by Sean O'Brien
“All right, give it to me. The revelation.”
“I have a memdisk the gods gave me with the data on it, but before I send it, I need your help. I came to you so that you might point me in the proper direction to investigate this data. I did not know where to go, and although your area of specialty is the sea, I thought that you might know of a reputable and open-minded person who could conduct an excavation on land. Discreetly.”
“What are you talking about?” Sirra spread her hands helplessly in front of her. “Excavation?”
“You will understand when you see the contents of the disk. Are you ready to receive?”
Sirra’s expression of annoyed puzzlement intensified, but something in Iede’s manner made her curious. Her ha’lyaunt had never been forceful or focused on mundane affairs to this degree—Sirra’s memory of her was that she had always seemed in a slight daze, as if she were in the grip of a narcotic. Iede was still gentle, soft, and mystical, but now had an added aura of purpose to her Sirra had not seen before. Against her better judgment, Sirra nodded and gave the appropriate instructions to her computer to record the data in Iede’s memdisk. “Go ahead,” Sirra said faintly, and she saw the panel indicator acknowledge the transmission and begin recording.
Half a minute later, the transfer was complete, and Iede’s smile, which had remained faint on her placid face, intensified slightly. “Review this revelation carefully, Sirra, and please contact me when you have an idea for someone who could lead the expedition.” And Iede’s image winked out, leaving Sirra with an odd feeling of dread as she considered the contents of the transmission.
In twenty minutes, Sirra knew the data, if authentic, would overshadow even the discovery of the vix thirty-six years ago. She spent two more hours examining the contents carefully, looking for any alternate explanation for what she had seen. She could imagine no other. The formation was far too symmetrical and orderly to be merely the product of water and wind erosion on ordinary rock. There were but two possibilities, both almost equally shocking.
If the data was authentic, there seemed no other explanation but that a civilization had existed on land on Epsilon Eridani III some eight thousand years ago. If the data was a carefully designed forgery, then someone had gone to an incredible amount of trouble for…what? Could this all be merely a hoax designed to embarrass whomever was taken in by it? If that was so, was Iede in on the ploy? Sirra could not believe that. Iede was many things, but a prankster was not one of them. Therefore, Iede must have been taken in as well. Who would want to deceive someone like Iede—Iede, who had deceived herself with her ‘religion’ so well?
The thought struck her that Iede was not the target of the hoax—Sirra herself was; Iede was only being used as the conduit. But the question then remained, why would someone go through such an elaborate hoax just to embarrass Sirra if she chose to reveal the findings to the scientific community?
Sirra could think of no reason, but she could not shake the nagging feeling that someone was watching her, baiting her, tempting her to go public with the data and ruin whatever standing she had among her colleagues. She could imagine the derision when scholars all over the planet descended on the supposed site of the ruins to find nothing but chlorinated lichen and ordinary rock. Whatever clout she had wielded would be lost to her—she could forget about trying to buck the Coordinator’s ban on vix research.
But if the data were authentic, she could hardly conceive of the sheer import of the discovery. Could she ignore what Iede brought to her merely because of the risk of professional embarrassment? But how could she ask other scientists to drop their work to pursue this if it turned out to be a false lead?
There was only one option. She would have to go herself. She was no archaeologist, but surely she could visit the site and learn if Iede’s data represented a real find or a hoax. And by going alone, she did not risk embarrassment should it turn out to be nothing.
She opened her mouth to tell her house computer to call Iede, but heard herself say, “Call Doctor Khadre Seelith.” She sat back, surprised at herself, as her computer completed the call. Then she leaned forward defiantly. Why shouldn’t Khadre be in on this? And for that matter, why not Fozzoli, too?
It took little convincing to secure Khadre’s participation (“You don’t think I’ll hold you back?” was the aged scientist’s most serious objection, and Sirra had dismissed it with a wave of her hand) but Fozzoli was another matter.
“We’ll need surveying equipment, which we don’t have,” he was saying over an hour into the discussion, “and none of us has the first domed clue how to run the sorts of tests that’ll make the trip worthwhile.”
“Foz, you’re not understanding the point of this trip,” Sirra said. She could sense his resolve against the trip weakening. “We’re not going to make a detailed survey, we’re going to see if there is anything to see. I’m sure we can do that much. If there is something, we’ll come back and announce our findings. If not, well, no one’s to know we went at all.”
“And if there is something, then what? We announce that the gods told us about this place?”
Despite herself, Sirra found herself defending her halfonlyaunt. “Why not? It’s the truth, or nearly. What does it matter how we came by the knowledge, anyway? If there is evidence of a pre-colony civilization here, that will shatter the entire field of epsilology.”
Another half hour and Fozzoli was convinced. She had smiled at his final comment before he switched off: “I wasn’t really that opposed to the idea until I discovered how much you wanted to go. Then I had to fight you.”
Sirra sighed when Fozzoli’s image blinked out. Only one call left to make.
“I’ve found you some scientists, Iede.”
