The Halcyon exits Drift on the outskirts of the Moon, which it skirts along an orbital trajectory with elegance. Endymions who survived the battle of Caliban send connection pings, but the onboard AIs of the stealth ship make it vanish.
It dives toward Origin to halt, via inverse grappling, at the heart of the Xeno Friendship Park not far from the tower. Wrapped in black metal like an Armor, Andreï is ejected and falls to the ground. The Wau, clinging to the exterior, also leaps down and lifts him back up.
Diplomats, couriers, and AI drones contact the authorities, while the newcomers take the road toward the great Tower of the HS Council. Two squads of Origin's security block the way to the main square, tourists unsure whether to run for cover or take images of the Wau.
The giant and the admiral continue forward naturally under the great Saharan sun of early morning. Like waters parting under a divine impulse, armies step aside and rifles fall before the Wau, a blend of psi manipulation and AI. Journalists stationed on high ground, well aware of rumors of collapse surrounding Caliban, wonder whether a regime change is imminent-triggering on social networks a sudden surge of hope that speaks volumes about how little affection the silent majority held for the Aleph.
At the entrance to the tower stand two immense security and crowd-control drones, with conspicuous thermal weapons. They remain like statues as the Wau's AIs deactivate them.
Andreï and the Wau advance step by step toward their objective, and all doors open, even though every stair feels exhausting to both of them.
The grand entrance hall, usually rich with visitors, celebrities, and dignitaries, as well as exhibitions and museum pieces, is desperately empty. The day before the Aleph seized the tower, an exhibition on the evolution of Laws and standing stones was being held; in particular, a black stele of Hammurabi on loan from the Louvre is covered by tarps and has been more or less vandalized.
On the ground lie fragments of firearms, traces of battles, scattered files, some labeled "confidential."
It is also a crime scene: just in front of the entrance, a special forces member lies in a pool of fresh blood. The Wau bends down: he has been almost cut in two from behind by a long blade. Thirty meters away, in front of an elevator, the same crime-though this time the victim has a rifle in hand.
"Who would fight the Aleph with a blade?" asks the Wau.
"Me," replies Andreï with a faint smile.
The elevator carries them to the top floor in silence and tension.
Andreï clenches his fist, senses the presence of the Aleph, and dissipates it. In the same motion, he also dissipates his own powers by severing the link.
The elevator door opens and he declares:
"There is no longer any god on Earth."
The Wau guides his friend down the grand ceremonial corridor, which now smells of death-the sight of a hanged man, for months in the same office, eaten by worms, is impossible to miss: the Aleph deliberately had the door removed.
Wind through open windows has pushed more papers into the corridor. There is blood as well, the remnants of passing victims of a fit of rage.
Andreï stops before a large platform with an open porthole that must once have been an informal meeting room or a place to eat. Storks from northern Europe rummage through a ripped-open food dispenser. A potted Xeno plant has grown, passed through the porthole, and adorns the exterior with large blue flowers. In the annihilation of the administrative system by nature, there is a strange form of hope.
The immense double door of the HS Council chamber is closed-sealed, more precisely. The Wau kicks it in and it opens so violently that it rebounds several times inside. They enter.
The HS Council chamber, transformed into an obscene throne room, has new trappings: large ethereal drapes with Xeno motifs float in the morning breeze. The sole meeting table has been pushed into a corner and furnished with armchairs, bookcases, and low tables bearing tempting cakes and rare drinks.
Near the throne stands a large bed from which Garen Antor rises in surprise. He had been sleeping. There is another person under the sheets. Long, disheveled hair-a feminine silhouette sleeping deeply.
The Aleph is naked, rubbing his eyes like a child. He sees the Wau and Andreï and gives them a knowing nod meaning I'm with you in a moment.
