Keris sighed. She had been clinging to the hope that Dannel had been wrong. The operative’s report had been laced with assumptions and suppositions—enough to clear the hu-man of any alleged wrongdoing in the absence of any clear evidence. But now… You realise that what you have done is a serious offence. If the Council gets wind of this, I may not be able to protect you.

I almost destroyed it.

The statement was even more shocking than the theft. Dannel had theorised that the sphere might have held damning evidence of hu-man interference in the past. Was it possible that she was right?

Why? Keris said. Does it have something to do with your people?

The hu-man laughed, but there was no mirth in it. You have no idea, do you? You don’t even know who you are.

I am Head of the Division for the Maintenance of World Order. The words sounded hollow in her mouth. It was her ‘reward’ as one of the six heroes responsible for victory over the hu-mans five turns ago, yet she had neither desired nor sought the position.

He shook his head. I don’t mean that. I mean your people. The Kelanni.

She was starting to lose patience with him. You’re not making any sense.

"The Kelanni have a saying. Truth lies at the bottom of a pit of serpents. Are you prepared for the truth, Keris?"

What are you talking about?

Your people’s name. Kelanni. What does it mean?

I… don’t think I—

"It’s a contraction of kela-nesh-hannani, in the Kelanni Ancient tongue. It means those who have been cast out."

Cast out? Cast out from where?

He stared into his mug. Your people threw humans off this planet because we were invaders. We had no business being here and no right to exploit the power of the lodestone meteorites that rain down on your world. However, it turns out that you, too, are invaders. You have no more right to be here than we do.

His claims were growing more absurd by the moment. He was trying to throw her off balance, perhaps in an attempt to shift the focus away from his own crime.

I don’t believe you, she said. The spheres date from before the Goratha—the dark time. The narration is in Ancient. Our own archaeologists are still translating the others. Are you saying you understand the Ancient language?

No, but my datapad does. He glanced up and she let her puzzlement show. It’s—an information storage device. I left it at the home of Yonach and Yaron, the lodestone hunters who rescued me from the mountain. After the captain perished and the keep fell, I returned and reclaimed my equipment. Then I headed off and built a cabin in the highlands, as far from any Kelanni settlement as I could get.

It seemed there was one thing that they shared—the desire for solitude. She too had taken up residence in the wilderness, only to be dragged back to her former life. Why did you travel to Gal-Mador? she asked.

He took another swig of the dark ale and bared his teeth. Are you aware that your people spy on me wherever I go?

It was not something of which she was proud. McCann had sacrificed everything and marooned himself on this world to help defeat his captain and save the Kelanni from destruction. Tracking his every movement was a poor way to reward him.

There is still a great mistrust of hu-mans, she said.

Well, one morning I woke up and decided I couldn’t take it any more. So I set off for one of your ancient sites, intending to lose my ‘shadow’ among the ruins for a while at least. Imagine my surprise when I reached the edge of the old city and my datapad started beeping.

Beeping?

It’s set up to sound an alert if it detects certain types of advanced technology—more advanced than you would normally expect to find on a world like this.

She had a sudden flash of insight. You thought your people had returned.

That was one possibility, yes. I had to investigate. I zeroed in on the location with the datapad—a large building, close to the former city centre. It turned out to be some form of central archive.

Keris recalled a similar construction Patris had discovered in the ruins at Kynedyr. He too had uncovered a cache of spheres and discovered that their contents could be ‘played’ on pedestal devices set in a circle in the central atrium. The Ancient language was unintelligible, but those spheres appeared largely esoteric in nature: educational tools, peculiar forms of entertainment—some damaged, others all but incomprehensible. One was seared into her memory. It portrayed the victims of the great plague that had befallen her people three thousand and more turns ago—the plague that had led directly to the period known as the Goratha. The dark time.

Almost nothing was known of Kelanni history prior to that. Until now. You found a box containing a set of sixteen spheres.

McCann nodded, lost in the recollection. That’s right. It wasn’t exactly what I’d been hoping for, but I spent the rest of that day viewing them. They purported to tell the history of your people. I took the earliest one and managed to lose the Kelanni who was on my tail. How’d you find me?

I am a trained investigator. You are the only hu-man left on our world. It wasn’t hard.

He swilled the last of the mug’s contents and leaned back against the wall. So, what are you going to do now?

She arrived at her decision. I will deliver the sphere to the Division of Archaeology. I will tell them I simply found it. You are free to go.

Are you sure that’s wise?

She got up, palmed the glassy ball and plucked the triple-bladed dagger from the table, concealing both beneath her cloak. The sphere has been recovered. As far as I or anybody else is concerned, the case is closed. My word will not be questioned.

No, no, I mean the sphere. Are you sure you simply want to hand it over?

It is not my job to investigate ancient artefacts.

No, but it is your job to maintain order. What do you think will happen when this gets out?

She hesitated. The Kelanni had only recently shrugged off the hu-man yoke and were still in the process of rebuilding not just their towns and cities, but their self-esteem. If McCann’s wild stories became widespread, the results could be catastrophic.

There’s something else, he said. "A strange being, far more dangerous than humans. I could not fully understand its nature, but they called it Ash. And it appeared to freeze the soul of whoever spoke of it."

What is this Ash?

I’m not sure. But I think you should watch the sphere for yourself, before deciding what to do.

