“You have any plans for when that might happen?” asked Heather.
“Probably after I’m dead. I haven’t come up with a scenario that would convince me to do it while I’m alive. I’ll have to someday pass them on to someone I trust—the idea being either that person would decide when the time is right or would, in turn, pass them on to someone else. I figured the journals would be a sign that I've been here, like giving children names from Earth. Of course, then there’s a chance that someday humans on Anyar would find out they aren’t the only humans in the universe.”
“That’s assuming anyone who reads the journals doesn’t think Yozef Kolsko was actually an insane genius who knew all the science,” said Heather.
Yozef shrugged. “Even so, it would be in the record for a day when contact happened, whether a hundred, a thousand, or ten thousand years from now.”
He held up a hand. “Back to the journals, though. I’d like both of you to contribute, but it’s voluntary. For you, Mark, you know areas of science, math, and particularly engineering better than I do. Your work must have used applied mathematics in ways I’m ignorant of.
“Heather, you know music history theory. I can’t say how important that might be in the future, but that’s worth writing down. Then both of you have your own stories to tell, and you know things about Earth’s history, cultures, and whatever that I don’t. Anyway . . . we’ve no rush, so think about it. We can arrange for you to have access to a place to write. That’s the one thing I will insist on—that if you do contribute to the journals, you’ll have to satisfy me on their security.”
They had talked while moving between buildings and stopped outside the administration structure. Now they let the topic drop as they entered the main door.
Another sixday passed before Yozef felt confident enough to divulge another secret, but only to Mark. It had been a test of willpower. He’d come down, moderately, from the high he’d experienced from meeting two more survivors of United Flight 4382. Despite so many development paths now being opened, there was one item Yozef had yet to introduce to Mark. Would Mark have any new ideas on what to make of Flagorn Eggs? Yozef figured he’d been patient enough, allowing the new people to settle into new quarters and experience the ambiance of Orosz City.
Yozef sent word for Mark to meet with him at the main gate to Orosz City one morning at ten bells. He waited inside the walls, thirty yards from the gate, talking with Synton Ethlore and Toowin Kales. The threesome was the object of stares and waves from passersby, but the citizens of Orosz City were accustomed to seeing the Paramount and refrained from interrupting his conversation. For the first months after his elevation, Yozef had found it challenging to be in public. The constant stream of well-wishers, citizens assuring him of their support, people asking him for favors or to solve a problem, and simple greetings that he felt required a response made it nearly impossible to be on foot within the city walls. When word spread that he was reluctant to walk in public, the citizens’ behavior changed to no direct contact unless initiated by the Paramount.
Yozef saw Synton tense, and his eyes focus to Yozef’s rear. Yozef knew what to expect when a hand touched his back.
“Good day, Paramount, or whatever you’re called. Slay any monsters so far today? Turn back an entire Narthani army with one hand? HAH!”
Yurstin Yarley was somewhere in his sixth or seventh decade . . . no one knew for sure, including Yarley. He was a fixture at Orosz City’s gate, talking to people, panhandling, and espousing into the air on any topic. Yozef would have thought he suffered from early dementia, except that no one could remember him ever acting any different. One of Yarley’s favorite topics was making light of the Paramount title and Yozef Kolsko’s status among the Caedelli. Efforts to discourage him from bothering the Paramount ended when Yozef let it be known he didn’t care. As seemed to be inevitable, and to Yozef’s usual chagrin, his tolerance was taken as yet another sign he was a Septarsh—someone of kind and generous spirit.
This morning, Yozef was rescued from Yarley by Mark walking around a corner a hundred yards away. Yozef hurried to meet him halfway, thereby moving out of Yarley’s immediate target range. A quick handshake ensued, and Yozef waved for them to walk toward the city gate—he wanted to pass Yarley while the man was engaged with another passerby.
“Okay, where’s this secret whatever you hinted at yesterday?” asked Mark.
“About a twenty-minute walk from here. It’s in one of the workshops where I do some special projects. Also, I meant to ask if the cottage is okay for now.”
“It’s fine. Maybe not as luxurious as the villa in Preddi City, but either one of the places is better than other places I’ve lived since being dumped here by the aliens.”
“I haven’t asked,” said Yozef, “but I suspect none of them were like where you lived back on Earth.”
“No. The last place we lived in cost a million five. Not that I spent a lot of time there, what with traveling for work. Even when I was home, I hung out in the basement, which I’d turned into an extensive man cave. Jocelyn and I were pretty much living separate lives by that time.”
Yozef waved to acknowledge cheers from two wagons of day workers going to Orosz City. A thin cloud of dust hung over the main route until they turned toward the complex of buildings of the burgeoning island administrative district. Without conscious volition, Yozef had guided them to the upwind side of the street, so they were spared most of the dust. The streets of the main part of Orosz City were cobblestone, but the streets of the expansion outside the old walls remained unpaved. Hetman Orosz had argued to wait until the new constructions were fixed in place before paving.
“I admit I’m curious,” said Yozef. “My impression is that what happened to us wasn’t as traumatic for you as for me. Ah . . . sorry—” Yozef hastened to add. “I guess I don’t have any reason to compare experiences. For me . . . months . . . maybe six months passed before I came out of my funk and started making the best I could of where I was.”
