“What now must be done?” the Highmost asked.

The Heptarchy replied with many voices, but one spoke most clearly: “We must cut the branch; we must burn the root. The blight cannot be allowed to spread.”

But dissent made itself known with another voice: “True it is we must protect our gardens, but pause a moment and consider. There is potential here for life beyond our plans. What arrogance have we to put that aside unexamined? We are not all-knowing nor all-seeing. Within the chaos might also dwell beauty and, perhaps, fertile soil for the seeds of our hope.”

Long discussion followed, much of it angry, and all the while the captive blackness struggled to escape.

Then the Highmost stood and struck the floor with the Staff of Blue and said, “The fault is ours, but the blight cannot be allowed to persist. The risk is too great, the rewards too uncertain, too slight. Although light may emerge from dark, it would be wrong to allow the dark to smother the light. Some acts exist beyond forgiveness. Illuminate the shadows. End the blight.”

“End the blight!” cried the Heptarchy.

Then the rainbowed prism flashed blindingly bright, and the malevolence within shrieked and burst into a cloud of falling embers.

PART FOUR

FIDELITATIS

Not for ourselves alone are we born.

—MARCUS TULLIUS CICERO

CHAPTER I

DISSONANCE

1.

Kira’s eyes snapped open.

Why had she woken? Some change in the environment had roused the Soft Blade, and it her. An almost imperceptible shift in the air currents circulating throughout the Wallfish. A distant whir of machinery coming to life. A slight decrease in the otherwise stifling temperature. Something.

A jolt of alarm caused her to glance at the nearby airlock. The Jelly, Itari, was still inside where it ought to be, encased in its secreted pod, barely visible in the dull red light of the long ship-night.

Kira let out her breath, relieved. She really didn’t want to have to fight the Jelly.

“G-Gregorovich?” she said. Her voice was rusty as an old wrench. She coughed and tried again, but the ship mind still didn’t answer. She tried a different tack: “Morven, are you there?”

“Yes, Ms. Navárez,” the Wallfish’s pseudo-intelligence answered.

“Where are we?” Kira’s throat was so parched, the words came out in a faint rasp. She tried to swallow, despite the lack of moisture in her mouth.

“We have just arrived at our destination,” said Morven.

“Sol,” Kira croaked.

“That is correct, Ms. Navárez. Sol system. The Wallfish emerged from FTL four minutes and twenty-one seconds ago. Standard arrival procedures are in effect. Captain Falconi and the rest of the crew will be awake soon.”

They’d made it. They’d actually made it. Kira dreaded to think about all the things that might have happened since they’d left 61 Cygni six months ago.

It hardly seemed real that they’d been traveling for half a year. The wonders of hibernation, artificial or otherwise.

“Has anyone hailed us?” she asked.

“Yes, Ms. Navárez,” Morven replied, prompt as could be. “Fourteen messages from UMC monitoring stations. I have explained that the crew is currently indisposed. However, local authorities are most insistent that we identify our system of origin and our current mission as soon as possible. They are rather agitated, Ms. Navárez.”