by Steve White
“We can go there?” Rachel queried. “Does that mean you’re not going with us?” Andrew silently hoped that was exactly what it meant.
“That’s right.” Leong took on a miffed look. “He doesn’t altogether approve of the CNE government. Just an extreme form of the traditional Lokaron attitude, I suppose; they don‘t even trust their own governments, if you can call the gevahon ‘governments.’ But don’t worry about finding your way. You’ll be using public transportation—a lot faster than air-cars, by the way. You see, Persath also doesn’t approve of air-cars over his property.”
“What does he approve of?” Rachel asked dryly.
“Not very much.”
The public transportation in question proved to involve a continent-wide network of subterranean tunnels that had been evacuated in the true sense of the word. In the absence of air resistance, small passenger capsules could quickly accelerate to great speeds and decelerate just as quickly, with carefully balanced artificial-gravity fields protecting the passengers from any sensations stronger than those experienced in old-fashioned elevators on Earth. Nevertheless, Andrew and Rachel stayed in the cushy (though, of course, overlarge) seats of the private capsule Leong had arranged for them and watched the wraparound-screen simulacrum that created the illusion they were flying above the surface rather than under it. Only a machismo that he would have been the first to identify as archaic made Andrew maintain jaw-clenched silence and not echo Rachel’s gasps and occasional squeaks as they appeared to flash at insanely recklesss speeds through the dense cityscape.
“The Lokaron are probably used to it,” he thought fit to reassure her.
“They probably enjoy it,” she corrected. “I even think I’m starting to.”
It became easier to enjoy once they left the towers of the city behind. The agribusiness that must be required to feed Tizath-Asor was clearly elsewhere, for they traversed an increasingly hilly parklike landscape where suburbs nestled, partially concealed by the summer foliage of unfamiliar trees. The vegetation, Andrew thought, must reflect a blend of the local ecology and imports brought by the colonists from Harath-Asor. He also reminded himself that on a Lokaron world as highly developed as this one, open space was the prerogative of the very rich, so “suburbs” did not carry the middle-class connotation that it did on Earth.
Soon even these fell behind, and they proceeded up a valley at whose far end the sea could be glimpsed—a bay beyond which, farther inland (very much further than it seemed, Andrew was sure), another city raised its towers through the haze halfway to the zenith. But immediately before them, perched on a cliffside above the bay in what humans would have considered a dramatic setting, was what Andrew recognized as a very extensive private Lokaron dwelling—a compound, really, given the number of utilitarian outbuildings that sat in jarring contrast to the grand villa.
Hmm, he thought. Persath must be really eccentric.
The Lokaron had evolved on Lokarath-Asor, a small, dry world with seas (glorified salt-water lakes, really) rather than oceans. They had felt right at home on Harath-Asor. Even the Tizathon, gengineered for an ocean planet like this one, didn’t live on the seaside by choice. They saw nothing picturesque or romantic about it, only the chance of storm damage. They found it impossible to understand why oceanfront property commanded higher-than-normal prices on Earth.
So Persath’s choice of what would have been prime human real estate could only have been motivated by a desire to assure his privacy in what his fellow Tizathon would consider a remote, unattractive locale. Besides which, thought Andrew, recalling that Persath was no fool, he probably got it on the cheap.
As they neared the villa the screen shut off, abandoning the pretense that the capsule was aloft. They came to a seemingly gentle halt, and the capsule opened to reveal an underground reception room. Andrew recalled Leong’s explanation that someone as rich as Persath rated an individual transit system “address,” but one strictly controlled by privacy protocols. Had Persath not consented to release that address, the capsule would never have stopped here.
They stepped out into the reception room, an oblong white-tiled expanse lit by afternoon sun slanting through light-wells behind trickling fountains at each end. It was not at all what Andrew would have expected. He reminded himself that this was no more typical of Tizath-Asor’s housing than some Gilded Age plutocrat’s Newport “cottage” would have typified that of late nineteenth-century America. It also occurred to him that the dry-planet-evolved Lokaron would naturally see fountains as a prime form of conspicuous consumption, even though here on Tizath-Asor they really weren’t all that extravagant.