“Well . . . I guess I was definitely scared,” said Mark, “but at the same time, I also had a sense of excitement about starting over, which maybe doesn’t make sense. I must’ve hated my old life even more than I realized. In a way, that helped me get over the jolt.”
Neither man spoke for several minutes, both deep into remembering their previous lives and their first months on Anyar. Yozef broke the silence as they passed the main administration building.
“It’s only a little bit farther past where a number of projects are ongoing—the ones you’ve already visited. Nothing explosive this close to the city administration buildings, but close enough to where I spend too much of my time. That way I can pop into my personal workshop whenever possible. Today I’ll show you something I’ve wanted to share since I first got the message about people claiming to be from Amerika.”
“I take it that it’s supposed to be a surprise. Pardon me if I’m wondering what can surprise me after everything that’s happened.”
Yozef grinned. “Oh, I think the surprise will surprise you.”
Mark grunted. Seven minutes later, Yozef led Mark to a one-story stone building with a heavy wooden door reinforced with metal bands.
Mark raised an eyebrow. “This where you hide the crown jewels?”
Yozef shrugged. “Actually . . . things that are extremely valuable. Maybe only to you and me . . . and maybe Heather. For one thing, here is where I keep those journals.”
Yozef pulled out a metal key, inserted it into the lock built into the door, and turned the key. A noticeable clunk sounded, and he pushed the door open.
“Probably not necessary. The cities here are pretty safe. Oh, we have robberies and occasional assaults, but people here are pretty proactive. Not much of the ‘I don’t want to get involved’ or ‘It’s someone else’s problem’ attitude on Caedellium. How about elsewhere on Anyar where you’ve been?”
“Well, Frangel is about all I know of. Where I first found myself was nea
r a town called Tregallon. I guess I didn’t have much chance to learn about civic attitudes. Then again, maybe I was so wrapped up in myself and thinking about innovations that I didn’t notice. Well . . . except for the guilds. In a sense, they’re cartels and pretty ruthless. Caedellium is small enough that I suspect the people have a better connection to whoever governs them than in Frangel, which is so much larger.
“As for other nations, I’ve obviously traveled a lot more than you, Yozef, but we weren’t exactly tourists. We had to keep moving and not be noticed as much as possible.”
They entered the structure while talking. Mark saw a single room about fifty feet square with no windows, but enough light came through the still open door to let Mark see bench tops and shelving covered by an array of tools, small containers, and objects whose purpose Mark did not immediately recognize.
“I’ll let more light in,” said Yozef, going to a wall and pulling on a rope. Light flooded the room from above as a sliding panel uncovered a skylight made of sixteen one-foot panes. Yozef closed the door and locked it. As he moved to uncover a second skylight, Mark could better see the rope-and-pulley system.
“Having no windows may not be necessary,” said Yozef, “but I’m resigned to what goes on in here being a secret. It makes the place a bit of a mystery, but I decided I’d just as soon not have to answer questions about anything someone does see. That way, I don’t have to remember what I told them.
“The room has two more skylights, but these two are giving enough light for what I want to show you. Over here.”
Resting on a one-foot-tall, two-foot diameter rock pedestal was a four-foot-tall ovoid object shaped like a slender egg, thicker end down. It was held erect by six wooden braces contacting the object about a quarter of the way from the base. The object’s surface appeared smooth like polished marble. The color at first appeared dark blue, but as they walked closer, the tone seemed to shift to blue-gray.
“What’s this?” asked Mark. “Some kind of artwork? “
“The islanders call them Flagorn Eggs. Supposedly named after a story descended from an earlier civilization and told to children in the northern clans. The legends describe ancient gods that people no longer believe in, and the tales mention creatures that laid giant eggs.
“There are more of these scattered around Caedellium. I’ve seen two others. Both were embedded vertically in solid rock, with the smaller end pointing up. This one was sent to me. I’m told they chipped it out of rock.”
“A natural crystal of some kind?” asked Mark as he ran a hand over its surface. He frowned. “Feels a little warm. More so than the room. Did you have the skylight open earlier? No . . . wait. Not today. It’s pretty much a solid cloud cover.”
“I haven’t been in this room for almost a sixday. Always seems like I have too much to do. The warmth you feel is constant, no matter the weather. The building is not heated, and should you come here on one of the rare freezing days for Orosz City, the object will feel exactly the same.”
The implications struck Mark, and he sucked in a sudden deep breath.
“Artificial!? You’re saying this is an artifact? Of what? From whom? The aliens that dumped us here?”
Yozef shook his head. “That’s one obvious suspicion, but I don’t know. You can test it out later, but if you sprinkle some dust on the surface, it just slides off as if the surface were greased.
“But if, as you claim, the temperature stays the same no matter the ambiance, then it must have an energy source.”
“I’ve had this one here for about six months, through several seasons, and my touch tells me it hasn’t changed temperature. I even submerged it in water and then recorded the water’s temperature using some crude thermometers. No matter the initial temperature of the water, it rises or falls to the same reading and stays there.”