I do not possess a—a machine such as yours that might translate the words.

Well, you let me off the hook. So accompanying you and lending you the use of my datapad is the least I can do. Besides… He stood up, scraping the stool against the bare wooden floor. The alternative would be to stay here and order another drink. And I don’t think either I or my stomach could face that.

He swayed slightly.

She groaned inwardly. An investigator was obliged to follow the course of the investigation, wherever it led. Today that meant travelling to an ancient ruin, in order to examine the claims of a semi-inebriated hu-man.

Very well, follow me. She turned on her heel and headed for the door. And try to keep up.

~

It was late afternoon when they crossed into the outskirts of the ruined metropolis. Proud edifices lay broken and exposed; orations in stone, reduced now to gibberish. Black-scaled minnabars scuttled for the shadows and then peered out at her with quadruple sets of shining, beady eyes.

The snowstorm had ameliorated to no more than an occasional light flurry and the clouds had lightened, though they stubbornly refused to part. Time and cold had sobered McCann and made him more reflective. He trudged behind in silence, which suited her just fine.

She sifted through the hu-man’s testimony. The fact that he seemed anxious for her to examine the sphere made it seem unlikely that he was lying. However, he did possess machines far more advanced than anything in her world, and she had not dismissed the possibility that he could have used them to alter the sphere somehow. She determined to reserve judgement until she had seen the contents for herself.

His claim that the Kelanni were from some other place—that they were interlopers and no better than hu-mans—was outrageous. Offensive. Some would tear him limb from limb merely for making the suggestion. So why do it?

Was he trying to destabilise Kelanni society in some twisted act of retribution for the way he had been treated?

He was disgruntled—that much was clear. Dannel had supposed that he was attempting to cover up the past misdeeds of hu-mans, but if that were true, then it would have been far simpler to destroy the artefact and then deny all knowledge of it. Instead, he had handed over the sphere meekly and left the question of what to do with the information in her hands.

There was also the question of who or what this Ash was. The name was completely unfamiliar, although it was no doubt derived from the Ancient language, with which she had only a passing familiarity. Yet as far as she knew, there was no mention of it in recorded history. Could it really present a serious threat to her people?

By the time they mounted the cracked steps and entered through the broken doors into the city’s archive, she was no nearer to solving the various puzzles.

As she stood in the vast atrium and stared up at the cracked, domed ceiling, a shiver ran down her spine. At the centre was the same column that she remembered from the corresponding building in Kynedyr, topped by a great white globe and surrounded by a circle of booths, fronted by waist-high pedestals. They threaded their way across the rubble-strewn floor, finally stopping before the nearest of the pedestals.

She hesitated, staring at the upright pedestal and the concave recess set into its upper surface.

McCann was at her shoulder. Do you recall how to operate it?

Of course I do, she replied.

He ignored her obvious irritation. You’re going to need one of these. He produced a tiny triangular blue device with what looked like a handle.

What’s that? she demanded.

It’s—a kind of listening device. It fits like this. She endured the physical intrusion as he hooked it around her ear. It works in conjunction with the datapad. As the sphere plays, the pad will translate the narration from the Ancient language into Kelanni and then relay it to the device in your ear. He pointed out a small dial. This controls the volume. Moving it either way will make the voice louder or softer.

He extracted the pad from an inner pocket and spoke into it. Initialise.

A tinny female voice responded. Applications working.

Access translation program, Kelanni Ancient to Kelanni modern, and enable. Aural output.

"Program enabled. Aural link established."

He smiled at her with an executioner’s smile. Ready when you are.

She reached inside the pack at her waist, her fingers closing around the sphere’s smooth hardness. She placed it in the recess on top of the pedestal. It fit perfectly. A moment later, there was a gentle hum and the great globe warmed from off-white to dull pink. The sphere on the pedestal began to glow in response, and suddenly the booth in front of her erupted into moving, three-dimensional images.

She struggled to make sense of what she was seeing. It was dark, but the darkness was split by great bursts of light. Explosions? The flashes blossomed into fleeting images of buildings and what looked like flying machines. Two strange suns loomed in the sky. Blanched. Diaphanous. Sickly-looking. People were running, some in raging pursuit, others in terrified flight. Flames took hold, leaping into the night sky.

Then a voice spoke in her ear. Soft, feminine—a bizarre dissonance to the destruction that she was witnessing.

"My name is Zemira, Keeper of the Log. I set before you now the history of our people, the kela-nesh-hannani: we who have been cast out.

"Some will wish to adorn that history with the garlands of heroism, for the comfort and succour of a new generation. As Keeper, however, I am sworn to preserve and uphold truth. A people must know who they are, if they are to aspire to become more than they are.

"This day, the Day of our Departure, began in blood and ended in sacrifice. It was the beginning of our Great Journey—the day we were forced to flee our home and launch ourselves across the stars.

"However, my story begins long before, on a carefree afternoon during Helvena’s long summer—on the day that I first encountered Ash…"

Chapter Two

It’s a kinneret. Look. There are the twin tails. And there are the large, fluffy ears.

Clyte, youngest daughter of Assistant Director Baegan, pointed at a fleecy white cloud that drifted next to the pale twin moons.

Lying next to her in the short blue prairie grass, Zemira dragged her gaze away from the Institute buildings and the cable beyond them that disappeared into the sky’s haze, and followed the stubby finger.

