“The door is locked,” she said, floating in bed. “He knows everything.”
“It won’t do him any good,” Gorgias said as he withdrew into the darkness.
|Go to Contents |
V. The Listener
“… noon draws near
And fastens in the gloom. What is it brings
Such sorrow to the air, — a power, a cold
As from blown flame? Is it from plague, from strife,
Blood crying from the ground? Nay, the young life
Of centuries has hurtled overhead,
And lingers, vanquished, and not growing old,
Youth’s stubborn, immature, unburied dead.”
— “Michael Field” (1908)
HE WOULD NOT REPORT what Myraa had told him, Kurbi decided as the ship slipped out of jumpspace.
Earth lay ahead, an ancient jewel set in the ring of habitats. The younger worlds sparkled, but they could not compete with the awesome character of the planet. Its ocean of air concealed enigmas; its ocean of water held all the mysteries of origins. The land covered the rubble of countless civilizations, all imperfectly understood or lost. The Earth was an unconscious underworld of histories; its ring of worlds was more conscious, cortical, separate, but not completely free of the birthing place.…
What could he report? There was no physical evidence that Myraa had killed Crusus. It would be easier to conclude that the General had never been on board. Her story about Gorgias would be heard with suspicion, but many would conclude that it was the delusion of one who had loved the Herculean rebel; it was not uncommon for people to believe that they could talk to their lost loved ones. Myraa’s World, home of nearly all remaining Herculeans, might be lost if Earth’s fears were fed needlessly. Why add to the problem with unverifiable reports?
The existence of Myraa’s World came first, he told himself as the ship made its approach to the orbital docks.
“You’ve told me a strange story,” he said to Myraa in her cabin. “Why should anyone believe it? Whether I believe it doesn’t count. If the Commission accepts what you say, it will only stir them up and put your world in danger.”
“But Crusus is dead.”
“I’ll say he never came on board. Answer only general questions, as calmly as possible.”
“But there may be danger,” she insisted.
“What kind of danger?”
She looked at him. “If he gains control of me —”
“What can we do? You’ll be under guard.”
“A cell, physical restraints, unconsciousness. You may have to kill me!”
“How can I accept what you’re saying? Even if it’s true, what can he do? He’ll use your body as you would. He can’t make it walk through walls, or fly away. You’re not armed. Don’t you see? What you say may decide whether your world will continue to exist. Nothing is as important as that.”
The large oval chamber was harshly lit by daylight, but Myraa did not squint, Kurbi noticed as she entered and approached the half-moon table. Poincaré, the youngest of the six-member War Dispositions Commission, sat at the left end of the table.
“What have you to say to us?” Eliade Aren asked.
The Prime Commissioner was a thin, silver-haired woman. Only a century old, she was too young to remember the war, but long-term memory imprints had given her the same gaze as that of the four members who had lived through the war with the Herculeans. She would probably add to her imprinting, Kurbi suspected, long after the other members had gone on to become other people. It was a trap well known to the memory librarians, Kurbi thought. I probably have a touch of it myself.
Myraa looked up at the Prime Commissioner. “We live our lives, we who have survived.”
Aren blinked slowly. “And you are at peace?”
“We are.”
Aren shrugged subtly. “But you are troubled?”
“That is our concern.”
Kurbi tensed.
“When an old enemy is troubled,” Aren said softly, “the victor must reconfirm victory.”
“You have nothing to fear.”
Aren smiled. “We shall require more than your assurance.”
Kurbi stepped to Myraa’s side. “I can give that, having just visited the Herculean refuge. There is nothing there to harm us, now or ever.”
“And how doyou know? Are we obliged to accept your word also? You — the sympathizer?”
“Historian, to be accurate,” Kurbi replied.
Julian shifted in his seat.
“You have written,” she continued, “that our extermination, as you put it, of the Herculeans might have been less complete.”
“We might have gained more if some large part of their civilization had survived. We had no spoils for our effort, as many have pointed out.”
“What evidence did you bring?” she asked. She did not expect to be convinced, Kurbi realized. He glanced at Poincaré. Julian’s face was a mask.
“Need I remind the Prime Commissioner,” Poincar6 said unexpectedly, “that Rafael Kurbi tracked and cornered the Herculean renegade, thus ending the menace? He spent many years accomplishing this task, for which he deserves our respect and gratitude.”
“He did so reluctantly,” Aren added, gazing steadily at Kurbi.
He stared back. “To repeat, there was not as much to gain from a dead enemy as a live one. The death of Gorgias denied us knowledge of his ship and the location of his base. Major losses for a dead body.”
Aren leaned forward. “I’ve examined these various claims of benefits from Herculean civilization. I don’t find them convincing, either the cultural or the technical gains.”
Julian stood up. “Then what do you expect from this hearing? Nothing, if you believe their culture was so barren, both technically and culturally. You contradict yourself, Prime Commissioner!” He sat down.
Aren seemed unsure, but she composed herself. “I did not say there was absolutely nothing for us. I said there was nothing in what had been presented. I wish to uncover what is being concealed from us.”
