Gate of First Contact

The gate hums before it opens. A low, bone-deep vibration that travels up through the soles of my boots and settles somewhere behind my sternum. I've felt it two hundred and forty-three times, and it never gets old. The four rings spin in their spherical housing, counter-rotating, picking up speed until the individual arcs blur into a single chrome sphere. The air inside smells like ozone and hot copper.

I check my wrist console. Atmosphere: breathable. Gravity: 0.94 of Earth standard. Tech signature: mid-range. Probably pre-industrial, maybe early mechanical. Hard to tell until I step through.

"Gate stable," I say to no one. The room behind me is empty. It always is.

I step into the sphere.

The transit lasts three seconds. It feels like being turned inside out and reassembled by someone who's read the manual but never actually done the job. Then my boots hit grass, wet and cold, and I'm standing in a clearing ringed by standing stones. The gate behind me goes dark, the rings slowing to a stop with a mechanical click that echoes off the trees.

Six people are pointing spears at me.

They're tall. Taller than me by a head, most of them, with copper skin and hair braided tight to their skulls. Leather armor, well-made. Iron spearheads. The one closest to me, a woman with a scar through her left eyebrow, has her weapon aimed at my throat. Her hands don't shake. That's the thing I notice first. These aren't scared villagers. They're soldiers.

"I come in peace," I say, raising both hands slowly. My voice sounds thin in the open air after the close hum of the gate room. "I'm a traveler. From another world."

Scar eyebrow tilts her head. Says something in a language I don't recognize. Guttural, with a lot of stops. My implant should handle it. I wait for the translation to kick in, that half-second delay where the words rearrange themselves in my skull.

"You came through the Sky Ring," she says. Not a question.

"Yes."

"Nothing comes through the Sky Ring. It has been silent since the before-times."

"Well. It's not silent anymore."

She doesn't laugh. Neither do the other five. The spears stay up.

I've been in worse situations. The Kethari tried to sacrifice me to their sun god. The people of New Marrakesh threw me in prison for three days before someone bothered to read the diplomatic charter tattooed on my forearm. But something about this clearing, the wet grass soaking through my trousers, the way these six move like they've trained together for years, makes me keep my hands very still.

"I need to speak to your leader," I say. "I have information about the Sky Ring. About what it is and where it goes. I think you'll want to hear it."

Scar eyebrow considers this. Then she lowers her spear. The others follow her lead, though not without hesitation. One of them, a young man with a fresh cut on his cheek, keeps his weapon half-raised until she snaps at him.

"Follow," she says. "Don't touch anything."

They form a loose box around me as we walk. The forest is old growth, massive trunks with bark like cracked leather, and the light filtering through the canopy has a greenish cast. Birds call back and forth. Something small and furry watches us from a branch, its eyes too large for its face. I file it away. New planet, new biology. The air tastes clean, mineral, like snowmelt.

We walk for twenty minutes. The trees thin out, and then I see it: a city built into the side of a cliff. Terraced gardens, stone buildings with red tile roofs, staircases carved directly into the rock. Smoke rises from chimneys. Children stop playing in the street to stare at me.

The soldiers lead me through winding alleys to a building near the top of the cliff. It's larger than the rest, with a dome of hammered copper that catches the afternoon sun. Two guards at the door, both women, both with the same braided hair and iron-tipped spears. They exchange words with scar eyebrow, glance at me, step aside.

Inside, the air is cool and smells of incense. Cedar, maybe. Something sweeter underneath. The room is circular, with a map carved into the stone floor and a raised dais at the far end. On the dais, a throne. On the throne, a woman.

She's not what I expected. Early thirties, pale skin that's almost translucent, black hair falling loose past her shoulders. Her eyes are the color of wet slate. She wears a simple dress, deep blue, cut low, and she has the kind of body that makes you forget what you were about to say. Full hips, soft arms, and a chest that strains the fabric in a way that seems almost deliberate. Almost.

But it's her face that holds me. Not beautiful in any conventional way. Too sharp, too knowing. She looks at me like she's already figured out three things I haven't said yet.

