by Steve White
It was only then that a signal light flashed over our heads, and the access hatch clamshelled open to admit a harsh artificial lighting.
Two beings stood silhouetted in the glare. One was a Delkar—presumably an Osak operative, fidgeting with what I took to be eagerness to wash his hands of us. Beside him loomed an Ekhemar.
"Hi, Khorat," I said, even though I couldn't make out individual features.
"Greetings." My earpiece produced the voice the software had assigned to Khorat. "No discourtesy intended, but we are rather in a hurry. So if you will come this way . . ."
Khorat took his leave of the Delkar and hustled us through the warehouse, which was of enormous extent. He was in a hurry, and only the low gravity enabled us to keep up with him despite chronic shortness of breath in the thin dry air. We boarded an aircar whose ports were closed up lest anyone should observe the likes of us. The cabin held furnishings designed to accommodate both Delksau and Ekhemasu. We sort of fell between the two extremes, and there was no seating that really suited us. So we stood up, held on to stanchions, and watched the viewscreens as the aircar rose from the warehouse floor and soared through hangarlike doors into the protracted late afternoon of the orange Khemava sun, under a royal blue sky.
The cityscape that unfolded beneath us was an interesting contrast to the one we'd observed on Antyova II. Sakandreoun—a Delkasu name—had been founded alongside an immemorially ancient Ehkemasu city with which it had gradually merged, supplanting the original name . . . which, however, could still be heard in certain old districts where the alien rulers seldom ventured. So the gleaming towers favored by the Delkasu reigned unchallenged only in the quarter they themselves had founded. Elsewhere, their works formed a glittery, brittle-seeming encrustation atop an architecture that was difficult to tell apart from mountain ranges until one got close enough to observe its symmetry. Come to think of it, that architecture was greater than the relatively wimpy mountain ranges to which this planet (only about forty percent Earth's mass, hence a smaller molten core and less in the way of plate tectonics) had given birth. It was the kind of monumental masonry we humans think of in connection with our earliest civilizations—pyramids, ziggurats, and colossal sculpture—only on a scale beyond belief. It was as much a part of the planet's structure as anything produced by geology.
Any day, it seemed, the Delkasu additions—artificial, evanescent, irrelevant—might melt away, or crack apart and shiver into a cloud of crystalline dust, and vanish like the rapidly fading memory of a dream.
We flew on, and the works of the Delkasu grew sparser, until our aircar seemed to have taken us backwards in time and we were flying over the Old Khemava. Eventually, even that thinned out, and we entered the outermost outskirts I could now recognize as having provided the inspiration for the holo projection I'd seen on Antyova II, complete with the canals stretching away into the desert.
We followed one of those canals westward out into regions of tawny and ochre desolation, broken only by the canal itself and occasional oases from whose foliage peered buildings of unguessable antiquity, often fashioned into the forms of gigantic stylized Ekhemasu. Then even those grew fewer, and the long afternoon wore on toward dusk. Eventually, we glimpsed a range of mountains against the bloated, slowly westering sun . . . and one mountain in particular.
As I've mentioned, this low-gravity planet possessed relatively few of the mountain-building forces that convulsed Earth and similar worlds. But the mountains it did give birth to occasionally reared skyward to great altitudes, by grace of that same low gravity. Such a specimen grew slowly in the forward viewscreen. It had the look of age and weathering typical on that world, where mountain-formation took place only at very long intervals. But the eons had been powerless to diminish such a titan by very much; it still towered over its fellows in lonely pride.
As we approached, it became clear that the great mountain was part of a spur of the main range, rising above foothills whose bleakness was relieved only by wind-stunted trees very different from this world's tall, willowy norm. The aircar banked to starboard, and we proceeded over that desolation of low hills and rock outcrops, drawing closer to the mountain that was the monarch of this austere realm.
Then we rounded a curving ridge, and with startling suddenness a vista opened up before us which was clearly the work of conscious intelligence but which, like so much of this world's architecture, blended with the landscape in a continuum rendered seamless by the passage of millennia.
It was a kind of box canyon that had been sculpted into colonnaded terraces, rising to the base of the great mountain. Wide ramps led gently up from one terrace to another. We landed on the uppermost terrace, before a facade that had, it seemed, been carved out of the stone of the mountain whose cliff walls reared up above it to the zenith. That facade's architectural motif could not speak to us across the chasm of alienness. We could only stand in awed silence before its soul-shaking monumentality.
"Khorat," Chloe finally said, "you're not going to tell us that you've kept this place concealed from the Delkasu, are you?"
"Of course not. They are quite well aware of its existence, and of what it is: the headquarters of the organization I have mentioned to you before."
I forced myself to ignore the surroundings and think straight. "But in that case, how can this organization be a secret?"
"I never said it was." Khorat was at his most maddeningly bland.
"I don't suppose you could tell us the name of this organization of yours."
Khorat paused. "The name in my own language would mean nothing to you . . . as it means nothing to the Delkasu, who therefore simply use a form of it in their own language." He spoke a word which my unaided ears heard as Medjavar. My earpiece was silent, for it was untranslatable.
