Pandora's Star cs-2

by Peter F. Hamilton

  The top of the pyramid was a small rounded pinnacle. As he watched, the beam of green light shone out of it, sweeping around.

  “You can see it right over the other side of the crater,” Sara said. “There’s been many a night it’s guided me home.”

  “It works at night?” Ozzie said. “I assumed the mirror array gathered sunlight for it.”

  “Worked that out, huh? Shouldn’t surprise me, a techie like you. The mirrors mostly scoop up light for the rooms inside. But, yeah, the top row is exclusively for the lighthouse system. They pour sunlight into some kind of light battery. Please don’t ask me how it works, it looks like a big ball of stone to me. There’s always some idiot science type wanting to take it apart. We don’t let them, of course.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll spare you that.”

  “Good. We have been known to run some people out of town. And as far as we know, there isn’t another town on the whole damn planet.”

  The sled came slowly to a halt at the base of the pyramid. Ozzie and Orion pulled their gloves on again, covered their faces, and stepped out carrying their packs. Another couple of the Korrok-hi warbled mournfully to Bill as they started to unharness the big ybnan that had pulled the sled. Some humans (or human-shaped) had come over, dressed in the same bulbous fur coats as Sara wore. There were other aliens as well, a small gnomish creature with five limbs and two things like snakes with legs, all wearing coats of icewhale fur. Ozzie stopped to study them; he’d never seen their kind before. He began to wonder just how far into the galaxy the Silfen paths ran.

  “This way,” Sara beckoned. “Iusha will stable your lontrus for you.” There were a number of archways of various sizes along the base of the pyramid, from trapdoor height up to an opening wide enough to take two sleds at once. There was a lot of activity around them, with animals (again types he’d never seen) and aliens coming in and out. Several sleds resembling racing toboggans were being prepared.

  She led them through one of the archways into an antechamber with plain black marble walls. At the far end was a big revolving door made from bone, with thin crystal windowpanes. “It’s like a heat-lock,” she said as she pushed one of the panels and set the doors moving.

  Beyond that was a wide corridor walled with the same marble. Long panels of quartz were set into the ceiling, with pink sunlight pouring out of them. Ozzie stood underneath one and squinted into the glare, but there was nothing to see.

  “They light the whole place,” she said. “It’s like a root network of big crystal ducts leading down from the mirrors on the pyramid. Same principle as our fiber-optic cable, but big, much bigger, the ducts are a meter wide.”

  The corridor angled down slightly, then opened out into broad stairs that curved around out of sight. They started their descent. The curve was actually a wide spiral. Ozzie lost track of how many times they went around, and how deep they were. It was a long way down. Sara took her face mask off, then unbuttoned the front of her coat. She was wearing woolen trousers and a thick blue sweater underneath. Ozzie realized he was getting warmer, and unzipped his own coat.

  “What heats this place?”

  “Hot springs,” she told them. “It was built right above them. I wasn’t kidding about that bath.”

  The stairs ended at an archway. Sara watched as they walked out onto the main floor of the Ice Citadel. Ozzie took a few steps in, and came to a halt. He’d entered an alien cathedral, a vaulting dome at least eighty yards high. Pillars curved up the wall like some arcane rib cage, supporting seven balcony rings. It had to be a religious monument. The alcove walls between the pillars were carved marble. Thousands of different creatures stared out at Ozzie, every third was a Silfen. Somehow, the artist had given each one a majesty surpassing the divine quality suggested for the human prophets. They’d all been captured at the same moment of revelation and veneration, seeing the wonder dwelling beyond the physical universe. The bas-relief landscapes around them ranged from arboreal scenes to stark landscapes with exotic moons in the sky, cities of grandiose buildings and even technological surroundings. Right at the apex, a mandala of crystal strips shone brighter than the sunlight outside. “Jesus wept,” he exclaimed. As proof that the Silfen did have a tangible culture it was a startling introduction.

