* * *
The remainder of the journey to the Ninth passed without incident, and after spending the night in accommodations provided by the Crew outpost, the assorted members of the caravan crossed the Crevasse and allowed their paths to diverge. The crawler remained behind, awaiting a sufficiency of aftbound vehicles to comprise a return caravan to Mastmarch. Merinel and Adimar were among the first to cross, and they were discreetly reassured by the bridge attendant that any other Irinon-bound travelers would be among the last, to minimize the chance of further encounters while en route.
The hull foreward of the Ninth had remained clear of wilderness, and sported few features other than a distinct pattern of nested black lines, like an enormous labyrinth puzzle. Merinel noticed that the ground appeared lighter in the foreward distance, and quite suddenly they found themselves traveling over a pattern of bright silver rather than dense black.
A fist-sized orb, also emblazoned in a maze of silver, appeared in the lifter’s holodisplay. “Welcome to Irinon,” proclaimed a languid voice. “I regret that I will not be able to afford you the full comforts of our hospitality, meager though it may be; Tenbor has informed me that speed is of the essence. Nevertheless, I will endeavor to provide a modicum of comfort even as I whisk you on your way.” A spacious barge, incongruously equipped with a table and chairs, drew abreast of the lifter and latched onto the smaller vehicle, allowing the travelers to step across.
The table was set with a light repast, and after gratefully stretching her legs for a moment, Merinel took her seat. Irinon, as a mazy sphere, and Tenbor, as a silver dove, occupied the middle of the table.
“We appreciate your help, Irinon, and I am sorry that we must be such poor guests – dashing through your lovely home without so much as meeting any of your denizens.”
“If some future date affords you the opportunity to return at a less hurried pace, you will be most welcome,” replied the sphere, gently rotating this way and that. “Now, I understand you are expecting Verchborne guests from Tenbor? If you will don your crowns, I shall add them at once.”
Merinel and Adimar took up crowns from the table, and Byx and Colombe appeared in two of the empty chairs. “Where is this place?” asked Byx. “Is this Irinon?”
“It is, and so am I,” replied Irinon. “Mademoiselles Abixandra and Colombe, I bid you welcome.”
“Why is everything covered with silver lines?” demanded Byx.
“Byx,” Merinel interrupted, “There are several things you just forgot to say.”
Byx contorted her face into a semblance of patience. “Hello. Thank you for inviting me.”
“The pleasure is mine. The pattern you see serves multiple functions, the most important of which is to establish certain resonance patterns in the crystals being grown here. I shall momentarily halt the vehicle to afford you a clearer view.”
The barge slowed, and Merinel saw that the maze of silver now contained a series of shallow channels. The walls of the channels glistened with a thin film of viscous liquid. A handful of Irinon’s denizens were scattered throughout the maze-field, peering into the channels and consulting tablets, stepping softly as they traversed the traceries of silver.
“Hardly the sort of thing to compare to Zaltta’s magnificent starships or Lhaës’s garden of wonders, I know,” continued Irinon as the barge accelerated once again. “It is a slow, steady labor, and it affords limited scope for the participation of biologicals, which means that my status as a population center is just as humble as any other aspect of my vocation. But these things suit me. I would not relish the heroic pace set by the Septet, or by our mutual friend Tenbor.”
Byx regarded the quicksilver dove with surprise. “Are you a hero?”
“I would not self-identify as such,” replied the dove. “Irinon is referring to the success I have had in managing the Tenbor Dish settlement, which has been praised by my colleagues.”
“Universally praised,” added Irinon. “Biological population centers of such density and diversity are very rare outside of Mecantrion. Tenbor’s transformation of the Dish from a stable but unremarkable fallows settlement to a bustling beehive is unheard of, and has occasioned much chatter and deliberation among the Crew.”
“Chatter about what?” asked Colombe.
“The future of the Ship, no less. Whether it is wiser to dedicate our efforts to restoring it to its original capabilities – and presumably the function or functions they support – or to fully embrace life on this world and build a new civilization, with multicompetent Entities like Tenbor at the vanguard.”
“Politics,” summarized Adimar.
“What are ‘politics?’” asked Byx.
“Arguments between grown-ups,” replied Merinel. “Large groups of grown-ups.”
“And Entities as well,” added Irinon, “albeit necessarily in groups not quite so large. I, however, do not take part in such discussions.”
