by Leo Lukas
"Fine. Watch out, tackle coming down," came the terse answer from above.
Boryk, who had meanwhile groaningly recovered somewhat, hunched his head between his shoulders and ducked, mistaking the word "tackle" for a similar word meaning "dishware" in his language. The Shadow People sometimes pronounced words a little differently. However, what fell down were not plates or anything of the sort, such as what often came flying out the dormer window of Mama's cottage at Fosse when he howled obscene songs at night, but a tangle of cords and metal rings. Duani snatched it adroitly from out of the air, untangled it, and then secured it around Boryk. He understood. Straightened out and buckled together, the cords turned out to be a kind of net carrier like what the women in the village used for small children. Then, finally, the (in his opinion) not especially shadowy woman of the mountain tied a hook to the end of the rope hanging down from the hole and snapped it in the ring over Boryk's ribcage.
"Don't move, and wait until I've climbed up, understand? Then we'll pull you up."
And so they did. After they had freed him from the harness once he was topside, Boryk wanted to thank the Matekten for the rescue. The old, wrinkled, but astonishingly spry-seeming man—he was clad in a manner identical to Duani—waved it off impatiently. "Save your breath. You'll need it when you reach the other side. Or have you had enough and come to your senses, and you'll be going back to your turnip fields?"
"Uh ... "
"We've already spent too much time on him, Espechl! And on top of everything else we have to get the Digger back in operation before we can concentrate on our actual assignment. Excessive consideration is inappropriate. None of us forced this flat-footed corn-eater to fool around where he doesn't belong."
"Uh ... " Boryk looked from the apparently angered Matekten to the woman who had been intimidated by his sharp words. She embodied everything that Boryk wanted at the moment: shelter, warm coziness, care, nourishment ... and perhaps even more. Hmm ... The ancient mountain man, on the other hand, didn't make any secret of not wanting to let him have any of that. He certainly didn't mean it personally. After all, they were not acquainted with each other. But they stood in each other's way and only one would get the upper hand.
Boryk was too exhausted to worry about scruples. Deep within him, he felt the heat welling up, the shining fever, hotter than a hundred incense vessels filled with glowstones. He did not resist the fever. On the contrary, he willingly gave it room. Let it flow, flooding him from out of nowhere, until it filled him completely. Until every vein glowed red, golden, shining.
"Listen, Matekten, you will concern yourself only with the fanged beast and your assignment," Boryk's powerful other self commanded the old man. "Espechl Duani will, following your express orders, take the man from Everwas and see to his care."
"Good idea," said the Matekten with a glassy expression. "Espechl, take the man from Everwas and see to his care." he abruptly turned around and marched towards the entrance to the cave where the maw of the Digger-beast gaped.
"That was what you had in mind, right?" Boryk turned to Duani. "Fine. Let's go. Would it be too much to let me lean on you?"
4
The Silver Mountain
"It is in fact a space vehicle," Achab ta Mentec said. "Unknown design. Very large. And in all probability around 55,000 years old. Or more."
Mechtan tan Taklir closed his eyes and let the information sink in. Fifty-five thousand years. He waited until his pulse rate returned to something like normal, then asked in a low voice, almost a whisper: "That old? Are you certain?"
"Well over ninety percent, Takhan."
"This is explosive. Extremely explosive." Mechtan took a deep breath. It was capable of shaking not only the Blue System but also the entire Galaxy.
A starship from the depths of the distant past, from the era of the common ancestors of the Akonians, Arkonides, and Terrans ... It was quite possibly a treasure of incalculable value, but it was also an enormously dangerous bomb. Considering the tense situation in the Galaxy, such an artifact, which each of the power blocs could claim with its own justification, had the potential of quickly mushrooming into a political issue of the first magnitude. The Akonians saw themselves as the legitimate heirs because they were the immediate descendants of the Lemurians. The Terrans, although a much younger people, had not only originated on the planet Lemur but still inhabited it. The Arkonides, between the other two races in terms of historical development, simply represented the strongest of the great powers. Someone—and Mechtan was thinking of none other than Imperator Bostich I of Arkon—might take it into his head to inflate the differences in political position that would almost automatically result in a serious crisis.