Jora, Zemira’s younger brother, wrinkled his nose. You mean that one? Nonsense. It’s a barge, sailing upriver from the docks at Jabina. You can see its sail and there—there are the oars. It’s bringing eels and spices to the Institute.

Zemira snorted in what her mother would have described as a most unladylike fashion. All you ever think about is your stomach.

I bet kinnerets are good eating, too, Jora countered. Skinned and braised, or baked in avel leaves, mmmm.

Her stomach growled, and a wave of guilt washed over her. That’s beastly.

He grinned, wickedly.

Ooo, that one looks like a trumpeter, Clyte squealed.

Priam, Clyte’s elder brother, propped himself up on one elbow, flicking his tail and allowing a shock of black hair to fall across his eyes. There aren’t any trumpeters around here. You’ve never even seen one.

Have too, Clyte retorted. They’re in a picture book Mama gave me. They have hairy feet and big bellies and big, round mouths and they make a trumpeting sound, like this. She made a whooping sound that made both boys snicker.

Zemira failed to see how Clyte could have worked out what sound the creature made from a picture book. She watched as the ‘trumpeter’ drifted lazily across the face of Cyzaran, the larger moon, gradually losing its shape as it did so. I wonder if there are trumpeters on the moons.

If there were, they’d all be dead, Priam declared. The moons have no air on them.

Zemira put her nose in the air. You don’t know that. You’ve never been to the moons—no one has. You can’t be certain what’s there.

When the lattice sets sail, Jora said, smiling, I’ll come back and tell you all about it.

Clyte sat up, dark braids swinging on either side of her chubby face. You’re sailing on the lattice?

As if on cue, a cylindrical lift began its slow rise up the great cable, bearing supplies, or materials, or naal workers to the massive construction site far above the clouds.

The lattice—the greatest project ever conceived in Helvena’s history. A community of light-powered vessels, linked together for the purpose of exploring the solar system. It was strictly off-limits to unauthorised personnel, but Zemira had seen the films and photographs often enough. A vast orbital framework built from tiny nanotubes of boron and nitrogen, incredibly lightweight and incredibly strong. And at each of its one hundred and sixty-three vertices, a spinning habitat with its own segmented sail, propelled by light pressure from Simona, the greater sun.

Zemira knew everything there was to know about the lattice and had always felt a twinge of regret, knowing that she could never be a part of that journey. Even though her full-time education was almost at an end, and she was passing into womanhood, she could never attain the necessary specialist training before the anticipated launch date. She glared at her brother with a fresh flush of resentment. Jora would never be allowed on the lattice. He’s too young, and his scores in science and mathematics are too low. One of the naals has a better chance of sailing on the lattice than he does.

To her annoyance, Jora threw back his head and laughed. You know better than that, dear sister. As the eldest male, I will one day become Director of the Institute in Father’s stead. It’s the rule of our caste.

Priam regarded him with something akin to hero worship, and Clyte erupted into fits of giggles, leaving Zemira feeling isolated, as usual.

Jora always seemed to take perverse pleasure in contradicting her. Calling her dear sister was his way of making her appear small in the eyes of the others. She gathered the shreds of her dignity. That still doesn’t mean that Father will let you travel on the lattice.

Father told me that construction will continue through first winter, thaw and second winter. The community won’t be ready to depart until the beginning of the next long summer. By then, I will be seven turns of the season.

The journey to the outer planets will take five full turns, she countered. Even if Father consented, Mother would never let you go. Especially since the first expedition was lost, three turns ago.

Jora’s eyes widened. What’s the matter? Would you miss me?

Zemira shrivelled before the ripples of laughter.

What about the naals? Clyte asked. All eyes turned to look at her and she started to fidget. What I mean is, why don’t we send the naals to those other places? Then we could all stay here. Together.

Priam frowned. Naals are menial caste. All they know is fetching and carrying. They couldn’t sail a barge upriver, let alone a light ship through space.

Maybe we could teach them? Clyte offered.

The laughter was more sympathetic this time. You might as well try and teach a kinneret to dance, Jora said.

But naals are just the same as us kells, Clyte persisted.

They look the same as us, Priam conceded. "But we are kela-dar-hannani—those who have been raised up. Naals act differently. Think differently. Without us to care for them, they’d probably starve."

The cylinder slid silently up the endless cable until it was lost in the vast, cerulean dome of sky. Maybe there were naals aboard—people just like them, willing to brave the bitter vacuum of empty space, perhaps even to sacrifice their lives. And for what?

Look. Clyte had got to her feet and was pointing at the sky, her tail raised in expectation.

At first, Zemira could not see what had captured the little girl’s attention. Then her jaw dropped. Was she dreaming? Had she fallen asleep in the long prairie grass, while listening to her brother’s prideful boasts? She could hear the lazy drone of an insect; feel the warm sirocco caressing her cheek; smell the fragrance of summer blooms—all her senses screamed that she was awake. And yet…

High above, like drawings in a picture book, three clouds were formed into three perfect outlines.

A kinneret, a sailing barge, and a trumpeter.

~

The four of them stared at the sky in silence, as if uttering a word would shatter the miracle. Clyte’s hands were clasped and her smile was one of pure delight.

No one is going to believe us—certainly not our parents, nor anyone else in the scientific and administrative caste, for that matter.

