Return of the Ancient Gods

by Craig Robertson

  “Master Ryan is here as an observer and a friend of the council. He has no official role or office. Your request is denied.” Loquereta sounded pissed. She was probably trying to let me know how badly she felt that he had called me out.

  “You did not call for a vote,” Paqualtif howled as tears streamed down his face. Dude was upset. Seemed odd for a guilty guy trying to angle for a break.

  “You are correct. I call for a vote. All in favor of asking Jon Ryan to hear this man's appeal say yes.”

  I stood and raised a hand. “Before you do, I want to say I'm happy to help if it's the council's will. Just saying.” I sat back down.

  “All in favor?”

  A few yeses were spoken. I counted six, but it'd be hard for living ears to tell. There were twelve council members.

  “All opposed say no.”

  I heard five nos along with her negative vote.

  “I am unclear as to the results. Please write your vote and pass it to me.”

  After she read them she stood. “The vote is a tie. Per protocol that means the council will humbly ask Master Ryan to hear this man's story. I will counsel you, Paqualtif, on three things. This is most unusual. Be gracious. Master Ryan is doing you a great honor. Be worthy of it. I am keeping track of time. Be brief. If you violate any of those warnings I will silence you.” With that she sat.

  “Thank you. I will be as brief as possible.” He turned to me. “Master Ryan …”

  “Jon will be fine,” I interrupted.

  He glanced at Loquereta to ask permission. She nodded. “Jon, thank you for …”

  I raised a hand. “Just get to it. The council is being very generous with their time. Impress me.”

  “Yes. I was convicted of a crime I did not commit.”

  “So I have heard. Know that I will not overrule the process my brood's-mate and I instituted based on your word alone.”

  “Of course. I ask only two things. I demand feltiph.”

  “I heard that too. It is not mine to answer for.”

  “I know. I also ask you to examine my home. I wish you to see there is no physical evidence. That is all I ask.”

  “First tell me of what led up to her disappearance, Paqualtif.”

  “We had a quiet night at home. After dinner my brood's-mate bathed the children. When they were ready for bed I spoke to them. After they were asleep we read a short while in the parlor. Then we retired to bed ourselves. I said best of dreams to her and kissed her forehead. That was the last time I saw my Konradue. That is the truth. I swear it on my children's eyes.”

  “As you were not at the trial, I will add Paqualtif has a reputation of being both a hothead and a drinker. That night, as with most nights, neighbors testified they heard the couple fighting,” Loquereta said with strong disapproval.

  “Yes, we fought, but what brood-pair doesn't?”

  “Let us adjourn to your residence,” I said. “Are the children there? I don't want them involved in this.”

  “I will send a runner ahead to check,” said Loquereta.

  And we were off. All we lacked were torches and pitchforks. Then we'd have looked a proper crowd of angry peasants in the night. The front door was open. The advance man stood just inside the house. The council, the convicted, and I filed in.

  “It's in here,” said Paqualtif, gesturing. He nearly took my arm but stopped well short of such boldness. “The bedroom is through here.”

  I entered first. Looked like an amazingly typical bedroom. Two beds, as was the Kaljaxian custom, dressers, a mirror. The usual. I made a show of inspecting everything carefully. There was absolutely nothing to see.

  “Here.” He patted one bed. “This was my brood's-mate’s.”

  I all but sniffed it loudly in my demonstration of attention to detailed investigation.

  “I don't see anything out of the ordinary.”

  His face fell. Then it buoyed. “You must use the cables at your command. They are said to make the liar speak the truth and the dead to rise.”

  I could see it in the poor SOB's eye. He wanted me to touch her pillow and have her miraculously appear. My probe fibers sure wouldn't do that, but if I didn't make a show of it he'd rot in jail cursing my name. Not that I cared. But I figured heck, why not have him curse someone else's name? I extended the fibers of my left hand. What are you? I asked the bed.

  Wool, needlepoint, moth eggs, skin cells—female Kaljaxian, wooden frame, random pollens, dust, and anti-gold. The components raced through my head.

