Jo Clayton - Diadem 1 - Diadem from the Stars

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Diadem From The Stars
Diadem, Book 1
Jo Clayton
1977
Aleytys The Fugitive
Far out among the stars the masterminds of the spider people had placed their mightiest mysteries in the
scientific device called the diadem. And when that coronet was stolen, they were prepared to pursue it
throughout eternity.
The thief crashed among the nomads of Jaydugar, a semi-barbarian world… and the diadem found its
way into the hands—and onto the skull—of the girl Aleytys.
She was herself a strange one—daughter of a sky wanderer, outcast among the people who had raised
her out of fear and awe. And the diadem was to prove both her bane and her treasure. For she could not
remove it once it had sunk its electronic web into her brain and nervous system—and she did not know
how to control the powers that were contained within it.
Yet every moment she wore it, she would be a target for the vengeance of the spider race and the
avarice of a thousand worlds.
Treasure Of Treasures
The thief stood in front of the arching crystal and stared at the thing inside. Pale gold metallic threads
spun into flower forms curving around pulsing red, purple, blue, green, and deep orange gems… like a
garland of golden lilies they shimmered with a rich seductive glow. He lifted the glass bell with
exaggerated care and set it gently on the floor. With his breath coming fast and tight off the top of his
lungs, he lifted the diadem, touching the exquisite thing gently, carefully, fingertips only, even though ten
thousand years of legend testified to the indestructibility of those hair-fine threads.
As he held the diadem it sang to him in a faint ripple of single pure notes. He stroked his hand across the
flowers, the agonizing beauty of the notes that answered his touch curling around his mind until, half
tranced, he almost settled it on his own head. He wrenched his numbed brain free and hastily folded the
supple circlet and shoved it in the special insulated pouch hanging on his belt….
Contents
A Beginning: The Loosing of the Diadem
Part I: The Fireball
Part II: Dragonseed Tries Her Wings
Part III: The Diadem
A Beginning: The Loosing of
the Diadem
The thief walked through rolls of milky fog, advancing warily to the base of a wall that rose until the fog
swallowed it; his chameleon-web bodysuit mocked the opaline mist until he was a pale shade in the
shadows. He touched his belt and a circle of light sprang into being under his feet. Another touch. Like a
soap bubble he drifted silently up along the flickering force-fields surfacing the wall with the fog ceiling
retreating above his head and closing in again under his feet as he slid silently upward. Muffled sounds,
broken and anonymous, slipped past him, too natural and arrhythmic to trigger taut nerves.
The wall broke suddenly into a wide plane-surfaced top, but he kept rising until his feet were a handspan
above the edge, then he touched the belt again and began drifting sideways, smooth and silent in his milky
room of fog… one meter… two… touch the belt… down sliding in a long slow slant toward the unseen
ground….
Gliding over the soaked, crumbling earth, feet a handspan from contact, body bent tensely forward…
the circle of light flickered, faltered, and the thief’s breath rasped hoarsely. Using the last moments of
stability he plunged forward….
The black stone rasped faintly under his toes. For a minute he stood perfectly still, eyes closed, forcing
his clamoring body into a more responsive quiet. Stripping the glove from his right hand he pressed a
palely glowing ring against the lock sensor and waited for the massive door to slide aside.
The solid blackness vibrated, swaying snakelike black on black, strangely perceived. His shadow-figure
crept snake slow, twisting, turning, cutting back on his own tracks, bodysuit blending black on black,
narrow ice-blue eyes glinting winter-cold in the odd nonlight dripping through the thick greasy air. On the
groping hand stretched out in the murk before him, on the middle finger, the ringstone glowed
fire-green—flickering, innocent, lovely, and deceptive—not simply decoration but a key and a map,
Ariadne’s thread to the RMoahl maze… a key bought at the cost of two years’ cunning and five men’s
lives.
The ring flared blue. The thief froze. After a minute he thrust his hand into the pouch dangling invisibly
from his belt and pulled out four suction cups, which he strapped to hands and feet. With a sinuous
splayed-out leap, he threw himself high up against the wall, slapping the cups hard against the glassy
surface. Armstretch by armstretch, clinging, swinging, aching muscles trembling, he inched along fifty feet
of stinking wall.