  In the center of the floor was a large pool, fed by a raised fountain, whose waters steamed gently as it splashed and gurgled. There was no altar or rows of seating, which Ozzie was half expecting. Long tables made of bone and leather had been set up on granite paving that was worn and badly cracked. On the other side, a large rectangular stone hearth had been built, with neat brick-walled ovens on top. Flames were visible flickering through grids set in the base. Judging by the background smell in the room, and the soot clogging the oven brickwork, it was some kind of fat-based oil fuel. Several humans and aliens fussed around on tables next to the hearth, preparing a meal.

  The chamber obviously served as a main meeting place for the Ice Citadel residents. Even in the daytime it was busy. The number of species astounded Ozzie; he could make out at least twelve different types. Creatures with three legs, four legs, six legs, some that squirmed or wriggled across the floor, one that hopped, and something that was either a young Raiel or a close cousin. Big and small, they had skins in many shades, scales, fur, spines, and oil-rainbow membranes; clothes on those that bothered ranged from simple togas to practical utility harnesses.

  Like the statues, every creature was now focused on Ozzie and Orion. They were stared at, smelled, echo-sounded, heat-scanned…

  Orion edged behind Ozzie, who returned the attention levelly. “Where are they all from?” Ozzie asked. “Do we know their star systems?”

  “It doesn’t matter where they come from,” Sara said dismissively. “Only that they are here now. Why do you want to classify them? That’s the first step toward segregation.”

  “Nobody’s classifying,” Ozzie snapped back. “Man, this has got to be the most important gathering of cultures we know of. There are more species represented here than even the High Angel hosts. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “It means we have a broad fund of abilities to help us survive.”

  “I’ve got to find out where they come from, if they know anything more about the Silfen.”

  “Introductions later,” Sara said. “Your rooms are over here.” She led them around the edge of the chamber. There was a corridor leading off between every set of pillars on the ground level. The one they walked down opened into a cluster of three simple circular rooms. There was crude human-style furniture in one of them: a sleeping cot and a pair of sling chairs. The leg on one chair was broken, and the leather so old and cracked it looked like it would tear if anyone sat on it. A bathing pool took up half of the last room, filling the air with steam. Orion stuck his hand in the clear water, and smiled happily at how hot it was.

  “Take your time to freshen up,” Sara said. “The evening meal is served in a couple of hours. It’s kind of tradition that the newest arrivals tell their stories and bring us all the news from whatever part of the galaxy they’ve come from.”

  “I can manage that,” Ozzie said.

  “Good.” Her expression was troubled. “You won’t try and rush off to find a path, will you? We lose a lot of people that way. At least take the time to learn the way things are around here.”

  “Sure. I’m not stupid. But we will be leaving as soon as we can.”

  “Good luck.”

  …

  There were a dozen grand dinners, balls, and galas on the night before departure. Only one counted, of course: the one thrown by Anshun’s First Speaker, which was attended by Vice President Elaine Doi, Nigel Sheldon with three current wives from his harem, Rafael Columbia, Senator Thompson Burnelli, Brewster Kumar, and a dozen other notables from the Commonwealth’s political ruling classes. And that, sadly, was the one which Captain Wilson Kime also had to attend. His car drove him through no less than three security checks, including a dee
p scan, on his way into the government’s Regency Palace, which served as the First Speaker’s official residence at the heart of Treloar. The sun was just setting as he and Anna drew up outside the massive stone portico. They were greeted by two human servants in long frock coats covered in gold brocade. The senior one bowed deeply. “Welcome, Captain. The First Speaker is receiving her guests in the Livingstone Room. Please go straight in.”

