But he refused to make contact with me. As I tried, I sensed a blank wall, like an energy screen he had built around himself to keep me away from him.
Very well, then. I went elsewhere. I gathered my strength and my knowledge and tried to contact the Old Ones. I called across the light-years for their aid, their wisdom.
Stop the war, Orion, they told me.
“How? What can I do? I can’t even protect my own crew; we’re all going to be executed.”
Find the strength, they said.
“Help me,” I pleaded. “If you want this war to be stopped, then help me.”
A vague sigh of disappointment. It is your problem, Orion, not ours. The problem of the human race. We will not make ourselves your guardians, your conscience, your protectors. You must do it for yourselves.
“You would exterminate us,” I countered.
Only if you become a threat to stars themselves. We have no right to interfere unless you begin to threaten the life of the entire galaxy with your violence.
And they showed me why they were concerned. I saw whole stars exploding, one after another. In a closely packed star cluster, a chain reaction began, dozens of stars erupting into shattering cataclysm, the shock waves from each explosion triggering dozens more, hundreds more. I saw whole galaxies torn apart by titanic explosions at their cores that engulfed millions of stars, tens of millions of planets, countless living creatures. Whole civilizations, intelligent species that had struggled for millennia to reach out among the stars, wiped out in smothering waves of explosions that ripped across megaparsecs, destroying everything in their path, reducing flesh and mind and hope to wildly contorted clouds of ionized gas.
This has been done in other galaxies by intelligences very much like your own, the Old Ones told me. This we cannot permit here. We have no desire to be your guardian angels, Orion, but we will be your angels of death if you try to destroy the stars.
I opened my eyes and found myself still in my cell, alone, abandoned by the Old Ones, shunned by the Creators, without even a rat to keep me company. Somewhere the Tsihn were interrogating Frede and the others, I knew. Somewhere an execution squad was waiting for us. I wondered if Captain Perry would be invited to watch.
Anya. I reached out for her, to the cryonic capsule where she slept, still frozen, barely alive, her mind pulsing so slowly as the last dregs of her strength ebbed away that I could not feel even a flicker of her presence. I sensed a team of technicians probing her capsule, trying to decide whether they should attempt to revive her or just shut down the cryonic systems and let her die.
“Somebody’s gone to a lot of trouble for nothing,” one of the techs said. “This capsule’s empty.”
Empty!
“How could it be empty?” asked the tech’s supervisor. “Those soldiers brought it all the way from Prime, they said.”
“Take a look. X rays, magnetic resonance, neutrino scan—there’s nobody inside this capsule. It’s empty.”
With a bellow of rage there in my cell I realized that the Golden One had outwitted me once again. He had removed Anya’s dying body from the capsule. He had her in his possession. Perhaps she was already dead.
I leaped to my feet and roared like a jungle animal. I howled and threw myself at the heavy door of my cell. Its reinforced steel barely quivered at my pounding. I slid to the concrete floor and leaned my head against the door. Everything we had done, all the blood and killing, all the dead and wounded we had suffered—all for nothing. Aten had Anya in his grasp and we were going to be executed and there was no one in the whole continuum who would help me.
Use your brain, friend Orion, I heard the Old Ones whisper. Your strength does not avail you now. You must use your intelligence.
Wonderful advice. Locked in a prison cell, lost and abandoned. I butted my head softly against the door. How could I get out of here? And what should I do, if I could get out?