Hello.

Startled, Zemira spun around with the others, coming face to face with the voice from behind.

A boy stood before them in a loose-fitting robe of blinding white. His eyes were droplets of molten copper and his hair was a scribble of spun gold. His features were finely drawn, but preternaturally pale—sickly-looking. He must be a naal, she concluded. But what would a naal be doing here inside the grounds of the Institute, unsupervised? If he’s sick, he could be infectious. She had heard that the naals lived in squalor in their camps and that many of them died young. She put her arms around Clyte protectively.

Hello, the boy repeated. His smile was peaceful. Zemira relaxed a little.

Jora’s tail swished. Who are you?

I am Ash. The boy’s tone was confident, unlike one of the menial caste. Did you enjoy my gift?

Clyte was starting to squirm. Zemira tightened her hold. Gift? The boy called Ash raised his eyes to the cloud formations that had now begun to dissipate. You could not have done that, she declared. No one can control the clouds.

I can, Ash said. That, and much more.

Why are you here? Jora demanded.

Ash bowed and when he raised his head, there was that serene smile again. I want to be your friend.

Zemira was starting to notice more things about this pale intruder that did not make sense. He appeared to drift slightly as if his feet were not in contact with the ground. Almost as disturbing was the fact that he did not seem to possess a tail. You are not naal. You are not kell. You are not even Helvenan. Where are you from?

Ash nodded. Very good, Zemira. You are always the one to analyse—to figure things out. I watched you in class. When the educator asked about the number of habitats on the lattice, you knew the answer. You should have received the prize. Had we been friends then, I would have made sure that you got it.

Zemira swallowed. H—how do you know my name?

I know you all. His eyes lingered on each of them, in turn. Your brother, Jora. Your friends, Priam and Clyte. I saw when each of you was born and watched over you. Watched and waited until today.

He pointed at the sky. You asked where I am from. What you see as a white star shining up there in your sky… it is not really a star at all. It is a door, a portal, to a place that is very different from here. That’s where I come from. You see, my people… are curious. We knew of the portal, and we wanted to know what was on the other side. But we could not enter this universe using the portal of that star, since anything that strays inside is crushed out of existence. So we built our own doorway. Unfortunately, when I came through it I became trapped here, in your universe. Eventually, I found my way to this world. That was more than one hundred of your years ago.

Zemira’s scepticism hardened into annoyance. Are you trying to tell us that you’re one hundred turns old?

My people age differently; time is not the same for us. When I first arrived I became friends with your great-grandfather, Alban. I helped him to bring about your Great Social Revolution—the movement that created your caste system, and gave you peace for four generations.

I don’t believe you, Zemira said.

Priam turned on her. He shaped the clouds. Who says he couldn’t have done that other stuff.

No one could be over a hundred, Zemira maintained. Besides, we have only his word that the trick with the clouds was his doing.

Ash raised a pacifying hand. His form drifted slightly in the warm breeze. When you return home, you may ask Terza about me.

Father? Priam exclaimed.

Certainly. I know your father and grandfather. And they know me. We are all friends.

That’s impossible, Zemira declared. Father never mentioned you.

Ash chuckled like a field of syran bamboo, rustling in the breeze. I know. It’s one of my little indulgences. I like to choose my own time and place to make contact with each new generation. However, if you mention my name, he will know that I have visited you. He will tell you how our pact started. About the need for the castes. And about the great honour bestowed on your family.

Zemira felt the ground shift beneath her. Was it possible that their father knew this creature and had kept it a secret?

Why? Jora asked. Why would you help Great-Grandfather start the Great Social Revolution?

I needed a way off this planet. However, your society had barely perfected the mechanical clock. Helvena was nothing more than a loose association of trading settlements and farming co-operatives. Your people did not have the organisation—the unity—to embark on a great project such as the lattice. So I agreed with your great-grandfather that I would help your people to advance, in return for passage away from this world. And now, four generations later, your people are on the verge of travel into space. If you too will agree to be my friends, then I will care for you, and we will do great things together.

Clyte finally found her voice. Don’t you like it here?

Ash rewarded her with a warm smile. Yes, very much. The smile faded and the copper in his eyes dulled. But I cannot do the things that you can. He floated nearer and extended his arms. Clyte reached out and her hand passed through his. She squealed and recoiled.

Zemira clutched the little girl tightly and rounded on the boy in white. A boy who claimed to have seen a hundred long summers. What are you?

The side of his mouth twitched. Forgive me, but I had to make you understand. Here, on this world, I exist only as energy. I can draw together the ice crystals in the clouds, cause lightning to flash from the sky. But I cannot feel the prairie breeze or the warmth of the greater sun on my cheek. I cannot smell the blossoms of the long summer.

He raised his head, eyes full of sight. There is a distant world where the white sun pours forth stones from my universe. Stones which will allow me to fix in this universe. To run and play with all of you. I need to travel there. He turned to face them and the copper in his eyes melted. Will you help me?

What can we do? Jora asked.

Soon the day will come when I will ask for your help. Your father is helping to build something on the lattice. Something wonderful. It will enable me to meet you all properly, so that we can begin our work.

We are not permitted to travel to the lattice, Priam pointed out.

You will travel there, Ash said. You all will. I will see to it. Until then I will watch over you. Keep you safe. And I will give you anything you desire. If you will agree to be my friends.

