Passage

by Thorby Rudbek

  General Spiner looked down at the meter, then appraisingly at the unremarkable man that had brought it.

  “What kind of fancy meters will those IAEA inspectors bring, Gary?” He pulled the first name of this rather little man out of his ‘memory hat’ with a flourish, not recalling the proviso that the Director of the Nevada Test Site rarely used his first name, preferring to be called simply ‘Chris’.

  “I expect they’ll bring MCAs, GM meters like this, scintillators, the whole nine yards, but it won’t make any difference. By then there won’t be any evidence left to find. Cold – that is, as cold as it gets here, with all the caesium, strontium, and other ‘classics’ left over from our long history of above and below ground tests.” The Director grimaced as he pushed himself back up to his unremarkable five feet and four inches. He’s been here how many times? And he still tries this fake ‘brotherly’ interest each time!

  “I understand they didn’t take too much persuading to postpone their trip here,” deputy FBI Chief Rhee began, feeling out of his depth, and suddenly concerned about the radiation levels at his feet. “Are they just your typical UN freeloaders?” He stepped closer to the Nevada Test Site Director, trying to read the display now the meter was at about the height of his mid-thigh.

  Christiansen tilted it helpfully. And this one… I wonder, does he like saying: ‘Chief Patrick L. Rhee – F.B.I.!’? And will he be any happier when he sees the reading has been halved by the reduced proximity to the planar surface?

  “They will be looking for things they would expect to find. They won’t be able to discern our paradigm.” The Test Site Director tried to explain it as simply as he knew how. “To them there are only two options – either a cosmic event, that’s an impact of a comet or a meteor, or a conventional nuclear explosive device. A ‘nuke’. The first one would leave no radioactive signature, the second would say ‘Elvis Presley at your service, thank you very much Ma’am’ – and no one could deny it. If it was a nuclear, Earth-type bomb, the radiation would still be mighty obvious, even if they waited weeks before coming.”

  “We’ve decided to ‘release’ our ‘findings’ the day before the Inspectors arrive. We’ve chosen to describe it as an impact phenomena, for obvious reasons.” Weylin Conroy took over from the nuclear expert with ease, as he saw his opportunity to guide the foursome. “We’ll admit the object was not detected by our early warning monitoring system, but conclude our announcement with details of the calculated dimensions of the impactor, expected velocity on arrival, et cetera. We’ll make it much smaller and faster than they would estimate – this will help to keep them off balance.”

  “That’s good!” Christiansen seemed quite enthused at this strategy. “I heard one of my RSOs state he would declare it an I.G.E. That’s an Intra-Galactic Erratic – he’s a bit of an amateur astronomer – as these I.G.E.s are postulated to have velocities so great, relative to the Earth, that none of our tracking equipment would have a hope of detecting them.”

  Weylin smiled but restrained himself from any additional comment, pleased to hear from an independent source that such a concept was well known, at least in the circles frequented by astronomers.

  “And we will be the only ones to know any different!” The General concluded with a smirk. “Not even trying, and now the States has the greatest weapon known to Man…”

  “I’d temper that idea with the disclaimer that we don’t know what the trigger was – yet.” Conroy pointed out. “Still, I think this proves that the research into the alien artefacts brought back from Mars by Professor Hardy and his team is worthwhile. There are so many other leaps we’ll be able to make, once we have mastered the technology.” He watched General Spiner’s expression as he led them to this conclusion, and was pleased to see that the logic of his words seemed to have been accepted.

  “My recommendation will be to increase funding by an interim, one time release of ten million dollars,” Spiner announced with his booming voice. “And as soon as you can produce the trigger, so we can choose to pull it or just use the reactor as a power source, like we thought we were going to do, and replace the Space Shuttle fleet with something a whole lot better, I’ll make sure to redirect a whole lot more – even if I have to get it from NASA’s budget!”

