The Artifact

by W. Michael Gear

  “Then who else would you suggest?” Archon crossed his thick arms.

  “Petran Dart. He’s just completed a most innovative ship, one which—”

  “IVe heard of Dart’s reputation. He’s become one of your best agents, hasn’t he? I have no doubt about Dart’s capabilities. Only I ... I can’t bank on efficiency alone. I need more. Carrasco has the qualities I need, the caring and the pain.” Archon’s heavy brow furrowed in the manner Connie knew so well. “We need humanity, Master. It’s all we’ve got to rely on.”

  Kraal cocked his head, the action appearing most daring considering the fragile look of his thin neck. “Why, Speaker? Of all our people, Solomon Carrasco is—”

  “Galactic Grand Master, in my business—”

  “Please.” He raised his delicate hands, exposing the paper-thin skin of the palms. “You need not be so formal. We’ve reviewed your data, examined the ... ‘specimen’ and have no doubt about your sincerity. As allies, I’d prefer that you simply call me Kraal.”

  Her father grunted, shifting on the groaning chair. “Very well, Master Kraal. But you’ve got to understand, I wouldn’t be here now but for ... him.” He paused a second, expression mystified before he shook it off. “I know men. IVe had to bet my life and my fleets on them. I looked into his eyes that day . . . saw his soul. I can’t take a chance. I want Carrasco. I trust him.”

  Kraal traced a finger down the polished carving of a historic twenty-four inch gauge before glancing up. “You would bet all of humanity on a once in a lifetime experience? He was under fire, his ship breached around him. Crew mates . . . friends were dying before his eyes. The situation—”

  “That’s why I want him.”

  “He lost another ship after Sword, you know. Gage is lying out in the scrap heap. We couldn’t save her. In fact, a couple of days ago, a salvage tech found a man’s hand in the wreckage. Blown off in one of the explosions, we suspect. She took that kind of damage—and he relives it each times he closes his eyes. A man doesn’t lose three ships, three Brotherhood ships, like that and remain unaffected. I’ve given you the psychological profiles. You can see that he could shatter given another jolt. He questions his abilities. His confidence in himself is severely strained. All that is above and beyond the actual physical injuries he received bringing his ship and the remains of his crew back.”

  “I’m well aware of that, Master Kraal.” Archon crossed thick arms over his chest. “Connie? You have anything to add?”

  She took a breath and shook her head slowly, tumbling waves of red over her shoulders. “No, Speaker. You and I have been through this already. You know my feelings.”

  Archon snorted. “And I have to trust my gut on this one.” He narrowed an evaluative eye. “I’ve always been a gambler, Grand Master. IVe bet on men’s souls all my life. Now, I don’t know that much about your Brotherhood, but you do believe in a man having a soul, don’t you?”

  Kraal nodded.

  “Well, that day over Arpeggio, I looked into Carrasco’s eyes. And . . . and I touched his soul in those moments. Can you understand? I know it sounds iffy now, here, in this room so far from that day. Maybe . . . just maybe we need a very human man on this one. Maybe we need a man who’s suffered. A man who can share that empathy. Change ‘thou’ to ‘I.’ Do you understand?”

  “I’ve read Schopenhauer, Speaker. Martin Buber as well.”

  Silence stretched.

  Kraal leaned back in the antique chair, running a fragile hand over his face. “Solomon has resigned his commission. I can’t order him to take this command.”

  “But you’ll ask him?”

  Kraal lifted brows to wrinkle his forehead. “I. . . Yes, I’ll ask. Solomon . . . well, he was bright and dynamic. One of the best I’d seen in many a year. At the time, the youngest man to make a captaincy—and then to lose three ships. Just like that. He blames himself. I suppose that’s a most human reaction given the circumstances.” Kraal propped his chin on his hands, a frown incising his face. “And, if you insist on Solomon, perhaps . . . just perhaps I can turn this ...”

  “Goon.”

  “Oh, nothing. Thinking about Sol.” Kraal smiled slightly. “Attempting to save a man’s life—despite risking civilization—I suppose I can convince myself that’s a noble and moral cause.” He laughed humorlessly, winking warmly at Connie.