His voice was like damaran silk—like the faint splash of warm summer rain against her cheek. So why was a tiny, trapped voice screaming in the back of her head?

Jora stepped forward. We agree.

Resentment burned through Zamira. You don’t speak for me. Before she could react, Priam joined him. Sure, we’ll help you.

Clyte cocked her head to one side. Can I see the trumpeter again?

Eyes turned towards Zemira, hemming her in. Icy fingers closed around her heart—the fear of being alone. All right, she heard herself say.

The boy named Ash grinned, copper eyes aflame.

Chapter Three

That night, Father was missing from the supper table.

He has to work late at the Institute, Mother had explained. When Zemira had tried to engage her, the careworn woman turned away and fussed with pots and pans as if trying to distract herself.

Zemira had known for some time that all was not well with her parents—the raised voices, the pain behind the stolen glances. She had run the gamut of emotions—from anxiety to guilt to fear to helplessness and back again. In the end, she simply buried herself in her studies and tried to forget.

The encounter with Ash stalked her every stray thought. She needed to talk about it, but she was still angry with Jora, and Mother was not in a talkative mood. Zemira went to her room and tried to concentrate on her studies, leaving the door ajar and listening for the bustle from downstairs that would signal Father’s return. Eventually fatigue overtook her, and she fell into a fitful sleep.

She awoke with a start, her heart pounding, as if a pack of ravening beasts had driven her into the waking world. Squinting against the first light of dawn, she tried to recall details of her nightmare, but the memories had washed away like tracks in a thunderstorm.

She pulled on a robe and looked in on her parents’ room, but Father had already left for the Institute. Dejected, she returned to her room and set about gathering her things for the day’s classes.

The morning consisted of a lecture on The Social History of the Castes, followed by sessions in Trigonometry and Differential Calculus. Priam shared a knowing look with her, but she did not want to talk with him. Anything I say will only get back to Jora. She needed to talk to Father.

At midday break she slipped out and headed for the administration building. The air was hot, but as yet lacked the oppressive heaviness associated with the height of long summer. Tiny mollia seeds detached from their parent trees and whirred on the breeze, covering the ground with purple patches.

A stone-faced individual in a slate-grey uniform intercepted her at the lobby entrance. Girl, where do you think you’re going?

He was chell. Short for chelcrops. Watchkeeper caste. Zemira swallowed. I’m here to see Director Terza.

The stone cracked into a quizzical smile. And what would the Director want with you?

I am his daughter, Zemira. I need to see him urgently. It’s… a family matter.

The watchkeeper regarded her dubiously for a moment. Then, Wait here.

He marched off, leaving her alone.

She found a bench and sat down. The walls and floor were marble and spotless. Across from her, on a long counter, a metrodyne sat, relentlessly ticking away the dahns. If she was not back before the start of afternoon classes she could get into a lot of trouble. Her tension grew with each click of the machine.

Finally, the watchkeeper reappeared with Terza in tow. Her father’s lips were pinched and his forehead was one deep frown. As his penetrating stare bored into her, she had to fight the urge to get up and run out of the building.

Thank you, Callian. That will be all.

As you wish, Director. The watchkeeper slunk off in search of more errant young people.

Terza waited until he was out of earshot. Then his face grew stern. Zemira, what are you doing here? You are supposed to be in class.

It’s midday break, Father.

Well, you can’t be here right now. I have a great deal of work to do.

I have to talk to you.

Look, if it’s about your mother, then that’s—

It’s not about Mother.

Then what?

Yesterday, someone appeared to us in the grounds. He said his name was Ash.

Terza’s lips parted slightly but no words came out. It was true. She had been clinging to the vain hope that Ash had been lying—that her father would deny all knowledge of the strange creature and that together, they would work together to uncover his true intentions. Now, as she watched his expression, that particular hope ran through her fingers like fine sand.

Finally, he appeared to recover his wits. Come with me.

She trailed him in silence to a glass elevator that whisked them to the highest floor of the building. She had never before seen where her father worked. The walls seemed to close in on her, and she kept her gaze fixed on the plush carpet. Several immaculately dressed individuals acknowledged her father with a nod of the head and a curt, Director. They treated Zemira as if she was invisible.

A prim young woman with long, midnight-black hair waylaid him. I need to talk to you.

Not now. I am in a meeting. There was something in his voice—an unaccustomed softness. Before Zemira could speculate, she was whisked into her father’s inner sanctum, the door slid shut and they were alone.

She raised her eyes and drank in her surroundings. It was less of an office, more like a conference room—no, a throne room. Images of the lattice and the orbital tether decorated the walls, although there was no sign of the ill-fated expeditionary vessel launched three turns ago. Not surprising, perhaps. The images were clearly intended as an affirmation of success, not a reminder of failure.

A long table of polished dark wood ran the length of the room, and at its head, an enormous chair that might have accommodated three people. The Director’s chair. Her father’s chair.

Sit down. Terza pulled out one of the smaller chairs and she sat, hands folded in her lap. Tell me what happened.

She took a deep breath. He just appeared out of nowhere. I was there with Priam, Clyte and Jora. We were watching the clouds. He… formed them into shapes. She glanced up, expecting to see disbelief or ridicule, but her father’s face was impassive. Yet he wasn’t… real. Clyte’s hand passed right through him. He said he knew you and Grandfather and Great-Grandfather Alban. What manner of creature is he?

