by Allen Wold
They left the chamber by a similar though narrower sculpted passage that, instead of opening into the band of chambers and passages from which they had entered, curved around and joined the main passage at a door marked, on the outside, by three horizontal smears of pale green—a long, a short, and a long.
"This is going to make my reputation," Rikard said as they worked their way back the way they had come. "Even if these people existed nowhere else but on this planet, I'll prove my thesis."
"And how will you do that? Droagn asked.
"Because, no intelligent species exists in isolation. It has to have collateral forms, and be the result of extensive evolution. There is absolutely nothing like these cyclopeans on this world, so they aren't native to here. They were obviously not as important as the Ahmear, but they are definitely a precursor species, and the existence of just one such proves my thesis."
"Aren't the Ahmear precursors also?" Grayshard asked.
"They are, but because their existence was known, they don't count. I've tried that argument before."
"But you discovered the Taarshome too, didn't you?"
"Yes, but they claim that was an accident—which it was."
"But they existed long before anything. Surely they are as precursor as you can get."
"I agree, but the claim is that they were unique, and predated all other sentient species by far too long, and had no influence on any culture extant or historic."
"What about the Tathas?" Grayshard asked.
"You don't have to convince me," Rikard said. "You have to convince the academic community. My thesis is that civilization extends backward in time, more or less unbroken, to about the time of the formation of the first terrestrial planets. Other scholars claim that the Tathas were an exception, uncivilized, of no cultural importance, and don't fit in with their theories."
"That doesn't make much sense."
"It doesn't. But now they've got this to look at, even if it's not as old as the species that gave rise to both you and the Tathas."
"Your colleagues don't like you much, do they?"
"They don't. They spend their time at universities, writing papers, while I'm out in the field, finding things. I think they're envious."
It was a thought that hurt him. In the academic community Rikard was considered a rogue, more of a grave robber than an historian, though he always documented the sites he uncovered. Subsequent scholars had made their reputations based on some of his finds, and they couldn't argue with the fact that he'd always made sure that the lesser things he'd discovered, such as the desert ruins of the Atreef home world, or the lost library of the Neugar university on Filchin, got into the right hands—even if he did keep a trophy or two for himself. His colleagues criticized him for his unorthodox methods, and then took every advantage of what he'd found. He hoped that this discovery would make a difference. And in the back of his mind, there was something else—maybe his mother's family might begin to perceive him as somebody worthy of their attention after all.
They continued up and up until, according to the record in his helmet camera, they reached the level at which they had entered, but apparently deeper in by two bands. But from the inside it was easy to find the doors outward, and as they passed through each doorway they saw that the symbolism marking them was consistent.
The outermost band of corridors and chambers was, by comparison with that deep within, pale and uninteresting, the material nearly marblelike in texture, the colors faded and sometimes completely obscured.
They moved around until they came to a pile of rubble blocking their way. The place where they had fallen in should have been just a bit farther on, and should not be hard to open up again, but more tons of rubble had now piled in, blocking the passage completely.
And there was a faint aroma in the air, Rikard and Droagn both noted it, something charred and chemical. "It smells like explosives."
"It is," Grayshard said, "poly-phylo-triptine."
"And all our tools are at the bottom of the cone," Rikard said, "except the cutter you used to get us in."
"And that," Droagn said, "is right where I left it, about thirty meters farther on, under all that rock."
"It would seem," Grayshard said, "that the Una Turn have had their revenge."
They backtracked, looking for another way out, but there seemed to be no exits up here. After all, they'd come in pretty high up on the cone. Maybe all the exits were now blocked at the base. Perhaps if they went higher, they'd come to where the wall was weak with weathering and they would be able to break out. So they went up, and as they went Droagn probed the thick, marblelike material with his Prime.
Ten levels up they went around the entire cone, but found nothing. They went around again three levels higher, but still no door, and no place thin enough for them to break through. By this time they were all beginning to tire.
Then Grayshard detected fresh air, coming from somewhere ahead, and he led them to a ramp going down. They descended five levels and went out one band and there they saw the telltale signs of weathering, where the material of the cone had turned completely into what might otherwise be called marble.
Now Rikard and Droagn could feel the fresh air too, coming from an outer chamber. There appeared to be a crack in the outer wall, but it was now night outside. They set to work and enlarged the opening. It was hard going with only a couple of pry bars, a maul, and the lightweight stonecutter, but they broke through at last and were able to bring their equipment out too, onto the weathered slope of the cone.
Two moons were in the sky, both very small, both very bright. By their light they could see that they were in the space between the three cones. They could see the trees down in the hollow as a darkness against the ghostly white of the cones. It would be tricky to get the floater around to the other side, and they contemplated just resting till morning so they could see better what they were doing, when suddenly bright lights shone at them from all around, above and below, blinding them.
"Just freeze where you are," Karyl Toerson's amplified voice called out to them. Then several of the gravity cars carrying the heavy-duty spotlights hummed closer and touched the cone. Heavily armed minions, men and women, jumped out, covered by others still on the craft and on the other gravity cars, and made Rikard, Droagn, and Grayshard move away from the opening.