Wars have been declared for lesser reasons ...
Space Admiral Mechtan tan Taklir was a soldier in body and soul. He had absolutely nothing against being termed a "militarist." Instead, he considered it more of an honorary title. He loved his profession, loved the Seventh Fleet, the ships as much as the crews. Not just out of duty but out of passion, he occupied himself with the tactics and strategies of space battles, offensive and defensive weapon systems, logistics, and command structures. Anyone in the Ruling Council who proposed the slightest reduction in the military budget in favor of some abstruse social or cultural institution, he blasted in full conviction as a hare-brained dreamer, even as a traitor to the Akonian Empire.
Yet, despite all the saber-rattling, when all was said and done, Mechtan did not want to lead any armed conflicts. On the contrary, he wanted to prevent them. If you wish for peace, prepare for war—on that ancient motto was based his view of the world, his whole existence. He was ready, if necessary, to sacrifice his subordinates as well as himself for Akon, but he fervently hoped it would never come to that.
As soon as he had regained his self-control, his first question to Maphan ta Mentec was, "Can anyone else detect this ... this prehistoric thing?"
"Theoretically, yes. But it is extremely unlikely. The scientific basis of this technology is not unknown to the Arkonides and Terrans, but they haven't done anything with it in a very long time. Why should they?"
"You managed it, after all."
"That is true, but ... I originally started from a completely different point of departure, then stumbled on it by pure chance. To put it more precisely, after a chain of several coincidences. That's the way it often happens in experimental physics. As you know, I've been working for a long time on unconventional methods of hyper-detection shielding. Over the years, I've ventured down seldom trodden paths into very esoteric areas. That someone could achieve even approximately similar results without any knowledge of my work is a chance I would consider virtually zero. You can of course take a look at my research records at any time."
"Thanks, but spare me the details. I can never remember those specialized terms. Words like 'semi-manifestation' make my eyes glaze over. Seems to me nobody but you really understands what you're up to. Basically it doesn't matter. The main thing is that it works. So you're convinced there isn't any current danger of it being discovered?"
"Not any serious danger of it, no."
"Good. Very good. So we, and only we, know about it. It absolutely has to stay that way until we've secured that thing! Everything involved with this matter as of now has the highest security classification. Mobilize your squadron, Maphan ta Mentec. Nonsense, we'll mobilize the entire Seventh Fleet! We're going to take a close-up look at that tub. And we'll go on board, Achab, both of us, you and me."
He was already familiar with the pain in his head. It seemed to be an after-effect similar to that which afflicted Fosse when he came staggering very late and very noisily into the family bed. A "hangover" was what the grown men called it.
Duani had put on her spectacles and changed the light of her torch several times. Now it shone reddish brown and so weakly that Boryk did not see much other than deceptive shadows that changed with each step. But in any event he was not able to do more than trot alongside h
er or, in narrow places, behind her.
They pushed deeper into the cave. After Duani had manipulated a well-worn remote control pad, the like of which in the village only the Majittri possessed, a very jagged rock twice the height of a man had slid to the side. Now they followed a spiral ramp that wound upwards. The ground was smoother than the solidly stamped clay of the ceremonial plaza, so they made swift progress despite Boryk's injured ankle. Here and there, clutter of an indefinable sort had been piled up against the greasy walls, but they had little trouble squeezing past it.
The passageway suddenly widened into a hall that was many times larger than the Gathering House in the village. Hundreds, no, thousands of tiny, colorful candles illuminated this room. Boryk held his breath. He couldn't have imagined anything more beautiful no matter how long he lived. Music played everywhere, twenty, even thirty different pieces all at the same time. Odors overwhelmed him, such as from roasting roots, simmering herbs, sizzling protein, and in addition an entire palette of completely unknown aromas.
