The Deep Link (The Ascendancy Trilogy Book 1) (24 page)

I should try to save humanity from the Ascendancy's
containment, but I'm not deluded enough to think I can. All I can do is limit
the damage, and stop assholes like Preston from fucking things up even more.
But first, I need to get this new 'power' of mine under control as much as
possible. No use in carrying a loaded weapon if you can't aim it right.

Everything is vibrant in Taryn's eyes. Reality is palpable,
her feelings are universal, and death is nothing but a distant chimera. She has
no grasp of the truth.

Amharr writhes in his nest, unable to stay awake, unable
to rest. He's caught between two worlds, struggling to regain his balance. His
strength is waning. Her perspective has melted into his, and now he can't
escape her. He hates what the link is doing to him; hates what he feels when he
indulges it; hates himself for wanting to keep indulging.

The link will ruin them both. The Raimerians will not take
kindly to it. It's only a matter of time until they become aware of his
tolerance of the intolerant—a deconstructive neophyte species within
their
Helix. And it really is
their Helix
. It has been for countless eons,
since before his species even burrowed its way out of the ground of his
homeworld.

The Raimerians are endless, uncaring beings, similar to
what the humans call gods or creatures of myth. Except they're real and much
more powerful than the humans imagine. When they decide something is
unacceptable, it loses all chance to exist, be it this link, their lives, or
their entire species.

Taryn doesn't understand this. To her, everything is an
adventure with the potential to be outlived, even this link. She has no grasp
of the truth, and her naivety is maddening.

Amharr drifts in a sea of her scent and voice, filled with
intoxicating playfulness. Seemingly endless time passes before he can shake
free of her presence and return to his duties.

The wall of his quarters, however, doesn't react to his
call for exit. It won't let him through. Amharr places both hands on the soft
samyth
,
willing it to open, but nothing happens. This is outrageous! Is he to lose
control of everything?

He growls, fires up his nanites and tears the
samyth
open with a forceful rip. He steps out into the corridor and marches on,
shuddering with frustration and anger.

The moment he enters the
Undawan
's crux, an Onryss
approaches him. Its surface ripples slightly as an inaudible conversation
happens between them. Amharr walks around his command console, listening to its
report. The Onryss backs away, and he rams his fist into the crescent. Sparks
fly up and rain back down on him.

His First Commander glares over his shoulder. He looks
away the second Amharr notices.

A human ship has approached and contacted the
Undawan
while he was indulging in the link.
Contacted
!

The First Commander places his hand on one of the intact
sensor nubs. "Interpretation of radiation and radio bursts was successful."

"Render it," Amharr orders.

A low vibration quivers through the floor of the crux,
tingling Amharr's feet. A human voice speaks up in the same language as Taryn.

"To the unidentified vessel infringing on Confederacy
territory: This is Trust Military Corps Commander Jackson of the tactical ship
Ceti Falcon Thirteen. This is a direct request. Stop your advance immediately
and state your intentions. I repeat, stop your advance. State your
intentions."

Amharr balls his fists.

How has this happened? Has the
Undawan
been
drifting? Has it ventured deeper into human territory without him willing it?
Or has he unconsciously pushed it further in?

Why isn't it cloaked anymore? Why doesn't it do what it's
supposed to? It should have avoided contact automatically.

Amharr tries to clear his mind and decide on an
appropriate course of action. But his thoughts are a jumbled mess of yearnings
he can no longer control. His whole body trembles with frustration.

The
Undawan
has been reacting very strangely to him
lately. It started with the Onrysses flocking around him upon his return from
the Totorkha hive. Then his own quarters denied him exit. Now the crescent's
synaptic nubs don't acknowledge his touch anymore. That's probably why the
Onryss had the First Commander waiting to assist him.

There is only one reasonable explanation: the vessel is
resisting him.

"Dominant?" The First Commander stares
expectantly at him. Amharr has the uncanny impression the brazen young Emranti
can sense something isn't right with his Dominant. "Your orders?"

Amharr can't focus. He's lost inside his mind, among
her
thoughts and feelings, running away from a threat, being shot at, bleeding.
Taryn is fine, she must be. He can't tolerate the thought of her being hurt.