  Anti-gold? That was well beyond impossible.

  “Do you find anything worthy of reporting?” Loquereta asked formally.

  I scratched the back of my head. “Ah, yes I do. I have no idea what it means, but there's anti-gold on the bedsheets.”

  “Gold is not rare …” she began to respond.

  “No, not gold. Anti-gold.”

  She looked to the other council members. None spoke.

  “Gold is gold,” I began. “Anti-gold is like gold but it's made entirely of antimatter. Do you all know what that is?”

  No one admitted they didn't.

  “Every elementary particle has an oppositely charged mirror-image particle made of antimatter. If we were in a universe made of only antimatter, the anti-gold would be normal. But it is impossible for it to be here for many inviolable reasons. For one, I don't think it's possible to make it in our universe. People still have trouble making anti-lithium, and that is much smaller. Plus, even if it could be produced here, it would be unbelievably unstable. It would explosively annihilate in microseconds. I'll tell you one thing for darn certain. It wouldn't be lingering on anyone's sheets ever.”

  “Jon, are you telling us that there is a substance on this bed that cannot be there, but it is?”

  “Yup, that's the picture.”

  “What are we supposed to make of this odd information?”

  “I have no clue. If anyone told me it was there, I'd have them admitted to a psychiatric hospital for observation. Seriously.”

  “Has this anti-gold even been found on Azsuram?”

  “No. I used my probes earlier today and there was none. I've analyzed this planet a zillion times. The impossible has never been present before.”

  A few minutes later the council was back in the chambers. The audience was asked to remain outside so the council could deliberate on this most perplexing turn of events. Even I was left standing out in the cold. A full hour later the doors swung open and everyone filed in. The crowd had swelled to double during the break.

  Loquereta gaveled the room to order, which took a while. Finally she spoke. “Paqualtif, please stand. The council has heard your appeal. We have debated the significance of the substance Jon Ryan found on the spot where your brood's-mate was last seen. Though we do not know the significance of this finding, its irregularity forces us to err on the side of leniency.

  “Your life sentence is abolished. Instead you will spend the next two years doing community service and attending mandatory psychiatric counseling. You must remain sober for no less than five years. Failure to meet these proscriptions will result in a reopening of this appeals hearing. Is that all perfectly clear and acceptable?”

  Tears streamed down his cheeks. He bowed halfway to the floor. “Yes, Master, it is. Thank you.”

  “You're free to leave.”

  The crowd erupted in shouts and accusations.

  I tuned them all out. I was preoccupied with figuring out what the impossible was trying to tell me. Crap. I was back in the game again, like it or not.

  TWO

  Arcturus 5 was about as small as a life-sustaining planet could be. If a world were any smaller, it couldn't hold enough atmosphere to protect and nurture life as we knew it. No air meant nothing to breathe and no water to circulate. Advanced life never evolved on Arcturus 5, only primitive algae and bacteria along with a very few fungi. Fungus was the most intelligent natural inhabitant of Arcturus 5. Yeah, it was a simple kind of place. Dur
ing the Adamant-domination era, a small colony of Xanthropis settled there. They correctly figured the mighty rulers of the galaxy would be embarrassed to annex such a useless hostile planet.

  Xanthropis were actually well suited for life on Arcturus. They were flexible, basically gelatinous, and lacked bones or similar support structures. They could easily conform to the ground contours in their search for food. The species oozed like giant amoebae over rocks and into crevices, filtering out nutrition. They could also successfully farm their favorite crops in the austere environment of Arcturus 5. Such tasty treats as acellular slime molds, crunchy fungal hyphae, and mummified spore pods thrilled their palettes and grew like the price of a wedding.

