[ Watashi ]

[ Tomodachi ]

[ Saint Seiya ]

[ Clamp ]

[ Fanfiction ]

A whiff of cold air draped around me in greeting as I set foot out of the main building of Finiti's only spaceport, and I sneezed. "Bless you," Murali murmured in an absentminded tone, coming to a stand on my right. It felt weird to be stepping on solid ground, on land instead of on the shining metallic floor of a space station. It seemed that the Fringe World people had all chosen to stick to their planets, as if they instinctively mistrusted the safety of stations hanging dead in space--space darker than any Core Side citizen could imagine or even conceive of. Lifting up my head, I grimaced at the reddish hue of the sky, and at the much too small dot that was Finiti's sun.

Finiti, named after the true ending that it was: the border of humanity's universe. "Beyond, there be monsters," I heard myself say. Beyond the small, withering star was the border of the Milky Way. The Rim of known space, where a pitch black, bottomless abyss was waiting, drowsing--where incredible supplies of dark matter and dark energy could be found, according to Halo Side scientists. An end to the constant quest for more resources, a well of wonders which had the potential to bring stability to humankind at last. Maybe. The memories of two voices riding the winds over Cape Sounio warned that it was a trap, that space itself was a vicious snare. Two voices, a man's and a woman's. Intertwined.

Athena's.

Poseidon's.

"Or riches beyond your wildest imaginings," Murali mused aloud beside me. He didn't sound convinced.

Omega, the weak, failing star around which Finiti was orbiting was the seventh stop on our quest for white sails haunting the night. So far, we hadn't found anything: no strange events, just stories whispered by Merchanters in the taverns after a few drinks. We hadn't even been able to get a look at the works of the group of scientists who called themselves Phoenix. Oh, we had requested interviews and visits of facilities, but everything had been politely denied. The Phoenix group had better things to do than to accommodate tourists, be they official envoys from the Solo family or the Graad Foundation. They were people used to fending for themselves and do without the patronage of the powerful. They had been discarded and ignored for a great many years, and I couldn't say I blamed them. And so, with each day that passed, Murali's and my trek among world in the Halo Side Fringe looked more and more like a wild goose chase.

"What now?" I asked, bringing my left hand up to my brow in order to shield my eyes from the red sun which was high in the sky, and seemed close to its zenith.

A shrug was Murali's reply, then: "We wait. People gather in taverns soon after sundown. What do you say we take a walk in the meantime?"

"A walk?" I pivoted to face him. "What about a race instead?" The spark of Murali's cosmo was the only answer I got, and the only warning I needed. Without raising the slightest echo, I flung myself forward.

No passer-by ever caught sight of us, no air-car driver ever registered our presence as we zoomed past them and past the borders of the small city huddling around the spaceport. Sanctuary lore didn't say how long a race between a Gold Saint and a Marine Shogun could last, but I suspected it could be longer than the fabled thousand days and nights battle at the end of which two fighting gold Saints would just drop dead, drained of life and cosmo and unable to overcome one another. Still, I had no intention of running myself to death, so when we reached a pleasing spot in the countryside, I came to an abrupt halt.

"Hey!" It had taken Murali less than a heartbeat to realize I had stopped, but that had been enough to get him several miles and a few hills away. It took him less than an instant to retrace his steps and join my side. "Tired already?" The dark eyes were glinting, alight with pleasure.

"Right!" I scoffed. Then, on impulse I dropped down in the high savannah-like blades of grass and sat down, bringing my knees against my chest. Humoring me, Murali squatted down beside me, his eyes set on the horizon of rolling hills unfolding before us. A shadow obscured my vision, even as a loud buzz reached my ears. Had I still been a little girl spending her first days on Greek soil, I would have recoiled and squealed in fright, but I was no longer a carefree child. With a lightning quick gesture, I reached out and plucked the green insect from its blind trajectory in the air. "Well, little one," I whispered at the sizeable beetle, which was busy folding and unfolding its delicate, lace-like wings in careful motions, as if wavering between flight and dissimulation, "tell me, have you noticed anything strange lately?"

The beetle's shell was emerald and black, catching the rays of Finiti's red sun. Its grip on my right forefinger was oddly pleasant as it stepped along it, its tiny antennas swinging this way and that. It didn't volunteer any answer, even when I brought it to the level of my eyes and squinted to bring the sight of it into focus. At last, it decided that the danger to its life had passed, spread its wings and buzzed away. Despite the cold that had made me sneeze earlier, it was Summer in this hemisphere of the small planet set at the very edge of the Milky Way. It took the red sun long hours to finally decline and touch the horizon.

"It's so dark already," I said to nobody in particular. Omega's weak light made for a quick transition from day to twilight, but that wasn't what had prompted me to utter that remark.

No star was shining in the evening sky.

No bright equivalent of Venus.

No shining beacon in the coming darkness.

No lights strewing the canopy of heaven to quell the trembling in the hearts of men.

"We're standing at the Ends of the World," Murali nodded, his voice oddly serene. During a minute, I looked at him in silence. This was the Halo Side Fringe, and it was his domain. It stood to reason that this weird evening fall would unnerve me more than it would him, but the quietness in him wasn't calm.

It was a hush, an absence of sound such as encompassed an ocean before a great storm hit. Reporting my attention on the horizon and the quickly blackening sky, I made myself heave out a very loud sigh. It was there, within our grasp: the great unknown, the abyss of darkness we had been taught to fear, perhaps for nothing. So close, and yet neither of us had so much as reached out to it.

None of them had, I realized, blinking. When the seven Marine Shoguns had come this way, they had investigated reports, gone to taverns, talked to people and stopped ships on their way to and from the local jumpgates, but they hadn't turned their gazes outward. Not truly. It was a powerful spell which had averted their eyes and was averting mine even now, an ancient geas.

A prophecy made by two gods of old, or so Sanctuary lore claimed--so Gemini Thomas insisted, as had all his predecessors. And Ithiel had sworn there was no trick in the winds, no masterfully wrought illusion that would fool a Gold Saint. Virgo's word was not to be doubted, and yet shadows of uncertainty remained. The spending of a whole night alone in the ruins of Poseidon's temple atop Cape Sounio was among the last trials a Gold Saint's apprentice had to undergo.

Apprentice.

"Fuck!" I hissed, as I stood up in a fluid motion, sparking my cosmo and reaching out. A presence. I whirled around, but it was gone, extinguished in a tiny fragment of a second. It had felt so close, impossible to really touch or grasp, and yet so incredibly close-- "Damn it!" I stomped my left foot on the ground.

Less than ten steps away, a shadow detached itself from the old plane tree that grew close to the hill's top. "What?!" Murali started, turning to face the same direction as I. Wordlessly I lifted my right arm horizontally, barring his way. He hadn't felt it, I knew. He couldn't have sensed it, so elusive and alien it had been--and that shadow was a man. A man who had been there the entire time, hidden by the great tree's mass, and whose presence my stupid mind had somehow failed to register. The stranger had now stepped away from his shelter of leaves and branches to be touched by the last rays of Finiti's sun.

As tall as Murali, and as slim. The man looked to be in his early thirties at the most. What drew the eye wasn't his lithe, finely built frame or the russet gold hair cascading down to reach his shoulder blades. His eyes were the color of pale blood. For a brief moment, we stared at each other in silence, then the faint light of surprise in that eerie gaze vanished and the stranger turned his back on us with an almost imperceptible bobbing of the head which might or might not be a bow.

