by Leo Lukas
Her right hand clutched the control pad, her left the amulet. The ornament that she claimed gave her immortality. Boryk saw no reason to doubt it. It was the seat of her divinity, the core of her confidence in herself and in her mission.
And at the same time her weak point.
"What is it like having lived so long?" he countered. "I know how it feels to have failed and feel guilty. How much more heavily it must weigh on your conscience! Can you even still carry this burden, murderer? Isn't that just the reason why you're feeling so useless and unmotivated, and why you're drunk day in and day out?"
That hit home. He momentarily sensed from the faltering of her defensive wall that he had struck a sore spot. Without pity, he kept it up.
"I know the desperation that comes over you when life doesn't make any sense. I know it well! When you're considered worthless and good for nothing, as a walking insult to the world around you, as a freak and a criminal. When people and the world would like nothing better than to be rid of you. I know it. Just recently, I was tempted to put an end to my existence. And you secretly play with that thought, too, don't you? You've wanted to just chuck everything for a long time now, but you were too weak and cowardly. And you yearn so much to not suffer any more. You wish nothing more than to rest in peace at last. To silence all those voices once and for all, the voices inside of you that don't stop screaming: Murderer, murderer, murderer—70,000 times over!"
Gurgling, rattling, indistinct sounds came from the giant's mouth. She shook her head wildly. Droplets flew like tiny marbles in all directions.
All of a sudden, Boryk was drawn in the direction of the couch, away from the coffin. Relieved, he didn't let up, but instead intensified his efforts even more. They fought with each other eye to eye. He hurled his words straight into her face, ruthlessly sympathetic. "I know what kept you from freeing yourself from the burden and the sadness up to now. That thing that hangs from the chain around your neck. The amulet that you have cursed so often. Only that stands between you and the end of all suffering. Take it off," he said smoothly and fervently, putting all the power of his fever into his voice. "You've wanted to do that a thousand times, haven't you? Take it off. Give the stupid thing away. Give it to me."
It was as though the world held its breath. And perhaps it actually did in that moment. For the woman who had created this world, the Naahk, the giant, the goddess, departed from it.
A silky dull shine appeared in her pupils before she slowly closed her eyes, raised her hands to her neck, took hold of the chain, and lifted it over her head. And threw it away with a boundless sigh of relief.
How Boryk made his way back into the Silver Mountain afterwards, he never could have said. He found himself just below the entrance to the vertical shaft, a few rungs below the point where gravity reasserted itself, clinging to a rung like a drowning man to piece of floating debris.
He hung there for a long time, racked by shivering and headache. Drained and utterly exhausted. The mental battle had demanded everything he had. Boryk had worn his mind and body down so much that he felt his pounding heart was about to jump out of his chest at any moment. It seemed unimaginable to him that he would ever recover from this effort. His lungs burned as though he had breathed fire instead of air. He could hardly make out anything around him despite his shadow-goggles.
In his fist he held the chain with the potato-shaped amulet that was two fingers long. The spoils, the symbol of a triumph that he couldn't exult over. Again he had put his infernal gift into action, and once more he strongly doubted if it had been for the best. He had saved himself, but at what cost?
There is no longer a Divinity in Heaven and Hell.
He vaguely remembered how she had died: she had literally decomposed in front of his eyes. Into a cloud of dust that a weak air current had blown away.
There isn't a god any more. Was there ever one?
What should he do with the chain and its attachment? Perhaps it would be wisest to simply open his cramped fingers and let the talisman that had brought so little happiness to its previous owner fall into the shaft. Into the depths where the Digger beast rummaged for raw materials at the command of the mountain people's Matektens.
Then it occurred to Boryk that he had no other proof of his adventure. Idiot that he was, he hadn't brought anything with him from Hell. He had torn away the garlands of flowers that the Genesist girls wrapped around him when he realized what sins he had committed. And he had been so firmly determined to bring back something for Duani!
Duani.
Duani! He would give her the amulet. It looked technological somehow, and she loved stuff like that. The shelves of her little hut were filled with unidentifiable things she had found.
No longer quite so depressed, Boryk put the chain around his neck and started his descent. He felt better with each rung that he overcame. His weight increased in small steps, but that didn't bother him. On the contrary: he was glad to feel something solid under his toes, even if it was just rusted bars. At the same time he swore that this would be his last venture into weightlessness.
New zeal for life filled him as he entered the side corridor, and he whistled happily while he strode through the tunnels and finally climbed the ladders to Duani's quarters in the Vertical Village. If she was surprised to see him again, she tried hard not to let it show.
"Well, how was it?" she merely asked matter-of-factly.
But the sparkle in her beautiful eyes gave the lie to her seeming indifference. And after they had dined together on red stew and sweetbars, and the time had come to go to sleep, she offered him the bed and laid down with him.
Somehow, Boryk never got around to giving Duani the amulet. At first he simply forgot it in the whirlwind of fresh love. They were each enough of a gift for each other. And later it seemed to him no longer necessary. Besides, he began to get used to it. Although it dangled rather heavily against his chest, he virtually never took it off.