Then they took all the equipment and the 4D case, leaving Rikard and his companions with only his camera helmet and gun.
"Thanks again," Toerson said as her people moved away. Darkness returned. And all Rikard had, unless he wanted to go back into the cone in the dark, were the few things he carried in his pockets.
Malvrone
The government of the Federation was primarily representational, though the M'Kade was the principal figure and had been for over a thousand years. Most of the worlds and multiworld political units within the Federation were also federations, democracies, republics, and the like. But not all.
Some few worlds and systems indulged in other forms of government. They were the products of long political and social evolution, and so were very different from superficially similar experiments familiar to twentieth- and twenty-first-century Earth.
One of these different worlds was Malvrone, which operated something like a cross between a hereditary monarchy and a board-directed corporation. Roughly. In spite of this it was a staunch member of the Federation, supported it in most interplanetary affairs, and recognized its laws, when it had to, even when those laws were in conflict with its own.
As for the Federation, they tolerated Malvrone's differences. The world did not cause trouble, and paid an immense tax bill. It was, on the whole, an amicable coexistence.
Booking passage to Malvrone was easy. The jumpslot station was superb, the planetary orbital station large and well equipped, and the surface shuttles were easily able to accommodate Endark Droagn. He did, however, have to use a different exit, simply by virtue of his size, not his uniqueness, and Rikard Braeth an
d Grayshard accompanied him. Along with them in the special connector between the shuttle and the spaceport surface installation were two other oversize people.
Degumian Shambo was a Fahree, a centauroid being nearly three meters tall, with a heavy body like a rhinoceros and a hairy torso every bit as large as Droagn's, with arms that came down almost to his knees. He was dark gray, nearly violet in color, and wore no clothes though, unlike Droagn, there was absolutely no doubt about his gender. He did, however, wear considerable ornamentation in the form of gems and plates of metal embedded in his thick skin, especially over his beetling brows, along his spine, and on the top of his flat head.
The other was Chan viTablor, a Triezel. He was almost completely humanoid, except that he was closer to four meters tall than to three, and correspondingly bulky. From a distance one might have mistaken him for a solidly built Human, but up close there were other differences, such as the silver eyes, the long-lobed ears, the absolute hairlessness of face, and the hands that had thumbs on both sides. He was dressed quite conservatively, in a muted gray-brown suit, pale pink shirt, hematite throat clutch, and chrome-black shoes. He seemed far more comfortable in his immensity than either Droagn or Shambo.
The oversize ramp led them to the same main lounge where the rest of the passengers had disembarked, and where other passengers were waiting to board.
"This is better than Kelian," Shambo said as they got into one of the lines. His voice was low and surprisingly smooth. "There, you wound up in a kind of warehouse, and had to do business through a doorway."
"Malvrone's too sophisticated for that kind of nonsense,"
Chan said. He sounded like underwater rocks clashing together. "But if you think you have troubles, you should see the indignity a poor Mintor has to go through."
"And how big are they? Droagn asked wryly. Ahead of them were a series of doors, through which the incoming passengers were passing one by one.
"About sixty centimeters in diameter," Chan said. "They're shaped like a discus, with lots of spindly legs only thirty centimeters long and a cluster of sensory organs sprouting from the center of their top. They get stepped on, sat on, overlooked, misplaced. They usually have to hire someone of, say, Human size to accompany them, or their lives are really at risk.
"And then there are the Savanyan, have you heard of them?"
"I have," Rikard said. "The word I'd use to describe them is rats."
"Yes, that would be good, or finta, or chakoblau. Each one is between twenty-five and thirty centimeters long, including tail, and it takes at least six to pool their minds to produce self-awareness."
"They're telepathic?" Shambo said.
"Only with themselves. Personalities change as the individuals in each group change. More than twenty and they overload and start to regress again. Isolated, they're not much more intelligent than the animals they resemble. There are a lot of places where they're not even allowed, or are inadvertently 'exterminated' as pests. I've talked to a few, and ironically, they can, as an optimum collective, be more intelligent than any other single being. But boy do they get lost in the shuffle."
"Speaking of which," Rikard said, "I think we got in the wrong line." The passengers waiting to go through immigration elsewhere were being processed at about two a minute, while their line had come to a dead halt.
"Some things never change," Shambo said. He stomped one hind hoof restlessly.
"We are in the wrong line," Grayshard said. He pointed to the signs over the doors, returning residents, they read.
"So where do visitors go? Droagn asked.
"That way," Grayshard said, and pointed to a broad corridor angling off to the right from the corner of the lounge. The sign over it read, visitors and immigration. They all left the line with relief and headed down the corridor.
At the other end was another lobby area, with many cubicles opposite the entrance. There was a higher percentage of non-Humans here, and the lines were just as long. But before they could join the crowd a Human in uniform, with curly ruddy hair and amber skin, came up to them. "Excuse me," he said, "are you Msr. Rikard Braeth?"