"Who," I whispered between clenched teeth, "is that?"

"How the hell should I know?" The tone of Murali's voice was a puzzled one, and there was a hint of concern in it as well. "What's with you?"

I gave a brisk shake of the head. "Had you felt that man's presence? Before he showed himself, I mean?"

He gave me a look. "No. I wasn't paying attention." The slight quirking of his lips was a very sheepish smile.

"Neither was I," I retorted tartly. "I'm not supposed to need to!" My hands were closed into tight fists at my sides. I should have known someone was there, no matter how absentminded, how focused on stupid memories I had been.

From the corner of an eye, I noticed that Murali was still staring at me, eyes wide. "You're angry." There was a question in his voice.

"Against myself, mostly." I spat air out of my lungs. He was right: I could feel the last effects of the adrenalin rush in my bloodstream, and the too quick rhythm of my heartbeats. Drawing in a breath, I willed the chaos within into a semblance of order. Before us, the old plane tree was now the small hill's sole master. The stranger was gone, erased from the landscape as if he had never been there. "Ah well," I sighed at last. "Did you see those eyes?"

"Yes." Murali's mouth was a thin line, and the look in his charcoal gaze was an unreadable one. Silence again blanketed the hill, even deeper with the now absolute darkness encasing us. Even as I thought he'd refuse to elaborate, Murali glanced at me. "This is the Fringe. Weird things can happen. These dying suns and forsaken worlds are alien places to live in. Sometimes, adjustments happen in people's physiology. Adjustments to their environment, to the lack of true sunlight. And unfortunately it's not always pretty."

"I guess." I nodded at my friend. The tension in him meant an odd mixture of pity and disgust. He was wrong, though. The stranger's gaze of pale blood had been pretty enough, in a frightening kind of way. "Let's get back to the city," I told my companion in a quiet voice. "Night has fallen, and people's work shifts should be over for the most part."

"You're right." A faint smile touched Murali's lips. "Race you back there?"

It was noisy as hell. The inside of the tavern was warm, crowded and laden with smells that made my mouth water: spices, roasted meat, cheese and vegetables. The whole atmosphere was making for a stark contrast with the outside. It felt as if the taproom had drawn in a concentration of life, as if the people flocking in were fleeing the night and the reality of the world they lived in. "Signora." I blinked, and sat back against my chair just in time for the serving girl to set a very much filled plate on the table before me, and then do the same for Murali with a polite "Signore," which triggered a dazzling smile from the rascal. The girl must have weathered through quite a few customers' attempts at flirting though, for she merely stared back at him before giving us both a slight bow and running to a table on the far corner of the room, where another patron was waving at her in brisk motions of the right hand.

"Eat," I pointed my fork toward Murali, whose studied mask of chagrin was so comical I could barely refrain from bursting out laughing. With a long suffering sigh, he complied, and I looked down at my own plate: braised chicken, cooked together with onions, tomatoes, carrots and courgettes. The vegetables were so finely cooked that my fork pierced through them as if through butter. Oregano, salt, pepper and the tiniest bit of cinnamon were the spices I could taste in the tender meat. "Delicious," I breathed, closing my eyes for a second and allowing the rich tastes to trickle down my being. There was olive oil too, quite a bit, and genuine virgin olive oil to boot--an unaffordable luxury that could only be imported from Earth, except for the few Halo Side worlds where the ancient tree accepted to grow, worlds which were much too far away for the Xeno-Ecology Preservation Board to consider for a line on their fragile ecosystems' list.

"Many of the original settlers were from Italy," Murali explained when I remarked on the use of olive oil for our meals. "They must have brought with them trees to replant, and the knowledge of how to properly care for them." Olive trees were prey to several bugs and sicknesses, and it was true they demanded regular attention. We took our time savoring the fine food and the wine, then we turned our stools around so we could better observe the taproom.

The tavern was now an over-busy hive. Every table was occupied: people were gathered around them in greater numbers than the seats they were supposed to have. Sitting at the bar had been an excellent move, all things considered. From our vantage point, we could see the whole taproom, whereas sitting at a table would have drowned us in the crowd. Just as I was setting my empty glass on the counter, another, much smaller one landed before me. Glancing up, I met the barkeep's brown eyes. "From il signore Yani," he flicked his right thumb toward an old man, who had left his table and was making his slow way toward us. "It's canella," he added, as if we were supposed to know what that word meant.

At least Murali knew, I realized as I watched him raise the small glass to his lips and sniff the light amber-brown liquid with an air of contentment written all over his face. With a snort, I imitated him, and I found my eyes widening when the scent of cinnamon reached my nostrils. Canella was cinnamon liquor, and it tasted like heaven as it filled my mouth. I took another, slow sip from it, then made myself set the glass down on the counter before I could gulp down its whole contents.

"Signora Aries, Signore Sorento." The old man had come to our spot along the counter, and he was bowing low, despite his walking stick and a stiffness in his back that must be painful.

"Signore Yani," Murali bobbed his head at the old man in greeting, extending his left leg and hooking his foot around a bar stool's foot. "Have a seat, please," he continued while pulling the stool before our guest.

Peacock, I thought at him even as the old man sat down. A glint in Murali's eyes was all the response I got, but then I hadn't expected more. Refocusing my attention on the signore Yani, I reached for my glass of canella, and raised it. "To your health, signore," I gave him a slight bow of the head, and drank a sip.

A smile, a nod and a wave of his right hand were his acknowledgment of my standard expression of gratitude. At least I had remembered that custom right, from my too few visits in cafes and restaurants in countries around the Mediterranean Sea. Murali and I must not treat him to anything tonight, unless we meant to insult him and let him know we refused any gift from him. "What can I do for the jumpships and their pilots?" he asked abruptly.

No small talk.

No meandering around inconsequential subject until at last we breached the true reason for this meeting.

So. I looked into the old Merchanter's dark eyes. Yani Antonelli was the head of the most prominent Merchanter family on Finiti, and also the spaceport's former director. "You can tell us stories, signore," I told him in a quiet voice. "The stories Pilots, Miners and Merchanters tell at night, once alcohol has dimmed their reality and helped release the grip it has upon their hearts."

The man's smile left his face, and he stared back at me, silent for a while. Then his shoulders sagged, ever so slightly. "You already seem to know many things."

"No," I replied softly. "I do not. I cannot." I dare not, would have been closer to the truth. I couldn't violate the privacy of human minds. To do so would have been a crime, a heinous thing that was anathema to all Aries Gold Saints. The power at our command was a terribly efficient one, but it mustn't be used on people without their express consent. Ever. What I had told Yani Antonelli was nothing more than the expression of the nameless tendrils of muted dread spiraling around many of the patrons and gathering in immaterial clouds beneath the tavern's old storm-lanterns. Like cigarette smoke, they swirled above men and women in lazy circles, shooed away by the sound of voices and laughter. Like cigarette smoke, they would cling to their owners nevertheless, and in the deep of night, some would awaken drenched with sweat, a forgotten howl of terror still upon their lips.