"But what is it?" Chloe persisted. "You've told us it isn't a revolutionary cabal."
There was a long silence in the earpieces before Khorat responded. "We go back rather a long way . . . approximately thirty thousand of your years. At that time," he continued into our stunned silence, "our industrial revolution had reached about the point yours has reached at present, with the first computers making their harmless-seeming debut. Certain of our thinkers recognized with great clarity that specific trends, projected to their logical conclusions, held the potential to transform society into something unrecognizable—and repellent. They organized for the purpose of combating these trends and preserving the world in a natural state—broadly defined to include the natural accretions produced over time by a tool-using race. To a great extent, we have succeeded."
"And thereby made possible that world's conquest by the Delkasu, who observed no such limitations," I said quietly.
Chloe drew a breath and shot me a glare. But Khorat's equanimity was unruffled. "Actually, that would almost certainly have happened anyway. Advanced technology does not, in itself, guarantee military victory. As descendants of herbivorous herd animals, we have no aptitude for war. But even if you are correct, an ephemeral alien overlordship is a small price to pay for averting the future we foresaw." The old Ekhemar's voice took on a tone that sent a tingle up my spine even in cybernetic rendition. "And in the realm of such forecastings, our science is far more advanced than yours, or even that of the Delkasu."
"And the Delkasu permit you to continue to function?" Chloe queried.
"Oh, yes. You see, they have a well-established policy of noninterference with the social patterns of a world which provides the economic underpinnings of their 'Ekhemasu Empire.' It is a case of—"
"—Not killing the goose that lays the golden eggs," I supplied.
I have no idea how the translator software rendered that. But after a brief pause, Khorat resumed. "Precisely. They think of us as a local religious sect. In this they are mistaken. But it is hardly our responsibility to correct their misconception."
"You mean," said Chloe, in tones of undisguised incredulity, "that they don't even keep tabs on this place? Not even from orbit?"<
br />
"No. Oh, naturally their security agencies' satellites maintain a surveillance of the planet's surface. But except when they are actually engaged in an investigation with a specific target, the imagery is merely scanned from time to time as a matter of perfunctory bureaucratic routine. This place receives no special attention. As a matter of fact, our arrival here was planned with some care to coincide with a time period when no such satellite would be overhead to observe the disembarkation of beings with your rather distinctive appearance. That time period is about to draw to a close. So if we may proceed inside . . ."
We passed through colonnades and archways that were vast even on the Ekhemasu scale, and entered a new world.
Chapter Thirteen
At first, we diligently kept track of the length of our stay on Khemava, multiplying each of the local days by 4.083 to get the number of Earth days with mathematical exactitude. Then we just rounded it off to four. Then we stopped altogether. There seemed no point, living as we were in a dreamlike state where time had no meaning.
It wasn't that we were acutely miserable. Not at all. Aside from a few dehydration symptoms which we soon got over, Khorat's prediction that we would adapt to his planet's environment panned out. And our quarters, in the labyrinthine warren that had been hollowed out of the mountain over the ages, were nothing if not spacious. They were even comfortable—at least after our hosts succeeded in knocking together some human-compatible furniture. Even the food wasn't too bad. We had to continue consuming the nutritionally sufficient glop, since it contained the vitamins we needed. But we could, and did, supplement it with the food products of Khemava, which were often quite tasty in a vegetarian sort of way. And after the Ekhemasu came to understand the effect of ethanol on the human nervous system, they produced a kind of bathtub gin that was more or less passable. (Not passable enough that there was any danger of me, much less Chloe, succumbing to the temptation to overindulge in the stuff.)
No, the problem was the lack of any accustomed reference points. I doubt if I can make you really understand it; you've never been in a place where everything was designed by an alien culture for a species of unhuman size and shape. It does odd things to your sense of reality.
Also, there was the matter of language. There was no real communications problem, for when dealing with us the denizens of this place routinely wore the pendants which produced the Ekhemasu Empire's dialect of Common Delkasu. But among themselves, they generally spoke in their own ancient language. So except when we ourselves were being addressed directly, our earpieces remained silent, and the colossal halls and galleries held no sound except incomprehensible alien murmurs
At least Chloe and I had each other to cling to. More and more, I found myself agreeing with her resolve not to put a child at risk of being left all alone in this place.
We also had diversions. The Medjavar had the schedules of the imperial surveillance satellites down pat. (Not that those satellites were really much of a concern, given the cursory quality of the local cops' monitoring.) So there were frequent periods when we could explore outside. We also had unlimited access to virtual excursions around the world of Khemava and also back through its history, and the history of many worlds. Chloe was in her element, though often in an agony of frustration at her inability to share this cornucopia of new knowledge with her colleagues back on Earth. Even I found it easy to lose myself in unimagined worlds and ages.
In addition, we saw Khorat from time to time. He had quite a few demands on his time, what with his official position in the Imperial bureaucracy and his unofficial one with the Medjavar. But he periodically dropped by the Sanctuary, as it was called—the Delkasu-ized Ekhemasu name was unpronounceable—on Medjavar business. To a strictly limited extent, he was willing to talk to us about that business. Thus we began to learn more about how the Medjavar did what they did.
