Karl Schroeder - Ashes of Candesce - Book Five of Virga

They exchanged a few glances. "We're not sure ourselves," said a gray-haired captain. "We're told there's some new accommodation with the outsiders. A new alliance. But it's the First Line who're telling us this, dictating to us like we have no say in the matter. It's..."

"Disturbing," said Airsigh. "Look, Argyre, I'll be blunt. Our senior officers don't seem concerned, but those of us on the lines, we're hearing conflicting stories, and we want to know..."

"Who's right and who's lying?" She twined her fingers together on the tabletop. "I'm afraid I can't help you with that."

The older man shook his head impatiently. "Your friends in Slipstream think there's a threat to Virga."

Airsigh nodded. "And the First Line followed what it thought was that threat into Aethyr, where it crashed some of their ships. At least, that's the official story. But we know there's another side to it--this claim that somebody out there was trying to make contact with us and it all went wrong."

Antaea blinked in surprise. "You heard that?"

Airsigh tapped a sheaf of papers Antaea hadn't noticed before. "Something out there has continued to try to make contact. It calls itself a 'morphont' and claims that some history dean, Leal Hieronyma Maspeth, was its intermediary." She shot Antaea an intent look. "Do you know anything about these morphonts?"

"I know they're not sapient like we are," Antaea said. She'd made the same objection when Leal had told her about the emissary. "They wear consciousness like clothing--they don it and shed it as needed. How can the interests of creatures like that possibly align with ours?"

Airsigh gave that question some consideration. "They might if we faced another, bigger threat," she said finally. "'The enemy of my enemy' and all that. Maybe they don't think the way we do, but they can calculate odds just as well as us. Anyway, we don't know, and this is why we're trying to investigate further."

Antaea frowned at this unsatisfying answer.

"The problem," said the older Guardsman, "is that the First Line has declared the matter closed and refuses to talk to the morphonts. At the same time they're receiving all these new visitors of their own. It's as if some other faction has gone into high gear. We know there were already some ambassadors among the First Line."

"So you don't have any reliable information about what's going on out at the high command?"

Airsigh laughed. "Oh, we have plenty of information! It's just hard to make sense of it. Like, take the 'emissary' or 'monster,' for instance. We've seen reports from the lone survivor of its attack, and they corroborate the First Line's story."

"Who's this survivor?"

"He's a cabinet minister from the same sunless country as the professor. Name's Loll."

Leal had told Antaea all about Eustace Loll, of course, and had painted him as an untrustworthy mosquito of a man. There was no way Antaea could admit to these people that she knew anything about him. "What's his story?"

"That the white filaments making up the morphont's body had taken over the other survivors of the crash one by one, turning them all into horrible extensions of itself. He spun quite a tale--and he ended it by warning that anybody else who went down to the plains of Aethyr was likely to meet the same fate. Convenient. Our senior people believe it."

"Wait a minute!" Antaea looked from face to face. "There is no plan to look for other survivors?"

"None," said Airsigh tersely. Distractedly, she tapped the papers with one fingertip. "Then the First Line sent us him ." She nodded at a closed door that led to another section of the tiny house wheel.

"Who is he?" Antaea asked.

"Why don't you meet him," suggested Airsigh, "and then maybe you can tell us?" She made to rise, causing the two men on her left to shuffle out from behind the table to make way for her. Suddenly apprehensive, Antaea followed her to the door, where she knocked discreetly. "Come in," someone said.

He was extraordinarily good-looking, and would have stood out in any Virgan crowd despite his attempt to wear nondescript, even slightly shabby clothing. He bowed, a little awkwardly, as Antaea entered the parlor where he'd been waiting. "I'm Holon," he said.

"Antaea Argyre."

"Ah, yes! The adventuress. I've heard so much about you."

His name was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it. Something Leal had said ... "They tell me you're an ambassador," she said cautiously.

He shook his head. "Not really--oh, I should explain. I was an observer sent from my people as part of an exchange with your Home Guard. When the incident at Aethyr happened, I was stranded with the Home Guard ships on the plains. I managed to return to my people, but I'm afraid the rest of that expedition was lost. --Except, I hear, for Minister Loll."

This Holon was as charming as he was handsome, but Antaea remembered where she'd heard the name before. She nearly said, "You tried to convince the Guard to kill Leal Maspeth," before remembering that if she admitted she knew that, she'd be giving away Leal's return, the existence of another door to Aethyr--essentially everything. "How is it you survived?"

"I walked away," he said with a shrug. "The Guardsmen and the other humans from Virga wouldn't have survived the journey. But I," he raised his perfect hands, "have augmentations that allowed me to survive until I could contact some of my people."

"But by then the rest of the survivors were dead?" He nodded. "Killed," pressed Antaea, "by ... what?"

Holon crossed his arms and frowned out the parlor's window. "We call them morphonts. They're creatures of Artificial Nature; they come in as many varieties as there are stars in the sky.

"Oh," he said suddenly. "You caught me as I was eating. You don't mind if I--?"

"By all means." She saw that a small buffet had been set up under the window.

He noticed her interest, and smiled. "Would you care to join me?"

Silent, she piled her plate high with cold cuts. Standing next to this foreigner, loading up on food--it was a very strange experience, but she barely noticed. She was thinking about Leal's conviction that the emissary was a friend, while at the same time, she'd insisted that it wasn't a conscious being like herself. The contradiction had been glaring the first time Antaea heard it. Over the weeks it hadn't become any less so.

Holon frowned at the fare, which was mostly meat. "It's difficult grazing for a vegetarian here."

"You're a vegetarian?" She watched as he picked through the food.

"Don't get me wrong, I love meat," he added as he piled up a plate. "Back home, I eat it all the time. But then, we've got other things besides meat and vegetable matter to eat--and whatever meat I eat is vat-grown."

She nodded, remembering the Home Guard fortress at the Gates of Virga. "I've had it. A perfect steak, every time."

"The mere thought of eating the flesh of something that once had a brain horrifies me," he continued. "I know you Virgans are a bit more ruthless that way. I suppose you have to be. But my conscience won't allow me to harm another sentient being."

Antaea put down her plate. "But you're happy to kill the morphonts." He shrugged. He sat at the parlor's little table, arraying his food around him.

"Tell me more about the morphonts," she said. "They're not aware like you and me, you say. How then are they a threat to anyone? Wouldn't they just be like plants, if they have no minds?"

"It's hardly a secret who they are or how they work--"

"Oh, but it is. Your people never told us about them," she interjected. "I was in the Guard for many years. I even traveled outside Virga--"

"I'm sure we told you," he said with sudden irritation. "Maybe you didn't understand us."

"Fair enough." She held up a placating hand. "And forgive me if you've been asked this twenty times already. Indulge me--what do you believe the morphonts are?"