"Help us," I said, "so we can help you. Shield you." These would have been forbidden words Core Side, but Finiti was circling a dying red star at the very edge of the galactic halo. This was the domain of the Solo family's jumpships, of the seven Marine Shoguns who had embraced space and accepted to become a symbol and an anchor in places so remote that Earth didn't even know of their existence. The jumpship pilots were guardians, riding the wild currents of hyperspace freely--white steeds galloping in the night unafraid, bearing their knights in shining armor. The Graad Foundation frowned on this, on the Solo family's unveiling of the jumpship pilots' true nature, insignificant though it was, symbolic though it was--far too much and dangerous in the Sanctuary's tradition-bound eyes.

But damn convenient when you had to get information out of a wary old patriarch, who'd sooner send any kind of official on their way rather than to breathe a word of things his intellect found ridiculous, but which might hurt trade if they spooked outsiders as they did the locals. So it was that Yani Antonelli's shoulders sagged even further down while he ordered another round of canella with an almost imperceptible flick of his right forefinger, a quick circular gesture which meant "again" in all the taverns of humankind's universe. "The Miners don't like to talk about it," the old man began. "The Merchanters are even more discreet on the subject." The left corner of his mouth was twisted upward in a mocking smirk, but there was no trace of humor in the brown eyes. He went silent, time for the bar tender to set three glasses on the counter before us, then he heaved out a sigh.

"It started around ten Earth-years ago, from what I've been able to gather," Yani Antonelli said, his voice distant. Staring fixedly at the light amber-brown liquid revolving in the glass he was busy turning this way and that between thumb and forefinger, he explained, "The first to report this were the younger sons of the Svenson clan, who own a mining facility on the smaller moon around Niflheim, the last planet in this stellar system. It was around the winter solstice, I think." Absentmindedly scratching at his balding head, he went on, "Yes, around that time, so it must be ten Earth-years, or perhaps eleven. Niflheim's winters are so damn long," he shook his head, "almost two centuries, so it's hard to be precise. Anyway," he took a long swallow from his glass, and we followed suit. "We all discarded the reports as foolish pranks, made-up stories by bored youngsters. Niflheim is currently starting to leave the high point of its Rimward trajectory, which makes for a perfect occasion to revive old folk tales. But traders exchanging goods with the Svenson started refusing to make their normal Niflheim runs, insisting that the Svenson could just come all the way to Finiti if they were so keen on selling their ores. That's when the stories began to spread for real. They all told the same thing: that at night, the sky was no longer empty, that specks of white lights twinkled in the darkness, beckoning and luring spaceships beyond the Rim, where obscurity would devour them."

"Rather standard as ghost stories go," Murali smiled beside me.

"I'm aware of that," Yani Antonelli gave us a short nod, "but there have been dozens of people swearing they saw the same thing. Young, old, and men and women of clans which usually would die rather than to agree on the smallest thing. At first, it was only Niflheim, but then it spread from the methane oceans' hell to Pouilles, Omega's before last planet. It's a world of deserts, of dry ice and horribly steep pressure changes. The clans who mine it for silicon and uranium are no romantic novelists looking for a story to make the headline news. When they also started reporting sightings of star-like lights in the night, I sent some of my own kin there. They went all the way to Niflheim, circling it in extremely high orbit at the very edge of our stellar system, and they came back claiming they had heard voices in the void. Singing voices," he added with a grim smile, "that no instrument aboard their ships managed to record, no more than they could record anything to back up their claim that the dots of light were no dots but sails--sails adrift in the abyss."

"So you have no hard evidence, no proof." I met the old man's gaze and held it with my own.

"Signora," he replied quietly, never once trying to look away, "if I had managed to get any, it would have been bound for Pillar on the first ship heading for the jumpgate. As it is, I have no proof, just my trust in these people, and tales which made me sound like a madman when I first told them to your companion and his friends on their first visit, and are again doing so tonight," he finished with a joyless smile.

It was the truth, all of it. The brown eyes were clear, and the skittishness radiating from him wasn't the reflexive stress the human body experiences when one tells lies. He wanted us to believe him, now that he had started confiding in us. Desperately so. Drinking another sip of my canella, I wished I could tell him I did believe him. I didn't doubt his sincerity, but the accuracy of all these people's testimonies--it was impossible to verify, even if I had been allowed to probe the witnesses' minds. I could read the truth of what people thought, but not that of what they had actually experienced. Human memory didn't work that way: the events it filed away were filtered by the brain. Subjective. And the possible meaning hidden behind all those wild claims.... Turning away from the old man, I let my eyes scan the now over-packed taproom. Men and women were still in work attire for the most part, playing cards there, arguing over dice there. Was I shying away from a truth I feared, or was I simply being careful? Was there some lingering effect of my earlier attempt to reach beyond the Rim? Stupid impulse that one had been beyond stupid, if ever--

Red.

Eyes of pale blood. I froze. "Who's that?" My voice was a hiss. Belatedly I realized that I had reached out to Murali, and that I was squeezing his let wrist, hard. Something that could have been alarm flashed in the charcoal gaze.

"Who?" It was Yani Antonelli. "Oh," he sighed, and a hint of sadness tainted his voice as he said, his eyes also set on the striking figure standing in the far corner of the room and apparently watching a card game with idle interest, "that poor kid." The fact that said kid was likely some three or four years older than Murali and I didn't seem to be enough for the old man to view him other than as a child. "He's just a left-over from the last Voyageur clan to have stopped here, something like six months ago. The Narvals had to drift very close because of the weakness of Omega's light. They stayed during almost two weeks, long enough for some of the Voyageur people to trade with us, and even come to Finiti. They always carry exotic goods many people fancy...." the old Merchanter's gaze grew distant and his voice trailed off into silence. In a slow motion, he took his glass to his lips and took a long sip from the liquor before resuming, "Anyway, when the Narvals left our shores, the Voyageur left him here. They do that sometimes, when a child is too weak to adapt to the harsh life of their clan."

"That man may be young, but he's hardly a child," I cut him off, willing calm to my voice.

That got me a short burst of rasp laughter. "To you, Signora Aries, but to me and to the Voyageur clan elders, he is a child." Sobering up, he added, "He's harmless, but a bit...daft, I suppose. We don't know his name because he can't tell us: he's mute, but that doesn't seem to disturb him much. Sometimes he goes to the fields and watches the crops grow, or he stays close to flocks of sheep. Sometimes he trails around Merchanters. I've heard he's even been to Niflheim and back, once. Some trader must have thought he'd be good luck. If you stay here for a while, you'll see him in the taproom almost every evening. He likes the company of people, and the noise obviously doesn't trouble him. Folks are used to him now, and nobody minds his presence here with us. I suppose his looks must appear strange to you, but he's just a poor bastard abandoned by his own. Sad, but not uncommon on Fringe worlds when such a child has lost the parents who could sustain him and do his share of work."

From very far away, I felt heat color my cheeks. "Sorry," I muttered. Foolish, foolish girl, Master Nominoë had used to call me. Jumping to crazy conclusions was a really bad failing of mine that no amount of training seemed to be able to cure. "I don't know why he ticked me off like that." To say that he had rattled me would have been more correct, but I didn't want to tell both men that. This was a rather fantastic blunder on my part, and there just wasn't any convenient excuse waiting nearby for me to grasp and use.

"Well," Yani Antonelli shrugged, "you don't see many like him Core Side. I'd be surprised as well if I were you." In a sharp movement, I pivoted to confront the old man, who offered me a toothy grin. "Signora, I stopped being Finiti's spaceport director only recently. We may be small, but we're not ignorant. Your jumpship's name, Hamal, appears nowhere on Pillar's registers. I'm sure you'd have reached the same conclusion as I."