  Over the decades the Xanthropis there didn't exactly thrive, but they were comfortable enough. It was not hard, it should be admitted, to please a creature the consistency of Jell-O with a taste for decay. They were able to erect homes and begin to raise families on Arcturus 5. Slowly a society formed. Little flat schools were started for the little flat offspring. Modest pancake-shaped parks were built for the modest pancake-shaped adults to take their families to for relaxation. Many Xanthropis began to be almost happy about their lot in life. Again, that was not a hard thing for such a simple species. They were mostly just glad to be off the Adamant radar. Arcturus 5 was infinitely better than a brutal death.

  When the news of the collapse of the Adamant Empire finally arrived, most Xanthropis were perfectly happy to remain where they were, there on Arcturus 5. None but a slimy puddle full elected to return to Belliacus, their home world. That planet needed a lot of post-Adamant restorative work to make it a home again. They were not, as would seem obvious, an overly ambitious or energetic race. If dinner was good, they were good.

  Xanthropis life varied greatly with the time of day and the season. When it was relatively warm they were relatively active. When it was cold they blobbed up and waited for better times. When it was dark they slept. When it was light they reluctantly awoke and foraged. Individual Xanthropis didn't have names. Everyone was known by their scent. As hard as that method of identification might be to understand for a typical sentient, for the Xanthropis it worked well. One pocket of slime was “named” citric acid-denatured mold protein-degraded oil, while another was known as polyethylene glycol-ammonium-ferrous nitrate-sucrose.

  On evening sodium stearate-nitric oxide-linoleic acid went to sleep. It dreamed, as Xanthropis always did, happy dreams of proteinaceous slurries, simple sugar suspensions, and decayed cell walls. They were as easy to please in sleep as they were when awake. All the long night it swam through nutrients, ingested more than it could hold, and squirted waste streams at its few friends. It passed a really good night.

  In the morning sodium stearate-nitric oxide-linoleic acid woke slowly, wishing it could have lingered in its dreams. Though it didn't prefer the dreamworld to reality, dreams of eating were easier than foraging to eat. Easy, as any Xanthropis would agree, was the best policy That morning, however, was different than all prior. That worried it. All change was bad. Any change for the worse was unacceptably unwanted.

  Sodium stearate-nitric oxide-linoleic acid woke and couldn't smell anyone else. It was the only fresh scent in the slime. It had never confronted solitude. It lacked a word for the state of isolated existence. It began to quiver. Then the quivers progressed into random pulsations. Those combined to cause it to vibrate in a resonant frequency. Then it mercifully ruptured and was no more.

  What happened to the others? All the Xanthropis of Arcturus 5 had been swallowed during their first-ever nightmares while they slept. Sodium stearate-nitric oxide-linoleic acid was somehow spared that harsh fate only to be subjected to another. But it was no longer alone. That would have pleased it.

  THREE

  An informal rule in my life was when confronted by the impossible, deliver said impossibility to either Toño or the nearest Deavoriath. Combining those two was optimal when I was struck by the unknown. Boy howdy had it ever hit me. Mack truck right between the eyes. I stopped by Toño's house and hustled him into my vortex Stingray without even giving him much of an explanation. Luckily he knew me well enough not to protest. If I was willing to witness yet again the sycophantic adulation the Deavoriath showered on Toño, he knew I felt such a meeting was necessary.

  Cragforel was once so reluctant to see me he forbade my return to Oowaoa. Now whenever I landed he was like a kid at Christmas, the king of happy. And yes, that was because I had Toño with me. The rare visits I paid him alone were met with thin civility and short responses to my questions. I was chopped liver. Toño was a full banquet.

  “To what do I owe this tremendous honor?” Cragforel beamed as he trotted over to the landing area outside his residence.

  “I missed you,” I replied. “Isn't that reason enough?”

  He didn't answer. No, he was too preoccupied looking past me to see if Toño was aboard. Dude apparently hadn't gotten the memo that I was the real superstar.

  “Toño's not here,” I lied. “He slept out in the rain and rusted to death.”

  “He doesn't have that much iron in his body …” the rather concrete Cragforel began to respond.

  “I did no such thing,” exclaimed Toño as he exited Stingray. “Jon, honestly. It's been two billion years. When will you grow up?”

