Daughter of Time 1: Reader (18 page)

I momentarily recoiled from the complexity. The mind of a Xix made the Dram seem so simplistic. Like crystalline spider webs, its maze of thought dangled all around me, as I peered deeply and gravitated toward a brighter glow within. There were ideas I could sense but not understand. Others were accessible to me, and my mind clothed them in images, short memories playing in front of me like a video.

Amazed, I watched as Waythrel opened a memory to me and strangely did so through the eyes of another Xix as it exited a hidden chamber in the ship that I had piloted through the Orb. The Dram warriors had left the craft taking me back to their warship. This Xixian crew member had run to the bridge and found Thel just after the attack. The Xixian had bent down and touched the fibrous material between what had once been Thel’s animated eyestalks. When their membranes met, images poured from Thel’s dying mind, now only a faint light but still with a last contribution to make. Visions of the final few weeks on the ship, up through the activation of the Orb and the final conversation with Thel, entered the mind of this Xix. It was like a life download. Now this Waythrel had acquired the memories.

You see, part of Thel is within me now, Ambra. With all the Xix. And I know much of what you are and have done. Many in Xix do. We have distributed these memories.

I heard these thoughts! How would I reach back?

“I’m calmer now, Waythrel,” I said out loud, “and ready to learn what you have to teach me. I feel that a part of Thel is with me in you.”

I knew I had reached my mark by the long pause that followed. When it spoke next, I realized that our conversation today would be unlike any I had ever had.

“In what I say about the Dram law and custom, Ambra, you must listen at two levels,” Waythrel began, ”doing your best to understand each. I’ll need you to let me know from time to time that you have understood all meanings in this complicated discussion.”

The Xix’s words echoed in my mind.
I mean hearing me here as well, Ambra. Please answer affirmative and nod your head three times if you do.

“Yes, I understand,” I said, following the instructions.

“Good. To begin, you must understand that historically, there has been a balance between the religious caste and the naturalistic caste here on Dram. This division has caused many conflicts, at times creating deadly wars, but it has been preserved through the ancient times of pre-technological civilization throughout the establishment of the Hegemony.”

It is in this division of faith and reason that the Dram are at their most superficially powerful, but in truth at their weakest. In the long term, such an artificial separation of the undivided light of revelation is a sickness of the mind and soul, only too obvious in the myopia and brutality of the Hegemony. Societies that cannot believe are sterile. Societies that cannot doubt are arrogant fools driving over a cliff. The Dram sway between them in violence, tearing apart what must be united.

My mind was spinning. It was like hearing a conversation in one ear and a commentary in the other. I concentrated and tried to integrate these two streams of information.

“The Holy Orbs are at a nexus in this conflict. To the religious caste, the Believers, they represent a revelation in a spiritual dimension and must be approached in a purified and humble state before the Creator of the universe. The scientific caste, the Naturalists, sees them as primarily physical manifestations and seek to harness their power. Such actions are viewed as sacrilege by the Believers, who consider profiteering from the Holy Orbs to be a sin against God. Several millennia ago, when the Dram first encountered the Holy Orbs, and earlier Naturalists spoke of making use of the Strings, the dispute erupted into a civil war that exterminated nearly one-fourth of the Dram population.”

Remember, Ambra, any species that can so viciously turn on its own kind will, with much less deliberation, become murderous toward those very different from them.

Part of me squirmed thinking about the actions of my own species, of Earth’s numerous descents into slaughter. Were we any better than the Dram?

We must focus on the Orbs, Ambra. The Tribunal will make a decision about your life, and the manner of your death, based on how they view your manipulation of the Orbs. We of Xix feel that there is no safe judgment for you. If the Believers prevail, it will be torture and execution for heresy and sacrilege. If the Naturalists win the day, it will be mental enslavement to harness your power. We are convinced of your worth to the Resistance. Therefore, we are planning a terrible risk, to intervene on your behalf and subject ourselves to the wrath of the Dram. Please nod three times that you have heard these last thoughts and understand them.

Even though I was very shaken by what Waythrel said, stunned to hear that an entire species would risk themselves for a single alien creature, I managed to nod my head and to even respond with words.

“Such extermination in the Dram wars is something I would never wish to see, Waythrel.”

The Xixian Advocate bowed slightly toward me. “In all such sacrifice, there is the belief that a higher purpose is being served. In this motivation, you may understand many choices, many actions.”

I cannot yet tell you what we will do. We are placed in numerous positions of power across Dram and can therefore manipulate much to our designs. But this must be planned thoroughly, because for so many reasons, we cannot fail.

“At the Tribunal, you will be questioned by Advocates from both castes, who will then debate your fate before the High Inquisitor.”

“Who is this?”

“The Inquisitor holds an office created many thousands of years ago to aid in mediation between the castes. The position, second in power only to the Emperor, is entrusted to an individual who must balance law and Dram culture between the Believers and Naturalists. This individual must come from one of the Isolation Zones, neutral ground in which the teachings of both castes are withheld until the Dram pass the age of maturity—roughly thirty Earth years. This is to ensure no bias in judgments.”

And therefore this position is one of the most corrupt in the system. Enormous bribes are the norm, and those that climb to this position of power too often are hungry for such benefits. Beware the High Inquisitor!

“Tomorrow, you will be brought before the Inquisitor for an assessment in advance of the Tribunal. Here, you may receive offers of clemency should you acquiesce to the Emperor’s will.”

