"I'm Netsa Simmons, curator of this collection."
Morgan beamed. Maybe there was something to this prayer business. She thrust out a hand. "Marion Sefton. I'm so pleased to meet you."
Ravindra ranged up beside her, and stopped a hand's breadth away. "And this is Ashkar Ravindra."
Simmons's hand was cool and dry, the handshake cursory. Once she'd shaken hands with Morgan, the curator put a hand out to Ravindra. With only the slightest hesitation, he followed Morgan's example. Morgan hoped he'd been gentle.
"We don't get too many visitors up here anymore," Simmons said, glancing between them.
"I've studied the collection available online," Morgan explained. "I'm looking for more information about Professor Rosmenyo, particularly his influences? I hoped that perhaps I could see any original artifacts?"
"Rosmenyo." Simmons frowned. "Ah, yes. He and his work were destroyed at what we now call Iniciara. That's the one?"
"Yes."
Simmons rubbed a finger over her lips. "Let me see." Her eyes glazed for a moment, as she accessed her implant. "We do have some material. A number of images. The originals are kept in a vault. They're fragile, you see. What could you hope to see beyond the excellent reproductions? They've been enhanced to remove the scratches and smudges, and missing bits have been filled in."
"Sometimes, as I'm sure you realize, enhancement obliterates details," Morgan said.
Simmons looked down her nose, as if examining a specimen. "Rest assured we do take that sort of thing into consideration, when we make our changes. However, if you'd like to tell me what you would wish to see." She gestured along the row of cases.
"Is everything available to the public?" Morgan asked.
"Everything except a few items considered to be too badly damaged to be of use."
Morgan exchanged a look with Ravindra. This might offer something. "Could we see those? Please?"
Frowning, Simmons screwed up the corner of her mouth. Not an attractive look.
"We would be most respectful, and exceedingly grateful." Ravindra spoke quietly. "We visited the Conflagration museum on Iniciara, and the cathedral there. This was our next hope. It's important to us."
Simmons stared at him. "Why? So few care about the Conflagration anymore."
Ravindra moved up beside the librarian. "I come from a planet outside your Coalition. We've lost much of our history, and we're trying to piece together where we came from, and why."
Morgan didn't look at him, but Simmons's face revealed the effect he was having. Pink dots appeared on her cheeks, and her hand strayed to the hair that curled onto her shoulders. Oh, he could turn on the charm when he wanted to. You'd think he'd just asked her to come to his room. The woman almost melted on the spot.
"Well… all right. But I'll need to be with you the whole time."
I'll bet you will. Morgan looked away.
Ravindra inclined his head in that regal manner he had. "Of course. We appreciate your assistance."
Simmons nearly tripped over her feet turning around. "If you'll come this way." She spoke to Ravindra, not Morgan, glancing frequently over her shoulder, to ensure he was following her to the rear of the room, to an elevator.
Inside, she pressed a button.
"We keep all the originals in the vaults," she said, glancing up at Ravindra. "We can preserve them there."
"Understood. These original documents are so rare. It's good to see them in such excellent hands."
Morgan rolled her eyes at him but Simmons was oblivious.
The door of the lift opened into dimly-lit rows of seemingly solid blocks of shelving. Morgan found the controls with her mind. Pick a selection, and the relevant part of the collection would open. Simmons did just that, using her implant. Ravindra gave a soft grunt of surprise, when one of the shelves moved forward, opening up as it did so.
"You said the ones not on display?" Simmons gazed up at him.
"If you please."
A drawer slid open, revealing five pictures under a layer of transpec. Morgan took an image of each for later perusal, but her heart sank. They were fragments, some of people, but the faces too badly damaged to even begin to reconstruct features. Fuck it. There had to be something…
Hang on. She went back to the third picture. They weren't people, they were statues.
Simmons was prattling on about something but Morgan grabbed Ravindra's arm. "Ashkar."
He raised a hand, signaling Simmons to shut up, which she did, mid-sentence, her jaw hanging open.
Morgan spoke in Manesai. "The statues. From the Krystor temple."