Poincaré gestured with his right hand. “Then get on with it, and be satisfied when you find nothing but your own reflection. Otherwise there will be no end to it.”
Aren glanced at him, but he ignored her.
“We will continue,” she said, looking back at Kurbi, then at Myraa. “Kindly tell us something about your way of life.”
“We grow our own food, build our own shelter.”
“Are there children?”
Kurbi tensed again.
“Very few.”
Aren’s face grew taut, as if some suspicion had been confirmed. “Now tell us about your … beliefs.”
Kurbi looked at the faces of the other commissioners. Jastov, Onell and Webst seemed bored. They had come here to assure themselves that there was nothing to Aren’s fears before divesting themselves of their war memories. Ona Aren shared her sister’s ideas, but that was not surprising; they were both closely allied with the Oldest, many of whom had never learned to clear their minds through forgetfulness.
“We look inward,” Myraa said, “toward the center of all life.…”
Aren raised a hand. “No need for details. We’re sufficiently familiar with many of the claims of your cult. I want to know something specific. Is there a practical basis to this Herculean inwardness, as it is described, implying certain weapons characteristics? What do you say to this?”
“Exaggerations,” Poincaré said, looking upward.
Myraa was silent.
Aren looked at Kurbi. “And what do you say?”
Her hatred had told her that it had to be true, he thought. She needed for it to be true, so she could move against Myraa’s World.
“No one is sure,” Aren said. “You share my suspicions.”
“What are you talking about!” Julian shouted.
“She knows!” Aren cried, pointing at Myraa. “Just this. The Herculean survivors are planning to field a new kind of weapon aga
inst us, one involving forces directed by a mental science which they have been nurturing for centuries.”
Poincaré laughed.
“Her planet must be destroyed while we are still able to do so.”
“Insanity,” Kurbi said.
“Then put my fears to rest.”
“How could anyone know? You’ve made up your mind. Prove to us that it exists, but don’t burden us with having to disprove your suspicions.”
“If we destroy the planet,” Julian continued, “we won’t prove anything, one way or the other.”
“It will be safer,” Aren said. “The consequences of letting the Omega cult develop may be too dangerous to take any chances. Weighing doubts may be fatal.”
Gorgias listened.
The whispers had to penetrate light-years of lead, but they reached him, and their meaning gave him new strength. The last stronghold of Herculean life would be destroyed unless he acted.
Bypassing the armor of Myraa’s conscious effort, he filled her musculature and looked out into the oval chamber. She struggled against him, but he held her rigid.
“We stand to lose everything,” Aren was saying.
Gorgias turned and struck Kurbi across the heart. The Earthman grunted and fell to his knees.
“Yes!” Gorgias hissed through Myraa’s throat. “But it’s too late!”
He reached into the underwill and drew what he needed.
Aren rose, pale.
Contorting space-time, Gorgias picked her up with invisible fingers and crushed her against the floor in front of the half-moon table.
The other commissioners were getting to their feet. Gorgias glanced over at Kurbi. The Earthman was still on his knees, staring at the broken body of Aren.
Gorgias whirled around. Armed guards were taking a fix on him. He reached out to crush them, but Kurbi grabbed him around the legs. The restraining field caught them as Myraa’s body hit the floor.
“Too late!” Gorgias shouted in the grayness of the inverted bell. The guards had not acted quickly enough to save the Prime Commissioner.
Kurbi wrestled with Myraa’s body, trying to pin her to the floor. Gorgias looked into his eyes, then hurled the Earthman upward, pressing him against the field.
“I’ve waited for this,” Gorgias said as he stood up. “You know what I’m going to do? Strip off your arms, legs and genitals. And then your eyes!”
Kurbi hung silently above him.
Gorgias concentrated on his right arm and wrenched it into a breaking position.
“Myraa!” Kurbi cried out.
The field winked out and Kurbi fell on him. Stunned, Gorgias concentrated his will, but the Earthman was lifted from him and the bell reappeared. He took a deep breath and got up. No matter, he would kill them all next time.
He looked around the small area of gloom, wondering if he could strike through the canopy.
“Are you hurt?” Julian asked.
Kurbi was unsteady on his feet as he looked around. “Yes,” he said, struggling to control his fear.
The guards were still adjusting the shield’s field strength from the portable projector. Eliade Aren was being wheeled out to the nearest freezer.
“This does it, Raf. Nothing can save Myraa’s World now.” He looked at the four other commissioners. They were talking together near the main exit. “My one vote won’t mean a thing.” Kurbi caught Ona Aren’s eye, but she looked away. “I suppose you have an explanation?”
Kurbi stared at him, unable to speak. Everything Myraa had said was true.
“I know what happened,” Kurbi managed to say.
Poincaré turned to the guards. “Is it secure?”
The senior officer nodded.
“Get the commissioners out of here.”
When they were alone, Julian said, “We won’t be able to contain this. Too many saw it.” He looked at the bloody spot on the floor. “What do you know, Raf?”