Terza’s eyes flicked from one corner of the room to the other. I saw when each of you was born and watched over you. Watched and waited. Was Ash watching them right now?

I don’t know exactly what he is, her father began. However, he has been a friend of our family since the time of Alban.

Questions jostled like impatient children within her. Why have you never mentioned him before?

Knowledge can be a burden. She saw his careworn face, lined with the cracks of age, and her heart went out to him. Ash determines when the time is right for him to reveal his presence to the next generation. You say that Clyte was there?

Yes.

Clyte is little more than two turns of the season. I am surprised he would appear before one so young… He appeared lost in thought.

Time was against her and she needed answers. He said that it was he that brought about the Great Social Revolution. Is that true?

Yes, it’s true.

But thousands died in the violence that followed.

Did the educators not teach you the parable of the ori’s nest?

One day, Alban was out walking when he spied an ori’s nest with five fledglings in it. The mother was away, foraging. It was second winter and food was scarce. The tiny creatures gazed up at him with doleful eyes and wagged their forked tails. Then a powerful being appeared and told him that there was only enough food available for four. If he killed one, then the other four would live; if he passed on by, then all five would die. So he plucked the youngest from the nest and stamped on its head.

Yes, I know the story. A thought struck her. The powerful being; that’s Ash, isn’t it?

Do you believe the story?

She considered for a moment. I find it difficult to believe that a creature like Ash would care what happened to a nest of ori.

A flicker of alarm passed over his face and was gone. Well, it doesn’t matter. It’s the lesson that counts. Sometimes a sacrifice—even a terrible one—must be made for the greater good.

But he didn’t Institute the Revolution for our benefit. He told us that he wants to get off this world to reach a distant star.

A distant star, he repeated. Interesting.

What do you mean?

He has never discussed his intended destination before. It seems that he chooses to reveal a little more of his purpose to each successive generation. Still, we owe him a great deal. He has helped us to make real advances in our understanding of physics, chemistry and medicine. Many thousands are alive today who would otherwise have perished from war or disease over the past hundred turns.

Zemira flushed. If his influence is so beneficial, why is his presence a secret? Why not tell everyone about him?

Because people fear what they cannot understand. They would wipe out everything we have built.

Images of destruction flashed through her mind. Could the truth about Ash really destroy the whole of civilisation? I don’t think you will be able to keep Clyte quiet.

The cracks in his face widened into a smile. Little children often claim to have an imaginary companion. So, what was the outcome?

How do you mean?

Did he—ask you for anything?

He wanted us to agree to be his friends—whatever that means.

And what did you say?

Jora said that we would.

She made no effort to keep the resentment out of her voice, but her father did not seem to catch it. Good. That’s good. I am proud of you both. But you look differently at him than you do at me. Our caste has a great responsibility, Zemira, and that is to steer our people towards the future. Jora will one day be Director, but you too will have an important role to play. And Ash will continue to guide us all.

Zemira felt claws rake up and down her spine.

I have to work now, her father continued. But I would like you to do something for me. He pulled out a paper and scribbled rapidly. I need you to deliver this to your brother. Would you do that for me?

He folded the paper and handed it to her. He had made no attempt to seal it. Is he testing me? She met his inquiring gaze and said, simply, Yes, Father.

Outside the Administration building she hesitated and glanced over her shoulder. Terza stood behind the glass doors, impassive, as if he were guarding yet more secrets. She turned away, troubled. Her father’s voice had been steady, but she had seen fear behind his eyes, as if Ash was watching their every move.

How much of what he said had really been him? Was her mother, who wandered the house, unkempt, forlorn, and crying quietly when she thought nobody could see her, somehow involved? And what of the note? She felt a surge of jealousy over the fact that it was intended for her younger brother. And yet Father had not bothered to seal it. He was a stickler for detail, so it didn’t seem possible that he had forgotten. Maybe he meant for her to take a peek? Her hand moved towards her inner pocket.

She mentally slapped it away. How can I expect to win Father’s trust by breaking it?

Students were already gathering at the education block. She searched for her brother. She finally found him on the topmost floor, flanked by two admiring females who viewed her approach with irritation.

Jora’s smile sat comfortably between amusement and disdain. What are you doing here, dear sister?

She ignored the jibe and kept her expression neutral. Father asked me to give you this.

He took the note, unfolded it and his brow furrowed. What is this—some sort of a joke?

He thrust it back at her and turned away. She smoothed out the crumpled paper and read six hastily scrawled words.

Be careful. Do not anger him.

Chapter Four

Five days later, Father took the young people to see the lattice.

He made the announcement at dinner, as casually as if he was asking someone to pass the barani stew. Jora beamed. Mother just stared into space.

Why? Why now? The lattice was strictly off-limits to anyone but authorised personnel. It was not a place for sightseeing. The being called Ash had not made an appearance since their first encounter on the Institute’s grounds, but it was difficult to believe there was no connection.

Early the next morning, they clambered aboard one of the Institute’s ground cars and set out for the base of the cable.

They made a short detour to the villa where Priam and Clyte lived. Priam had been invited to join them, but Clyte was told that she was too young to go. Her mother swept her away in floods of tears.