***
Ravindra frowned down at the picture. He'd have to make a leap of faith to see what Morgan had seen. Four figures stood in a line, just as they had in the cavern beneath the mountain on Krystor. But it was virtually impossible to make out garments or what they held in their hands. In the cavern on Krystor, one had carried a spade, another a laboratory flask, a sack of goods spilled at the next figure's feet, and the fourth appeared to hold a weapon across its body. Simple representations of the Manesai classes; laborers, scientists, merchants and warriors.
"What did she say?" Simmons, her eyes sparkling with curiosity, tugged at Ravindra's sleeve.
"It looks a little like something we have seen before," Ravindra said. He switched to Manesai, gazing at Morgan. "You're sure?"
"It fits. I superimposed the image of the statues from my implant. Much smaller, not precisely the same, but near enough."
Good enough for him. He turned back to Simmons. "Can you tell us anything about the picture?"
Simmons shook her head, a moue of regret on her lips. "Often we don't know precisely where the items came from. The person who bequeathed these to the library thinks it was local—by that he meant his home world—but we can't be certain."
"Oh, come on. Where was the picture found?" Morgan frowned as she spoke.
Simmons bridled. "I just told you. We can't be sure."
Ravindra glared at Morgan. Sometimes she didn't know when to shut up. He turned on the charm, his gaze fixed on the librarian's face. "Miss Simmons, anything you can tell us, anyone you can direct us to… perhaps the person who found the picture?"
The librarian flushed again, the pink spots glowing on her cheeks. "The person who originally found the picture is long dead. It was in a private collection for many years. His descendant, Derryn Partridge, gave us a number of the items we hold here. He lives on another planet. Ushas. I could give you his contact details?"
"If you please," Ravindra said.
Simmons concentrated for a moment, then her lips parted. "Oh. You don't have an implant."
Ravindra shook his head.
"Send it to me," Morgan said.
The woman complied, but with bad grace.
Ravindra wished Morgan would try not to offend everyone in sight. "Can you tell us anything about this planet?" he asked. "In respect to the Conflagration?"
"Ushas?" Simmons pursed her lips. "It wasn't much affected by the Conflagration. Those planets which relied heavily on the machines, suffered the greatest destruction. Ushas seems to have been of a more agricultural bent."
"So no damage?"
The curator shook her head. "Not no damage. What we believe happened is that as the conflict spread, and more planets became war zones or uninhabitable, wealthier people fled to places like Ushas. There would undoubtedly have been turmoil and civil war, because the new people wanted a share of what the locals thought belonged to them."
Morgan looked down her nose. "You can't know that."
Simmons sniffed. "People's behavior has stayed constant over the millennia. You see the patterns still. Take Iniciara, where an overcrowded planet is fending off refugees from Solvaria. Besides, on Ushas, we've been able to piece together more of their history from older records."
"I thought the machines were all destroyed," Morgan said.
"Indeed. Most were, particularly those with artificial intelligence. Much of the m
edia they used was destroyed, too. But in places like Ushas, some of the data, and the machines to read them, were preserved in libraries.
Morgan cleared her throat, and looked away. Ravindra swallowed his smile. Morgan didn't much like being told she was wrong. "This regression into religion that we saw on Iniciara, is that also common?" he said.
"Regression is not the right word. An attempt to find an explanation? Some solace? But yes, we've seen that often. Many times over the centuries the religion disappears, or shrinks to a shadow of itself. Other times, it's an important factor. On Ushas, the religion apparently arrived before the conflagration, and to some extent, it has survived."
Morgan looked at Ravindra and shrugged, a tiny upward movement of her shoulders. He'd learnt that meant she didn't feel the fact was relevant.
"Is there anything else I can tell you?" Simmons smiled up at him, the tip of her tongue sliding between her lips.
Smiling, he offered her a brief neck-bow. "I think we have enough to proceed. You've been incredibly helpful."
