by Joe Horan
None of the books gave the author’s name, nor had she seen a printing shop anywhere in the city capable of producing work of this quality. She might have thought they were left over from what the original colonists had brought, but some looked brand new and they were so specific to this planet that they had obviously been produced here. Where were they coming from?
“You spend a lot of time in here,” said Joaquin, coming through the door and surprising her.
“I like reading.”
“You’ve also been asking a lot of questions.”
“I’m curious by nature.”
“We’ve been wondering what you are looking for.”
You mean Desiree is wondering what I’m looking for. She wants to know if I’m a threat to the kingdom, so she can cut out my intestines and strangle me with them. However she had the sense not to say it aloud.
“Where do these books come from?” she asked instead.
“The monks produce them in the Ractaz.”
“What’s the Ractaz?”
“It’s a sanctuary in the Mountains of Amorn. I’m sure you know where the Mountains of Amorn are. Now you are going to say that you would like to visit the Ractaz, aren’t you?”
“It would be a great honour.”
“You’ve no idea how great. The monks have actually sent a message saying that they would like to see you. News of your arrival has spread across the planet and people are talking. You can leave in two days. My sister insists on accompanying you; she says to make sure you don’t get into trouble. I’m sure you can read between the lines of that.”
Kerri helped her prepare for the journey. She would need warm clothes; the Ractaz was a long way north, high in the mountains and winter was fast approaching. The journey would take at least two se’enights if the weather was kind. It was very late in the year to travel into the mountains; it would have been far better to wait until the following spring, but the monks’ message had been urgent. She was to come as soon as possible.
It was quite a large party that gathered in the main square. Twenty mounted men fully armed would escort them. There were three large wagons carrying supplies, each pulled by six horses. (Steph would ride on one of the wagons; her poor horsemanship had been noticed.) Travelling under the royal banner they had the right to insist that the inhabitants supply their needs as they passed through, but the land was so impoverished and food so scarce that this would cause real hardship. They were taking everything with them, and Steph suspected this showed unusual wisdom and consideration on the part of the kingdom’s young rulers. At the head rode Desiree, with a polished steel breastplate, her sword at her side and her bow over her shoulder. It seemed they were ready for trouble.
Steph had made enquiries. The Mountains of Amorn might be claimed by Ochira, but effective control stopped where the lowlands ended. The mountains swarmed with outlaws and brigands; several attempts had been made to clear them out, but they simply withdrew to the north and returned when the Ochiran forces went home.
They headed north. The road was good, the weather was fine and they made reasonable progress. Speed was limited by the wagons; a group of riders would have travelled much faster. The armed men rode ten ahead and ten behind, with Desiree at the front. The lead wagon carried the royal standard; the flag with the globe, the crown and the lions. Steph rode in the lead wagon as well, sitting up front beside the driver. Occasionally they passed through villages. When people saw the royal standard and Desiree riding up front they ran out and threw flowers, calling out Desiree the Brave! It seemed they genuinely loved her. Desiree looked faintly embarrassed by the adulation.
They stopped that first night in a village. Steph and Desiree found lodging in the local inn; the men billeted outside. They ate their own food so as not to deplete the meagre local reserves. The whole village gathered to cheer them as they left in the morning. Unquestionably, they realised how lucky they were to have such wise and compassionate rulers. Steph suspected that many would simply demand the best of everything and not care if the villagers starved.
The next afternoon it came on to rain heavily, then to add to their problems a wheel came off one of the wagons. They were stopped for an hour while it was fixed, and by the time they started moving again it was nearly dark. It was over an hour to the next village, and in the driving rain and with only oil lights for illumination there was a real danger one of the carts would run off the road.
One of the soldiers gave a shout. Desiree came riding back from the head of the line. There was a brief conversation. The soldier thought he had seen a house. The captain dismounted, took a lamp and went striding up to the door. He pounded on it.
“Open in the name of Princess Desiree of Ochira!”
Desiree had dismounted and was heading towards the door.
“Open this door or we’ll break it down!”
“Quiet, you’ll frighten them to death,” said Desiree, arriving beside him. “Now hold that lamp so it shows my face. This is Princess Desiree. We’re cold and wet. Can you please open the door?”
The door opened a crack and woman of about thirty looked out.
“Is it really you, my lady?”
“Yes. Can you help us, please? We are on the road and can’t reach the next town tonight.”
There were some negotiations. The woman had one bed that she shared with her twelve-year-old daughter, but she was prepared to give it up and sleep on the floor. The soldiers would sleep in a barn, and the horses would spend the night in another barn.
“There, I’ve found somewhere for you to sleep,” said Desiree to Steph.
“I’m sure we could share the bed,” said Steph tentatively.
“I’ll keep watch with the men.”
“I don’t mind…”
“I said I’ll spend the night keeping watch with the men.”
Steph had to admit she was relieved – she really didn’t want to share a bed with Desiree – but couldn’t help wondering why she had refused so abruptly. Still, she had a warm bed when she was beginning to think she would have to spend the night under the wagon.