"How many human vessels are we dealing with?"
Gra'Ylgam asks from Amharr's shadow, where he's been standing quietly, as
always of late.

The First Commander sizes him up with a disapproving look.
He turns back to his controls, not dignifying the Kolsamal with an answer.

Amharr makes another attempt to gather his thoughts.
Repeats Gra'Ylgam's question: "How many?"

"Thirty-four."

"All manned?"

"Yes."

"Armed?"

"Yes."

"Must I extract every piece of information from you
piecemeal?" Amharr snaps.

"A single warship carrying thirty-three attack
vessels, with a total of one hundred fifty-seven humans aboard," the First
Commander rushes. "They're armed with various kinetic, explosive, and
radiative weapons. But even their combined capacity is negligible. The threat
doesn't lie in their ability to damage us, but to disclose our presence,
Dominant. They currently maintain position just within our weapon range,
obviously unaware. Repeating their message at random intervals."

"Survey them passively," Amharr says. He looks
down at the shattered crescent as if seeing it for the first time. He steps
away from it and goes to stand beside Gra'Ylgam.

The First Commander grimaces, but says nothing. "Am I
to retaliate if they attack, Dominant?"

"You wait for my orders."

"Understood."

Amharr turns toward the wall, but it remains closed.
Gra'Ylgam notices and quickly reaches forth, prompting the
samyth
to
open. Amharr hurries out with the Kolsamal close behind.

He takes several steps, then snaps around, stares
accusingly at Gra'Ylgam, turns around again and walks a bit more. Then stops
and balls his fists, shuddering from head to toe. The floor stretching out
before him is smooth and impassible, oblivious to his effort to remain standing
on it. The texture of the
samyth
beneath him feels porous, like a sea of
tiny gaping mouths. It takes him consistently more willpower to keep from
slipping right through it.

"No improvement?" Gra'Ylgam asks.

Amharr turns and looks at him. "No... None at
all."

"Can I help? I will do all I am capable of."

"I know."

"The First Commander's suspicions are of no
importance. He will not act against you."

"I know."

"The mutinous Kolsamal are still hesitant. My efforts
to sway them have not lessened."

Amharr lowers his gaze. "I know."

Gra'Ylgam smacks his jaws loudly, and Amharr cringes. His
spine has tensed beyond discomfort, burning inside his body like a glowing
metal rod.

Gra'Ylgam takes a few cautious steps toward him. "The
humans have not called for reinforcements yet, so I presume they have not
understood what they face."

"They do not matter."

"You have to decide their fate nonetheless,"
Gra'Ylgam says grimly.

Amharr looks into his small, green eyes. "No matter
which action I take, the outcome will be the same: death."

"You will order their containment?"

Amharr stares at the treacherous floor. "The
Raimerians will not tolerate this questionable species, or my behavior towards
it. Sooner or later, we'll all die on their order. There's no point trying to
interfere."

"True for countless species before," Gra'Ylgam
concedes. "Though perhaps not so for the Emranti or the Ilkryp, who carry
out the Raimerians' orders. But true for all others, yes. Yet it need not
remain
this way."

Amharr inspects him closely, and for a moment—for the
briefest of moments—the Kolsamal's placid face almost soothes him. But the
chaos within him regains the upper hand. "I have contained many dangerous
species before. I never doubted the contribution that brings to the
Ascendancy's prosperity. I've always believed in the supremacy of the
Raimerians' principles, even to the detriment of individual cultures."

"Do you doubt them now?"

"I understand now that it isn't a matter of
belief." Amharr studies the traces of pain showing on the Kolsamal's face.
"No matter if a species is contained or admitted, its existence is
eventually assimilated by the Raimerians. We are all of us nothing but
witnesses; not even tools. Our contribution, either way, is
insignificant."

"I do not understand." Gra'Ylgam is tense now.

"The Raimerians don't multiply or evolve. They
grow
."
Amharr approaches the Kolsamal, his muscles and tendons nearing their turning
point. "They will continue to grow regardless of what happens around them.
At the end of any string of actions the threat to the Ascendancy will have been
lessened, and the Raimerians will have grown. There is no use in trying to
direct or change their path; no use in taking any action about the humans
either. They will be consumed either way. Their lives, as well as mine, will
contribute to the Raimerians' growth just the same."