Bobbing my head down in agreement, I took one last look at the eerily beautiful man still very much focused on the cards laid out on a table at the other end of the taproom. Then I set my moronic mind back on the right track. So people living in the Omega system had experienced weird events. They had seen things in the dark, lights where blackness was supposed to be the sole element--or they thought they had seen them. Without solid evidence, it was impossible to be sure which. The one way to obtain proof would be for Murali and I to witness it ourselves, but in our six previous stops on Fringe Worlds, we hadn't noticed anything--except for that briefest of sparks I had sensed on that hill, just a few hours before. But that might have meant any number of things, and it certainly hadn't been white sails lighting the twilight sky.

A faint, elusive trail of...something nameless.

With a brisk motion of the right hand, I brought my glass of canella to my lips and emptied it. All the testimonies we had gathered until now tallied. Unless there was some kind of huge plot being played out in the Fringe, something was indeed moving in the eternal night beyond the Rim.

The lure of the stars is a traitorous one.

Music cloaked my being. With a start, I realized the sound of the loud conversations had dimmed, and that gazes had flocked to a set of three musicians who had appeared from behind a curtain. Beside me, Murali watched them pluck at strings and tune their instruments, fire dancing in his eyes. Unbidden, a smile hovered on my lips at the sight of him, then I made myself face Yani Antonelli again. "Signore," I told him, hoping that my earlier outburst hadn't ruined what credibility I had with the old man, "there's one thing I'd like to ask you: about the group of scientists who aim--"

"The Phoenix people," he cut me off with a snort. "Inquiries have come from Pillar also; Signora. The answer is still the same as the one I gave at the time: we do not know." His brown eyes set on something distant only he could see, he went on, "They came to Omega some forty Earth-years ago, when I was still starting out as spaceport director. They had money enough to buy goods and to contribute their own share. They requested space to set up labs on Niflheim, and bought worthless land from the Svenson. We know they built their own spaceport there, where we think they're trying out some new technology they're working on. Ships can sometimes be seen landing or taking off from there," he continued, his words clear and yet strangely hushed. "But as to what they've been working on so hard for all those years, we have no idea. The only thing I know is what their leader told me when I mediated between them and the Svenson: 'We will change the name of your world. It will be Finiti no longer.'"

All around the taproom, the conversations seemed to have been swallowed by a ghost. The musicians were done tuning their instruments and they had started to play, but that wasn't the source of the quietness shrouding the room. The melody itself had retreated, given way, as if fading, sinking into the walls to melt into the night. Alone, the words of Yani Antonelli's tale twirled around me, dizzying. "That's the only inkling we have as to what their work on Niflheim might be," the Old Merchanter was saying. His gaze was searching my face for clues as to whether I understood the hint any better than the Solo family and he had.

Finiti.

It simply meant "finite". The name had likely been chosen by the original settlers as a symbol of its location at the very edge of the Milky Way. The Ends of the World. For that to change, it likely meant those Phoenix people had managed to reach beyond-- "Not so fast," Murali murmured beside me. "Allow our minds a few hours of rest to process it all. We can stay here for a while. There's no hurry."

It was hard to listen to Murali's voice. Had it been anyone else's, it would have been impossible. But the sounds of it were woven with my being. The sounds of music. I sat back against my stool, and dragged in a breath. "You're right," I conceded at last, my mouth drawn in a thin line. Looking askance at him, I added, "I'm too stubborn." Belatedly I realized that flames were still glowing in my companion's eyes. "Pfeh!" I reached out to him, and pushed him from his seat toward the spot where the musicians were playing. "Go!" I growled at him. "You're dying to join them."

As Murali moved to obey, our host's gaze followed him, and the shadow of a smile curled up the corners of his lips. "It was quite a recital il Signore Sorento offered us during his last visit a few weeks ago," he said while people turned toward Murali and made way for him, bright-eyed. "People still remember it," he added in a quiet voice. Murali sat among the musicians, and someone handed him a violin. Somehow, I managed to stifle a groan. Of course it had to be a violin: ever the romantic figure, Murali probably couldn't envision playing anything else. Oblivious to the mocking edge of my thoughts, the Marine Shogun focused on the instrument he was holding with the same care he'd have given a lover, and he started to play.

In the taproom, people's voices dwindled to mere murmurs.

With a little sigh, I watched many people's shoulders shift and relax, just a bit, while tension left them in small, sullen waves. "Is the Phoenix group's research tied to what's happening here?"

I gave a slow shrug, my gaze still set on the musicians at the other end of the taproom. "In order for me to give you an answer, I'd first have to know exactly what is happening on those two fronts, signore." Thanks to an effort of will, I denied the queasiness in my stomach. He could be right, he could just be. And if the Halo Side scientists truly had breached the border separating humankind from the abyss, and found something there-- "Fi!"

I started, half-standing up before I realized it was Murali who had called out. He was waving for me to come to a free spot that had been reserved before the musicians. A dance floor. Lifting up my chin, I glowered at the stupid Marine Shogun, who grinned at me in answer. Get your ass over here, foolish Aries! You'll worry later! The sharp thoughts glided past me, filled with the same laughter inflaming the charcoal eye, and dissolved in the air.

After all, why not? As he had said, we needed a few hours of rest, time for our minds to process the information we'd been given as well as this day's experiences. Pitiful rationalizations to justify your insatiable hunger for inconsequential fun! I sent back his way, jumping up from my stool and stepping over to the improvised dance floor in long strides.

Drum beat.

It started as soon as I set foot in the empty space. Drums, vibrating in the air all around me, born from the rhythmic beating of hand palms on dried animal hides extended over a wooden skeleton. A violin joined them, and another. Drawing in a breath, I reached out to the music, stretching my arms forward and allowing the wild notes to claim my body.

The drums: my heart.

The violin: the blood flowing in my veins, rushing forth in a wild, joyful cascade. The rhythm sped up and I followed, effortlessly. Laughter was bubbling up within me and I tilted my head backward in a brusque motion, eyes closed. To dance was to abandon oneself, and I did so. I dived down with the melody, I moved in harmony. Faster. It was Vivaldi Murali was playing, with a touch of Celtic style to it, tying our birthplaces together: Italy and Scotland, bound as we were. I snatched Murali's gift and wrapped his music around me. Cosmo sparked in the air as the main violin's rhythm sped up even more, a tingling sensation that raced through my body and was far more intoxicating than wine. Cosmo, in waltzing spirals of starlight that nobody else in the taproom would see or feel, Murali's and mine, dancing together. Drawing close and then apart, circling each other and spiraling toward one another as the drums and violins willed, to embrace at last--

The ethereal touch wasn't Murali's.

My eyes snapped open, and I fell out of synch with the music. Brutally. The violins and drums had withdrawn, muffled, as if trying to reach out to me from beyond the hyperspace curtain. Fingers brushed against my outstretched left hand, in perfect harmony with the rhythm of the dance, barely touching me before retreating. Not Murali's. I blinked. Not Murali's. I looked beyond those fingers, up the wrist and arm and shoulder attached to them. It was a reflex.

Eyes of pale blood, their gaze intent and unfathomable were set on mine. Numb, I stared back at him, at this frighteningly beautiful man just a few years older than I. I stared at his long russet gold hair flying behind him, its flowing motion part of the dance of this man--of this unwanted burden discarded by the Voyageur, speechless and diminished.