  “Thank you,” Wilson replied. He took Anna’s hand, and they walked up the big steps. She was wearing a long formal ocean-blue gown with elaborate nonsymmetrical loops of gold and a pearl necklace that seemed to merge with her glittering OCtattoos. Her hair had been cut short ready for the voyage, but the stylist had managed to weave in some temporary extensions flecked with platinum and phosphorescent Titian strands. He’d never seen her so elegant before. At work she was mostly in overalls or an office suit, while at the apartment she wore very little. The effect, enhanced by a thick subtle perfume, made her extremely desirable. He wanted to rip the dress off her and have passionate sex right there on the cold tiles of the palace floor. Her pose was only slightly spoiled by the way she had to grip the front of her dress with her free hand, holding the hem off the steps as they ascended.

  “Bloody classical architecture,” she muttered under her breath.

  As they reached the top, a shiny black Ferrari Rion pulled up at the foot of the steps, emitting a hum of barely controlled power. A gull-wing door lifted up, and Oscar climbed out.

  “Might have guessed,” Wilson said. He was mildly envious of the car; it was a limited edition. Of course, given his age and status, he was above such things now. But he couldn’t help wondering what the Ferrari would be like to drive on manual. From a purely engineering point of view, it was a superb machine.

  Oscar waved cheerily, and dashed up the steps. He kissed Anna on the cheek. “You look gorgeous tonight, my love.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile. “You, too.”

  Oscar carried off a tuxedo with great panache, a stylish searing-white jacket with a trendy cut and an old-fashioned scarlet carnation in his lapel. In contrast, Wilson felt as though he’d been stuffed into his own tux, like a high school boy on a prom date.

  “Shall we go in, boys and girls?” Oscar said.

  They walked through the doors into the over-classical interior, dominated by gilt-framed portraits and the twisting bronze and jade shapes of first modernist sculpture. The First Speaker, Gilda Princess Marden, greeted Wilson with a politician’s firm, trustworthy handshake, and air-kissed Anna. Wilson said something sympathetic about the planet’s defeated national football team. The First Speaker thanked him profusely, going into detail about the sporting and personal failings of the main striker.

  “Well done,” Anna murmured as they walked away. “Only another five hours of small talk to go.”

  The Livingstone Room’s large garden doors had been folded back, allowing the guests onto the wide balcony outside. The palace courtyard’s formal garden had been lit by flaming torches and yellow and green starglobes hanging like fruit from the trees and larger bushes. Over a hundred guests dressed in smart colorful clothes suitable for the warm summer evening were milling around as the golden sunset drained out of the horizon. Local A-list socialites mingled with famous unisphere celebrities and wealthy grandees while official news and political reporters maintained a respectful distance. A band was playing on a small platform set up in front of the Henry Wu planet-sphere fountain.

  All three of them grabbed drinks from a waiter. Wilson could see several other crew members, each at the center of a knot of people. Like him, they were the unlucky ones; more junior members had a free choice where to spend their last night. For himself Wilson would have preferred a less ceremonial event.

  “I see our illustrious navigator is here,” Anna said quietly at his shoulder.

  Wilson and Oscar saw Dudley Bose standing beneath a Japanese maple. He’d returned from his partial rejuvenation on Augusta having had about fifteen years taken off his age. Unfortunately, his frame hadn’t quite adjusted yet. Skin hung in folds from his neck; his hair was a mottled fuzz of gray and black, and a sagging belly hung over his tuxedo waistband. He was telling some story to his attentive audience of Anshun dignitaries, with his wife in close attendance, laughing as if she’d never heard the anecdote before.

  “Remind me again why he’s coming with us,” Oscar said.

  “Because he’s the greatest expert the Commonwealth has on the Dyson Pair,” Anna told him demurely.

  “Ah. I knew there was a reason.”

  Wilson did his best not to frown. Not for the first time he wished he hadn’t bowed to political expediency. Bose hadn’t undergone even half of the tests that the rest of the crew had struggled their way through, let alone taken part in any meaningful training. Having the astronomer on board was simply asking for trouble. But it had got the media off his back.