"Leave us," she says. Her voice is low, with an accent I can't place. The soldiers hesitate. She doesn't repeat herself. They file out, and the door closes behind them with a heavy thud.

She stands. Walks toward me. Her bare feet make no sound on the stone.

"You're not from here," she says.

"No."

"You came through the ring."

"Yes."

"And you expect me to believe you're a god."

"I expect you to believe I'm a traveler. The god part is up to you."

Something flickers across her face. Amusement, maybe. Or relief. She stops a pace away, close enough that I can smell her. Lavender and something earthier underneath. Her eyes move over me, taking in the wrist console, the fabric of my jacket, the boots that have walked on a dozen worlds.

"I'm Hannah," she says. "I rule this city. And I've been waiting for someone to come through that ring for a very long time."

"You knew it was a gate."

"I suspected." She turns, walks back toward the dais, and the movement does something to the dress that I make a conscious effort not to notice. "The old stories say the Sky Ring was a door. That the gods used it to travel between worlds. Most people think it's a myth. I think myths are usually true."

She sits on the edge of the dais, not the throne itself, and gestures for me to approach. I do. Up close, I can see the faint lines at the corners of her eyes, the small scar on her chin. She's tired. Whatever she's been waiting for, it's cost her something.

"What do you want?" I ask.

"Straight to it." She smiles. It doesn't reach her eyes. "I want to know what's on the other side of that door. I want to know if the stories are true. And I want to know why you're the first person to come through in a thousand years."

"That's three things."

"I'm a queen. I can want three things at once."

I laugh. I don't mean to, but it comes out anyway. She doesn't seem offended. If anything, she looks pleased, like I've passed some small test.

"The ring is a wormhole generator," I say. "It connects to a network of other rings on other planets. I'm a gate master. I'm the only one who can activate them. I've spent the last twelve years establishing diplomatic relations with every civilization that has a ring."

"Diplomatic relations." She repeats the phrase like she's tasting it. "Is that what you call it."

"It's what I call it."

She stands again. This time, she's closer. Close enough that I can feel the warmth coming off her skin. Her hand comes up, and for a second I think she's going to touch my face. Instead, she touches the collar of my jacket. Runs her thumb along the seam.

"The old stories say the gods took consorts when they visited," she says. "They would choose one person from the city. Someone to share their bed for the duration of their stay. It was considered an honor."

I keep my face still. "I'm not a god."

"You came through the Sky Ring. You carry devices no one here has ever seen. You know things about the door that we've forgotten." Her thumb traces a slow line down the lapel of my jacket. "You're as close to a god as we've had in a thousand years."

"And you want to honor me."

"I want to understand you." Her eyes meet mine. Slate gray, unblinking. "In my culture, when a stranger comes through the door between worlds, the ruler offers them the rites of welcome. Food. Shelter. Companionship." She pauses. "It's not a request. It's a duty. If I don't offer, my people will think I've failed them."

I've been on planets where refusing a meal was an insult. Where not drinking the fermented mare's milk would start a war. This is different. This is something else entirely.

"And if I refuse?"

"Then you sleep alone in the guest quarters, and my people whisper that their queen was found unworthy." She lets go of my jacket. Steps back. "The choice is yours. But I should warn you. The rites of welcome are public. Everyone will know what you decide."

The room feels smaller than it did a minute ago. The incense is making my head light. Or maybe it's her. Maybe it's the way she's standing there, calm and certain, like she already knows what I'm going to do.

"I don't know your customs," I say. "I don't know what's expected."

"I'll show you." She reaches for the clasp of her dress. "That's part of it. Teaching the stranger our ways."

Her fingers pause on the clasp. She's waiting. Not for permission, exactly. For acknowledgment. For me to understand that this isn't a seduction. It's a ritual. And I'm standing in the middle of it, a stranger on a planet I've never set foot on, about to become part of a story I don't fully understand.

"Show me," I say.

She smiles. This time it reaches her eyes.