The huge domed room caught up and magnified the tiny sounds he made as he strode—long legs
scissoring nervously fast, excitement heating his blood—toward the crystal dome housing the diadem.
Plunder from a hundred suns lay heaped in glowing piles on either side of carpeted aisles crossing and
recrossing the vast ellipse. A fugitive glitter sparked in the corners of his eyes… silken sheens, rich colors
glowing… his eyes fixed on that solitary dome at the very center. Inside, the diadem lay curled in delicate
modesty. Breath bitten behind his teeth, the thief half ran across the crowded room.
He stood in front of the arching crystal and stared at the thing inside. Pale gold metallic threads spun into
flower forms curving around pulsing red, purple, blue, green, and deep orange gems… like a garland of
golden lilies they shimmered with a rich seductive glow. He lifted the glass bell with exaggerated care and
set it gently on the floor. With his breath coming faster and tight off the top of his lungs, he lifted the
diadem, touching the exquisite thing gently, carefully, fingertips only, even though ten thousand years of
legend testified to the indestructibility of those hair-fine threads.
As he held the diadem it sang to him in a faint ripple of single pure notes. He stroked his hand across the
flowers, the agonizing beauty of the notes that answered his touch curling around his mind until, half
tranced, he almost settled it on his own head. He wrenched his numbed brain free and hastily folded the
supple circlet and shoved it in the special insulated pouch hanging on his belt….
The light winds curled and spit around him, slamming his tiny stingship end over end. He took a deep
breath and slowed his body down, relaxing the tension that was bouncing him against the crash-web with
bruising force. Behind him the stink of the laboring computer naked with small metallic creaks of
overburdened metal… ahead, the screen howled with savage colors, a fantastic whirl, demon-haunted,
three suns revolving about a common center of gravity passing hydrogen from one to the other in ragged
golden rivers, the fields of forces battling there twisting and distorting even the tough fabric of space itself.
The black midge danced and fluttered, edging along, pushed to the limit of its very special capabilities.
Pain sat at the base of his spine like a spiked pillow. Sounds beat in his ears and scratched at his brain,
aborting his spasmodic attempts to pull his mind together. He clung to consciousness with a determination
dredged from the marrow of his bones, yelling a long, soundless scream to dominate the pain and noise
inside his ballooning skull.
Faster and faster they spun, man and ship. The air around him grew thick with the effluents of strain…
the argrav console whined and shuddered… points of electric-blue fire danced among the circuits… the
violent hungry forces swirling around the suns battered and wrenched at the tough metal splinter.
Suddenly the ship lurched sideways, plunging down and around into a wild corkscrewing tumble. The
overworked crash-web popped loose, banging his jaw against the support bar. His eyes glazed over and
a trickle of blood oozed out the corner of his mouth….
A long satin slide into a pool of calm… the stingship purred along at cruise speed, spit out like a plum
seed from around the edge of the bronze-green sun. With clumsy fingers the thief tripped the lock bars
and let the crash-web flip to rest. Hands on armrests, he pushed himself painfully upright, the pressure
couch following the movements of his body. He rubbed his hands together, smiling, bruised but intact,
though the ship had been driven far beyond her remarkable capacity.
In front of him the console breathed scattered spurts of blue and stinking smoke. When he frowned and
ran his fingers over the board, the ship responded sluggishly. Currents of air tugged by uneven gravity
flows carried the blue smoke in stinging tatters around his face. Coughing and sputtering he rubbed his
running nose and screwed up his aching eyes.
“Luv!”
“Yes, Stavver?” The computer’s soft contralto voice sounded a little ragged around the edges.
“Scrub this air, will you. Can’t see a thing.”
“Stavver, I’m badly damaged. I’ll try….” A sharp screech stabbed at his eardrums. “Pardon me,” she
said hastily, the human qualities of the voice eroding under the strain of her injuries.
Stavver chuckled. He thought,Trust Luv to maintain the proprieties . He peered into the flickering
screen, which showed the triple sun ebbing swiftly behind. Bending tautly forward he scanned the image
with haunted care. The irritating blips that had dogged his trail since he’d left the RMoahl world two days
before were gone, all five of them. Sighing, he leaned back, feeling the soreness of his body all the more
since the tension supporting him was sliding away. “No hurry, Luv. We lost them.”