“Assuming what you’re telling me is true about the temperature, I’ll want to check it for myself. This implies a product of technology beyond humans.”
“Well . . . at least a piece of technology beyond us,” said Yozef.
“Any idea what it’s made of?”
“I can tell you it’s heavy as hell, and when you tap it with a hammer, it rings like solid metal.”
Mark tugged at his beard. “We could measure its density by putting it in a container floating on water and then measuring the displacement as the container sags.”
“That’s something to think about,” said Yozef, “but it would take a sturdy boat of some kind. We’d have to take it out of here. Maybe down to the river.”
“Did you try and scrape or chip a piece off? I can’t find any seams.” Mark had been running both hands over the surface while he spoke.
“I was originally told that efforts to break off pieces always failed. The men who chipped this one out of rock were amazed that they didn’t even scratch the surface when using iron tools. One of the men admitted they deliberately tried to score the surface. As you can see, to no effect. I’ve done a little hacking to confirm the stories and got nowhere. I thought about eventually trying to drill into it, but I don’t know if anything we have would work. Plus, I’m hesitant to do anything to cause damage in case it really is some alien technology.”
Mark stepped away from the Flagorn Egg and scratched his head. “So . . . you don’t have any data on this thing’s structure?”
“Other than weird as shit, it almost has to be artificial, weighs a ton or more, and the rumors assigned to it?” answered Yozef. “Then no. I’ve technically borrowed this one from the Selfcell Clan, but I’ve no indication they care if it’s returned. I had it brought to study, but with everything else going on and no bright ideas occurring to me after some elementary analysis, it’s just been sitting here.”
“You mind if I give it a try?”
“Feel free, but check with me if you want to try and break in. I have my doubts about any success, but it’d be nice to at least find out something. I’ll have another set of keys made for the locks. Also, anything we’re doing in here is still to be kept secret. I’m afraid you’ll have to do any direct work only by yourself, but shops will make anything you want. Just be specific when instructing the workers because they won’t know the purpose of whatever they’re making.”
“You really think that’s necessary? Everyone knows about the eggs.”
“Yeah, but they either think there’s something mystical about them, or they’re a natural rock of some kind. If you ended up opening one, it might be obvious the eggs are not natural and might trigger questions about both the origin and how we might have suspected that. Also, we can’t rule out they’re a device, and it becomes activated to do something.”
“What? Like a bomb or something? Maybe it would send out a call for aliens to come and take us home.”
“Maybe return to eliminate us for coming together or to destroy the planet. Okay . . . so that’s a bit of catastrophizing, but that’s just it. We don’t know. Hell, it could be a can opener.”
“But you say there are more of these than this one? So, if we did try to break in and something went wrong, more are available.”
“From what I’ve learned, there are at least eight more on the island and maybe more that haven’t been located. This one is from Selfcell Province. I promised the Selfcell hetman I’d return the egg once I finished studying it. I suppose I can placate him, but if we were to try invasive methods, I’d want to either get his approval or confirm another province would give up an egg.”
Mark took two steps back from the object. “You know, I wonder if these things are not restricted to Caedellium. Back in Frangel, a man named Ulwyn told me of a strange object that was smooth as glass, roughly egg-shaped, and sat partially inside rock. I’d forgotten about them. They were supposed to be rare and were called . . . uh . . . what was it? Yeah . . . Markot’s Tears after a pagan god named Markot. We were traveling, and Ulwyn was casually interested in a small diversion to see one of them. I was in a hurry to get to our destination
. I told him maybe on the way back, but then I forgot until just now.”
Mark looked to Yozef. “Have you heard any noises coming from it?”
“Noises? No, and believe me, not only have I put my ear to it, but from a local medicant I borrowed one of the stethoscopes I introduced. A couple of times, I tried to convince myself I heard a low hum, but it wasn’t reproducible enough to be sure.”
Mark moved back to put a hand on top of the egg. “Doesn’t prove anything, but Ulwyn told me there were stories of people hearing noises from them. Also, something about no critter wanting to touch them. He mentioned birds, murvors, animals, and insects.”
“That we can check,” said Yozef, his voice lively with enthusiasm. “I’ll get someone to gather a selection, and we’ll test it out.”
“That’ll be interesting,” said Mark, “but it doesn’t tell us anything about what this is or does, if anything. If there are others of these, then I’d be inclined to be aggressive in studying it, such as drilling in, as we discussed. The problem is that I suspect it would take a serious drill . . . one not likely available.”
“You’re the engineer. How would you go about it?”
Mark sighed. “That’s the problem. Oh . . . I suspect we could rig up a better drill than you have currently available, but it’s likely going to take developing more powerful drills with much better bits. For the latter, carbon-steel bits might be worth trying, but better is high-speed steel, carbide, or cobalt steel. It’s similar to the problem with many possible developments such as steam power. Both the drill and the bits will require developing machine tools. You know how it goes. It’s the same as with your chemistry. You described the infrastructure restrictions. To make one chemical, you need several others, each of which requires other chemicals, which, in turn, need more, on and on.”
A Dubious Peace Page 23