The woman and her daughter treated her warily. Steph tried to break the ice.
“Is it just the two of you?” she asked.
“Yes my lady. My man was in the field when the sun scorched. He… he lived two days.”
“Oh I’m sorry.”
“We must live on as best we can.”
Steph felt the tears in her eyes and turned away quickly. So much suffering, so much death, and all because that damn Colossus overloaded its reactors and blew itself up instead of dying quietly.
“Are you going to the Ractaz, my lady?”
“Yes.”
“Will you read the Book of the Ancestors?”
“The book… What’s that?”
“They say it is the Book of Ultimate Truth, but no one can read the writing. If you are truly from the Ancestors, my lady, maybe you can read it.”
“Maybe.” She was going to ask Desiree some pointed questions in the morning.
The bed was warm and comfortable, and she was getting used to sleeping in comfortable beds. When she woke up the following morning the woman and her daughter were already moving about. As soon as she was dressed the woman placed three bowls of hot soup on the table and three rolls of bread. Obviously she was being given breakfast.
“We have little, my lady, but you’re welcome to share what we have,” said the woman.
Steph didn’t know what to say. They had brought their own food specifically so that people didn’t have to share their meagre supplies. The weekly ration was barely enough to live on and you had to go into town to collect it. She suspected this woman and her daughter weren’t going to survive the winter.
“Please, my lady, we would be honoured if you would share our table,” said the daughter, the first time she had spoken to her directly.
There was nothing for it but to sit down, eat her breakfast and look like she was enjoying it.
&n
bsp; By the time she had finished the convoy was forming up in the road. A large sack of grain was being lifted down from the back of one of the wagons and carried into the barn. The woman came over to see what was happening and stared open-mouthed.
“Just something to help you and your daughter through the winter,” said Desiree.
“Thank you, my lady, thank you.”
For a moment it looked as if she would fall to her knees and grab Desiree’s feet. Steph was starting to revise her opinion about the princess. She wasn’t just a crazy bitch with a sword. She had a good heart.
It was a bright, sunny morning. Steph’s coat was still damp – the material was fairly waterproof, but exposed to the rain for hours on end it did eventually seep through – so she spread it out over the wagon to dry. Desiree gave an order and they started to move.
Around midday, they had to stop again to fix a problem with one of the wagons. Steph took the opportunity to have a conversation with Desiree.
“What’s the Book of the Ancestors?” she asked.
“Ah, someone’s told you about that. It’s a book that’s kept in the Ractaz. It’s written in a language no one can read, which has led to a lot of speculation about what’s in it. If you think you can read it, they’ll probably let you try.”
A crowd had gathered in the main square. Shania hated crowds; she always felt vulnerable, and she was, but she was prepared to risk it to see this. The Ancestor’s Ship of Fire was being dragged through the gates by hundreds of sweating men, women and horses. They were using tree trunks as rollers, but to bring it all the way from Tolkien’s Bog like this was still a considerable achievement.
It matched the description she had been given; a metal cylinder about thirty feet long. The metal was buckled at one end. Presumably that was from when it hit the ground, which confirmed her suspicion that it had come down too fast. There were a number of other dents in it and the surface was blackened in places as if it had been subjected to great heat. A door halfway up was the only visible opening. It was closed at the moment and had a wheel in the centre which presumably operated a latching mechanism. I must get permission to examine this, she thought.
Prince Joaquin stood and watched from the palace steps. As soon as it had been dragged across to one side and the ropes had been removed he walked over to it. He placed his hand on it and gave it a tentative rub. Darius Gossard, standing beside him, said something that might have been, “Be careful, my lord.” The prince said something in reply, then turned and walked back into the palace.
They began to wash the mud off with fire pumps. Shania stayed for a while, but nothing exciting was happening and the crowd was growing so she went home. She was going to put in an official request to examine it, though.
In fact she didn’t need to. When she arrived at the Institute the following day Nyassa intercepted her just inside the door.
“We’ve been asked to take a look at the Ancestor’s ship,” she said. “You are as qualified as anyone so you’re on the team.”
They arrived after lunch in the Institute’s carriage. There were four of them; Nyassa, Shania and two of the Institute’s experts on the skies, Danner Thorn and Kyle Rachman. They drove up to the ship and stopped. A considerable crowd was being held back behind a barrier.
“These are the rules,” said Nyassa. “Look but don’t touch. When the Ancestor returns she mustn’t know that we’ve been poking about in there. I can tell you the Engineering Institute have already had a look and they have no clue how it works.”
The craft still lay on its side. A ladder had been placed up to the door, which now hung open. Danner and Kyle both went up this and disappeared inside. Shania didn’t like heights, but she climbed the ladder slowly and with difficulty. She stopped at the top to examine the door. She tried to turn the wheel. To her surprise it spun easily. As it turned eight angled metal bars extended from the edge of the door. There was a click and suddenly the wheel was immovable. There was a button in the centre of the wheel. She pressed it in – it took just about all her limited strength – and then the wheel turned backwards and the metal bars began to retract. There were three groves all round the inside of the door just inside the edge which were filled with some black material that felt slightly soft to the touch. These matched with three strips of what looked like the same material on the door frame.