  She met that sensitive gaze, seeing Kraal for the first time—not as governor of the Brotherhood—but as a tired old man, feeble and frail despite his agile mind. Indeed, he really cared for Solomon Carrasco in a human way.

  “And President Palmiere?” Constance reminded.

  Kraal shifted his thoughts, squinting slightly. “Yes, Palmiere. His nose is up. Somehow, he’s caught wind of your arrival. Put the pieces together.”

  Archon growled something sub voca. “How? I thought your security—”

  “—is as good as can be. Better than anyone else’s.” Kraal’s mouth curled sourly. “You must keep something in mind, Speaker. You saw the roots of it before you spaced for Star’s Rest. The situation continues to deteriorate. Currently, the Confederacy is exploding at the seams. Technology is growing by leaps and bounds. Humanity is spreading in every direction; worlds and stations establishing new methods for resource extraction and manufacturing. Piracy is at an all-time high. A great deal of money and power can be gained out there.” He waved a thin hand. “Since the days of the Revolution, our civilization has been growing exponentially. Currently, it’s out of control—you might say fissionable in the atomic sense. A danger remains. Some—Sirius, Arpeggio, Earth, among others—would like to see all this energy placed under control. The idea is atavistic, of course; but our species has always evaluated itself against the past, not the future. Too many see power-enthronement, if you will—and would seize it.

  “I doubt espionage has ever been as efficient and sophisticated as it is today in the Confederacy. I firmly believe that every time my stomach growls, people across two hundred light-years know. I wonder if old Alhar enjoys my gastric distress. No matter, the fact remains that Palmiere doesn’t know what you’ve found—only that you’re here, and he wants to know the details.”

  “So he can go bite a sulfur fart for all I—”

  “Not that easy. He’s the President of the Confederacy. Without him, we lose our entire political base. Sirius— with Arpeggian backing, no doubt—is already demanding restrictions be placed on the Brotherhood. They demand our assets be carved up and redistributed among the worlds and stations. They demand a cessation of our perceived technological monopoly. Lazy of them. What we have learned can be duplicated by others. Things are always easier when you know it can be done. It is their claim that our knowledge should be freely shared among all peoples. As soon as Star’s Rest hits the headlines, you’re involved, too. You’re unfolding a political maelstrom—most likely war—in the process. If you alienate Palmiere now, all of humanity may end up howling for your blood as well as ours.“

  Archon filled his lungs and exhaled. “So, I’m in the middle of a political whirlwind again?”

  “You were a most adroit political animal.”

  Archon laughed bluffly. “Yes, I suppose I was. Being good at something . . . and liking it ... can often be two different things.” He stopped, the familiar pained look in his eyes. “Last time, it cost me my wife and son.”

  Connie reached over to grab his big hand in hers, tightening her grip as she looked at Kraal. “Galactic Grand Master, Palmiere is more in your area of expertise. We’ve trusted you this far. What do you suggest we do?”

  Kraal considered, thinking hard. “He is the President of the Confederacy. Had we been able to handle this thing quietly, we could have left him out. Since his nose is up, it will be worse all the way around if you don’t level with him. If the man has an iota of sense, you’ll scare him silly just as you did us.”

  “I get the impression you don’t like him.”

  Kraal’s upper lip lifted faintly. “Draw yo
ur own conclusions. There are those who would like nothing better than to see the Brotherhood outlawed. Palmiere has too many—shall we say—ambitions? That flaw alone will keep him quiet about your find. He’ll want the power all to himself. Sirius, New Maine, Terra, Arpeggio, and others would want to undercut him; he sees himself as a potential benevolent dictator. Gulag Sector will go berserk, but then that’s normal for Gulag. The whole . . . Wait.” Kraal’s frown deepened as he leaned forward, chin braced on a translucent palm. “There might be a way of blunting the backlash.”

  “I’d rather avoid Confederate entanglements.” Connie took a deep breath. “If this thing gets away from us . . .”