For example, Khorat's imperial employers were well aware of his membership in the Medjavar, which they regarded as simply a picturesque native religious society. They did not know the identities of all the Medjavar members who worked for them, like some of those who had been part of the diplomatic mission on Antyova II. In fact, they had no conception of the extent to which their officialdom—largely staffed by native Ekhemasu, except at the most exalted levels—was permeated by the Medjavar.
It was an old story for the Medjavar. For tens of thousands of years they concealed the full extent of their numbers, activities and influence as they had nudged their own civilization ever so gently in what they considered the right direction. (Even now I'm not sure if I agree with them about that direction's rightness. But my misgivings are surpassingly irrelevant.) For them, the coming of the Delkasu had been merely an historical hiccup, albeit a rather large and noisy one. After they'd learned to play the game by Delkasu rules, they'd played it with a skill developed over time spans the Delkasu had almost as much trouble grasping as we humans did.
All this we learned while conversing with Khorat during his occasional visits. In the meantime, I continued—if only from sheer stubbornness—to try to draw him out concerning that which had been stolen from the Medjavar, and which Renata Novak had wanted so much.
"So, Khorat," I drawled to him one day, with a studied casualness to which I doubted the translator software would do justice, "I don't suppose you've heard any more about Novak?"
He gave me an unreadable look. We were on the uppermost terrace of the Sanctuary's stepped façade, sitting beside a balustrade on the Ekhemasu cushions to which I'd adjusted but would never really grow accustomed. We were alone, for Chloe was inside, absorbed with some new marvel Khorat had brought back from unknown stars. A few especially bright specimens of those stars were visible overhead against a late-afternoon sky that was shading toward ultramarine. The thin air held the seductive quietness of Khemava's desert regions, and I fancied I could hear rushing water in the canal on the far side of the mountain.
"Why do you ask?" he finally inquired.
"Oh, just curious. After all, she's an old friend . . ."
"Not for the first time, I find myself doubting your sincerity."
I didn't bother to dispute the point. "Besides, I can't help wondering how sure you are that you've really put paid to her little deal with the Tosava gevroth."
The hushed afternoon seemed to grow even quieter. "What do you mean?" asked Khorat, in a tone whose expressionlessness was not due to a deficiency of the translator.
"Well . . . blame it on my background, but I can't help but wonder. It's pretty clear that what she was buying from them was some form of information—diagrams or instructions or something. You say you got the computer disc or whatever on which it was recorded. But wouldn't the Tosava have made copies?"
Khorat's body language eloquently displayed relief from sudden tension. "Oh, do not concern yourself with that. One of the terms of their arrangement was that Novak was to get the original, and that no copies were to be retained. Otherwise, it would have been no use to her, insasmuch as—" The Ekhemar halted so abruptly that his flat herbivore's teeth almost clicked together.
I pretended not to notice. "All well and good. But where I come from, types like the Tosava aren't exactly noted for keeping their word."
"Actually, the Tonkuztra families have a certain tradition of living up to the letter of bargains that have been finalized according to certain prescribed formulas. Otherwise, they wouldn't be able to do business at all. And in this case, our sources of information suggest that the Tosava were quite willing to comply. As I previously intimated, they had some inkling of what they were dealing with, and felt a certain relief at knowing that it would never become common knowledge, but rather would be the exclusive property of a culture they deemed too primitive to do any harm with it. They therefore wrote a condition of their own into the contract: that Novak would never let the secret go any further. She, we understand, was entirely agreeable to this."
I leaned back on my cushions. Clearly, after his one small slip—whi
ch told me nothing I could make use of—Khorat was not about to let any information be wormed out of him. "So," I mused, "the information is now securely back in your hands . . . unless, that is, it gets stolen again."
"The probability of that is small." A note of complacency entered Khorat's tone.
"Still . . . it happened before."
"Once. We had fallen into laxness. It will not happen again. The material in question is here at the Sanctuary, where it can be kept under tight security at all times."
I considered this. "Still, it would be simple for you to eliminate all possibility of its ever being compromised again."
"What do you mean? How?"
"Destroy it! You know: wipe the database clean, make a bonfire of the blueprints or whatever. . . ." My voice died as I saw the effect my words were having on Khorat.
I had made some progress toward being able to "read" the Ekhemasu in general and Khorat in particular. But now he was in the grip of an emotion I had never seen before. I can only say that if I'd been looking at a human I would have sworn he was making a physical effort to control his visceral revulsion at a suggestion so indecent as to lie beyond the pale of obscenity. Of course I know that's like translating German by the if-only-it-were-English system. But whatever it was, it was so different from Khorat's usual persona as to be alarming.
"Uh, Khorat," I ventured, "I hope I haven't inadvertently given offense."
The old Ekhemar gave a final shudder and took a deep breath. "No, I suppose I am not really offended. You cannot be expected to understand the philosophy which the Medjavar have followed for several times longer than the entire recorded history of your race. Let me try to explain.
"As you know, we have always sought to influence—and, if possible, control—the dissemination of dangerous knowledge, in order to steer society away from undesirable paths—"