Simmons ushered them back to the lift, this time pressing the button for the ground floor. "I should warn you, Mister Partridge is ahh... His beliefs can be a little bit… "
"He's a bit of a nutter?" Morgan said.
Simmons cleared her throat. "Perhaps eccentric is a better word. When mainstream academics questioned his work, he resigned from his position at an Ushas university. Shall we just say, you shouldn't be in too much of a hurry to believe everything he tells you."
"You've met him?" Ravindra asked.
"Not in the flesh, in virtual conference, over a multi-dim connection. He has one in his home."
The lift pinged gently, and the door opened. Morgan strode out, but Ravindra lingered. The woman had been more useful than she could ever imagine. They had a lead at last. He took the curator's hand. "Thank you for everything, Miss Simmons, it has been a pleasure to meet you." He lifted her hand, and brushed her fingers with his lips.
Simmons flushed.
Ravindra strode to where Morgan waited for him in the center of the hall, her head tilted back, staring up at the ceiling beyond the escalator.
Morgan hooked her hand through his arm. "Would you like me to disappear for the evening? Looks like you've won a heart. Again."
He patted her hand, as they descended the steps onto the gravel path. "Winning a heart can be a useful approach. You might bear it in mind, occasionally. This woman has given us our first real lead."
"Uh-huh. Now we have to find some nutty archaeologist, with a bunch of crack-pot ideas."
"You know where this planet is?"
"Yes. Ushas. It's part of the Coalition, twenty-seven-point-three light years. It's old, too."
"Meaning?"
"It's been inhabited for a long time. Doesn't look like it was ravaged in the Conflagration. But she already told us that."
Ravindra's feet crunched on the gravel. "Time to move on."
"Yep. Ushas here we come."
Chapter 10
With Tom purring on her lap, Ellen delved into Torreno's arrivals system and entered the specifications for Curlew. As soon as the ship arrived, she'd know. A heartbeat after she'd sent the data, the system replied. Her whole body jolted. Tom yowled a complaint from the floor where he'd been dumped and jumped back onto the sofa.
"Sorry." She soothed him with a few strokes.
The ship was called Vulsaur, but it was the same vessel that had pulled out of Iniciara. Ellen's heart thundered. It was impossible. That ship couldn't possibly have arrived at Torreno before her military transport, and this ship had been here for… let's see… a week? She leaned back against the headrest. A different ship? Had she made a mistake? Ellen checked the specs again, comparing them with the image in her implant. Just the ship's name had changed. The passengers' names were the same. Ravindra, Prasad, Sefton, Davaskar, Jirra, Tullamarran. They were staying in a city hotel, just like any other well-heeled tourists.
Ellen rubbed her hand over lips. She had come directly from Iniciara back to Torreno on a military ship, piloted by her. Even with Selwood in control, Vulsaur was restricted by physics. The shift drive could only access certain dimensional coordinates.
"Oh." She said the word aloud, clutching at her chest. Unless Selwood had found a way to improve the shift engine? Back then, when Ellen had worked on the experimental drive, she had thought she'd found a way of increasing the vibrations to take the shift drive to another level, but the mechanism had proved to be unstable. Selwood had been the unwitting test bunny, when the drive was fitted to Curlew.
Tom began to knead, digging his claws into her thigh, reminding her she was neglecting him again. Ellen stroked him, the movement automatic. Damn it, if Selwood had figured out how to build a better shift drive, that fact alone would make Vulsaur invaluable. Just as well her attack on the ship at Iniciara had failed. Perhaps she should take the chance to get on board Vulsaur, while they were all planetside, see if she could work out the design. What a coup that would be, to tell Makasa she had finally created a better shift drive. Ellen would be given the credit and promoted to captain in a micro-second. That drive was another good reason—if she needed any—to get rid of Selwood.
Tom purred, pushing his back against her hand. Ellen buried her fingers into his glossy black coat. The cat yowled his annoyance when she placed him on the couch. "Don't worry, sweetheart, I won't be long."