  ***

  “Hey, I recommend sleep, ‘Zac.” Stadt commented with rather false cheerfulness. “At least then you won’t be thinking about the pain!” He patted his old friend on the shoulder and stood back a little from the hospital bed.

  “Well, my love,” Ruth bent down and kissed her husband on the cheek. “Terry’s right. You should try and get some sleep now.”

  “Yes, dear.” Isaac leaned farther back into his pillow and sighed. “I want to start seeing progress reports tomorrow,” he announced. “You’ll probably need to get a guard assigned to provide security for the papers, they probably wouldn’t want me to put a laptop on my legs, and there’d be security concerns regarding wireless transfer possibilities – old-fashioned paper is simpler and safer!”

  “Okay.” Ruth nodded, quite sure that he could not have placed anything in contact with his legs, and that he was trying, as was his wont, to make ‘light’ of his injuries. “I’ll call Ed first thing in the morning.”

  “As for the Nevada incident, I’m going to try and sneak up on my memories. I’ll need photos of the bunker and also of the layout at the test site. Of course the complete report.” He noticed Ruth’s worried expression and waved a hand warningly. “Don’t get all ‘het up’. The doctor said as long as I stay put I won’t be in any danger of a relapse, and with my legs the way they are, I can assure you I won’t be going anywhere for at least a week.”

  Terry laughed. “I’m glad it’s your turn this time!”

  “Thanks,” Isaac replied sarcastically. “It’s good to know I have friends.”

  Terry stepped closer again, reached out a little theatrically and shook his hand. “See you soon, old warrior!”

  “Get out of here!” Isaac managed a crooked smile as he let go of the prosthesis, his feelings strangely jumbled.

  Ruth and Terry left the private ward together. Neither of them spoke on the ride down in the elevator. They moved across the lobby and walked out into the warm evening air. Terry looked up at the night sky and sighed as they walked across the half-empty parking lot.

  “I know,” Ruth agreed. “They could already be up there. Perhaps they are laughing at our feeble attempts to protect ourselves, wondering how long it will be before we do their job for them.”

  “Don’t think that way; it will pull you down.” Terry shook his head. “Isaac seems to be recovering really quickly,” he said, changing to a more cheerful topic. “He’s quite the fighter.”

  Ruth tapped his artificial arm lightly. “You’re not so bad yourself.” She looked into his eyes and saw his longing for her still smouldering there. She looked down quickly and studied the parking space lines freshly re-painted across the lot.

  “I wouldn’t be here without him, and neither would you.” Terry reminded her, and himself. A moment of suddenly awkward silence ensued. He opened the passenger door, helped her into the rental, walked around the back of the vehicle and got in the driver’s seat. “I’ll take you back to your hotel room.” He looked at her as he started the engine.

  Ruth wondered if she dare invite him in for a drink. I remember when we first met… She shook her head and wound down her window, letting in the slightly cooler evening air.

  “Isaac… Isaac thinks something happened before the explosion. He was telling me when I visited him yesterday.” She tried to concentrate on her husband, keep her thoughts off the wonderful friend sitting beside her, so close.

  He mentioned it tonight, too. Terry risked another glance as he drove along. He noticed how tired she looked, her face showing lines where previously she had been flawless. He loved her even more for her concern, though he knew how bizarrely illogical his emotions were.

  “I expect it’s natu
ral to feel that way.” Stadt tried to keep the conversation going. “The Test Site report didn’t say anything useful, but I know Isaac would never trust them. He always said the military were devious.”

  “Feel… Feel what way?” Ruth turned, her seatbelt emphasizing her shapeliness and cutting into her shoulder as she leaned towards him. “Why haven’t you got yourself a decent woman?” She couldn’t hold back any longer. “It’s as if you–” She stopped talking and tried to re-express herself, her guilt, without anything explicit. “I keep thinking…”

  “Don’t.” Terry finished the short drive and pulled up under the bright lights outside the hotel. “The one I want wouldn’t be decent any longer, if I did get her,” he said softly with a crooked smile as the doorman opened the passenger door. Too swiftly. “It’s not your fault. You should have had a twin!”