“I wasn’t sure until now.” Kurbi told him what he had learned from Myraa.
Poincaré was silent for a few moments after Kurbi finished. “It was criminal of you not to tell me,” he said, “even though I see why you were skeptical. I wouldn’t have believed it. Still, we might have saved Aren from this, monster though she was.” He shook his head. “As my friend you should have told me, no matter what.”
Kurbi began to pace, thinking wildly. Gorgias should have killed the entire Commission. Then no one would have known what had happened and Myraa’s World might be safe. “I can’t think any more about this, Julian. Worse, I don’t even want to care. Why did you drag me back into all this?”
“You still know more than anyone.”
“A lot of good it does. So, what do we do now?”
“Talk to whatever is inside.” He stepped over to the controls and made an adjustment.
The bell of force shimmered, as if about to dissolve. Myraa’s shape became visible, but it appeared deformed, huge in head and torso, small in the legs. Her mouth opened and closed like that of a huge fish gasping for air.
“Myraa?” Kurbi asked, stepping close and peering in.
“Yes,” she said, her mouth a cave, “I’m here.”
“We can’t be sure,” Julian said.
“You must not release me,” she warned. “I’ve hurled him back, but I’m too weak to do it again.”
“It must be her,” Kurbi said.
“Why should he tip his hand?”
“The destruction of my world,” she continued, “will do nothing to stop Gorgias.”
“We may have to kill her,” Poincaré said.
“It may be too late,” Myraa whispered weakly. “He may be able to survive without me now.”
“What should we do?” Kurbi asked.
“I can no longer advise. You should probably kill me, in the hope that he won’t be experienced enough to keep himself together. He may misjudge his powers. I don’t know.…”
“We’ll keep her in the field,” Julian said, “but in a cell, where we can pipe in life-support. We can’t risk giving him a way out.”
Kurbi nodded.
“I understand,” Myraa said.
“Are you in pain?” Julian asked.
“I’m not in danger.”
Kurbi looked around the chamber. He’s here, he thought, slipping through the substructures of reality, rebuilding his strength, struggling toward me with a terrible hatred, an unshakable resolve.
“Leave my world to live,” Myraa pleaded.
“If we could only trap him somehow,” Julian said, “then we might stop the destruction of her world. But what is there to catch? A quantum ghost, more elusive than neutrinos. And we can’t be sure that her death would stop him. His own certainly didn’t. If all this is true.”
“All that is left of him is his hatred,” Myraa said.
For the first time since he had met her, Kurbi saw Myraa weep. Giant, distorted tears burst from her eyes and flowed down to the cave of her mouth.
|Go to Contents |
VI. The Fortress Self
“Mischiefs feed
Like beasts, till they be fat, and then they bleed.”
— Ben Jonson,Volpone
GORGIAS REACHED OUT, searching for the Whisper Ship.
He visualized it, imagining that he was near the vessel.
The true nature of space-time was not the continuum of forward-flowing, relative times; he was learning an underlying unity; only adapted mental structures made distinctions, allowing for the experience of separate spaces and durations; but these seemingly external settings were mere aspects, observer-defined islands afloat on a quantum sea.
Passages in space-time were journeys across mental realms, nothing more, if the will were brave enough to break from its given categories.
He probed the Whisper Ship at its dock in the Centauri system. Energies flowed as the vessel’s intelligence came to full alert.
Gorgias poised himself for the quantum transfer, leaped —— but the ship failed to i
ntegrate him into its structure.
He dropped back into Myraa’s prison.
He gathered his strength and tried again —
— and fell back, exhausted.
Myraa’s mazes would hold him forever, he realized, unless he learned the patience necessary to concentrate the intensity of his conscious will enough to pass from one energy state to a higher one.
“I am in danger,” he whispered as he waited, “come to me.”
The ship shifted.
Far away, but also deep within him.
For an instant, the universe pulsed at his center, and he knew the possibility of engulfing galaxies, breathing at the heart of every sun, drinking the radiation of collapsing suns, feasting on the cores of imploding galaxies.
There was a direct way of doing things in the realm of unity. Myraa had tried to confine him in a maze, but she needed his cooperation to succeed. He had to force himself to think differently.
“Then forget the past,” she said. “Don’t let it drag you back.”
“You should have let me die!” he answered. “Here I can’t die, and I will rule!”
She was silent, but he felt her fear within himself.
And he felt the ship wrench itself from its dock and regain the freedom of space. The vessel came swiftly, swallowing the four light-years between Centauri and Earth; it came across the infinite inner gray of mental substance called jumpspace, which had elsewhere flowered into the facade of an external universe.
Kurbi peered into the field. Myraa had been motionless for three hours now.
Her eyes opened suddenly. “The ship has broken free. It’s coming here!”
“It’s beginning,” Kurbi said.
“We can probably repel it,” Julian said from the control unit.
“I’m not so sure. It’s coming for her, and to destroy the Earth.”
“Then we’ll have to leave for Myraa’s World at once,” Julian said, “if only to draw the ship away.”
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