Dressed in loose-fitting grey pants and an over-large sweatshirt, Ellen called a skycab, and flew down to the space port. Nobody paid any attention to her as she joined the gaggle of people waiting for the next shuttle, and shuffled on board with the rest. A couple of children squealed with excitement as the ship rose above the atmosphere, their faces pressed to the window, but Ellen had seen it all before. A pity their mother couldn't keep her brats under control.
The children were the first onto the station itself, wriggling with excitement. Ignoring their frazzled mother, they ran off down a corridor. Ellen shook her head. All that parenting business was beyond her. Just as well it wasn't an option for Supertechs.
Ellen stopped at the reception counter, and checked in, as was required of all visitors to the station. Now to find Vulsaur. She connected her mind to the data port while standing at a window, apparently admiring dresses.
No. Oh, no. Rats. Damn and blast. Anger twisted in her stomach. They had a launch slot, scheduled for five minutes. She punched the window hard enough to hurt.
Hold on. Stupid. She could delay their departure, keep them here.
"Is everything all right, madam?"
A woman stood in the shop doorway, her expression a mix of disapproval and angst.
Ellen rubbed the knuckles of her hand. "Um. Yes. Sorry. Just got some bad news. Sorry." The window was unharmed, even if her hand throbbed. "No harm done. Sorry."
She walked away. Damn it, the last thing she needed was to make a spectacle of herself. There was still time to stop Vulsaur, but then what? She could hardly turn up at the dock and ask to see the shift drive. No, best to follow wherever they were going next. A chance would come. A quick check of travel plans showed their destination as Ushas. Not a place she'd ever heard of. Should she book passage on a liner?
No. Too slow and there wasn't a flight for two days, anyway. She decided to contact her Black Cat associates, and obtain a state-of-the-art ship. Judging by Vulsaur's travel time from Iniciara, they'd arrive long before she did, anyway.
***
Makasa received the call from Chang at his office, the agent's virtual figure appearing in the corner, a life-size representation of the man.
"Well?" Makasa interlaced his fingers.
"She's been to the space station. It was a strange visit. She didn't do anything, was only there for a few minutes. Ten at most."
"Why? Why was she there?"
"I don't know. She checked in, looked at some dresses in a window display. She became angry, and punched the glass. The shop owner came out and spoke to her, and sh
e left."
"Nothing from the shop owner?"
"No. I recorded the conversation."
Makasa listened. But the thing with a Supertech was, you didn't know what she'd done in the station's systems, what she'd looked at.
"Keep following her."
Chapter 11
Vulsaur finished the docking procedure at Ushas's only space station, with the barest jolt. "I must say, they're efficient here." Davaskar watched the lines snake into place, locking onto the ship's hull.
"Of course," Morgan said. "It's all run by women."
Ravindra coughed. The way she'd said that. So smug. "Is that so?"
"Oh, yes," she said. "The planet has a matriarchal system. Who your father was is of far less consequence than who your mother was."
Ravindra's shoulder harness retracted into the seat and he stood, stretching his arms over his head. There was a general rustle as the others followed his example.
Davaskar broke an uncomfortable silence. "That controller we spoke to was a man."
"Well, yes." Morgan grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "The women are happy to have the men working for them. They have men in the military and the police, anywhere where brawn is required, but the women call the shots."
Jirra sniggered. Davaskar glowered at her, and the first officer straightened her face.
Ravindra eyed Morgan. She was enjoying herself, well aware of stirring Davaskar. "I doubt it will affect how we conduct ourselves. We're just visiting."
Morgan met his gaze and chuckled again, just as the IS flashed the signal that the airlocks had equalized. "Let's go and meet the locals."
Ravindra followed her to the external hatch, down the short tunnel connecting the ship with the dock, and stepped out into the corridor.
The station's layout wasn't much different from the other space stations he'd seen in the Coalition. This one was newer than most, with no sign of the shabbiness he'd noticed at Iniciara, and the walls and floors were meticulously clean. Displays along the walls promised the beauties of the planet, dioramas of sparkling beaches and forests, pristine wilderness. And, of course, advertisements for hotels and resorts.
Morgan's Return Page 9