He stayed two weeks with Duani, and let her and the Matekten initiate him into the mysteries of the Silver Mountain. In the beginning the old man regarded him a little critically, but after a short time his suspicion faded and they became good friends. Boryk promised to return as soon as he had set things to rights in the Garden of Everwas.
And that he did. When he came back three months later. with the gasping Fosse in tow, he no longer wore short pants but long trousers made of the finest leather the tannery on the river had ever produced. Over it was a skillfully knitted shirt and a jacket with the insignia not only of the Maffan but also of the Majittri of Everwas. Thus attired, he asked for Duani's hand. After taking time to think about it—exactly one minute—she said yes.
And he had not helped her make her decision. Not in the least. Honest!
In the future as well, he strictly obeyed her wish that he not use his power on her. Even when, each as stubborn as the other, they quarreled and Duani could not be moved by even the most reasonable arguments, he would not bend her to his will. They always quickly made up again anyway.
Boryk was less squeamish with the other inhabitants of Heaven. When he considered it necessary, he put his power into action, although always in moderation and only after careful consideration. The events at the Sea of Geneset had been a lesson to him. While he no longer tormented himself over it, he still thought back to the incident with a shudder, both for the frenzy as well as for the hangover that followed.
Besides, he learned with time how to control his unique power better. He often thought that the sad goddess's amulet helped him with that. Or perhaps it was due to his happy and satisfying relationship with Duani that he felt more balanced than ever?
In any case, even when he wasn't feverish he now thought much more clearly, more goal-directed. On the other hand, when he employed his gift, the flame no longer overwhelmed him so explosively. Even the aftereffects became accordingly more bearable.
Boryk and Duani celebrated two weddings, one in the Silver Mountain with Fosse repr
esenting his family, the other in the Garden of Everwas, where the Matekten gave her away. Afterwards, they built a cottage about halfway between the two settlements. That way they could carry out their duties in the one as well as in the other. Not even half a year had passed after the marriage when the Matekten retired for reasons of age and Boryk was chosen to be his successor. He now represented all three of Heaven's highest offices.
Thanks not least to Duani's energetic help, he would prove to be worthy of them. They encouraged contact between the Flatlanders and the people of the mountain, even if on a leisurely basis. They didn't make the mistake of overwhelming people by rearranging the social structure too quickly. In his capacity as Majittri, Boryk removed the limits for contact with the Shadow People and created diverse opportunities for cultural exchange. But no one was forced to take advantage of them.
The ritual of becoming a man was also reformed, with the pointless fasting and beating eliminated. Boryk made it clear that he would appreciate it if the young men actually followed through with the Quest. Well equipped, loaded with gifts for the Genesists, filled with joyful anticipation of the female-rich Beyond, they were led by mountain guides over the cliffs to the smoke column. The entire first year's group after the beginning of Boryk's rulership returned safe and sound, garlanded with flowers, and grinned blissfully for days.
Times were good. Heaven prospered, and according to the young men's reports, so did Hell. Years passed. Good years. But gradually, at first almost unnoticeably, there were notes of discord in the overall harmony.
More and more, Boryk had the duty of burying people he cared about. Fat Fosse was the first; his body was delivered to the Abyss of Elimination as part of a funeral that was well-lubricated with much wine. Soon afterwards, another of his fathers died, then his Mama. Then followed Gujnar, who had developed into a quite passable Jittri, and then Rautsh, who had loyally served Boryk as his personal Tennoi.
And finally Duani.
She had noticed that Boryk was not aging to the same degree as the others, long before he had become aware of it himself. His hair grew, fell out, and re-grew continuously, but did not turn gray, while hers turned snow-white. His finger and toenails had to be cut, but at far longer intervals than hers. Duani's skin was no longer taut and smooth, and grew rough, lined, and wrinkled; his remained flawless. He stood straight upright, while she walked ever more bent with a stick. Even then he had to support her when she left their cottage for his sake and took the long, wide path down to Everwas. He took care of her when she could no longer leave her bed, and when she asked him to let her see the Silver Mountain and the Vertical Village one more time, he knew then that the end was near. All four incumbent Tennois—two of them Rautsh's sons, who resembled their father almost exactly—carried the litter. On the way back, Duani fell asleep in Boryk's arms and never woke up.
After the ceremony, he hid himself away in his cottage and surrendered to his grief. He had learned to live with his wishes being granted if he only gave them enough emphasis. But whom should he ask to have Duani given back to him? And all the others he had buried? There wasn't a goddess in Heaven and Hell any more; he had killed her himself, or at least been an accessory to her death. Only now did he understand the full meaning of the words, filled with hate and a desire to live, that he had spoken to the Naahk.
More than once he was tempted to take off the chain with the amulet.
But since no young Boryk appeared to give him the impetus at the right moment to take that step, he went on living. Years went by. Not quite as good years as those at Duani's side, but bearable. He ruled his people judiciously, although he no longer intervened in daily affairs as much as he had earlier. Everything proceeded largely as it should. The sun rose from the narrow sea and sank within it again. The two moons moved through the sky along tracks that were only visible if you squinted.