In a corner, a holographic screen displays exactly 1,038 notifications. Still naked, he asks an AI for a summary, showing that despite hundreds of years of existence, he still has the body of a man in his early thirties. He no longer has Transient powers but still enjoys their consequences. The AI briefly explains the debacle of Caliban.
"They are all dead," he says almost sadly, leaning on the table supporting the screen.
He clenches his fist. He realizes he has no more power. He closes his eyes, overcome by violent emotions that crush him: failure, humiliation, guilt, helplessness. He sighs, looks at the figure lying in his bed, and the Wau reads in him that his heart is lighter.
"So, Wau, you went to Caliban and found a magical weapon to reduce the Aleph to the size of a man? And now you've come for revenge?"
"I leave revenge to works of fiction and simple minds," replies the neutral voice.
"A fine phrase. Even I managed to cure myself of it."
He mixes something on the low table-coffee, perhaps-and pours it into a container he holds with both hands, still like a child.
"Our revenge will be an enlightened tribunal," says the Wau.
"Again? That never worked for anyone the last time. And we are in a democracy. Humanity stands behind me. At most, you are terrorists-you and this gloomy-looking soldier. Tired terrorists, obviously."
He smiles broadly.
"We all are. I did not want a war around Caliban. I am sincerely sorry about the outcome. I was wrong. Let us consider our struggle a Darwinian exercise in which you won. Wau, no man outside your Order has ever reflected as much as I have on who and what you are. I have confronted you several times, and each time you were right, and stronger. At some point, persisting would be stupidity on my part-and I would hate to be stupid. I am not asking to join your Order, but here it is: I need you. Because you are right. Because you see clearly. And you need me. Because the population loves me while it mistrusts you. Because I accept the light while you retreat into shadow. I propose a collaboration… on your terms."
There was a palpable peace and acceptance in his psyche that disturbed the Wau. Was he sincere-or an extraordinary manipulator?
"Garen Antor," Andreï finally declared. "I do not much care for revenge either, but a last-minute reversal, especially to pursue your work of domination, is unacceptable. Your place has been in AI therapy since the day you founded Lodovico-perhaps even before, when you were carving your path through the labyrinths of the HS Council in a tangle of Florentine conspiracies."
"You speak very lightly of Lodovico, nameless soldier, without knowing its purpose."
"Garen Antor. My new name is Andreï, but you knew me when I was ten, under another. I was number five hundred."
Garen seems struck.
"The little one… what was your name? The one who-"
"…yes, who never won a duel against you. The one you forced to kill his four other comrades when you discovered we were helping each other. The one who… well… you certainly remember everything you did to me."
Garen frowns, anger crossing him.
"That was two hundred years ago. And I had a hundred years of exile. You have good reasons to hate a man, and I understand them-but that man no longer exists."
"On the contrary, I had the displeasure of observing that in his crusade to conquer the world, in his capacity to humiliate and kill, he has not changed. In any way."
"And what do you want, Andreï, the very last?"
"I came to fight you, Garen Antor. To the death."
The Wau made a startled gesture.
"Death-is that it? I am very surprised by this request. Now that you address me, I understand whom I am speaking to. I have spies, you see, who told me of an Andreï-a weakling, a coward, a hider, a pacifist, a useless man, in short-who said: No one deserves death."
"Death, however, is what I demand."
Garen turns his back and makes a dismissive gesture.
"You never won. Molecular blades, martial arts, FAM… You don't have the level. You were weak-minded. One look at you and one sees you lack the mettle and the physique. I will leap at you and the Wau will save your life. There are fatal things in this world, and they escape you, obviously."