"This is nonsensical."

Amharr blinks in disbelief.

"The future heads wherever it may," Gra'Ylgam
says. "But the only reality is
this moment
. The only truth that
exists is immediacy, your presence and mine in this place, in this time, in
this form."

"Kolsamal philosophy," Amharr says dismissively.
"It lacks foresight. One of the many reasons your society was denied
continuity."

"The Emranti philosophy of ever-spanning energy, in
all its elegance, is worse still. It lacks focus."

"You don't understand the—"

"I understand," Gra'Ylgam interrupts. "It's
much easier to contemplate the inevitability of things than to admit your
resignation."

"I will not allow—"

"My race was
butchered and enslaved
despite
our fierce resistance," Gra'Ylgam continues undeterred. "We have lived
in your gutters and died on your orders for ninety generations. Still, we have
never surrendered. Every new generation comes into being with the same
irresistible drive to fight for its freedom. Even in the creases of our
enemies' palm, in the bowels of their life-sucking vessels, we boil up with
vengeance. Now, this very moment, below your feet, young Kolsamal prepare for
battle, ready to carve their way out of this beast of a vessel even if it kills
every last one of them. But you—your species,
your ancient, mighty species
—you
just gave in."

Amharr glares at him, bristling with rage.

"You stand here before me," Gra'Ylgam continues,
"claiming to understand where your existence is heading, believing to know
how everything will end. Your understanding is nothing but capitulation. You
rationalize defeat before you even attempt to fight."

"Fight what?" Amharr thunders, towering over
him. "The Ascendancy? The Raimerians themselves?"

"Your fear! Start by fighting your own fear."

"You know nothing of my fear."

"I
do
know. I know you have become afraid of
yourself. For the first time in your extensive,
empty
life, you have
strayed from the path you walk—the only path the Raimerians have allowed you.
You experience something no other Emranti ever has, and you
fear
what it
stirs within you. You fear to stand on your own. You fear to be different, to
be the first to break free."

Painful vibrations run through Amharr's body, setting all
his nerves aglow.

"You are changing," Gra'Ylgam says. "You
feel it every time you close your eyes. But you cannot accept the freedom it
brings you. You have forgotten what that even means."

"You're wrong," Amharr answers. "There's no
freedom in this, only madness."

"The loss of old limits is always maddening, at
first."

"You are wrong."

"You can't recognize what you've never known. But I
know. I
remember
. Every Kolsamal remembers."

"No."

A powerful shudder floods Amharr. The nanites coursing
through his nervous system ignite with furious frenzy. His vertebrae burst
open, ridging his spine and venting overexcited plasma. Electric arcs and
brilliant white flames lick his skin. They blaze up around him, funneling
violently toward the ceiling.

Gra'Ylgam's autotroph coating begins to singe. He tenses
up and cringes, but doesn't step back. "It may not have mattered to you
before," he growls, fighting the pain of being burned alive. "Serving
the Raimerians, finding them new feeding grounds, allowing them to consume
world after world after world. All you've ever known is death, and you accepted
it. But now it matters to you that the
human
lives. You
care
about another life, and that brings you freedom."

Amharr's skin is whipped by currents, his core a brilliant
spire of painful light. He bursts repeatedly with uncontrolled surges, until
his destructive energy reduces him to a smoldering, quivering bundle of misery.

He recollects himself, rebuilds his skin and clears his
senses, and looks at the mangled Kolsamal standing before him. Gra'Ylgam quakes
from head to toe, hanging on to life with every cell in his body, gaze still
locked on Amharr's. The coating on his skin has died in hellish plasma flames.
The wound covers him completely. Pain distorts his face.

"Foolish creature," Amharr says softly.

He cups Gra'Ylgam's blistered face in his hands, careful
and slow, as if it were made of smoke. He gathers a stream of recombinant
particles into his radixes, then extends his tendrils and inserts them into
Gra'Ylgam's charred skin. He discharges the particles into his bloodstream.
They send violent shudders through the Kolsamal's wrecked body, but he endures
it quietly.