The air began to clear. Stavver looked around and grimaced at the mess in his polished bridge. “The rest
of the ship like this, Luv?”
“Worse.” The voice sounded steadier. “Dirt, stink everywhere. A slum,” The sourceless voice sounded
gloomy and rather prim, like an old woman whose dog had an accident in the middle of her best rug.
“The generators are in deplorable condition.” For the hundredth time he wondered what the long-dead
builders who’d constructed and programmed the computer were like and why they’d given it such a prim
and proper personality. He laughed. “Check it out, Luv, and let me know the worst. I think we’ll find a
place to set down for a rest.”
“Stavver, if you’d stop getting us into these messes, I could keep my decks clean.”
He grinned. “Now, Luv, if I retired, you’d sit in a field and rust.” He could almost hear the computer
sniff, then, with a sigh, he stretched out cramped muscles and rubbed tired gritty eyes.
“Stavver!” The calm voice escalated to a shriek. “Three follow!”
“Wha—” The thief jerked up, wincing at the ache in his head. Blinking to clear his vision, he peered into
the screen. Three small black blips shimmered against the glowing hydrogen. “How?” he whispered.
“They couldn’t track us. Not through that mess.” He looked again. “Three. At least we lost two of them.”
A minute later—”Two of those… look, Luv. Am I dreaming or—”
“Two drop away.” The computer sounded rather complacent, as if she were preening imaginary
feathers. “We’ve beaten four.”
“You’re a good girl, Luv. Now if we can just shake the one… You’re sure it’s RMoahl?”
“A RMoahl hound.”
“How the hell do they do it… ?” He shook his head, then tried to think. “We better get lost fast. Luv!”
“Yes, Stavver?”
“Evasive action right now. Then head for… mmm… Drex. Let me get lost in the Exsashi and—”
A pained silence.
“Luv?”
“Stavver… ” The voice croaked and cracked, then sputtered to a shrill hiss.
“Luv!”
“Warning. Warning. Warning.” The personality was leached out of the warm voice until it was a thin
thread of sound half drowned in a sudden spate of sharp crackles and snaps. “Breakup.”
“How long?” he demanded.
“Insufficient data.” The voice faded, strengthened, faded again.
“Drex?”
“Too-oo faaaa-aar.”
“Then anything possible.” He stared grimly at the RMoahl ship. “Long as I can breathe the air.”
There was an odd little sound rather like a sigh. He felt a nudge that changed rapidly to a hard
continuous twisting shove. In the screen the field of stars turned sluggishly until a double star—blue
dwarf, red giant—was centered. Slowly, painfully slowly, the stars grew larger—
Then the ship gave a little hiccup. The lock bar of the crash-web suddenly flipped loose and the web
sprung free. Stavver was thrown forward so that he slammed his head into the hard glass of the screen.
The ship hiccupped again, throwing him back into the chair. A harsh brittle sound bored through the haze
in his head as the floor drove up and then dropped away. Then the crash-web flipped back and locked
again.
He strained through the sloshing in his brain to see what was happening while small crashes mingled with
the thrumming of the generators. The air filled with smoke again.
A long, stretched-out minute passed.
The ship wobbled, hesitated a heart-stopping second, then plunged down faster, faster… while the
bottom dropped out of the thief s stomach. The ship wobbled again… into a wild tumble down down
down until it caromed off some bottom and swooped up up into a steep curve and plastered his body
against the pressure couch.
A purple-green glow crawled in a jagged lump over one wall… and opened a long-lashed eye that
winked at him. Control pretzeled out, stretching way out, twisting, twisting…. His feet were distant lumps
on legs pulled to threads…. The glow shut its single eye and burst into an aching red that assaulted his
senses like a hot rice curry… fading, fading, in green… ice cream pulsing cool jazz into mint ice cream
darkening into coffee tart with sharp soprano peaks….
He woke to thick black silence. Groggily he unstrapped himself and groped for the control console. One
by one he snapped switches… dead… dead… dead… a faint flicker of light chased across the screen.
He turned the gain full and caught the faint image of the lake water with a few startled fish swimming
uneasily in the heated water.
