Her peaceful slumber on the new cot ended abruptly with a sharp command from Cassandane to get ready.
Sam sat up, blinking sleep from her eyes. "Did we sleep in?"
Cassandane stood holding her computing tablet. "Our schedule changed. You are due to testify at an executive meeting in an hour. Your escorts will be arriving in moments. Get. Up."
She scrambled out of the cot, tripping in her haste, then hopped back to her feet. At speed, as if running through some bizarre fire drill, she changed into fresh clothing and scrubbed her face. When a knock came at the door, Sam stood ready beside Cassandane. The two men looked nervous as they eyed the apartment's occupants. One of them stepped forward and saluted Cassandane.
"Good day, Savior. We have come at the command of the Imperator to escort the English woman to the capitol building."
Cassandane returned a crisp salute. "Very good, Sergeant. I will accompany you."
The man's face went very still. "I . . . had been under the impression you had a shuttle run this morning, Centurion."
"Change of plans," Cassandane said.
"The Imperator told me otherwise, Centurion. Missing your launch window would make you absent without leave."
"That is my concern, Sergeant, not yours. I believe we have time for breakfast before the meeting."
The two men exchanged glances, then stood aside. Cassandane led Sam from the balcolny to the street below, then into the cafeteria. They ate a solemn meal while the soldiers stood vigil above them. Cassandane's apparent indifference only served to make Sam more nervous. She didn't have a good understanding of how much stronger a full paragon was compared to the average Angmari soldier, but she suspected the savior Stateira Cassandane was in precisely zero danger at the moment. Whether Cassandane could protect Sam from danger . . . that was the real question.
When their meal ended, Cassandane stood and faced the soldiers. "Sergeant, you may resume your escort duties."
A slight twinge of a jaw muscle told Sam that the man did not like the implication that his next actions would be carrying out a command, but he otherwise betrayed no cracks in his professionalism. They walked the street through the center of the long valley that was the Angelship's outer ring until they came to its end, where a wall rose up to meet the sky.
They passed through a double airlock into an identical chamber on the other side, and Cassandane whispered "chamber one" as their escort prompted them forward once more.
"Be honest in your interactions with the executives," Cassandane said. "Falsehoods will only undermine your position.
Balance respect and dignity. They are the authorities here, but you are not beneath them. I will be at your side the entire time."
The Sergeant cleared his throat. "Um . . . Centurion . . . I was specifically instructed that only the English woman would go inside the capitol building."
"No one will blame you for your failure today, Sergeant. Understand that I bear you no personal animosity."
Both men's expressions went even bleaker, which Sam would not have thought possible. They marched forward as if to their own funeral. Sam hoped it was only 'as if'. She had never seen violence in person. The closest she had ever come was seeing push-fights between boys in high school, where no one received anything approaching an injury.
As they walked across the white paving stones to the blocky, prismatic quartz building she assumed to be their destination, the metallic form of the Navigator, hidden among the crowd of people at first, began to move to intercept them. On the surface, its movements appeared completely natural, but the utter economy and lack of human imperfections made it surreal and creepy. Welcome to the uncanny valley, Sam thought.
They came to a halt with their escorts as the Navigator blocked their path, frozen into immobility like a statue. Sam looked to Cassandane, curious how the conversation between the two would go. “Samantha Wilcox. I am willing to speak with you.”
She looked to the silver statue, then to Cassandane and the Sergeant. The expressions on their faces told her this did not happen often. “Uh . . . OK.”
Cassandane nodded for her to continue. “Ask any questions you have.”
“My offer extends only to Samantha Wilcox. Please be silent,” the Navigator said.
Thoughts raced through her mind. Why was she being given this unexpected honor? Politcs? Of course, politics. “Do you talk to the Angmari like this?”
“I have yet to extend such an offer to one of them.”
No pressure, Sam thought. Around them, a crowd began to grow. “Who made the Angelship?”
“The ones who are called the outsiders. They come from outside the context of this universe.”
“Why did they come to this universe?”
“Ask a different question.”
Sam tried not to think about the growing mass of people surrounding her, or the unnatural hush as everyone strained to hear every word being said. “Are they making the stars change?”
“They are.”
“Why?”
“Ask a different question.”
“How are they changing the stars?”
The Navigator paused for a moment before responding. “They are resurrecting pre-existing templates to overwrite regions of space. Further detail on that topic cannot be shared.”
A brief surge of mumbling came from the crowd before hushes silenced the speakers. Sam gathered her thoughts. The Navigator couldn’t or wouldn’t share information about its creators and their goals. What else did she want to know that no one else could answer? “What are the precursors?”
“Beyond this reality exists an infinite sea of chaos. It is a frothing void of potential. Most of those potentials cancel one another out, leaving it mostly empty of permanent fixtures. Your reality is one exception, being a self-reinforcing phenomenon capable of surviving the chaos. Other similar phenomenon exist, physical realities and singular entities who thrive by reinforcing the frequencies that compose them and canceling out the frequencies that could harm them.
“This universe is composed, at its most fundamental level, of three specific frequency ranges. Gravitas is the force that exerts attraction to specific patterns, without which there would likely be no physical forms, and almost certainly no consistency to them. Animas is the principal element expressed as motion and space and time. And nous is information, causing the existent bits of matter to remember what they are from one moment to the next. The interaction of these three principals creates the reality you experience. They are not the only possible formulation of frequencies capable of giving rise to a reality, but they are the only one capable of making a place like this where entities such as yourself could exist.
“The precursor you use comes from the chaos beyond this universe. By drawing forth those unbound elements, you can influence reality. Do you have any further questions?”
Sam bobbed her head in a quick yes, then racked her brain for something further to ask. She deeply wished to know why humans were given these powers by the outsiders, but she knew that wouldn’t be answered. In the end, she fell back to a question Cassandane had not been able to answer for her. “Why is this called an Angelship? Is there an actual angel inside it? And what is an angel?”
“The angel term possesses religious connotations that are not appropriate. But ten of twelve singularities in this universe were made into the cores of powerful vessels.”
“What about the other two not-angels?” The Navigator did not move in response to her question. “Please? I really want to know.”
The Navigator came to life once more. “This conversation has ended. We may speak again later, Samantha Wilcox, depending on how events unfold.”
Cassandane broke the silence. “The Navigator seems to have taken a liking to you, Sam. Or perhaps it wishes to place its finger on the scales before the meeting begins.”
The Sergeant's voice, when he shouted at the crowd, cracked. "P-please, excuse me, please make way for a witness testifying at the executive meeting!"
The crowd parted, suddenly talking once more as they watched Sam move down their ranks. Suddenly, it occurred to Sam that she had just become a celebrity.