"Garen," declared the Wau, "you should look at your experience through another lens. Andreï has accomplished as many feats as you have committed misdeeds. He founded the Resistance movement. He discovered numerous habitable worlds to which to retreat, with the help of the Xenos. He enabled the Fleet to free itself from Leonardo by using Xeno calculators. He understood before anyone else the power and leverage represented by the Brotherhood of the Two Worlds. Garen Antor… Andreï went to the world where you were exiled, and he returned. He launched into a one-against-thirty battle-and triumphed. And yes, Aleph, he personally removed the powers you had less than ten minutes ago, in this very corridor. But more extraordinary than all that-and than you-is that he possessed powers equivalent to yours and renounced them entirely. That is Admiral Andreï of the Stellar Fleet. I do not approve of the idea of a duel and I abhor death, even yours, but I imagine Andreï has good reasons to challenge you. Perhaps so that you submit in advance-who knows?"
Garen Antor did not seem to appreciate the praise bestowed upon his challenger. He trembled with fury but restrained himself. He approached his bed, kissed the one lying there and whispered a few words. Then he pulled from a piece of furniture a lacquered wooden case containing, gleaming, a molecular blade with a hilt of glass and gold.
The Wau assesses his own strength. The Armor feels slow in every respect. It heals itself, certainly, but it may take centuries to return to its pre-Camerone state. He wonders whether he could stop a lethal blow-on another, or even on himself.
A human silhouette, unknown, runs through the entrance. He is fast as a jaguar, in a silent sprint, a blade raised above his head. His target is the Aleph, and he throws himself at him. But the Aleph is fully in possession of his faculties: though he can no longer use his powers, he still enjoys their past benefits.
A sidestep-he avoids Toyvo's blade, the faithful guardian of Huan, come to avenge the death of his unworthy master. He grabs him by the neck and, without even thinking, plunges his molecular blade into his chest, straight through the solar plexus. Once, twice, three times-blood sprays in great jets as Toyvo loses control of his body without feeling pain-and, the privilege of molecular-dagger assassinations, will be dead before he can.
The assassin's body falls to the ground. The Aleph feels intense joy-and relief. He tells himself: I have not lost everything. Before my exile, I was already the strongest physically and one of the most skillful politicians. My powers were merely catalysts toward my goal-shortcuts. I was strong. I still am.
Streaked with Toyvo's blood, he turns resolutely toward Andreï.
He abandons his blade and lets it slide across the floor, spinning, toward Andreï. The blade throws sparks of light from the ground, carving a long groove. Andreï picks it up calmly, though he seems a little awkward.
The Wau does not understand Andreï's plan. His plans had always been brilliant-he himself had suffered them. But Garen Antor seems a master combatant while Andreï looks like a child. Unless… unless Andreï trained for years and feigns weakness to gain an advantage? He had said it before the battle of Caliban… The enemy rightly estimates that we are outnumbered, and this confidence will be their undoing.
When Garen Antor passes within two steps of the Wau, he grabs Andreï's arm, disarms him, seizes the dagger and aims at the giant's torso. The latter struggles to raise his hand in time. The blade slides above his arm and reaches his chest-but skids, drawing a gray line in a shower of sparks. The Wau grabs Garen's hand and pushes him back.
"Your Armor was never the work of your Order," Garen declared contemptuously. "It is a Transient artifact. You have never played on equal footing with humanity."
"And your powers-what were they? And what did you use them for?"
"At least I never hid my game."
Garen turns toward Andreï, who had not moved. He places the blade back on the ground and steps back two paces. The admiral picks it up again. Despite the exchange that had just taken place, he appeared curiously serene-enough to unsettle Garen.
Garen circles Andreï like a panther, his heart wracked by intense emotions that make him tremble: the exhilaration of combat and certain victory, contempt for the recklessness and stupidity of his enemy, anger that this duel without real challenge is taking place-and that he is not even its instigator.
And Garen falls upon Andreï, who sketches a reflexive gesture but lets his arm be twisted and his right lung pierced by the blade he held. He collapses to the ground on his side, closes his eyes, perhaps a cry muffled by the rush of blood.
The Wau seems in a trance… he kneels beside Andreï, applies pressure points to limit the catastrophe… why didn't he react? This is also the end for you, Cass… you have no more resources. The Wau extends an index finger that opens to release repair nanorobots-but Andreï pushes his hand away.