“What do you see, Shania?” said Nyassa.
“The wheel operates a latching mechanism,” she said. “It pulls the door shut and then locks to stop it becoming undone accidentally. When it closes these strips of black stuff press against each other hard. I think it’s meant to be airtight. If they seal the craft and make it airtight they can carry their own atmosphere inside even when they are so high there isn’t enough air to breath.”
“Good spot. No one else has seen that. Now go inside and see what you can make of it.”
She climbed awkwardly though the door. There were six double deck bunk beds arranged radially on the flat-end surface, which would be the floor when the vessel was upright. The craft was clearly intended to carry twelve people. The bunk beds had straps to hold the occupants down. In front of one of the bunks was a panel containing switches and dials, with half a dozen blank glass panels that looked like windows except nothing was visible through them. The men were staring at it all in bemusement.
How the hell to you make sense of this? You could try flicking a few of these switches at random, but we’ve been told not to and it could be dangerous if we don’t know what they do.
“Any ideas, Shania?” said Danner.
“Most of them have got letters and numbers next to them.”
“But they don’t say anything.”
“They may be abbreviations, or some sort of code. What’s important is that we can read them. They speak the same language we do, or at least one that uses the same alphabet. We are the same people.”
They both turned and looked at her.
“Damn! Never thought of that,” said Kyle. “Good job you’re here to stop us overlooking the obvious.”
They stayed inside the craft for another half hour, but the impossibility of understanding how it flew meant there were no other breakthroughs. Nyassa was waiting for them when then came out.
“Well?” she said.
Shania explained how the letters and numbers on the controls meant the craft’s builders must come from the same roots as the Ochirans.
“Well done,” said Nyassa. “No one else has seen that. The engineers concentrated on finding out how it worked and of course got nowhere. Now I want you to report your findings personally to Prince Joaquin.”
“I don’t think…”
“It’s your discovery. You should get the credit.”
It seemed Nyassa had unrestricted access to the palace; as head of the Institute of Cartography that was hardly surprising. Prince Joaquin was on the first floor with Darius Gossard; they seemed to be working on calculations.
“Ah, the woman who discovered Enterada spots,” said Joaquin. “What have you found out?”
She explained about the airtight door and the information in Ochiran script. Joaquin listened intently.
“My sister is not convinced our visitor is an actual Ancestor,” he said. “That is why she went with her to the Ractaz. What you have found out sheds a bit of light, but not much. We know the visitor speaks our language, though with an accent we have never heard before. There is no one we know of on the World with the capability to build the craft she arrived in, therefore it must have come from somewhere else. If the stars are actually suns like ours and they have worlds circling them that would be a logical place. The visitor tells us it is actually a lifeboat from a much larger craft. If such a thing exists, it must truly be a sight to behold. Now walk with me, Shania.”
He took her up onto the palace roof. The sun was just beginning to set; a fine evening though with some strange-looking high clouds. They were alone up here…
“Now Shania, I understand you
are one of the mathematicians who have been trying to determine the fate of the world.”
She paused. Nyassa told me to say nothing of this…
“Come now, of course Nyassa told me. I am co-ruler of Ochira. I need to know something like that.”
“Yes.”
“And how long do we have?”
“The theorem we are using does not deliver conclusive answers. It deals with probabilities, and the best result we have at the moment is that there is an eighty-nine percent probability that all life on the world will end within one year.”
“I see. Have you read the Chronicles?”
“Most of them.”
“What I am about to tell you is in absolute confidence. We have other records the existence of which is secret. I always understood they contained nothing but worthless superstition, the rambling of people who claimed they had visions from god but which nevertheless might mislead unsteady souls. Anyway, I never bothered to read them until Nyassa told me the World was ending. Then I thought What the heck. There’s nothing to lose. So I read them. Most were as I suspected, but there was one which claimed to be the personal diary of Captain Arbruthnot, who commanded the transport ship Ractaz.”
Shania looked at him. She knew what he was going to say next…
“The Ractaz is the ship that brought us to the World. Captain Arbruthnot describes failing life support – I can only guess what that means, but I presume it refers to whatever they use to keep them alive where there is no air – and an emergency landing. He states that the Ractaz is too badly damaged to fly again and they are so remote from human space that chances of rescue are negligible, so their only option is to make their home on the world. I have never seen the Ractaz, but I am told its design is unusual. If it is actually a ship of fire that would undoubtedly be the case.
“I presume the monks know what the Ractaz is. The fact that their demand for the Ancestor to visit them was so urgent – and the wording makes plain it was very urgent indeed – suggests they know we are in trouble and have a plan.”
“What can they do?” asked Shania.