  He saw Nigel Sheldon talking to the Vice President and other members of the ExoProtectorate Council, and made his way over to their small group. As he reached them he realized the young-looking woman standing next to Sheldon, who had his arm around her shoulder, was Tu Lee, their hyperspace officer. Her small delicate figure was clad in a little black dress; with her raven hair cut short she looked like a sexy imp.

  “Captain!” Nigel grinned in welcome. “I know you’ve met Elaine.”

  Wilson smiled politely at the Vice President. Farndale Engineering had chosen to donate to her rival’s campaign, and Elaine Doi knew that.

  “Any last-minute problems?” Nigel asked.

  “No. It’s all going remarkably smoothly.”

  “We reached point two five light-years per hour on the last test flight,” Tu Lee said. “That’s our operational target, so we’re on the green for tomorrow.”

  “Listen to you,” Nigel said. He grinned proudly at her.

  “Stop it.” She gave him a sharp look.

  “Tu Lee is my great-great-great-granddaughter,” Nigel said to Wilson. “Four natural-born generations; you don’t get a stronger family tie than that. Can you blame me for being proud of her?”

  Wilson couldn’t remember that being in Tu Lee’s file.

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Tu Lee said, her dark eyes gazing intently up at Wilson. “I never said anything, because I wanted to make the crew on merit.”

  “You succeeded,” Wilson said. He suddenly wondered why none of his own family had ever made it through the qualifying stages.

  “A Sheldon and a Kime finally flying together, eh,” Nigel said happily. “We’ve got it covered from every angle.”

  “Looks that way.” Wilson was having trouble keeping his smile intact.

  “I understand you’re taking a lot of weapons on your flight,” Thompson Burnelli said.

  “The great debate,” Wilson said, not quite mocking. “Do we shock culturally superior species with our primitive warlike behavior, or do we go into the unknown with sensible protection that any smart alien will understand.”

  “Given what we’re facing, a degree of self-defense is appropriate,” Nigel said.

  “Huh,” Thompson snorted. “What do you believe, Captain? Is the barrier a defense against some psychopathic race armed with superweapons?”

  “We’ll find out when we get there,” Wilson said mildly. “But I’m not taking a crew anywhere unless I stand a chance of bringing them back alive.”

  “Come on, Thompson, this is supposed to be a party,” Nigel said. “Stop giving the man a hard time.”

  “Just making a point. I’m still not convinced this is the best way to deal with the Dyson Pair. There’s a strong body of opinion saying we should leave them well alone for a few centuries.”

  “Yes,” Anna said. “The Guardians of Selfhood for one.”

  Thompson flashed her an angry look.

  “Any news on them?” Wilson asked Rafael Columbia.

  “We’ve made over two hundred arrests in connection with the r
aid. Mostly black-market arms merchants and other underworld military types. My Chief Investigator is confident they will provide us with enough information to finally track down the organizer.” He didn’t sound impressed.

  “She seems to be doing a good job so far,” Oscar said. “There hasn’t been a hint of trouble since the raid.”

  “Sure that doesn’t have anything to do with the level of CST security?” Elaine Doi asked demurely.

  Oscar raised his glass to her, ignoring the dark expression on Columbia’s face. “That’s probably about ninety-nine percent of the reason, yeah,” he conceded.

  She looked around at the four crew members. “So, are you nervous?”

  “It would be stupid not to be,” Wilson said. “The fear factor is a significant part of our racial survival mechanism. Evolution doesn’t like arrogance.”

  “A healthy attitude. For myself, I wish there was some way of communicating with you. To be cut off from information seems barbaric somehow.”

  Wilson smiled a challenge at Nigel. “I guess our best hyperspace theorists aren’t quite up to that.”

  Nigel raised a glass, but didn’t take the bait. “That’s the whole reason for me getting Wilson here to captain the mission. As they can’t refer every decision back here for review by your committees, I wanted someone who could make a decent judgment call. Unless you’d like to go yourself, Vice President.”