"Yes, yes, I know. Much too crowded, much too stuffy, much too loud," said Duani, who had taken her spectacles off and was rubbing her eyes with her attractively powerful fingers. "I'm sorry, but this is the best that the Silver Mountain can manage."
The hall was considerably higher than it was wide and long. Boryk realized that the people who lived here had to orient themselves vertically since there was not enough horizontal space for a village. The dwellings towered like cells on top of each other, resembling the chambers in the honeycomb hives of his distant homeland. Only here, instead of the tubing that carried the sweet, thick liquid, flimsy ladders connected the different levels. Trying to avoid attracting attention, Duani guided him up uncountably many and alarmingly swaying rungs to her private quarters. It lay in the uppermost quarter of the colorfully illuminated, vertical village, and was much smaller than Mama's cottage.
"Don't think I didn't notice how you influenced the Matekten," Duani said as soon as she had pulled the heavy entrance curtain shut behind them and turned on the light. "However you managed it, don't even think about trying it on me, little boy! Even if you pulled it off, I'd remember it afterwards and chase after you until I caught you and then I'd yank out every hair on your body, got it?"
Boryk nodded fervently. He didn't want to provoke such a revenge, especially since the hairs in some especially sensitive parts of his body had only recently sprouted.
He fell on a couch draped with coverings that were much more finely woven than the most skilled weaver-women in his village could have produced. "I'm thirsty. Hungry," he gasped. "And my foot hurts so much ... "
Duani gave him medicine that tasted strongly of woodsberries and a wonderfully cool, refreshing juice. He drank two and a half large glasses of it. Then she smeared his ankle with a salve and applied a bandage. Boryk immediately felt much better. He looked around the small hut and couldn't find a fireplace anywhere. That bothered him a little. Where did the Espechl cook?
As though she had read his thoughts, Duani said, "I'll get us something to eat. Do you like red stew? Or would you rather have sweetbars?"
"Could I have both?"
Her laugh was like the chiming of a bell, then she tapped on her control pad. What was she doing with it? Boryk was almost bursting with curiosity. He had dozens of questions, but he was too tired to ask them. Again and again his eyes closed. Only his growling stomach prevented him from falling asleep on the spot.
He waited silently while Duani pulled her boots off and removed her jacket. She wore an olive-green, sleeveless, tightly fitting undershirt. Boryk tried not to stare at the pointed breasts that stood out underneath. He gave a start when a loud buzzing sounded. Duani slid out through the curtain and pulled it closed behind her. Boryk listened intently.
"Three portions. Is that right, Duani?"
"Yes, I have a visitor."
"From the Flatlands?"
"How do you know that?"
"I get around as a delivery man ... And my customers almost always like to have a little chat. Somebody saw you and the young man in the leather pants. News like that gets around fast in the Silver Mountain."
"So? Do you have any objections?"
"No, not at all, what are you thinking? That is ... You know, don't you, that if you want to share your quarters with someone, you don't have to go to the trouble of catching a farmboy? I'm well known for giving my customers complete satisfaction."
"Thank you, but I can do without it. And now please excuse me, the stew is getting cold."
As soon as she had placed the flattened basket on the small table and taken off the lid, an exquisite aroma spread into the entire room. Boryk could hardly wait until Duani had arranged the food and invited him to eat with a gesture. The stew was delicious, although he couldn't identify what was in it. It was spicy and velvety, melting on his tongue ... simply indescribably good. He forced himself not to gulp it down, but to take small pieces and chew on them for a while.
Duani watched him benevolently while she ate with some appetite herself. "Good, isn't it?"
"Mmm."
They also wiped out the supply of sweetbars without a second thought. "You can have the bed," Duani then said, "but only after you've taken a thorough shower."