"No After for me, Wau."
He coughs, grows visibly pale.
"I have no choice, Andreï. I save men-whether they want it or not."
"Wau…"
The Wau's AIs had seen Antor's incredulous look at his act; they had seen him retreat, place the ruby blade dripping and sparkling, then pull an old woman from the bed and head into the corridor. Without the Wau issuing a conscious order, the AIs permanently sealed the stair and elevator access to the floor to prevent their escape.
There were no functional nanorobots left in the Armor. Powerless, the Wau looked at his hand. Andreï continued:
"This tragic situation has always been my sole goal. For the first time in most of my life, I feel relieved-and almost happy."
"I will plunge you into the After."
The Wau probed the After terminals-the nearest, in the emergency ward of the Great Kariko Hospital on Origin, were occupied. He would also have had to jump from the full height of the building. As he searched for others, Garen returned. He seized the molecular blade, which screeched under his grip, and, furious, struck the Wau at the nape.
The Wau interrupts his search for a second to strike him psychically-but where he could have put a city to sleep, Garen resists. He still possesses psi skills granted by his former power. He is dangerous. He strikes the Wau in the face again: a groove across the face, produced by the conjunction of exceptional strength and extraordinary technology.
The Wau relives his own death-and reacts: he lets Andreï's body fall and delivers a sweeping blow with his arm. Garen Antor's two legs crack audibly and he is hurled to the ground, shattered, on the steps leading to his throne. Halva rushes to him, crying.
The Wau returns to Andreï. His vital signs are sinking. He can no longer speak, his lungs full of blood. Cass picks up his thoughts:
"In the After, my suffering will return."
"In the After, we will be able to heal it."
"No, Wau. It is indistinguishable from who I am. And we both know it. Wau, you are an extraordinary being. We may meet again on the great journey into Empyrée. I will be hollow-and you…"
The final thought dies long after the last muscle of his body. The Wau will not move from that place, inwardly shattered, for long minutes.
Behind him, sweating and trembling, Garen Antor has climbed back onto his throne by the strength of his arms. Seated, his legs form an inhuman angle. At his side, Halva holds his hand, crying.
QUESTION OF THE DAY BY INGO IZAN
Dear viewers, today's question is one I will ask myself-and one we will all ask ourselves.
The Aleph has fallen. I swear it. I saw it with my own eyes. At last! At last! Praise be to the Blind Gods! We do not yet have the images, but I confirm that he was removed from the HS Council Tower of Origin by our courageous intervention troops. On a stretcher! Our society is taking its revenge and order will be restored. Oh, we will not show his cruelty-we are civilized, we are! We will judge him, again. And condemn him, again.
We are free.
I know many of you were waiting for the fall of what was nothing less than an autocratic dictator such as humanity had not known since the pre-stellar era.
The question we can ask-and that future generations will ask-is: why, and how, did we allow it to happen? I was in the front row of events. You saw me at the Aleph's side. I therefore believe myself legitimate to ask-and answer-the question.
The answer is this: I was like you. There was shock. This internal attack. There was the display-perhaps orchestrated by obscure forces-of a terrifying power. But I know that, at second zero, you rejected this tipping point. You all rejected his discourse. You hoped things would return to normal. I know this because I was like you. I counted the seconds. I watched for opportunities. I tried, on my side, to assemble a resistance group. But what could I do? I could have, like the Democrats of Prospero, marched in the streets and shouted-and then what? Die? For the Aleph killed many innocents simply because they opposed him…
No-at his side, that was where I was most useful. Like you, working every day, but waiting for the opportunity to strike. Like others, who finally succeeded in doing what we dreamed of.
In the end, we were all resistants. We lived through difficult years full of doubt-but we can rejoice. We acted well, and better days are coming. Let us remain proud of what Human Society is today!