So much information! Information that I should be internalizing and thinking about. But I couldn’t. I was still reeling from the offer of the Xix to risk so much to save me. I knew they were going to do this because they hoped I might provide a way out of the bondage to the Dram. But I also knew that it would mean certain death for the Xix, whether or not I was what they hoped. In my mind, I wouldn’t be a hero, I’d be a murderer, responsible for the destruction of an entire species, the brightest and kindest and wisest I had encountered. I didn’t know what to do. Something inside me rebelled against it. It couldn’t be right. And my mind dashed forward in space-time like some mad thing, heedless of getting caught in those infinitely complex folds that had nearly killed me the last time. I
had
to see enough of the right possible future to know what to do!

Ambra, we of Xix will risk much. All. We need you to promise us that you will do all within
your
power to follow our plan when it is developed. Soon, I will come back with instructions. I need you to tell me now that you understand, and commit to this to us and our plan.

What could I do? I could not lie, not to the Xix, not in this situation. But I could not let them do this. I steeled myself. What I
could
do was go along with their plan until I developed a better one. I had at least seventy-two hours until the Tribunal. I had to find a way out of this nightmare, just like I did with the Orb. Only this time I would look closely enough not to jump from one trap into another. This time, there would be no mistakes.

Ambra? Did you hear me? Please respond.

I was so full of emotion, that what happened next was over before I realized it had begun, and yet it opened the final door to the destiny that awaited me.

Before I could formulate a response in words, I felt myself emotionally reach out and answer Waythrel. In that instant, I watched it recoil slightly, its mental web showing some disorganization, and I sensed anxiety, surprise, and then awe as the webs reassembled into new and delicate patterns.

Ambra Dawn, what have you done?

What
had
I done? I didn’t know how to answer. Its reaction – had I caused it? How? I looked in confusion over toward the alien creature.

You have entered my mind. Your thoughts were impressed in my consciousness.
There was another pause.
We never expected this. Even Thel underestimated your potential.

“Waythrel, please. I am not sure I have understood everything that you have told me today.”

“You have understood much, I am sure. And we will speak more tomorrow.”

Its thoughts continued to sound in my consciousness.
What has just happened is as important as your power with the Orbs, Ambra. I must report this immediately and seek advice. It makes you far more dangerous, even to us, than anyone could have imagined.
Waythrel paused in thought, concentrating on me with its alien senses that displayed odd and confusing images in my mind. Its next thoughts shocked me.

It means you not only Read, Ambra, you also do something few have even dared suggest might someday be possible. You touched my mind, its thoughts—my consciousness. This goes far beyond merely altering my mind, because of what it means to do that. Remember your lessons with Thel! To alter my mind means that you can modify space-time itself. This is unprecedented. It is terrifying. No one knows where such power could lead. Ambra, you are not just a Reader. You are a
Writer
. The
first
Writer.

“Until tomorrow, Ambra Dawn. Think about what I have told you.”

Waythrel signaled to the guards, who disarmed the shield, and let the lanky Xixian past. I curled up once more on my bed, exhausted from today’s efforts and now stunned by this recent exchange.
A Writer?

Things were moving too fast.

27

Nothing is more despicable than respect based on fear. 
—Albert Camus

The red starlight waxed and waned, forcing its relentless way through my room across the small force field–buttressed window on the far wall. But I was becoming increasingly abstracted, diving into future memories and sifting, beginning to see the patterns of possible futures, of paths through them toward the goals I sought—escape, freedom, and ways of preserving the lives of the innocent who sought to help me. Waythrel returned several times over the next day and, noticing my withdrawal, questioned me. But while my ability to penetrate minds and use telepathy increased at a frightening rate, my focus was elsewhere, and, as yet, I dared not explain why to my Advocate. I absorbed the lessons to some degree, but, increasingly, as I worked my way through the future’s maze, it became less important. Many of the details around my future self I could not see, and those that I could, many I ignored to find my way to a path that led home with the least suffering for all.

I did learn that my alterations of Waythrel’s mind, the imprint of my own thoughts in its own, hadn’t done any damage. The Xixian medics had performed scans of the brain-like organ in Waythrel’s chest and had seen nothing unusual. Apparently, this telepathic communication I used was something like an external stimulus. But Waythrel was uneasy, voicing concerns that it need not be that way. And with the ability to modify space-time itself, all the Xix were very concerned about how my powers would develop.

All that mattered to me was that I got us all out of this. I had seen enough to know that, in the paths where I did nothing, where others took the lead, even the Xix, there would be untold carnage and chaos. Genocidal fires would smolder across many worlds in a galactic war.

Not that way.
I began to see another future in the jungle of time. A safer path.
Safe for many
. A great tragedy loomed over the time horizon in my consciousness, but it was spatially distant and not dependent on what I could do. At that time it was bigger than my own abilities. I would face it as I had to.

As I struggled to find an answer, the hour arrived for me to be brought before the High Inquisitor. An unusually large and formally attired troop of Dram escorted Waythrel and me through the detention zone, via ground transports to another building, and finally into the chambers of the Inquisitor.

The office was held by a surprisingly unimposing Dram. One might call it a runt if it weren’t still over six feet tall. From what I had learned of these creatures, it was old, its slow movements the best giveaway – at least to an alien life-form like me who had trouble distinguishing the signs of aging in other species. The Inquisitor was perched more than ten feet above us behind a green and gold counter, like some too-tall judge’s bench. It looked down on us—no doubt literally and figuratively—from above during this short but very informative
assessment
.