The wall opposite the capsule egress held a doorway. They paused before it and gave their names in response to a robotic inquiry that Rachel understood, having been given a relatively bulky exterior equivalent of Andrew’s translator implant, which she wore as an earpiece. The door slid silently open, and the artificial voice directed them to a platform that lifted them up to ground level, where they followed a series of dimly lit hallways to a large vaulted chamber where they were told to wait. They tried to make themselves comfortable on chairs too high for Andrew’s feet, much less Rachel’s, to reach the floor.
Persath kept them waiting, which gave Andrew time to examine the chamber. Its walls were devoid of ornamentation, but it was filled with computer equipment, tables bearing unfamiliar devices, cabinets, shelves piled high with hard copy. It seemed cluttered even to a human, so it must have been inconveniently so for the larger Lokaron. Andrew knew the Lokaron well enough to recognize the appearance of disorganization and disarray as genuine. Even across the gulf of species and cultures, he knew the study or workroom of an eccentric scholar or researcher when he saw it.
The tedium of waiting was beginning to wear on them when an old-fashioned door swung open and a Lokar of the Tizathon subspecies came bustling in. To anyone who knew what to look for, he was an obvious primary male, even more gracile than the transmitters and with certain more subtle indicia. He was, Andrew recalled, middle-aged for a Lokar, and he was beginning to show the usual signs of aging. His attitude of jittery distraction transcended races and worlds.
“I am Persath’Loven,” he announced without preamble. The translator gave him the kind of high tenor English it always seemed to consider appropriate for primary males.
Andrew stepped forward, remembering not to offer his hand. “Thank you for seeing us, sir. I am—”
“I am well aware of who you are.” The software reproduced peevishness to perfection. “I hope you are aware that this visit is most, yes, most inconvenient! But I doubt if you have any conception of the importance of the work you are interrupting.”
“We have no wish to take up any more of your valuable time than necessary, sir. We only hoped you could assist us in—”
“Again, I am quite aware of why you are here. It was explained to me by various gevah functionaries whom your embassy had somehow enlisted on your behalf. Pressure, yes, pressure was brought to bear on me to see you!” Having gotten this off his bony chest, Persath calmed down slightly. “It is true that I communicated with Admiral Arnstein recently, and I regret to hear of his death. But I know nothing about it. I cannot help you.” He gave every indication of believing he had discharged his duty and began to turn toward the door.
“We hardly expected you to have any direct knowledge concerning Admiral Arnstein’s death,” Andrew said hastily. “We only thought you might be able to shed new light on certain background information.”
“How could I possibly do that?” Persath’s peevishness was back full force, and he was practically twitching with eagerness to leave.
Andrew drew a breath and took the plunge. “Well, in view of your association with the Imperial Temple of the Star Lords . . .”
The effect on Persath was remarkable. He started as though from an electric shock and stared at Andrew with yellow slit-pupiled eyes grown huge. Andrew made himself hold those eyes with his own, without a sid
e-glance at the look of puzzled surprise he was certain he must be getting from Rachel.
“Whatever do you mean?” Persath finally spluttered. (The translator software could even do a splutter.) “I was never ‘associated’ with that human pseudo-religious cult, as you imply. Admittedly, I inquired as to their beliefs while I was on Earth, as part of my inquiries into the possible prehistoric roots of certain human folk legends. But I came to the conclusion that their doctrines were the purest claptrap. I thought I had made this clear in my last published work on the subject, to the satisfaction of all discerning minds!”
“Perhaps my mind is insufficiently discerning, sir. But there was an additional link between you and the Imperial Temple . . . or, if you will, a mutual associate. During your time on Earth you were acquainted with a Harathon intelligence agent working for Hov-Korth, by the name of Reislon’Sygnath.”