“Water,” he muttered. The scanner moved up to the surface. “Not too far down… swim out. First, the
diadem….” Painfully he straightened and slid out of the pressure couch. He stumbled heavily to the
keuthos where the jewels lay hidden and stabbed his fingers in the complex pattern of the puzzle lock. As
the pouch tumbled out he caught it and looped the strap over his shoulder.
The water was tepid and dark with moonlight a faint silvery glow overhead. As his head broke surface
he saw a jagged rise of rock jutting black and formidable against the backdrop of the brilliantly starlit sky.
Cautiously, being careful not to splash the water about, he paddled to the bank and slid into the shadow
at the base of the tor. Behind him the spearheaded reeds stirred with papery rustles in the strengthening
breeze flowing toward him from around the side of the tor, bringing with it a faint odor of burning wood.
Snaking on his stomach up the gentle rise beside the precipitous rock, he peered through the fringe of
grass at a ring of camp fires lighting up low rounded tents and busily scurrying figures of short, stocky
humanoids.
Part I: The Fireball
1
Red-hot light slashed through the double glass and burned away the comfortable darkness in the narrow
bedroom.
“Madar!” Aleytys bobbed upright and shivered in the icy night air. Heart bumping, she rubbed her hands
over the gooseflesh on her arms and stared at familiar walls that the glare turned strange, whiting out
shadows, bringing cracks and stains into startling prominence.
For an eye-blink she thought she was back in her old nightmare, the one in which she woke in a cell with
rose-pink padding on the walls. Then the light began to fade.
Beside her Twanit whimpered and dug herself farther under the quilts. Absently Aleytys reached out and
patted the quivering lump. Then she pushed up onto her knees. With the bed quaking and creaking under
her, she bounced up to the head and pulled herself to the tall thin window that rose above the headboard.
Set into the house’s three-foot-thick outwall, the double window with its inner and outer set of leaded
panes was recessed a full foot back from the wall surface, forming a dust-catching ledge where Aleytys
kept her clock and a heavy pewter candlestick that right now had a six-inch piece of candle stuck in it.
Impatiently she raked them off the ledge and wormed her body into the opening. Outside, a roundish
blaze nearly as large as Hesh curved down the sky, swallowing the starlight and painting the glaciers of
Dandan an ominous blood-red.
She pressed her nose against the cold glass and stared curiously at the sky. As the fireball slipped behind
the mountains and the afterglow died away, she dropped back to the mattress, shivering from the cold air
sliding around her body.
Twanit stirred and thrust her head out from under the quilts, blinking damply. “Leyta?”
“Yeah, hon?” Aleytys shifted around and brushed the wild elf-locks from her cousin’s wide-staring eyes,
smiling gently down at her. “What is it, Ti?”
With a sputtering gasp Twanit scrambled up and clutched Aleytys around her waist, burying her face in
the thick folds of the heavy nightgown. “Oh, Leyta,” she wailed. “Leyta… ” Her voice trailed into
incoherence while her frail body shook so hard the bones seemed on the verge of coming through the
translucent flesh.
Aleytys sighed and patted her shoulder. “Hush, Ti,” she said softly. She stroked one hand lightly over the
black curls while she kept up her soothing murmur. “Shh, baby, Mmm, no, I won’t let it hurt you… shh
it’s gone… all gone… all gone… See, it’s dark again… nice and dark… mmm… mmm… I’m here, little
Ti, aziz-ni… shh.”
She let her voice die away as she felt Twanit’s body relax. When she looked down, her cousin’s eyes
were shut and her breathing was slow and even. She was asleep again, in that facile deep sleep that
usually followed her hysterical outbursts.
With a quick grimace of distaste Aleytys slid her over onto her own side of the wide bed. “I wish it was
that easy for me,” she muttered. Twanit’s soft mouth dropped open and she snored. “Duscht!” Aleytys
straightened her out and turned her onto her side. “What a night.” She sat up and rubbed her arms again.
“Cold as Aschla’s pity.”
She stretched out on the bed and dragged the quilts over the two of them, shuddering at the touch of the
cold sheets. Funny, she thought, to get so excited about some stupid light in the sky. She wiggled her
shoulders and turned over onto her stomach, nestling her head down into the quilts. Then she closed her
eyes, sucked in a lungful of air and let it trickle slowly out, settling down to sleep again.