  “The trend seems to indicate that will take place ten minutes after never.”

  Both of my “friends” rolled their eyes. Everyone was a comic.

  “Come in,” Cragforel said, placing a hand on Toño's back to usher him in. They whooshed past me.

  Because I was, you know, me, I decided to call his bluff, hoping of course it was a bluff. I crossed my arms and remained where I was. Maybe they wouldn't even notice.

  They disappeared into Cragforel's house.

  I waited.

  Finally Toño's head emerged. “Jon, since you're still out there, could you fetch my satchel from the vortex? I've something to show Cragforel.”

  I stormed into Stingray but couldn't find any satchel or briefcase. As I emerged I spied them standing shoulder to shoulder in his doorway.

  “You didn't bring a satchel, you despicable man.”

  “Well at least my request got you to move. Are you coming in, large baby?”

  I walked toward the house, but only slowly and I didn't say a word. Mind you, I acted like a spoiled brat in spite of the fact that I needed to run the impossible by them. Plus I couldn't know if whatever was going on might be time-critical. Man, I really hated it when others made me act as if I were overly sensitive.

  Once I was satisfied they were contrite enough, I gave them a full rundown of what I'd encountered on Azsuram.

  “Anti-gold,” Cragforel said, chewing the words. “It's nearly impossible to synthesize it in our universe, and it's as unstable as any compound can be if it's exposed to our matter.” He slowly shook his head. “Sorry, but I must ask.”

  “Am I certain. I know.” I handed each of them a data chit. “These are the exact readings the probe fibers made. See for yourselves.”

  Quickly enough they were both believers.

  “But this is impossible,” stated Toño.

  “Tell me about it,” I replied. “That's why we’re all here together.”

  “We know if even a single atom of anti-gold was lodged in those sheets, it would annihilate instantly. Even if someone went to great lengths to try and prevent that from happening, it would still be a matter of only seconds before it exploded,” said Cragforel.

  “Yet there lay multiple copies. And you say at that point the woman had been missing two weeks?” asked Toño.

  “About.”

  “They were left there intentionally,” Cragforel said definitively. “Someone wanted us to find the anti-gold.”

  “That's kind of a leap there, isn't it?” I shot back.

  He furrowed his brow. “No, it isn't. Jon, if a particle is found casually existing where it cannot possibly exist, it has to have been left
with intention.”

  “Sure, I see your point. But that doesn't mean they were actively leaving a message.”

  “Perhaps I should have said a marker, an indicator.”

  “Of what?”

  “That it was found.”

  “Back up a sec. You can't leave a notification trigger unless it's attached to something. A radio or to a tin can via a string.”

  “You're correct in that someone wishing to know immediately would need to set it up thusly. But maybe they only want to know eventually.”

  “Still doesn't work. One, no one can do the impossible. Two, the anti-gold would only act as an indicator in that sense if you checked back regularly to see that all were accounted for.”

  “It does seem labor intensive,” remarked Cragforel.

  “Anyone with the power to perform magic like that wouldn't waste their time counting atoms on a bedsheet. That's silly.”

  “How can we say anything about the mind of a creature that advanced from our level? Mice can't understand why we leave out traps for them.” mused Toño.

  We all sat quietly for the better part of two minutes.

  “I just thought of how they did the impossible,” I said softly.

  That did bring dubious glances from the galaxy's collective brain trust.

  “The way you do the impossible is that you don't.”

  “Looks like we're back to square one,” Toño said reflexively.

  “No, listen. There are two ways those particles that cannot exist in our universe do.”

  Cragforel rested his chin on all three hands. “This should be good.”

  “Where's the popcorn when you really need it?” snarked Toño.

  “Okay, funny guys. One, the anti-gold could be time locked.”

  They blinked in disbelief.

  “See, not so dumb after all. But that can't be the case. If they were time locked they'd stay at the point in time they were locked.”

  “To our eyes they'd vanish instantly if that were the case,” added Cragforel.