This time Andrew couldn’t help but see Rachel’s jaw-dropping reaction to a name he hadn’t mentioned in her and Valdes’s presence. To his relief, she at least kept quiet (for now) about the various items of information he had been withholding from her. And Persath, even if his knowledge of human body language had been sufficient to recognize her astonishment, was in no condition to notice it. He shakily lowered himself into a chair, continuing to stare at Andrew.
“How did you learn that name?”
“Never mind. The point is, there was some kind of three-way connection between you and him and the Imperial Temple. Furthermore, I believe the connection somehow involved the Black Wolf Society.” Andrew stopped and waited for Persath’s indignant denial of this bluff, which didn’t even rise to the level of a hunch.
Instead, something seemed to break inside the elderly Lokar. He slumped in his chair, and if Andrew had been looking at a human he would have sworn that he was seeing a kind of relief that a long-held secret no longer need be kept.
“How widely is all this known?” The translator put it into a normal tone, but Persath’s actual voice was the rasping rattle of a Lokaron whisper.
“Very few know it besides ourselves.” Andrew deemed very few more prudent than no one, even though Persath didn’t seem inclined to, or particularly capable of, violence. “And those few are keeping it in strict confidence. But you will understand why we need your help in tying all these strings together, so we can evaluate their relevance to Admiral Arnstein’s death.” He wanted very much to nudge Persath further by mentioning that he knew of a connection between Admiral Arnstein and the Black Wolf Society, but he didn’t think Rachel was ready for that just yet, and he already had quite enough explaining to do about things he hadn’t told her.
Persath began to speak, first in a slow monotone, then more rapidly, as though his words were flowing through a breached dam.
“Yes, I do know Reislon’Sygnath. I met him on Earth in 2056.” (As usual, the translator software effortlessly did the mathematics of conversion to Earth years.) “He sought me out because of our mutual interest in the Imperial Temple. I, as you know, had been studying it in the course of writing my final book on Earth’s protohistory; he was investigating it on behalf of Hov-Korth because of the anti-Lokaron attitudes implicit in its doctrines, although he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that it was an apolitical organization of harmless cranks.”
“Yes, so his then-boss Svyatog’Korth told me,” Andrew said with a nod. Persath didn’t really need to know about his relationship with the executive director of Hov-Korth, but he thought it might be worth mentioning for any added prestige it might impart to him. Rachel continued to hold her peace, although he could tell it wasn’t getting any easier for her.
“At the time we met, I was in a somewhat agitated frame of mind, and as a result I must admit that I was indiscreet. You see, earlier that year the leaders of the Imperial Temple had, after much hesitation and repeated entreaties on my part, consented to show me the most secret object in their possession—an object which they regarded as constituting the final proof of their beliefs.”
Andrew and Rachel hardly dared speak.
“As you know,” Persath seemed to digress, “the Imperial Temple has sponsored archaeological work, generally of questionable value. In 2055, one such expedition was working on the fourth planet of the Sol system.”
“Mars,” said Rachel automatically. “It’s a lifeless little world, pretty much ignored since the interstellar frontier opened to us.”
“But it used to be the setting for a lot of romantic fiction,” Andrew put in. “And for a lot of dingbat theories.”
“It was in the latter capacity that the Imperial Temple found it of interest. They wished to investigate a region known as Cydonia, which they believed to be the site of certain pyramids and a gigantic sculpted humanlike face.”
Rachel recovered before Andrew. “But . . . but even before the end of the twentieth century it was known that those pyramids and that face were just tricks of shadows in the photos taken by an early space probe!”
“The leaders of the Imperial Temple persuaded themselves that the powers-that-be had tampered with the photographs to cover up artifacts that would prove the existence of the prehistoric human galactic empire.”
Why am I even surprised? Andrew sighed to himself. Now that he thought about it, he dimly recalled the Cydonia expedition of 2055, when he had been twenty-two, and the stony silence from the Imperial Temple that had followed it.
“At any rate,” Persath continued, “the expedition went to Mars and was encountering disappointing results, when something unexpected happened. A spacecraft performed a crash landing not far from their camp.”