  Ruth’s usual smile failed to appear. She somehow managed to unbuckle her seatbelt and climb out, still maintaining eye contact as she did so. She struggled to speak, but it was obvious to Terry that she had nothing safe left to say.

  “Give ‘Zac my regards when you visit him tomorrow; tell him I have to get back to my businesses.” He swallowed hard and jammed his mouth shut to prevent himself from saying anything else.

  Ruth stood on the edge of the road and watched him drive away. Most of her was thankful he had hurried away, but a small part wished he could have stayed with her for just one night.

  Just watching the stars from the balcony of my hotel room.

  Somehow she knew it would have been more than that. She let the smartly-dressed hotel employee open the door to the foyer for her, and walked inside without another backward glance. She felt incredibly tired, but as the distance from her brief irresoluteness increased, she felt intensely relieved that she hadn’t done anything, for she knew she would surely have regretted it for the rest of her life.

  Back at the end of the semi-circular drive, Terry pulled up abruptly for the ‘Stop’ sign and looked into the rear-view mirror, only to find, as he feared, that she had already disappeared inside. I guess it really never was meant to be, he sighed, as he drove off to the airport, alone as usual.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Ceremonies and swords, premonitions and promises

  Paranak stopped his pacing and swivelled around until he faced Batamon directly. “I am still not sure that I understand what this ceremony is about, let alone what I am doing in it,” he stated matter-of-factly, standing his huge sword up in a convenient alcove in the wall and settling onto the floor in an attempt to break up the waiting period into smaller, more palatable portions.

  The slightly wrinkled Arshonnan thought deeply before replying, trying to recall everything he had learned from Kirrina about the attitudes and values of Narlavs. Finally he decided to try painting a verbal picture for the alien, unsure of the likelihood of his success in this venture, but certain that Kirrina’s impending union with Richard was worth every effort.

  “Let’s imagine that you lived some centuries ago, before the era of space travel, and that you became acquainted with another warrior in training, just before you both were sent to fight in your first battle.” Batamon sat down on the solid but plain, simulated wood table in the room outside Kirrina’s ceremonial dressing room. He noticed that Paranak found it quite comfortable to kneel against the wall opposite; the Narlav’s backward knees allowed him to relax while observing Batamon.

  “In the first battle, you manage to prevent an enemy’s weapon from striking your companion, and he continues to live because of your efforts. You feel a warrior’s pride in your achievements. It is a time of almost continual war, and soon you are fighting side by side once again. He saves you this time, and you advance together, cutting a swathe through the enemy ranks and causing a reversal of the battle. Afterwards you reflect together on your experiences. In the process, you find that he and you were ineffective before you became a team; you find, also, that he is stronger where you are less so, and likewise with your talents.” Batamon took a deep breath, and checked to see if the Narlav still seemed to be with him.

  “Yes, this is a powerful union you describe.” Paranak’s immense torso shifted from side to side, a good sign, Batamon knew, that he had touched on a concept intrinsic to the nature of any Narlav.

  “There are other possible unions, not just this kind, of warrior skill and teamwork, but… consider your interest in the workings of starships, and the components that can be inter-twined to improve operational efficiencies. Imagine that you find another of your race who is somehow also interested in these things, but this Narlav is more attuned to those aspects of the technology that you have greater difficulty with – and, likewise, that you complement this other Narlav in areas of their greater challenges.” Batamon could sense, though the yellowish, cat-like eyes held no expression that he could see, that this was not too foreign an idea for Paranak. In fact, it was something that Batamon’s mind-powers had discovered was a deeply-felt desire of the lonely alien. He’s always been a bit of a loner, a step apart from his more narrowly focused warrior comrades.

  There were faint wrinkles in the large space between Paranak’s eyes, but his arms did not move, not towards a folding and unfolding – which would have indicated uncertainty, or downward – which would have been outright disagreement – though the alien’s hands were resting on the floor, and Batamon did not know how they could be moved lower!