Boryk did as he was told. He washed himself in the hygiene cell, wrapped the towel around his hips, collapsed steaming on the couch, and slept, slept, slept.
Mechtan and Achab didn't hide their surprise when they saw Aykalie step out of the teleporter into the control center of the UMBERIA.
"Special agent tan Taklir reporting for duty," she announced as she saluted with crisp briskness. "Well, gentlemen? Surprised, aren't you?"
"Of course," her grandfather said, visibly struggling to maintain his composure. "I was told our scientific staff had added some prehistorians, but didn't get around to looking through the list of names. I have to admit I wasn't expecting you, my child."
"I've studied art history with a specialization in Lemuria. There aren't very many experts in that field, so I was called on."
Behind the Admiral's back, Achab twisted the corners of his mouth into a slight, mocking smile. It wasn't hard for him to figure out that it had actually been the Energy Command pulling the strings that led to Aykalie's placement.
"I'd like to add that my husband is also part of this operation. He is highly respected—and not just by me—as a member of the Academy of Sciences and as an Experiential Theoretician with a secondary specialty in the psychology of perception. He is here to treat any crewmembers who might suffer from a culture shock." She said that mainly to cool Achab ta Mentec's ardor. But of course he didn't allow himself to show any reaction.
The UMBERIA, a highly modern battlecruiser with a diameter of 435 meters, was the flagship of its small squadron, which included five other space-spheres of similar construction. The ship's experimental neutrino machines were integrated into its hyper-detection systems. It was for this reason that Mechtan ta Taklir was currently here on board.
"Can't express how glad I am to have you along, Aykalie-kins," the Takhan rumbled. "Came at just the right time. Achab was just about to show me the first pictures of the unknown space object."
"We're dealing with relatively imprecise projections," ta Mentec explained. Business-like, formal, distanced. Cool, even. If she hadn't known him in an altogether different way, Aykalie would have sworn that he was making an effort to treat her with stiff correctness, not at all approving of her presence. She considered herself a very good actress. How perfectly Achab was able to simulate antipathy, however, filled her with more than just professional respect.
"I should point out that the anti-detection shield that kept this space vessel hidden from all the various powers of the Galaxy for such a long time does not work in the sense of a deflector field," Achab elaborated. "At close range, according to my calculations so far, there is no hindrance of visual perception. Only with increasing distance is any conventional detection made mor
e difficult. The image breaks up, blurs, and fades, and at a great enough distance disappears completely."
"Then how can you detect anything at all, Maphan?" Aykalie asked, deliberately at least as coolly reserved as her secret lover.
"I employ related technology, honored lady. With that I can counteract the effect to a certain degree."
"Ancient principle: set a thief to catch a thief," Mechtan put in. "Or something along that line. Right, Achab?"
Aykalie felt a pain in her chest as she noticed how much her grandfather was trying to win the respect and affection of a man nearly a century younger than he was. For the first time she realized what it meant for Mechtan not to have raised a son and heir.
Achab is taking merciless advantage of that sentimental weakness, she thought. He's playing on him like a keyboard, manipulating him the way he wants. The old hardhead makes half the Council tremble, but he's putty in Achab's hands.
Again admiration mixed with slight horror. Aykalie felt herself drawn to both men for completely different reasons. She had not thought this combination would prove to be so awkward. She fervently hoped that she would never be forced to decide in a difficult situation which of the two she owed her loyalty.
"I couldn't have said it so concisely myself," Achab praised him. He managed to smile winningly in Mechtan's direction and at the same time condescendingly in hers. "Our 'thief' has seen through at least a portion of the masking. The rest is the Syntron's extrapolation. Since it's based on approximations, the result should be approached with some caution."
He rapidly moved the fingers of his right hand over the controls. The ship's computer reacted by generating a hologram that filled a large portion of the control center.
Then the three-dimensional representation of the artifact appeared, embedded in a grid of orientation lines and measurement indications.