All around me, the immaterial veil shattered.

The sound of the drums struck at me, each beat tearing at my heart. Unable to suppress the motion, I stumbled backward and doubled over, hands clutching at my sides. "Fi!" My breath was coming in short, ragged hisses, and ice was poisoning my blood, thorns coiling up to my spine. "Fi!" From very far away, Murali's voice registered in my brain. The panic in his tone was very well hidden, covered by a blanket of concern. In an awkward, sluggish movement, I straightened.

The air around me was heavy, so heavy it was dragging me down, as if it wanted me to slump to the floor, to sink into the stones and vanish from the world. Biting my tongue, I reached for the Fire within.

Scattered.

Scattered and thin, faint embers.

From nowhere, a translucent Wall of light rose, surrounding me. Murali's eyes widened, but I made a short, negative gesture. My invoking the Crystal Wall had been a reflex, instinct to protect myself, but already I could feel the flames purring within again. The rhythm of my heartbeats had gone back to normal.

In the far corner of the taproom, the red-eyed man was still standing behind the card players, staring at me with something akin to surprise, as most of the other patrons were doing. It was as if he had never moved from there--he couldn't have moved from there, not with all those chairs and tables set in his way.

Not unless the fire of the stars was his to command.

Without giving myself time to consider, I dropped the Crystal Wall and reached out to him in spirit. I stretched myself toward him. I found nothing.

Nothing at all, except for that wide-eyed stare.

Empty stare.

Just...empty.

Releasing my breath in a shuddering sigh, I whirled away from the dazzling half-wit, my heart wrenching in pity. "I just need some fresh air," I whispered at Murali as I stepped past him. The nameless man was no threat to anyone. He was just a shell. A beautiful, mindless shell the Narvals had shed before starting their current cycle of migration.

Discarded garbage.

Around me, the low buzz of discussions had started again, accompanied by music. The whole thing had probably lasted no longer than a few seconds, but I had felt as if Time had been snatched away from me, as if I had been drawn into the heart of the grand stream that shaped hyperspace's tides and lethal storms.

Slumping down to the stones under the tavern's porch, I looked up at the night sky. No lights were shining there. No stars or ghostly white sails, just perfect pitch black darkness. Unmoving, I watched it, blanketed by the sound of human voices and violins and drums, which were reaching out to me from inside the tavern. It wasn't so threatening now, this empty night, not with the music's magic protecting this place.

"What happened?" Murali squatted down on my left, his eyes alight with worry. He had left the other players to follow me, silly though that was. "I thought you'd just drop dead in there. For a moment, you felt..." he looked away, "extinguished. Like a snuffed out candle."

I drew in a deep breath. "That's exactly how I felt too," I replied in a very quiet murmur, still focused on the utter darkness above the roofs. Strength was returning to my limbs in high waves, like the fire of my cosmo. "Something happened," I continued, making myself face Murali, "that had nothing to do with your dizzying interpretation of Vivaldi or the canella Yani Antonelli tried to get us drunk with."

"I know that!" my companion spat, the tone of his voice a very flat one. Angry. Terrified. The debilitating emotions he had denied until now were rushing back to haunt him.

"Did the Voyageur castaway ever come to the dance floor and join me?" I asked him, unruffled by the black look in his eyes. That question scattered his anger in an instant. He blinked back the disbelief and incomprehension that had come to his gaze, and shook his head.

"No. He never left his spot behind the card players' table."

I nodded. "That's what I figured. Murali," I told him softly, calmly, "something touched me in there. Something I thought was you until the very last moment."

"I wouldn't!" He exclaimed, then he clenched his teeth. "You're Gold, Fi," he added, his voice low and tight. "More, you're Aries. Illusions cannot fool you. Not even that snake Ithiel could trick you."

"Well," I smiled, "this one did, almost to perfection. I'll bet you anything it was kin to the thing I sensed this afternoon, when I reached out."

"Beyond the Rim." The toneless words echoed between us, and I bowed my head before looking back at Murali.

"Maybe. I cannot be sure." I heaved out a sigh. "I cannot give a name to what happened. It was beyond alien, beyond--" All of a sudden, I chuckled, remembering. "Whatever it was, it understood music and rhythm, and dancing," I finished in a whisper.

"It could have drained you dry in the space of a heartbeat!" Murali hissed. "I never felt you spreading your cosmo beyond the light dancing sparks you always allow when I play music for you, and yet when I sensed you--"

"Had I realized what was going on, I'd have lashed out at whatever was causing it, believe me," I interrupted the overly protective knight in shining armor by my side. "The draining of my cosmo was perhaps even unintended. How could we know?"

"We can't," he retorted in a sharp tone. Then he stood up. "We're done here."

With a slow nod, I followed suit. "It's strange evidence we'll be bringing back." Not the kind of proof we'd been after. Not material that could convince the likes of Thomas or Shui or Orion, no.

"A nameless force that can fool a Gold Saint? That's no tavern story told by a Merchanter desperate for an audience and free drinks for the night!" Anger was still smoldering in Murali's eyes.

"No." I smiled in spite of everything, and didn't ask my friend how he could have known my thoughts. "It's not." Again I looked skyward, and I allowed my gaze to lose itself in the absolute blackness of the night. My dear peers wouldn't like it, and Haizea would scorn it all.

It didn't matter, not anymore.

I could no longer deny it. Something was stirring beyond the Rim, reaching out to the Halo Side Fringe Worlds. A cool breeze swept the dust in the narrow street before us, raising ghostly echoes of two ancient voices murmuring a dark, cryptic warning nobody truly understood. It was our burden, our task to confront this, whatever it might be. Marinas of Poseidon and Saints of Athena. Together. Despite the now centuries-old peace between us, it would be quite a challenge to unite our forces, to think and act as one. "I'm not looking forward to this," I breathed in the night. No answer came from Murali, but then there was nothing he could have said to help. We both knew the truth: that our two orders were hopelessly unprepared for this. At last, I drew myself away from the contemplation of the darkness above our heads, and nodded at my friend. "Tomorrow." I reached out to him, grasped the edge of his right sleeve and tugged at it. "We leave tomorrow at dawn, but right now we're going back in."

"Are you sure?" The light in his charcoal eyes was a dubious one.

Mirthless laughter spilled from me. "What the other patrons saw was a stupid woman who can't hold her canella," I sneered. "Of course, I'm sure. Besides, that piece of Vivaldi you started playing is much longer than the little bit I got to dance upon, and I intend to hear it until the final note." Still, Murali stood rooted there, wavering between yes and no. "Come on, you foolish Sorento!" I pulled at him hard, and he stumbled along.

Nobody even turned to look at us when we stepped back inside, except for Yani Antonelli, whose knowing little smile told me all I needed to know: that chauvinists all around the universe are the easiest subspecies of humanity to fool: you merely needed to let them think along their mistaken patterns and they did the job for you. The red-eyed man hadn't moved from his spot by the card game table, and his gaze was as vacant as before. With an inward sigh, I chased him away from my mind, and went to sit on a chair I dragged right next to the musicians. The creak drew a few stares, and sent Murali's eyes rolling ceilingward, but I couldn't care less. Turning its back toward the improvised orchestra, I sat astride it, and leaned forward with my forearms resting upon the top of the chair's back.