  “What if you were a part of a group of Narlavs who decided to live on this planet, and you were chosen to be a communicator, a leader of that group. Another, more hasty member of the group was chosen as your deputy. You find, as you discuss the arrangements you and the rest want, that together, you and your deputy can plan more precisely. In fact, when the deputy is injured and you have to work alone again, you know you are not as effective.” Again, Batamon paused, probing the alien mind as best he could, aware that, unlike Kirrina, he had not been conferred with the advantages of insight that her mind meld and merge with this fascinating being had provided. He took a deep breath and continued:

  “Now, imagine instead that you are not a Narlav, but a human, and that this other warrior is a female human.”

  Paranak’s eye space wrinkled for a long time, as if he were deep in thought. His hands moved up from the floor, so slowly that Batamon almost overlooked the motion. Finally the alien responded, his hands moving down a little more speedily, unconsciously predicting his opinion. “No, this I cannot imagine. To have a relationship with a female is…” he paused. “Well, Kirrina is the only female with whom I feel comfortable, whom I can accept as a female. These others I have met, like Bonchor and Esten, and the Planetary Controller!” His arms folded and unfolded as the true strangeness of it all hit him again. “I must admit that I consider each of them to be males.”

  Batamon sighed.

  “Anyway, I have never heard of such a relationship between two warriors, I do not believe it could occur.”

  “That’s just it!” Kirrina’s uncle was excited again. “It only occurs in the way we are gathering to acknowledge and celebrate today, when a man and a woman… love each other.”

  Paranak laughed his usual hacking laugh. “Good try, my new friend!” He mimed a sharp blow to Batamon’s head. “For a moment then I almost thought I understood what you were saying; then you used that strange word again, and I knew it was just another part of the alien nature of humanity that will remain forever beyond a Narlav warrior’s considerable strength to comprehend.” He stood up as the door opened, and reached for his sword. “Do not be concerned… I will still honour this ceremony,” he assured Batamon in a low, gruff voice. “Because by it I show how I honour my blood-brother and blood-sister.”

  Kirrina walked slowly out a moment later, and Batamon bowed to her as he absorbed the full impact she made in the white, full-length dress with its copious lace trimmings. Close fitting around the torso, and full and flowing from the waist down, it emphasised her figure in what he felt certain mu
st be a classic Earth style. “You look radiantly beautiful, my dear,” he stated with a bright smile.

  “I know,” she answered – not his words, but his unspoken comment. “It is not the usual outfit for this occasion. “I am doing it for Richard; it is the way he has imagined I would look on this day since he first realised he loved me.”

  Batamon nodded, satisfied with her reasoning. “I believe the others are waiting. Shall we go?”

  Kirrina stepped between her uncle and Paranak; she glanced at Batamon’s dark purple flowing robe; it covered him from his neck to his ankles, making him look a little like Julius Caesar, but the soft, shiny coverings on his feet broke the illusion completely. “That looks very comfortable, is it?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, it is. Legend has it that our people wore outfits like this in the dim past before they made the perilous and long journey to Arshonna, when they still called their home ‘Idahn’.” He brushed at the fabric idly. “But now, it is not the time to think about the origins of our people, but their future!”

  Kirrina nodded, intrigued, then turned and studied the Narlav. As usual, he was not adorned with even the slightest hint of clothing, but there, gleaming wickedly in front of his massive, curved body, was a huge, black-bladed sword that seemed to adhere to his skin without mechanical assistance. The handle was studded with rough-cut stones with a deep red hue, and was a full three inches in diameter, reaching to a rounded end several inches above the top of his head. And the blade – what a blade! – which passed close to his left eye, was almost five feet long and fully five inches wide throughout most of its length. The business end of the weapon was rounded, instead of bearing the point she had somehow expected. She looked closer and saw that the sword was held in place by a series of very fragile-looking clips that were attached at a slight angle on transparent belts from a point near his left shoulder to another just above his right leg.