The three youngsters leaned out from under the canopy and craned their necks at the immense sky cable. It was like a strand of hair belonging to a giant. If they climbed it, would they meet a giant somewhere up there? She was about to say something, but then checked herself. Priam, devoid of imagination, would only look at her strangely, and Jora would openly make fun of her.

Clouds began to pile up as if trying to protect the secrets that lay above them. Way off to the north, a brooding thunderstorm stalked the hills on legs of fire.

They drew up to a squat ochre building that was guarded by an electrified wire fence. Two chells emerged in regulation grey, their tails flicking from side to side. Zemira shrank back, eyeing their static discharge staffs nervously. Caste law dictated that staffs could only ever be used on wild animals or naals, but the thought of such weapons still made her flesh crawl.

The driver stepped down, and grunts and papers were exchanged; finally, the gates swung open, and the watchkeepers waved them through. The cable apparatus sat at the centre of the compound. However, what caught her eye was a stone tower that lay off to one side. Now that she was up close, she could see that it was clearly far older than any of the other buildings on the site.

She pulled on Father’s sleeve. What’s that?

It was built during your grandfather’s time and then sealed by his orders. It is reputed to contain a powerful technology, but one that we do not yet have the knowledge or the wisdom to use. Our… friend has promised that one day the tower will be opened, and then the entire universe will be our playground.

Our friend. Father was right. Ash had proved over the past four generations that he was a true friend to the Helvenan people. So why was it that a ball of winter ice formed in the pit of her stomach whenever his name was mentioned? Maybe it was the mental image of the thousands who had died all those years ago during the Great Social Revolution… or her brother’s smug promise of allegiance on behalf of them all… or her father’s desperate warning note? Or was it her own instincts that cried out, No!

They disembarked, and Terza shepherded them to the lift at the foot of the sky cable. Outside, waiting for them, stood a lone figure in a thick black coat. The wind blew long, raven tresses about her face. They were almost on top of her before Zemira recognised her as the young woman from the Administration building. What was she doing here?

This is Evalina, father announced, in that soft tone he had used with her before. She will be accompanying us on our trip. Evalina, this is Priam; my son, Jora; my daughter, Zemira.

Evalina’s smile was demure. I am pleased to meet all of you. Terza has told me a lot about you.

Terza? How come this lowly Institute worker was on first-name terms with her father? She glanced at the others. Jora clasped the woman’s hand with the overbearing sincerity he reserved for females, and Priam stood by, hanging onto her brother’s coat tails. She felt isolated once more. I should just go along with it for now. For Father’s sake. She attempted a smile but managed only a grimace.

As they boarded the lift, all she could see was her mother’s tear-streaked face.

~

A hum of machinery started up and the lift lurched into motion. Two glass portholes were set into opposite walls. The boys stood with Evalina at one and Terza coaxed Zemira to join him at the other. She hesitated, remembering Mother. For some reason she could not explain, she did not want him touching her right now. His beckoning grew insistent. Finally her defences crumbled and she came and stood beside him. She felt a faint pressure on her shoulder and forced herself not to flinch.

Far below, the ground shrank. River, plain and mountain drew together, smoothed out and coalesced in pastel shades, before disappearing in a shock of white. Winds pummelled their tiny metal cage. Then, just as suddenly, the winds were gone and they were above the clouds, racing towards a deep purple dome. Gradually, the dome darkened, and one by one, the stars winked into existence.

The boys gasped and pointed, while Evalina watched over them with a faint smile. Zemira dragged her gaze back to the window. The curve of the planet was now visible, coddled in atmospheric haze. Beneath the cloud cover, lightning flickered—perhaps the very thunderstorm she had observed from the ground only a short while ago? She drank in the beauty and grandeur of their world.

Overhead, an amber light began to flash. Father stepped back from the window. All right, docking positions.

The walls were lined with people-sized recesses. Zemira allowed her father to fasten her restraints. She knew the theory. Soon the lift would begin to decelerate and spin, so as to align itself with the rotation of the orbital station. She tried and failed to see past his neutral expression.

If you feel queasy, just shut your eyes.

She nodded.

Secured to the wall, with Priam on one side and Father on the other, Zemira felt faintly ridiculous, as if they had all been made to stand there because of some misdemeanour. Gradually, she felt the weight on her legs lessen as the lift slowed. Her stomach threatened rebellion and she struggled to keep its contents down. Then a slow pressure began to build on her chest—first a finger, then the palm of a hand, pressing her into the padded recess.

She heard a series of clicks and the flashing amber light turned a steady blue. The wall to which she had been strapped was now the floor. Father freed himself, stood and proffered a helping hand. She tore off her restraints. Through the portholes on either side, the stars now processed slowly.

A circular hatch in what used to be the ceiling, but had now become the opposite wall, clunked and swung open. Through the opening, she discerned the grey uniforms of four chells, one of them distinguished by a blue collar and a thin blue stripe down one side. Blue-collar stepped through, nodded to Father and cast a dubious eye over the others. This is your party, Director?

My son and daughter, the son of the Deputy Director and my assistant, Evalina.

Very good, Blue-collar replied. I am to accompany you during your visit. May I know your destination?

I was not advised that there would be an escort, Master Chell.

Deputy Director Baegan’s orders.

Is there some trouble on the station?

No trouble, Director.

Father turned and smiled reassurance. Very well, take us to the port observation window.