A minute later her eyes popped open again. “Madar!” she snarled into the pillow. Outside in the hallway,
muffled somewhat by the thick walls, she heard loud excited voices, scuffling footsteps, door after door
slamming.
“My family! My damn dear family. Sticking their noses out at last.” She heaved herself up and sat
cross-legged on her pillow. “No sleep this night for me. Not till they shut their cackling mouths.” Tilting
her head back she stared up at the enigmatic black rectangle. “Or maybe… ”
She wiggled into the opening again and eagerly scanned the sky. The stars flickered placidly on the dark
arch while big Aab’s pale sphere shone in the window’s upper right pane with tiny Zeb hovering just
below. The capricious night breezes of early summer danced the horan leaves around just as they had
every Gavran month she could remember. “By the Madar’s purple eyes… !” Aleytys shoved straying
wisps of hair back out of her eyes. “I wish I knew—” She squirmed around and slipped off the side of
the bed. Twanit muttered a chewed-up sound that trailed off into a gurgling snore.
Though the bed almost filled the narrow room, there was about a foot of space between its edge and the
wall on each side. She slipped past the sliding doors of her closet and snatched down a fringed shawl,
which she flipped around her shoulders. Cautiously she shoved the heavy door open.
The hall outside was patterned with shifting shadows cast by night candles stuck in iron frames beside
doors marching in a steady line down the long corridor. The hall was empty now, but at the far end a
pool of butter-yellow lamplight spilled around the corner. Voices bounced down to her like eerie
disembodied spirits, echoes garbling the words into snippets of sound. She hesitated.If I keep back in
the shadows so they don’t see me
Shivering a little at the current of icy air that flowed along the painted tiles, she pattered swiftly down the
hall.
The square outside the Azdar’s door was filled with a milling throng hissing at each other in tense excited
whispers, spinning a web of sibilance and secrecy that left her on the outside. Qumri’s sharp tones
sounded suddenly above the rest “… Has to be….” Mavas’s discontented rumble drowned her out.
Hastily Aleytys backed farther into the shadows. “Has to be what?” she muttered. “Bitch. It would be
her who knows something about that fireball. If she had her way I wouldn’t know alef from bayt.” She
leaned forward, tensely curious.
The purple slab with a fine-line silver dragon incised in its center slammed open and the Azdar himself
stood planted solidly in the wide rectangle.
Aleytys raised higher on her toes and peered past him, curiosity flaring hot in her. As she tottered in the
shadows steadying herself with a hand planted on the wall, she could just see a dim shape sitting up in
bed. She stifled a giggle,Wonder who he’s got in there tonight. Bet Qumri’s livid . She sniffed and ran
her eyes over the bulky figure in the door.Ha! Even stopped to comb his hair and put on a clean
nightshirt . Her eyes flicked over him again.Look at the old buzzard suck in his gut .
Wide mouth curled in a sneer, shaggy eyebrows drawn together into a hideous scowl, he moved his
heavy head slowly around like a tars on the hunt.
A sudden hush. All eyes focused on him.
Azdar stood impressively silent, milking the scene for all the drama he could squeeze out of it.
Aleytys sank back on her heels, rebellion an itch crawling under her skin, wanting to yell at them all,
“The old bastard’s a fake!” Her shoulders moved restlessly against the wall.
The tense silence was suddenly broken by Qumri. She took two steps forward and planted herself in
front of Azdar. Aleytys held her breath as her heart started thudding again. She couldn’t see Qumri’s face
but the set of her head shouted barely suppressed rage.
“Abru sar, the fireball.” Qumri’s voice was loud and hoarse. She clipped her words viciously short.
“Her. What are you going to do about her?” The last word she spit at him like a pit viper spewing its
venom.
“Her?” Aleytys repeated, surprised. She swallowed abruptly, pressing her hand over her mouth, eyes
flickering warily over the backs of those closest to her. But no one turned. No one had heard.
Azdar glared at Qumri until she reluctantly dropped her head. Then his hard yellow-brown eyes
narrowed and he roared at the rest of them, “Bunch of spineless mikhmikhha!”