“Nor I,” replied Tenbor. “It is a decision for biologicals alone.”
“Why is this?” asked Colombe. “The Ship is your home as well.”
“It need not be. We Entities retain enough knowledge to construct autonomous logical cores for ourselves and depart the Ship. If we choose to remain, it follows that we respect the purpose of the structure we inhabit. And it is very clear, at least to me, that the Ship was built to advance the goals of a biological civilization.”
“Otherwise, presumably, you good folk would not be present in the first place,” added Irinon, “and I would be denied the pleasure of your company, however brief. However, I must regretfully interrupt the presence of Colombe and Abixandra at this point. We are nearing the location of some particularly sensitive crystals and must therefore refrain from use of the Verch for a few moments.”
“OK,” chirped Byx. “See you in a bit.”
Byx and Colombe flickered out of existence, and Merinel regarded the sphere and the dove suspiciously. “Despite my ignorance of crystallurgy, something tells me that was a flimsy excuse.”
“Quite true,” replied Tenbor. “I will now transfer you fully into the Verch.”
With a pulse of the crown, the barge and the mazed landscape through which it traveled vanished, and Merinel found herself suspended in midair, at the center of an immense sphere of labyrinthine silver bands. The sphere itself was nested within a series of larger spheres, each of which rotated independently of its neighbors, creating a dizzying mesh of patterns. The innermost sphere descended while shrinking rapidly -- thankfully forming an aperture wide enough for Merinel to pass through as the top of the pattern passed below her position -- and flattened into a tightly interwoven disk. Merinel dropped gently to the disk’s surface as the environment acquired gravity.
Tench was present as well, frozen in the child’s aspect in which he had accepted the Provider’s embrace, although she was absent. His face twitched, and elements of his adult appearance – the bridge of his nose, the strands of grey in his hair – hovered on the threshold of perception, appearing in the periphery of Merinel’s vision and melting away again when she focused on them.
“We are not in the autonomous node,” observed Merinel.
“No indeed,” replied Irinon’s mazed sphere, floating into view over her left shoulder. “This is my personal workspace. Tenbor has asked for my assistance – strictly in terms of logical throughput, mind you; I would not venture a hand in his gossamer glyphs.”
The quicksilver dove alighted on her right shoulder. “Tench will soon break stasis once again. I think it wise to use the additional resources represented by Irinon – and in short order by ne’Xab – to re-establish stasis and to work towards a more lasting solution.”
“Is there a more lasting solution?” asked Merinel. “I worry that I am running short of alter egos.”
“I believe that I have identified a sustainable approach, which I can maintain without your assistance. In the meantime, I must ask for p
ermission to evoke another of your subselves.”
“By all means. Let it never be said that the Girls’ Brigade of my underbrain shied away from the call of duty.”
The silver dove blinked in confusion but did not request clarification, and the kneeling Provider was replaced by impassive marble form of the Stoic. Tench transformed as well, regaining his adult form in an instant, his eyes wild with anxiety. He turned towards Merinel, only to find that the Stoic was now standing between them, hers hands placed gently but firmly upon his shoulders.
“Abide,” spoke the Stoic – not a command, not an entreaty, merely a statement of fact. “There is nothing to be accomplished now. The world carries you in its currents. Float, breathe, and await calmer waters.”
“No,” screamed Tench. “NO!” He tore at the Stoic’s arms, struck at her face and shoulders. Steam poured from his mouth and nostrils, the hammer-blows of his fists knocked chunks of marble from the Stoic’s head and body, his writhing fingers snapped her slender arms from her torso, yet she remained impossibly whole. At last, panting and sobbing, he collapsed. The Stoic arrested his fall as if he weighed no more than a feather, and he remained slumped against her unblemished marble breast, his tears coursing down her belly.
Merinel herself could not refrain from reaching out to Tench, but her hand passed directly through his fevered scalp. Startled, she drew back.
“Please forgive me for altering the parameters of your embodiment without your permission,” murmured the dove. “Direct interaction with Tench at this time is not wise.”
“Just as you say,” replied Merinel, her hands at her sides. She chanted her eyes dry and tried to calm her nerves with the Verchborne trick of inhaling and exhaling simultaneously. “Byx, I suppose, is awaiting my return.”
“Colombe can distract her, if that is what you wish.”
Merinel shook her head. “No. She should not have to wait any longer.”
Nor should I. Merinel dismissed the unbidden thought with a scowl.