"Yes, I am."
"And these are your companions." He gestured to Grayshard and Droagn, and effectively ignored Chan and Shambo.
"They are."
"My name is Ishito. Msr. Gawin sent me to help you through Immigration. I'm afraid we're rather more strict and officious here than you might be used to elsewhere, and he thought you'd appreciate some extra attention."
"We certainly would," Rikard said.
"So would we," Shambo said, leaning his upper body forward so that his apelike face was level with Ishito's.
"I wish I could be of service," Ishito said. He was not in the least flustered. "However, my instructions concern only these three. Unless," he said, turning back to Rikard, "they are also in your party?"
"I'm afraid not," Rikard said. Chan chuckled. "If you will come with me, then," Ishito said. He led them to a door where there was no line waiting, and into an office with the agent sitting behind a large desk in the middle of the room, and a recording witness at a small desk off to the left. The agent rose to her feet as they came in.
"Msr. Sali Carlson," Ishito said. He gestured to Rikard.
"This is Msr. Rikard Braeth, Msr. Endark Droagn, and Msr. Grayshard."
"Thank you, Ishito," Carlson said. She looked at the three travelers in turn, then smiled professionally at Rikard. "You are expected."
Meanwhile Ishito had produced a bundle of documents that he handed to Carlson. She opened it, took out a letter from the inside flap, looked at it briefly, put it back in the flap, and handed the whole bundle back to Ishito. "This way, please," she said, and gestured to a door behind her.
Ishito nodded formally and stepped to one side so Rikard could precede him. The door opened as he approached. They passed through an antechamber to another office like the first but larger, more cluttered, and with two recording secretaries, both on the right of the main desk.
The agent, a man, was expecting them and already on his feet as they entered. He smiled at Rikard, nodded at his companions, and did not look at Ishito but put out his hand so that the uniformed servant could put the documents into it. There was no introduction this time. The agent glanced at the documents, turned a couple pages, nodded once or twice, handed them back to Ishito, smiled at Rikard once again, and with a broad sweep of his left hand directed them out the door behind him.
They went through the whole process a third time. But in the fourth office the agent, a Msr. Avram Mikalsonne, took the documents and this time actually spent some time looking through them. He stamped here, punched there, inserted cards into various slots in machines on his desk, spoke tersely and cryptically to the single recording witness, then bundled the documents up again, handed them back to Ishito, smiled at Rikard, and said, "We're glad to have you with us, Msr. Braeth. We hope you enjoy your stay."
A door to one side opened.
"Your luggage has been taken care of," Mikalsonne went on. "There will be no need for inspection."
"Thank you," Rikard said, and wondered what kind of influence his uncle had, to have gotten him and his companions through so quickly, and with virtually no hassle.
They went out the door to a small, luxurious lounge. There were few other people present. They did not pause, but followed Ishito to an enclosed beltway with seats. Droagn had to ride in the aisle. The beltway took them out to a private parking deck where a large and comfortable wheeled van was waiting for them.
Ishito opened the van and they all got in. There was plenty of room for Droagn. Then Ishito got in the driver's compartment, which was cut off from the rest of the van by glass panels. He pushed a button on the dash and a speaker came on. He said, "Your luggage is being sent on to the house. Would you like to stop anywhere along the way?"
"I can't think of any place today," Rikard said. He was having trouble thinking of anything at all. He knew his uncle did very well for himself,
in the legitimate art trade as well, apparently, as in the black market, but it took more than just money to manage service like this.
Ishito turned off the speaker, started the engine, and they left the small parking lot. They drove past large parking areas—not decks—where there were other wheeled and floated vehicles, and out to a main road that headed toward town.
"Looks like your uncle thought of everything," Droagn said. He was coiled on a cushion, and there was plenty of room under the raised roof of the van for his head.
"And on such short notice too." Rikard had let Gawin know, only ten standard days ago, that he was coming.
"It would seem," Grayshard said, "that your family's titles are not meaningless after all."
They drove through a very neat if small city and out into the countryside. There was no bypass. There were a few immaculate suburbs, and then they were in farming country. The fields were yellow and orange, there were groves of trees, stands of timber, occasional small houses of a rather simple and rustic design. It seemed they were to be going quite some distance, and yet they went by ground and not by air. Of course, the roads were perfect, and the van did most of the driving.
An hour later they passed through some hilly prairie with rock outcrops. They went down a steep slope after that, with a distant glimpse of water to the left and more farms on the right, to a forested valley at the bottom. A half hour later the road entered the forest, with peculiar trees, and an occasional clearing in which they saw a couple of animals Rikard could not name. Then they crossed a river, climbed the slope on the other side, and, far ahead, caught a glimpse of something bright at the top of a far bluff. They lost sight of it again as they neared the hills. The road doubled back once through forest, climbed still higher, then went through open land again and when they reached the shoulder of the hills they saw that the bright thing was a huge building, glinting in the afternoon sun, with what looked like a small village surrounding it. As they neared they saw that the "village" was just the outbuildings.