  Kraal—still lost in thought—added, “Too late. You’ve already applied for a seat on the Confederate Council for Star’s Rest.” Kraal rapped fingertips on the desktop in a rhythmic fashion. “But if you agree, I might have a solution. Circles within circles. Everything in its own place. Yes, I think I’m getting a glimmering of how we can manage at least to cover ourselves. Deception and misdirection is a true art. What do you say, when . . . Yes, and the Confederacy is used to playing very deep. Yes, indeed, this is coming together.“

  Connie shot a warning glance at her father, only to find that he too, was lost in thought.

  * * *

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m imagining Gage the way she must look now.”

  “Are you feeling any pain? Any discomfort?”

  “My hands tingle.”

  “And your eyes?”

  “Like a hundred ants are running around my eyeballs—only I know better.”

  “And if you could see again?”

  “Sol, it’s a chance. WeVe been working on it since we got you back. We’re using an advanced tissue cloning mechanism. The hard part is the retina, of course, but we’ve been making it work on horses and pronghorn antelope. Considering the specialization in pronghorn eyes, we’ve made major strides. You get to be the second human to—”

  “And the first?”

  “I won’t hedge, Sol. We had a long-term tissue separation. Don’t worry, we learned a lot from that. We’ll be keeping close watch on you. But don’t get your hopes up.”

  “I’d come to terms with the darkness.”

  “Many never do.”

  Sol swallowed dryly. “And my hands?”

  “They weren’t any problem at all.”

  “I thought I was feeling phantom pain.”

  “Maybe in a couple of days we’ll let you play with them. What’s wrong?”

  “I ... I may live again.” But the others? Damn it, my ship . . . my crew . . . Why can’t they?

  * * *

  Below her the lights of the city they called Moriah gleamed like pale diamonds on black velvet, while overhead the huge Brotherhood ship-fitting station hung like a beacon in the night sky. It might be perceived as a luminous eye. Here, high above the headquarters, the power of the Craft awed her.

  She pulled her cloak tight against the subzero chill of the wind and turned, passing through the field into the shelter of the observation dome.

  “Chilly?”

  She turned, seeing him where he sat in the antigrav chair.

  “That’s an understatement. The wind goes right through you. How cold is it out there?”

  Kraal frowned slightly, accessing his headset. “With the wind chill, thirty-five degrees below freezing on the Celsius scale.”

  Connie walked over and sat beside him, looking out at the lights. “Pretty bitter.”

  “Inhospitable. Hot during the day, miserable at night. That’s why the Soviets left our ancestors here. Oh, they gave us a couple of shelters and a bit of food. Thought we’d freeze in the penal colony. The idea was that we’d work like animals to set up the science stations. Some of our Alaskan brothers got the idea it would be better to challenge the planet than to work twelve hours a day for the Soviets so they took off into the wilderness.”

  “Most died, didn’t they?”

  Kraal nodded. “About a third of the Craft died that first terrible year. Some froze. Some sickened with pulmonary fungus from spores in the soil. Others were eaten by the bullbears. In the meantime, we adapted, dug into the ground, found out what could be eaten and how to make fuel. The Soviets came back a year later with more subversives and this became the dumping ground for those members of the Craft who didn’t recant.”

  Connie studied him. “So, how did a handful of ragamuffins become the great power of the Confederacy?”

  He grinned at her, a twinkle in his eye. “Knowledge. Education. Believe it or not, we stole all the libraries on Earth. Oh, we didn’t just pick them up bodily, but we stole copies of everything. That’s the great thing about electronic media. Easy to copy. Sometime, get me to tell you the tale of the theft of the Library of Congress. Quite a collection there—and we got it all in one night.”

  She pulled her foot up, propping her chin on the handy knee. “So that’s the secret of the Brotherhood? Stolen libraries?”

  He nodded absently. “In brief, yes. We know more than other people . . . plain and simple. No magic, no hocus-pocus, talents, or mystical forces. Our Craft has always believed ignorance to be the greatest danger to the health and well-being of humanity. Knowledge is more than power; it’s security. Of course, there are governments which abhor the idea that their benighted masses should ever question. Upsets the balance of state, you see. An educated populace can’t be led by the nose so easily.”