In front of me, Murali picked up his violin. In the moment the music started again, I closed my eyes and drifted away with the melody. Tomorrow, we would fly and messages would be sent ahead of us. Tomorrow. For now, I just wanted to relish Murali's music, and to be shielded by his Vivaldi.

Just for now.

"Fools!" Murali's growl resounded upon Hamal's deck, and from very far away I felt my lips curl up in answer. Before us, some twenty-four light-minutes distant, Pillar was glinting in the darkness of space, cloaked by the radiant light of Achernar. We would reach the giant station in less than thirteen minutes, taking advantage of the last drops of hyperspace's chaotic waters showering our two ships. To delay releasing one's hold on the great currents was exceedingly difficult and risky, but it allowed jumpship pilots to trick the laws binding our space-time continuum together. The very delicate maneuver wasn't what had prompted Murali's annoyance, however.

A myriad dots were flashing red on Hamal's main control board, urgently so. Each of them was a ship outbound for Achernar's jumpgate, and the flashing was due to their courses abruptly changing. A flock of silly sparrows, they had started scattering in every direction at once upon our appearing in their direct vicinity and hurtling past them at relativistic velocity. It never lasted beyond a fleeting moment, too short for their proximity alert systems to trigger, but still human pilots felt the belayed presence of Hamal and Ligea, they felt the imprint of the jumpships' great shadows cling to their own vessels, and many just shied away and veered off-course.

"They should know better, damn them!" This time, Murali's voice was a snarl. Diverting a small fraction of my focus on the little birds wildly flying around us, I gave a gentle push on the one who had started a steep nadirward turn that would have torn its fragile hull apart and killed everyone on board. There were things normal ships couldn't withstand, and sharp ninety degrees angle turns were one of them.

"Apologies." The female voice reached us, laden with static, but still I recognized Zara as its owner. "We have sent general warnings concerning the arrival of two jumpships on an alpha-priority route, but some of the cruise liners out there are panicking. We're repeating the messages to stay on course as we speak." Despite the static, a very loud and frustrated sigh echoed on Hamal's bridge. "Too many Core Side tourists to see the flares this cycle. Core Side pilots really look like they've never actually seen a jumpship truly fly."

"They haven't," I confirmed, chuckling to myself as I got a mental image of arrogant Core Side pilots freaking out upon discovering that the stark warnings and notes concerning jumpships in their flying courses did apply. With luck, most would learn something valuable from their encounter with us and leave it at that. Of course, if internal gravity generators weren't perfectly calibrated, or if inertia dampeners weren't operating at peak efficiency--well, meals or drinks could spill on costly dresses or tuxedos. Some all-important businessman on a company-paid visit to see the exotic, Halo Side Pillar station and its white star's famous yearly eruptions would stumble and perhaps fall, bruising his pride. If this happened, cruising companies would never acknowledge their responsibility and that of their pilots. They'd file formal complains with Pillar authorities, an endless stream of lawsuits which would most likely be discharged by the Halo Side judicial system, and then go to appeal courts on Earth or friendlier places like Confluence, where understanding lawmakers had adjusted the laws ruling space travel to fit with the realities of true business. "Sorry for the inconvenience, Pillar," I offered Zara. "We expect coming at dock in a few minutes now."

There was a short silence, then the young Marina's voice again resounded on Hamal's deck, much clearer this time. "Roger that. We have berths seven and ten ready for you. We read you less than three light-minutes away. Will you shed some velocity? Please?" Beyond the plea, there was a hint of hysteria in Zara's tone. Pillar's ops must be the realm of chaos right this moment, incoming calls coming all at once from hundreds of transport vessels, every single one of them screaming at the madness of Halo Side regulations and howling murder and threats on station if compensation wasn't offered this instant.

On our starboard, Ligea was cleaving the night, never slowing. Murali had a temper to match his power, and it looked like he had decided to demonstrate that fact once more. "Enough," I said in a calm voice, using the Cluster Net tying our jumpships together. "We brake, Murali, unless you want to splash Pillar with hyperspace meerschaum?"

For a moment, no answer came, then Ligea's hold on the curtain thinned, and I gently pulled away from it as well. "All right," Murali sighed at last. While our two jumpships glided to a smooth standstill right outside of Pillar's docks, comm-link requests rained upon Hamal. Pillar must have released the jumpships' names, and Core Side ships were turning to Hamal--to a Graad Foundation jumpship whose pilot was the highest authority in the domain of space routes, navigation and the disputes on priority to a jumpgate access. I ignored them all, not in the mood to bear with angry idiots shouting about how I abused my authority and caused hazard to navigation, being thus unworthy of the high position of power I enjoyed.

Berths seven and ten. Clangs began to resound through Hamal's hull, as clamps closed around the jumpship's docking rings and interface wires and pipes were adjusted. It meant that at least two jumpships had come from Earth, from the Sanctuary: the seven first ones were reserved for the Marine Shoguns, and Pillar had twelve other outermost coil berths reserved for jumpships, all of which always remained empty, except when I dropped by Achernar on a whim, fed up with Core Side and Graad Foundation orderliness. Almost, I reopened a link to Pillar's ops to inquire about their names, but I refrained. Docking procedures were almost completed. I'd satisfy my curiosity soon enough, and besides ops had a true situation on their hands right now.

“There are two Graad Foundation jumpships listed at dock,” Murali told me while we were traversing Pillar’s huge marketplace in brisk strides. Stealing a glance at me from the corner of his eye, he added, “Not counting Hamal.”

I didn’t turn to face him. “Two of them.” My mouth twisted in a grimace, I hissed air out of my lungs. “That’s not enough.” Disappointment was plain on the tone of my voice. Beside me, Murali gave a single shake of the head.

“Maybe so.” Pausing for a moment, he reached out to a cardboard box filled with apricot-like fruits and took one in the palm of his right hand. His lips pursed, he ran his thumb over the fruit’s velvety surface in an absentminded, familiar gesture, and at last he nodded at the seller. “Have three boxes of these delivered to Ligea and put it on the Solo family’s tab.” As he made to turn aside, my friend pointed toward the box, the fruit still held in the palm of his hand, and added in an afterthought, “And make sure it’s three boxes of those verikoka, not old crumpled ones from the last week’s picking.”

The merchant’s adamant reassurances and protests that his good were always the finest to be found on Pillar’s market pursued us as we went on our way. Murali took a bite of the verikoko he had kept as a prize, and then offered me a half of it. Wrinkling my nose, I pushed the gift aside. “Nowhere near ripe enough for me. It must be sour as hell.”

He gave me a look and shrugged, and then proceeded to gobble up the golden fruit. Once he was done, he pivoted toward me and said, “You know, I think that two have two of your peers come Halo Side is a small victory all in itself. I’d have thought them to consider it beneath their dignity to come to Pillar.”

Most likely they had considered it so, which explained why only three Sanctuary jumpships were sitting in the outermost coil’s berths. This moronic attitude of theirs rankled. Hell, it stank all the way from Earth! “This is no game, Murali,” I retorted between clenched teeth, “no childish, empty competition between two rivaling gangs of kids!”

“No, of course not,” he replied in a calm, reasonable voice. I should look at things in a positive fashion, that was what he thought. He was the closest thing to a leader the Marine Shoguns had, the unofficial equivalent of Gemini Thomas. And if he didn’t feel slighted or insulted by the Sanctuary’s response to the messages we had sent from Finiti all the way to Earth through a chain of a score of jumpgates, then I had no business being so irritated and put out by it.