Once again Aleytys stifled a giggle as the straggling hairs of his bushy moustache fluttered in the blast.
Slamming his hand against the doorpost, he boomed, “The house stands solid. Ai-Jahann, a lot more
solid than the lot of you. Shiver in your skins at ghosts, will you?” He sneered and moved his massive
head around again, pinning them with his eyes. “The witch is gone, fools. She won’t come back. We’ll
call mulaqat tomorrow about this thing. Till then, act like grown men instead of whimpering brats. Clear
out now. Let a man sleep.” He stalked over, grabbed the edge of the door, and shrugged it closed
behind him.
For a minute the Azdarha fluttered around like a clutch of jittery chickens, their voices clucking in
subaudible spasms, a rising and falling murmur that trailed behind Aleytys as she backed up a few steps,
then spun around on her toes and fled down the hall. Panting lightly, shaky giggles simmering along with
tears beneath her precarious self-control, she slipped past her door and eased it shut.
The leather lacing creaked loudly as her weight came down on the mattress, startling a shrill titter out of
her. She clapped a hand over her mouth and glanced back over her shoulder, but Twanit’s breathing
flowed smoothly in and out without skipping a beat, so she stretched her hands out behind her and leaned
back, her eyes focusing vaguely on the window’s moon-cast reflection on the smooth surface of the
door, a shifting tracery of shadow playing rhythmically across the pale squares.
A pleasant lassitude spread up through her. With a groaning yawn and a bone-cracking stretch she
settled out flat on the bed. “Cackling hens,” she murmured, then closed her eyes, grinning into the
darkness.Wonder who that was in Azdar’s bed. Qumri saw, I’m sure she did. Hope I never get that
obsessed with any man. Mmm, I better crawl under the quilt before I freeze.
As she lay trying to work up enough energy to get back on her feet she heard the last door slam and a
single pair of feet begin pacing down the long hall. Qumri checking up.
Aleytys stiffened. “Bitch,” she whispered. She pushed up, hands squeezing the quilt until her fingers
ached.
The footsteps came nearer.
Mouth twisted in an angry self-mocking grimace, she unclenched her fingers and rubbed her hand across
her forehead.I thought she’d have my skin off the last time she beat me ….
Outside, the footsteps slowed, hesitated.
Aleytys sat very still.
A hand pushed strongly from outside. Aleytys heard the faint, dull thud as the door chucked against the
stop. Then the footsteps clicked away down the hall.
“A perfect ending for a perfect day….” With a shaky laugh she twitched the shawl from her shoulders.
Sighing, she muttered, “Better try for some sleep. I’ll feel like a calf with scours tomorrow.” She
stretched and yawned, but there was a pool of restless energy inside her that made the thought of lying
down sit sour on her stomach.
She shrugged and slipped the shawl back around her shoulders. Lifting the bar and latching it started the
blood throbbing through her veins while her breasts fluttered with short rapid breathing. Cautiously she
thrust her head out of the narrow opening. The shadows were thickening as the candles burned lower,
but the hall was clearly empty. She padded across and groped her way down the curving flight of stairs.
The wood of the patio door was cold and solid under her trembling fingers. She slipped the latch and
eased through, keeping a firm hold on the inner door. In spite of the careful balancing of the hinges that
made it possible for her to move that chunk of wood, it had a tendency to slam shut with a boom that
shook the whole house.
Inside the vestibule the glazed tiles burned like ice against the skin of her feet. “Ai-Jahann, I wish they
hadn’t put out the steam fires,” she muttered.
The outer door was secured by iron-banded double bars. Aleytys swung them on their pivot bolts
locking them upright. Curling up her toes against the cold she leaned against the door and shoved it open
with a flop of the rubber weather stripping. More cold air poured in and she slid hastily outside.
摘要:

 DiademFromTheStarsDiadem,Book1JoClayton1977  AleytysTheFugitiveFaroutamongthestarsthemastermindsofthespiderpeoplehadplacedtheirmightiestmysteriesinthescientificdevicecalledthediadem.Andwhenthatcoronetwasstolen,theywerepreparedtopursueitthroughouteternity.ThethiefcrashedamongthenomadsofJaydugar,asem...

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