  “You didn’t come up here to tell me that.”

  He smiled warmly at her. “No, I didn’t.”

  “You’re worried about Father?” She studied him through cool blue eyes.

  Kraal pursed his lips, staring out at the lights. “He said he wouldn’t have come to us were it not for Solomon. I’ve run that through my mind, sifting, looking at it from all angles. I still don’t understand.”

  She looked at him for long moments. Trust him? So far Kraal had played fair. Nevertheless—as he himself reminded so bluntly—layers lay within layers. “Very well, I don’t understand myself. You’re aware of the incident over Arpeggio some years back. I don’t think the fight with Solomon is really at the bottom of his desire to work with the Brotherhood—but my father has convinced himself of it. He ... changed a little on Star’s Rest. By that, I mean we found the artifact and ...”

  “Yes? Go on, please. I give you a Master’s oath I will keep your confidence.” Birdlike, he cocked his head. “Oh ... I see. From the blank look you’re giving me, I take it that doesn’t mean much to you. Suffice it to say it’s our most honored convention. If any member of the Craft gives you a Master’s oath—he or she is sincere.”

  “Then I take your Master’s oath.” She filled her lungs, exhaling slowly. “He kept muttering that we had to tell the Master what he’d found. And I’d . . . well, ask him about that and he’d looked puzzled. Like he didn’t understand either. I ... I think he wonders himself . . . and Carrasco is the link he established in his head.”

  Kraal leaned forward in his chair, sunken features pulled tight. “Well, no matter what, why, or how, I’ll take it. No telling what would have happened had you brought it out before open Council. I ... Hmm. Here we are, virtually strangers, and we must make policy for this . . . this dreadful thing!”

  And you‘re right. I don’t like trusting a stranger. Grand Master. Is that why you came up here ? Informal talk with the skeptical resistance ? Is my distrust that obvious ?

  He looked at her, watery blue eyes softening. “You’re a lot like him, you know. You have that same strength and intelligence. I wish . . . wish that years ago, he’d have found his way here. The Brotherhood could use more individuals with qualities like his ... and yours.”

  She laced her fingers over her knee, attempting to read his withered face, to see the motive behind his words. “He had quite a reputation as a fighter. Warfare isn’t often associated with the Brotherhood.”

  He nodded agreement. “Indeed, we li
ke to do things quietly. At the same time, our interest is in individuals with a certain core identity, a quality, if you will. You and your father have that fiber of self-integrity.”

  “What about Carrasco? You really care about him, don’t you? I saw that in your eyes earlier today.”

  He nodded again. “Yes, I care a great deal about him. Sometimes chance takes curious twists with a man’s life. Sol happened to get all the wrong breaks—generally being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Nevertheless, he always bounced back after each disaster. He had a certain genius for command—for knowing what to do when. Some people are born with that extra sense. Sol was.”

  “Past tense?”

  Kraal lifted an age-thin shoulder. “Perhaps. The human mind is an incredible thing—so plastic and adaptable—capable of withstanding terrible pressures. It can integrate, and learn to deal with them. Or, given the right cue, it can break as brittlely as a dropped crystal decanter. Some brains are more resilient than others. Why? We don’t know. In part, genetics has an influence, in part, it’s random, dictated by the electronic chaos in the neurons. The brain, like so much of the rest of the universe, is turbulent, firing different strings of neurons all the time. Sure, we can train it: stimulus and response. Those are statistical probabilities dealing in millions of neurons. But can one reliably predict which specific neurons will fire when? Or whether a given MAP sequence will be used appropriately? No, it’s all part of the magic of thought and personality. The Heisenberg principle of the mind.”

  “And if Carrasco self-destructs?”

  Kraal worked his tongue over thin lips, eyes narrowing. “I’ll expect you to take over, Constance.”

  She stiffened. “But it’s a Brotherhood ship! I thought that no one outside the—”