“Easy for you to be so casual about it,” I muttered. “You don’t have to answer to them.”

Laughter rose in the air between us, coming from Murali. “You? Answer to anyone?!” Then he went on, sobering up in a fraction of a second, “I’m not ‘casual about it’ as you say. I merely go along with the way the dice roll, and make the best of it. Two of them came, that’s more than Pillar saw in almost two centuries. It may not be what we were hoping for, but at least it’s something.”

“I guess,” I mumbled, feeling heat color my cheeks. He was right, of course. It was stupid of me to expect miracles like a millennia-old secret order with enough power to rule over humanity casting its ancient prejudices and traditions to the winds and flocking to a place symbolic of all the things it mistrusted and had fought in the past. With an effort of will, I sent the fiery resentment churning my insides away, and I stared at the market spreading before us. It would take us another twenty minutes to reach the Meltemi, and five more to reach station ops, where it seemed we were expected. It would have been better to hold a meeting at the Meltemi itself, but that would have meant depriving the other Marinas of the sole true place of recreation they had on Pillar, all for people who would have felt slighted to be welcomed in a tavern’s taproom. The formality of a great office in ops would serve our purpose far better.

A tall ebony black figure, standing out from the crowd.

Thick fuzzy hair reaching the base of his nape, dyed the darkest shade of red and done in a myriad tiny braids.

A single white-gold earring dangling from his left ear, shaped as a diminutive spear ended by a beautiful lapis-lazuli stone.

“Tau!” I shouted, dashing forward. I’d have known that proud, noble silhouette anywhere. Some ten yards away, the tall man pivoted, and his black eyes widened, even as a wide grin split his face.

“Well met!” He greeted me, and clasped my left forearm with his hand, squeezing hard. With a grin of my own, I did the same. Then Tau spotted Murali on my heels, and he released me, taking a step back and giving a quick bow of the head. “Sorento,” he said, not quite amicably. Even though Tau was after me the one Gold Saint who embraced space the most, he didn’t truly feel he was on friendly territory.

“How do you like Pillar’s market?” Murali flashed an easy smile his way, unruffled by Tau’s uneasiness around him.

Little flames danced in the Leo gold Saint’s eyes. “Fantastic,” he smiled back, unable to help himself. “The fruits section is nothing short of miraculous. I found mango there, which taste just like the genuine thing used to before it was replaced by a cheaper, artificial variety on Earth.” Staring at both men, I found myself idly wondering which one was the most perfect representation of male beauty. Murali had the fine, sculpted features of his Hindu ancestors, and Tau had the nobility of his Tutsi heritage. “A penny for your thoughts!” Tau was watching me, a knowing light in his dark gaze.

Bringing the tip of my right forefinger to my lip, I hummed. “I can’t decide on which one of you is the direst threat to the female half of humanity.” Both of them snorted in the same time, and I burst out laughing. On impulse, I hooked my right arm around Tau’s, my left around Murali’s, and pulled them along with me, grinning like a kid as I spied more than a few women, young or not, peer at the three of us with something akin to envy in their eyes. “Tell me,” I looked at Tau once we had left the public market and entered the official navigation and jumpgate logistics section of Pillar that neighbored ops, “which one is the jumpship berthed next to Nemea?”

“Aurora.” Tau nodded at me when I stared back at him, halting for less than a heartbeat before resuming my walk. “At first, nobody would move, but Shui finally yielded to the ceaseless harassment of your apprentice.”

“Theirn?!” I blurted out. “Theirn harassed Shui?!” Eyes closed tightly shut, I gave a brisk shake of the head. “Since when is he part of the Sanctuary’s closed council?”

“Since that kid has grown strong enough to teleport himself through the dimensional trap Thomas sets around the Pope’s chambers when we gather there. You’re the only one who can control him., Fi, since Ithiel won’t trouble himself with the willful stubbornness of a mere apprentice.” The smile on Tau’s lips hadn’t reached his eyes. “I swear, it’s as if the Sanctuary was housing two Aries Saints. It’s driving Thomas and Haizea nuts.”

It was neither natural, nor normal, that was what Tau meant, and I agreed with him. Just like them all, I could feel the unbalance growing in the Sanctuary and along the Great Stairs when I stopped to spend some time on Earth. In the eyes of my peers, I was still very young, and to already have an apprentice so close to ready to claim the name of Aries, my name.... There was nothing I could do to explain it or change it. At times, Gold Saints chose their heirs after long years of careful consideration, and at others a bright and talented kid simply stumbled upon their doorstep. Then they had no choice other than to bow to the whims of fate. So it had been for Theirn and I. Perhaps it was the Goddess Athena’s way of ensuring the Sanctuary never lacked for an Aries Saint, foreseeing my early demise--or my dismissal from the order after Thomas had finally exhausted his reserves of patience where I was concerned. Without Aries, who would tend to the Cloths and heal them when battles wounded them?

Who would know how to touch a jumpship’s heart?

So, Theirn had grown strong enough to outsmart Thomas and find his way through the Gemini Saint’s deadly snare. “You have my sympathy,” I told Tau, “for what it’s worth. Don’t let Thomas know that, though.”

“We’re here,” Murali murmured on my left, and he gently freed himself from my hold on his arm. Realizing he was right, I paused and released Tau as well.

“Shui would frown upon my childish behavior,” I winked at the Leo Gold Saint. Tau let out a faint chortle, not fooled by my apparent light humor. With that, we stopped to allow Murali to step before us and stand in the narrow ID scan area that was the sole sesame able to open Pillar station’s ops door.

Quickly we walked past the great room of operations, but still I caught sight of several shadows pacing behind the darkened glass separating the huge office from the corridor, pacing to and fro and talking rapidly to the diminutive mikes they were wearing with the matching ear piece. It looked like Pillar was still busy restoring order to its outbound routes. Before us, Murali never slowed down to watch, and I stifled the pang of guilt growing inside me. At last, he stopped in front of a door and pushed it open, going in without a knock or a pause. This was Sorento acting, the leader of all the Marinas of Poseidon, and thus the greatest authority and power in the Halo Side worlds. Murali was a presence so familiar, so close to my heart that I often forgot the meaning of his name.

“Greetings,” Shui stood up from his chair and bowed, ever polite and innately respectful of hierarchy, be it unofficial. He had a knack for sniffing ranks and their orders of importance out of thin air. As he straightened, the Aquarius Gold Saint’s stark blue eyes met mine, and I beamed at him.

“Why hello, Shui,” I sketched a bow of my own. “I hope your trip to Achernar was a peaceful one.” Shui’s gaze always surprised people: nobody ever expected an Asian man to have sky blue eyes unless he wore contact lenses, but Shui’s eye color was natural: the lasting gift of a great-grand father of his, he had once told me.

“It was uneventful, unlike yours apparently.” The Aquarius Saint was staring at me steadily. “It seems your in-system drop caused panic among a great many ships. Complains are being filed here and on Earth as we speak. I’ve seen some of them; they’re not nicely worded.”

“Let them rot.” Murali took a seat opposite to Shui, shrugging while on his left Sachiko was scoffing. “Our in-drop was by the book,” he continued easily with a little wave of the left hand, “and if Core Side pilots are incapable of keeping their wits when they feel a jumpship dive down a star’s gravity well right next to them, then their flying license should be withdrawn--or they should be strictly restricted to Core Side worlds, where their encountering a jumpship will be...“ Murali’s lips shaped a thin smile, “less likely.”