They stepped through the hatch one by one and onto a gantry that curved upwards to left and right. A pair of maintenance flitters buzzed past, mechanical arms stretched out before them, as if in greeting.

Zemira looked down and could not suppress a gasp. Beneath them lay a vast open space, where kell technicians tended rows of flickering instruments like horticulturalists in an electronic garden.

The Control Area, Father said. Come on.

Nine pairs of boots clanked the length of the gantry and down one level to an artificial glass window that afforded a panoramic view. Stars slid past slowly as the station rotated. Jutting out from its side was a complex gridwork, with a number of cylindrical vessels attached at irregular intervals. Zemira recognised them from photographs she had seen. Those are the habitats, aren’t they, Father?

He smiled approval. That’s right—at least, those not currently docked at the lattice. In this phase of the project, we use them as shuttles.

Where are the sails, then? Jora asked.

Disappointment flickered over her father’s face and Zemira felt a perverse satisfaction at her brother’s display of ignorance.

The sails will not be deployed until the solar approach phase, Father explained.

A commotion from the lower level made Father lean over the railing, followed by the young people and finally Evalina. Below, a ragged group of naals was being herded in the direction of the grid. The chells guarding them grasped their discharge staffs as if eager to test them out.

Lattice workers, Blue-Collar declared, with a note of contempt.

Will we see their shuttle launch? Priam asked.

I don’t think we need to wait for that, Terza said. Besides, I have something far more interesting to show you.

He led the way past the length of the window and the others gawped at the immense construction that extended out from the station. Zemira, however, found herself drawn to the scene below. Without warning, one of the naals looked straight up at her. She gazed into eyes colder and emptier than the depths of space and found that she could not turn away. Immediately, a chell thrust his discharge staff into the man’s side. He crumpled in agony, and the link was broken. She walked on and did not look over the side again.

Father stopped in front of a glass-sided cubicle and pressed a palm-sized panel on the wall. The front slid open and the party trooped in.

Hold onto something, he counselled.

The cubicle rose rapidly and the station’s ground facilities—its busy walkways and machines—fell away, becoming a patchwork. Her eyes widened as she noted open sections of golden grass and verdant trees.

She tore her gaze from the scene below and raised her eyes to the cubicle’s glass roof. They were racing towards the orbital station’s central axis, where the centrifugal force that provided the station’s artificial gravity dropped off and weightlessness took over. She recalled Father’s words and gripped a nearby hand-hold.

The cubicle began to decelerate, and her feet lost contact with the floor. Jora and Priam cried out and flailed arms and legs. Terza grabbed Priam by the scruff of the neck and one of the chells managed to hold on to Jora. Zemira wanted to laugh out loud; only her father’s manifest irritation stopped her.

The elevator whispered to a halt, suspended at the far end of the central axis. She relaxed her hold and allowed herself to float and twist. The distant ground rose on either side, up and up, finally reuniting above her head. Her jaw fell open. It was as if a cosmic being had taken a whole world and wrapped it around her like a blanket. Then the view was ripped away, as the cubicle was swallowed by the station’s far wall. Lights snapped on, the room began to rotate slowly, and the sensation of weight returned.

Her legs wavered a little. Self-consciously, she glanced at the others. Jora looked as if he was about to throw up. She permitted herself a wicked little smile.

The far wall hissed open. Beyond, she caught the strains of light music, tinkling glass, and low conversation. Father’s expression showed that he was as mystified as she. They strolled together onto the forward observation deck. Zemira drank in the array of beautiful people that sauntered past.

A formally dressed man with a sickle-curved posture and a face like withered fruit intercepted them and bowed deferentially.

What’s all this, Malliar? Terza asked, bemused.

Just a little reception in your honour, Director, the oldster replied in a taut voice. Later today we will be performing tests on the momentum exchange tether. Early indications are that torsional stress will be within established limits. Establishing controlled rotation, however…

Zemira was no longer listening. Beyond the flock of dignitaries, waving in their gaudery like flowers in the breeze, the far wall was one continuous sheet of glass. And in the darkness beyond, amidst the rotating stars, an immense construction floated.

The lattice.

A vast web, its struts fashioned out of boron-nitrogen nanotubing. At its centre, the hub—a transparent dome, with a sail extended before it like a silver umbrella. Radiating outwards, the struts of the lattice formed vertices. At each of the vertices was a docking point for one of the spinning habitats. At present, only about half of the vertices were occupied, and the coniform habitats stationed there were naked—devoid of the finery of their solar sails, which, when deployed, would propel the lattice’s community to the outer edges of the solar system.

A figure moved in front of her, blocking her view of the lattice.

Resentment gave way to curiosity as she recognised the drab, brown uniform of a naal. With downcast eyes and downturned mouth, the girl was scarcely older than she and carried a tray with an assortment of coloured drinks that joyously effervesced.

Away. Father dismissed the servant girl with a wave of his hand. Zemira watched the girl’s retreating back with regret.

Here. You may have a sip of mine, but just a sip.

Touching the glass to her lips, she spotted Jora across the room, quaffing contentedly. She swallowed the cloying, sweet, deep-blue liquid along with her resentment.

Evalina appeared at Father’s side, balancing a glass between her slender fingers. She gazed up at him. Dark hair framed her delicate features and tumbled about her shoulders. The mask she wore at the Institute was gone, and in its place, a softness.