Chapter Thirteen
Each moment is slightly different from the one preceding it.
—Parvii Inspiration
In the alternate realm, the cosmic storm subsided, and the huddled swarm of Parviis stopped being buffeted around. But to the Eye of the Swarm, this provided little comfort.
Drifting in the airless darkness with the remnants of his once-mighty race, Woldn felt dismal. He had always been a leader who visualized things and made them happen. For him, that was a key aspect of command, envisioning things that others could not and making them come to pass. But in his wildest imaginings, from his first recollections of life more than two thousand years ago, he’d never thought it possible that he could fall to this level, soundly defeated and relegated to hiding in an unknown galactic region, perhaps even in another galaxy altogether.
More than anything, Woldn wanted to fight back, to stream back through the bolt hole into the Parvii Fold and dispatch his enemies with raw violence, killing and scattering them, chasing them to the ends of the universe and wiping out all remnants of them. But he didn’t have the power to do that. Not even close.
Even worse, troublesome thoughts had been creeping into his consciousness like vermin infesting his mind, and he could not avoid asking himself, Have I done anything to cause this?
The Eye of the Swarm wondered if he might—or should—have done anything differently. And yet, he had only done things the way every Parvii ruler had done them since time immemorial. He had followed the ancient traditions, the proven ways.
A sense of deep gloom and foreboding came over him now, as something new occurred to him. He realized that he had in effect been following a template, that his leadership methods had been inherited … and hardly modified at all. Methods that did not contemplate the modern challenges confronting him. Never before had a leader faced such immense trials and tribulations: the decline of the galactic infrastructure on which podships traveled, the enemies of the Parvii race who wanted to destroy them. But he realized this was no excuse. Millions of years of relative sameness in the galaxy had lulled him and predecessors into a false sense of security.
We didn’t adapt to changing conditions. I didn’t adapt. My people followed me off the edge of a cliff.
He shivered in the dim void. Though his people hardly ever felt the frigid extremes of temperature in deep space, for some reason it seemed much colder to him here. But how could that be? It probably wasn’t the case, not according to the laws of physics and the galactic principles that had been around since the beginning of time. Perhaps extreme stress was affecting him, compromising his Parvii bodily functions.
And … this might be another galaxy, one that really is colder.
He drifted toward the tiny bolt hole and telepathically commanded the sentry at the opening to make way for him. That one hurried out of his way, back into the alternate realm.
Woldn entered. The hole was actually a tunnel, though only a few hundred meters in length—tunnel through the membrane that defined and protected a large portion of the sacred Parvii Fold. In a matter of seconds, he reached the other end, but stopped just before emerging.
Then, ever so cautiously, he pushed his head out of the opening on the other side and peered into the fold. Not far away, he saw a few dozen podships that looked as if they had been stationed to guard the hole. Extending his range of vision (as only the Eye of the Swarm could do), he made out additional sentient vessels in the distance, engaged in what appeared to be practice maneuvers, and other podships that he thought were on patrol.
Scanning around the fold, he didn’t see that many vessels. Then, at the entrance to the Asteroid Funnel, he saw podships going through, departing. Looking farther, he saw to his vexation that they were making their way expertly past the tumbling, luminous white stones and out into deep space.
They’re stealing my fleet, damn them!
Right there, as never before, Woldn vowed revenge. Even if it required every ounce of his remaining strength, to the very last breath he took he would make the effort. And so would every one of his followers. If any of them didn’t show enough commitment, he would kill them. For a matter involving stakes this high, he could do no less, could expect no less.
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