Andrew was instantly alert. “I’ve never read anything about a crash on Mars, then or at any other time.”
“Neither has anyone else outside the Imperial Temple. As you have pointed out, Mars is generally disregarded by modern humans. No one observed the crash except the Cydonia expedition. Receiving no reply to their attempts at radio contact, they set out across the desert in search of survivors.
“The attempt at an emergency landing had not been a success. The craft was wrecked beyond reconstruction, but it was a wholly unfamiliar design. And only one body was found. Even that one was barely recognizable . . . but it was inarguably human.”
“Human?” Andrew and Rachel exclaimed in unison. Persath continued, ignoring them.
“Only one other item of interest was recovered: a device in operable condition, which seemed miraculous until it became clear that it was built to extraordinary standards of indestructibility. Its nature and purpose were a mystery, but after a great deal of careful tinkering, it produced a kind of almost undetectably brief dimensional distortion which seemed to defy all knowledge and experience. They immediately ceased any further experimentation, the results of which were unforeseeable and potentially disastrous. Instead, they took the body and the device and returned forthwith to Earth, where they reported in deepest secrecy to the leaders of the Imperial Temple.
“To those leaders, this was confirmation of their most cherished hope: the ancient human interstellar empire that colonized Earth must still be in existence somewhere and is even now reconnoitering the Sol system, so its second coming is surely imminent.” Andrew wondered if the translator software had used that turn of phrase and its suggested with malice aforethought.
“But,” Rachel wanted to know, “if they believe this, then why haven’t they made the evidence known, and publicly congratulated themselves on having been vindicated?”
“They fear that the body and the device, if revealed, will be destroyed or somehow falsified by the large and powerful conspiracy they believe seeks to discredit their doctrines. Also, they are not at all sure they want to convert the rest of the human race. It would rob them of the privileged position they expect to enjoy when the empire returns.”
Yeah, Andrew reminded himself, Sebastian Gruber had died the year before that, and the true believers had taken over the Imperial Temple. If he had still been around, he would have milked
this for every nickel it was worth.
“So they’re just sitting on their precious secret,” said Rachel.
“Not entirely. After I had worked my way sufficiently into their confidence, they kept dropping broad hints to me. I suspect they couldn’t help wanting to ‘prove’ to a Lokar that humanity had preceded us in interstellar space. They may also have reasoned that, as a Lokar, I would have no motive to make the secret generally known—rather the contrary. At any rate, they finally let themselves be persuaded to show me the body and the device, and even demonstrate the latter.
“I did my best to be respectfully noncommittal and not reveal my stupefaction. There was no disputing the human body—and, using instrumentation more sophisticated than any available to my hosts, I was able to determine that the momentary effect produced by the device was even more unfathomable than they found it. I did not for a moment take the Imperial Temple’s interpretation seriously. But what was the explanation?
“You will now understand my agitation when I talked to Reislon’Sygnath shortly thereafter. I tried to restrain myself, but the hints I let slip seemed to pique his interest.”
I’ll bet they did, thought Andrew, cudgeling his memory and doing some mental arithmetic. As a Harathon intelligence operative on Earth, he naturally knew about the Harathon warship’s sighting of mysterious spacecraft in the solar system in 2055—the same year as the Cydonia crash. Persath, as a Tizathon civilian, wouldn’t have known about that.
“At the same time, I hastily finished my last book about Earth, in a state of mind which I must admit may have affected its quality. I then returned here to Tizath-Asor and since then have diverted my resources into trying to interpret the readings I obtained from the device and, if possible, ascertain its purpose. I have attracted some eminent, yes, eminent physicists, although their ideas are perhaps a bit too advanced for the hidebound scientific establishment. They and I have developed some promising, yes, promising leads.” Persath was himself again, and Rachel and Andrew waited expectantly for him to elaborate. But he seemed to bring himself up short as though on a leash of caution and resumed his narrative. “Then, around 2060 or shortly thereafter, imagine my surprise when I received a visit from Reislon’Sygnath.”