... to serve as signs for festivals and days, weeks, months, and years ...
Intermezzo
A Question of Time
Vast and wide is the Universe, and for the most part horribly empty, but it is also filled with mysteries. Probably one of the greatest and ultimately most incomprehensible is that phenomenon we simply call "time."
Over the span of my millennia-spanning life, I have had many heated discussions about this subject with many brilliant minds in many different eras. Physicists and philosophers, esoterics and mathematical logicians, wildly speculative as well as steely empirical scientists of the most diverse schools of thought ... Although not infrequently in dispute to the point of deadly enmity, they did agree on one thing: that with our unfortunately so limited senses we Lemurians would never be able to understand that phenomenon completely, even though it affects us so directly and so constantly.
But we could act, maneuver; yes, we could even manipulate time using the greatest caution. I myself have already done this on a very large scale. And will do it again, will have to do it again. Because only then, if I influence the present into one very definite direction, will I make the past possible and thereby ensure the future of mankind.
It sounds paradoxical and is nonetheless true: in the coming three or four days, what will have happened 55,000 years ago will be decided. Or as Deshan Apian, my loyal Chronicler, once put it in other circumstances, We Lemurians are what we were. And we are now laying the foundation of what we will be in the future.
Yes, dear Diary, my only confidante and father confessor, you who have replaced good old Deshan since he also went on the great journey: This week we will reach the all-deciding turning point of our fantastic journey that includes the entire history of mankind. One of the two instruments absolutely necessary for it is already in my possession. The second will soon be found. Whether I succeed in putting my hands on it and using it for my purposes is only a question of time.
But isn't everything "only" a question of time?
I could not have asked for a better starting position. All the requirements are in place, all developments are progressing exactly as they should. All the balls are rolling as though down an inclined plane; no, as though into a funnel, almost forced to go where they should. I have arranged my own part so I can intervene at any time although no one will suspect that I am the string-puller. I don't want to flatter myself; I was always too rational for exaggerated vanity as well as for, I might add, excessive modesty. Yet my disguise can be termed perfect with complete justification. As opposed to back then, when I was forced to imitate the charismatic leader figure—occasionally even two at once!—here and now I do not have to take a place in the front row. Thanks to a long-term, deliberate, and inconspicuously assembled network of relationships, I am influential enough. People believe they know me and my motivations. Many even believe they can ridicule me for that reason.
Let them! Go ahead, it's good entertainment! No one sees through me, no one suspects what, and who, really lies within me. I hide myself out in the open, never take my mask off even in the most intimate circumstances. I've long since ceased to harbor any personal ambition. I subordinate everything to a higher, purpose—the highest of all. I pursue my career completely according to that viewpoint. I am important to myself—but only as far as my key role in the struggle for the survival of mankind is concerned.
Preserve these words, my words, oh Diary. I am not presuming to be able to save the world or even the universe, but as for my people with all their many branches, yes indeed. And so I must make the attempt.
Just three or four days more.
I would not be human if I did not thirst, hunger, yearn for the final outcome. Outwardly I play the calm one, content with his existence as a minor figure. Inwardly, I tremble with excitement. I write in order not to scream. I make an effort to keep my discipline and a cool head, to keep myself focused, on course, reined in. To stay calm by repeatedly reminding myself that there is no reason for concern, that on the contrary I can be supremely confident. Time and its laws are on my side. The event on which everything, really everything,
depends, must and will occur. Inevitably, because it has already occurred—and first triggered the chain reaction of causality and gave the impetus for everything that followed.
Perhaps I am mistaken. Perhaps everything will instead be very different. Or exactly as planned—and still turn out to be a fatal error. We will see, and soon indeed.
Time, the future as well as the past, will show us.
6
Riddles and More Riddles
25/26 April 1321 NGE, Akon System
"Rhodanos! At last!"
The main control center of the PALENQUE was spacious, ten meters high and twenty in diameter. Even when all stations were fully occupied and a few additional crew members along with two of the special guests stood around, one normally never had the feeling of being limited in freedom of movement. Now, however, it was suddenly very cramped, even oppressively small, and for once the room seemed overcrowded.
A single individual was the cause. His mere presence pushed the others against the wall. No one would have used the word "slender" to describe the colossus who bent over to come through the doorway and then stood up to its full height of three and a half meters, all four powerful arms widely stretched out, and stamped towards Perry Rhodan.
"Welcome, Tolotos! The pleasure is entirely mine."
Staring from her elevated pilots' console platform just as breathlessly as the rest of the crew, Pearl Laneaux immediately had the impression that the two friends were heartily greeting each other after a long separation. Two who had experienced immeasurably much together, and who also held each other personally in the highest esteem. A brief embrace, a happy palm slapping, maybe even a comradely thump on the shoulder, at least a firm handshake would have been instinctively expected for this reunion.