On my right, Efraïm hid a smile of his own behind the palm of a hand. Scylla’s bemused gaze was set on Shui, waiting for the probable response. “Please!” I set my hands on the table, and I exhaled a loud sigh. “Now’s not the time for petty bickering. You got our messages,” I gave Shui an even look, “why are there only three of us here?”

“All seven Gold Saints leaving the Earth to come Halo Side?” Shui stared back at me. “I’ll give you credit for the cryptic quality of your message, Fiammetta, but that hardly justifies marshalling the Sanctuary’s forces and causing panic back home.”

Fiammetta. Almost imperceptibly I winced. I didn’t like being called by my first name, but of course Shui wouldn’t use any form of pet name. Of course. “I’m not yet sure about panic or marshalling armies,” I replied in a quiet voice, “though we might be getting there fast.” That earned Murali and I stares from all around the table.

“What happened on Finiti, Aries?” It was Efraïm.

I threw a quick glance at Murali, but he waved for me to answer. Drawing in a breath, I squared my shoulders and confronted the audience set before us. “We stopped in the seven remotest Fringe Worlds, looking for understanding and evidence. At first, all we got were stories which all told the same tale: that in the absolute blackness beyond the Rim, white sails are adrift on nameless currents, tiny dots of lights where perfect night should be reigning alone.” Sachiko gave a start, and Efraïm tensed on my right. “White sails, and voices,” I said softly, “singing in the void.” In front of Murali and I, Shui was sitting very still, his face an unreadable mask.

“Classical fright stories told by Merchanters during the long in-system drops their little ships are forced to make,” Kraken Tania smirked, next to Shui.

“True.” I bobbed my head in agreement. “And we never found any evidence to corroborate them. What we got was...” I searched for the right word, and didn’t find it, “different. It happened twice while we were on Finiti.” I released my breath in a faint sigh, and gathered my memories to try and force them into words. “I reached out to the Rim. I sparked my cosmo and stretched myself--”

“You did *what*?!” Shui’s clear blue eyes were very, very wide.

“We were looking for proof,” Murali intervened, his voice deceptively soft. “It was the logical thing to do.”

“The only thing to do,” Tau murmured, his gaze shadowed by something close to horror. “But the risk, Fi--“ he shook his head.

“We didn’t know that,” I smiled at him. “To this day, we still don’t know what the voices haunting the winds atop Cape Sounio mean. Anyway,” I waved my words aside, “what matters is that at first I felt a presence beyond the Rim. It escaped my grasp in the blink of an eye. The second time, I wasn’t trying to reach out to anything. Something touched me instead, drawing an illusion which ensnared me completely until the very last moment. It drained my cosmo, until I won free and raised the Crystal Wall to shield myself.”

“Impossible!” Tau exclaimed.

“I was there, Leo,” Murali cut him off, quiet. Composed. “I saw her. I felt her whole and shining and strong one moment, and almost drained of life the next. And I didn’t sense the smallest hint of what touched her. I didn’t even have time to react.”

“You cannot be fooled by illusions, Fiammetta,” Shui was staring straight at me, “unless--” Chewing at his lower lip in a rare display of doubts, he added, “How many jumps since you last gave yourself a true time of rest?” In the heavy silence that fell over the room at those words, he repeated, “How many jumps, Aries Fiammetta?”

I let the question hang in the air, and made myself consider it. I knew where all this was leading. I knew the pattern of Shui’s thoughts, and I knew how he loathed the chaos of hyperspace. Eventually I confronted him and drew on a smile. “Try me, Aquarius Shui. If you think the sea of chaos has unbalanced my mind, try even touching my thoughts.”

The attack came before the echo of my challenge had time to face from the room. A spear of pure ice, colder than the eternal vacuum of space, a shaft of air whose temperatures was the very threshold of absolute zero. It reached me even as the golden light of Shui’s cosmo unfolded around him, and the Crystal Wall closed around it and sealed it.

Arrow.

This time I kicked my chair back and jumped up. Away! Snatching at the empty air in front of me, I closed my fist over it and flung it aside. Eyes set on Shui’s, I released the fullness of the fire raging within me. The smile on my lips became a snarl as I willed the Crystal Wall to close in upon itself and snap the spear of absolute cold in a myriad shining fragments.

Before me, Shui’s cosmo winked out.

Almost I stumbled forward, unprepared for the abrupt end he had given to our confrontation, but I managed to hold my ground. Around us, the silence was deceivingly quiet. None of the Marine Shoguns had tried to intervene, and Tau knew better than to even dream of interposing himself between two other Gold Saints. When two of us fought, mutual destruction was either instantaneous, or it came after a battle that lasted for a thousand days and a thousand nights--or so tradition and legends claimed.

In slow steps, Aquarius Shui came to my side and looked me right in the eyes before bowing his proud head. “Forgive me,” he said, his voice clear and calm. During a long minute, I studied him, motionless. Then at last, with a lazy motion of the right hand, I reached out to him and seized a thick lock of his long black hair.

Then I pulled, gently, until his gaze was again level with mine. “Braid that hair of yours for me, and I’ll accept your apology, Shui.”

The ghost of a smile hovered on his lips. “I’ll even let your braid it, if you wish.”

“As gracious in defeat as you’re in victory!” I laughed at him, not unkindly, and I let go of him. “There was a will behind that touch and that illusion.” I pivoted to face them all once more. “Even though I didn’t understand it, I’m sure it was there, and there’s more: Murali never experienced it, but Time froze around me, as if the waves of hyperspace’s currents had started trickling through the curtain into our side of reality.”

“That could be any jumpship rushing down to a station,” Sachiko cut me off, her tone dubious.

“Felt from a world’s surface, below its atmosphere? And without even the slightest effect on anyone around me, not to mention a full planetary collapse leading to at least half of it being swallowed by the sea of chaos?” I drolled at her, not in the mood to bear with her.

“Hush.” I froze when Shui’s left hand pressed my left shoulder, ever so slightly. “Fiammetta is Aries, and her perceptions are unaltered by the stain of hyperspace. Her grasp of cosmo and her senses are sharper than any of ours.” I gave the Aquarius Saint a blank stare, and he heaved out a sigh so faint I was the only one who heard it. “I’m sorry.”

“I know,” I murmured back at him. And that was the truth. I did understand that he had had to make sure, to be absolutely certain that he could still fully rely on me--on my account of the situation.

“If something is reaching out from beyond the Rim, we must face it together,” Shui continued. “I’ll send word to Earth, so that they know to expect the Marine Shogun’s jumpships as well as our own when we get back. We must take this to Thomas,” he concluded, glancing toward Tau and me.

Fi, should we follow him? It was Murali, and the thought was cold. Distant. If any of ours did what Aquarius just did to you, I’d have his head in the instant.

“No.” I shook my head. “Murali, it’s okay.”

“All right,” he snorted. “The Halo Side jumpships past Threshold to Earth itself,” he chuckled, “your Core Side media will clamor that the end of the world is coming.” Irony twisted the corners of Murali’s mouth, and around the table nobody reacted, not even Sachiko. Efraïm didn’t protest he refused to even go Core Side again.

The sky is shifting.

Indeed, it was. And it was drawing us all along with it, inexorably.

End of Chapter 3.

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