Chapter 8
Golsubril Vex watched through the hardened, transparent dome of her transport’s executive cabin. Thrust from the transport’s engines occasionally pushed her into her gee chair, but for the most part, she was working to overcome the physical discomfort of microgravity. Keeping her eyes on the ships moving in space around the transport helped distract her from the fact that her stomach was attempting to force itself up into her esophagus.
When had she last been in space? She couldn’t really be sure. Probably the last time she’d attended a Great Chamber of kosmarchs—which occurred every five years to discuss the future of Starstate Nautilan and its eventual encompassing of the Waywork.
Though, to be fair, calling it a discussion was euphemistic. The truth was, the Great Chamber merely provided rubber-stamping for the plans being made and handed down by the Chamber’s ruling committee. And the ruling committee was a force even Vex knew better than to openly question. So, like every other good kosmarch, she applauded that which demanded applause, and voiced her approval for that which ought to be approved, and made her own plans within her own means—apart from the influence of minds which, while technically more powerful, were also more limited in vision.
Because the contest wasn’t just for control the Waywork. That was simply a first step. The contest was about who would lead humanity after the Waywork ceased to be an issue. Vex knew none of the members of the Great Chamber occupied themselves with this question. They’d all lived so long with the reality of the Waywork that they’d grown used to looking at a limited horizon.
Except for Vex herself. The appearance of the new Waypoint on Vex’s back door merely seemed like serendipitous confirmation of her destiny—to be the kind of Nautilan leader who, like the original leaders of long ago, didn’t settle for the safe path.
Because what was power for, if it couldn’t actually be used?
Which was why Vex was willing to risk placing herself at the tip of the spear for the expedition to the new star system. Many of the other kosmarchs were like the members of the ruling committee: too comfortable with their seats of luxury and control to want to put themselves in a position to lose either. At the last Great Chamber, Vex had worked hard to control her disdain as she’d listened to her peers obsessively talk about consolidation. Entrenching. The petty politics of ensuring lower-downs were kept in their places, and that proper attention had been paid to reinforcing the same allegiances which had delivered those kosmarchs to their lofty perches in the first place.
At one point Vex had stalked back to her private suite, and shouted curses into the pillow on her bed. Because she was surrounded by brilliant dolts. Having taught themselves to play the game as excellently as any kosmarch could hope to play it, Vex’s peers were complacent. Satisfied. Unseeing.
Now…events were unfolding in ways which none had anticipated. And Golsubril Vex trusted absolutely in the idea that the flow of circumstances worked for the benefit of those who moved swiftly, and decisively. Convention be damned.
“Madam Kosmarch,” said a voice through the speakers on either side of Vex’s head, “we’re coming into position now. General Ekk says we’ll be able to dock within the next ten minutes. Do you have any orders for Ekk and his crew?”
“No,” Golsubril said. “Not at this time. Please expedite docking, and inform me when my things have been taken aboard.”
“Understood,” said the voice. And the speakers clicked off.
Done by the book, the expedition Vex had assembled would be at least three times its current size. Both General Ekk and General Ticonner had complained—as much as their positions permitted—about the fact that Vex was ordering action well before either of the generals felt it was prudent. They were moving into uncharted interplanetary space without any heavy capital ships, and also without any logistics line. Just nine small warships, all destroyers. Each of them equipped with a Key, and each of them capable of jumping back and forth across the Waypoint as the need required. But no more.
It was of no consequence, though. Everything hinged on seizing the initiative. Whoever could force the universe to react to her decisions would maintain the upper hand. This was as true of Starstate Nautilan’s internal affairs as it was of Waywork politics itself.
Several bright flashes in the blackness of interplanetary space indicated other ships carefully thrusting into formation with Ekk’s flag vessel. Each of them looked like a jumbled building twenty to thirty stories high, with a huge radiation-shielding dish at the bottom—just above the nozzles for the main thrusters—and a sloped mushroom bow, for absorbing and deflecting interplanetary debris.
As objects of raw technology, starships had never especially fascinated Golsubril Vex. They were simply tools. A means to an end. Very large, very expensive, but not particularly special.
If she was impressed by anything, it was the fact that the Waymakers—having apparently constructed the web of the Waywork proper—essentially abandoned it. Leaving very little of themselves behind for humanity to find, and use. Almost as if the Waywork had been an afterthought.
Now there were minds worthy of study. A race capable of building technology which could bypass the laws of the universe itself—and then they threw it away!
What had their society looked like? What kinds of decisions had their kosmarchs grappled with?
Golsubril Vex believed—no, felt deep inside herself—that the answers were waiting for her. She just had to follow her path. Ekk, Ticonner, the people under their command…they were merely components in the vehicle. A less ambitious kosmarch would have shrunk from the task. But Vex embraced it. Allowed the audacity of the thing to crackle across the inside of her brain. Filling her with a kind of contained, yet highly potent energy. As if Vex herself were an instrument in a far grander, much larger universal motion—occurring on a level outside of ordinary human perception.