Sirra was the first to meet Iede at the departure location two days later. The four “conspirators” (as Fozzoli had persisted in calling the quartet) had agreed to meet well outside the outskirts of the city in an inconspicuous area that Iede had frequently used as a gathering point for her religious meetings. Iede liked the spot—to the north, the direction the expedition would be heading, was a vast flat plateau that most Epsilologists agreed was a dry salt lake. The area commanded the plain in such a way that Iede had frequently imagined thousands of followers standing on the dry lake, looking up at the crude pulpit some of the rocks created. Now, of course, the lake was empty, save for Sirra approaching on her landsail. She had told Iede that she had relegated most of the task of assembling the necessary survey materials to Fozzoli, who had grumbled at the impossibility of stuffing all the tools he wanted to bring into the tiny compartment on Iede’s airfoil. In the limited contact Iede had had with the man, she had liked him, even with his complaining.
Sirra navigated the landsail to a stop near Iede’s outcropping and walked the short distance up the crags. She carried only a small knapsack, which she unceremoniously unslung and dumped on the ground a few meters before Iede.
Iede stood next to the airfoil. She had chosen her vestal gown for the trip and indeed had brought no changes of clothing.
Sirra glanced pointedly at Iede’s head. “Still keeping the baldness, eh?”
“As the gods command,” Iede responded calmly, looking into the distance.
Sirra started at her head for a moment longer, then snorted. Iede made no comment.
“So, three days?”
Iede’s voice was even as she replied, “At the recommended speed for this airfoil, the journey to the ruins will take three days, yes.”
“Better find something to talk about, then, hadn’t we?”
“If you wish. I am content to remain silent.”
“Does that mean you don’t have anything to say to me?”
Iede turned to look at Sirra. Her ha’lyneice was grinning, but there was no mirth in her eyes. “You do not approve of me,” Iede said simply. “As you would have it, I have wasted not only my own life but the lives of countless followers who worship a dream, a fantasy, a—”
�
��No, no, no—not a dream. I’m aware that there is a ship up there somewhere—” Sirra gestured vaguely with her hands “—and I know what it was. It was the ship that carried us here about seventy years ago, or what’s left of it. But that’s all it is. It’s empty. About thirty years ago, I think, we sent up a ship, at great expense, to investigate. There was nothing. No radiation, no openings, no response to communication attempts. The only reason we haven’t gone up there to scrap it completely is that anything of value has already been shuttled down ages ago.”
“And why do you believe that?”
Sirra blinked at the question. “Why? Because it’s true.”
Iede softened her voice to a near whisper. “How do you know? Have you been up there? You are a scientist, Sirra, and I would have thought, an empiricist. Do you have firsthand knowledge of conditions inside Ship?”
Sirra did not answer immediately, and when she did, her voice had lowered as well. “No, I don’t. I also don’t have firsthand knowledge about the interior of this planet, but I can deduce what must be there from surface features. Much of science is not empirical observational data but a chain of reasoning, of deduction, from observable features.”
“And if I claim observational data that disproves a deduction, what then? If I were to go to the interior of this planet and find not molten rock but, let us say, a little old man squatting on a toadstool, what then? Do you still hang on to your deductions in the face of observations to the contrary?”
“When such observations are unreliable, of course,” Sirra answered, her eyes locked on Iede’s.
“And you believe that mine are unreliable? The product of a deranged mind?” Iede had not raised her voice during the conversation and did not now. She did not blink as her eyes absorbed her ha’lyneice’s gaze and turned it back.
After a breathless interval, Sirra said, “Deranged? No. But I don’t know that your observations weren’t a vision, a dream, or a hallucination. Can you honestly say that there is no chance that all of your experience wasn’t a product of an overactive imagination?”
“Perhaps it was. In that same vein, can you absolutely confirm that you are not now experiencing a dream?”
“I hate philosophy,” Sirra muttered. She raised her voice again. “Of course not,” she said. Her voice softened and she shifted her weight a bit. Her posture became less confrontational and more sisterly. “But, look, Iede—can’t you see that this ‘experience’ of yours is exactly what you have been wishing for for years? Doesn’t that make you doubt it just a little bit?”
“If you are saying that I have deluded myself into seeing exactly what I want to see from my gods, I concede that such a phenomenon is possible. But I have not created the topological data, have I? From where did this data that our expedition will examine come?”
Sirra gave up. “That’s why I’m here. To see if there is anything to this.”
“And if not? If somehow you are right and this is all a product of my fancy?”
“I don’t what to hurt you, Iede. I don’t like you, and I don’t like your religion, but I won’t take you to anyone for treatment if this all turns out to be a hoax.” Iede could hear the pain in Sirra’s voice.
“And if it is real?”
Sirra didn’t answer. The silence stretched out for several seconds until a sound startled both of them.
“Hey! I could use a hand with some of this stuff!” Fozzoli called out from his small single-occupancy scooter, onto which he had stuffed an impressive array of scientific gear. He brought his scooter alongside the airfoil and powered down. He looked at the two women quizzically. “What’s going on? We still going?”
“Of course,” Sirra said, moving rapidly away from Iede to help him unpack. Iede observed where to move different items, then also assisted.
When the gear was stowed into the airfoil, Fozzoli turned to Iede and said, “We’ve met, but only on holo. I’m Abromo Fozzoli, but everyone calls me Foz. Well, not everyone, but your ha’lyneice does,” he stopped and paled slightly. He opened his mouth to say something else, closed it, then opened it again. “So, er, is there anything else to do, or…?” he trailed off, his eyes darting quickly to Sirra, then to the airfoil, with an affected air of examination.
“Dr. Fozzoli. I’m very glad to meet you in person,” Iede said softly. She could see that her words did not have the calming effect she had hoped. Fozzolijumped when she approached him and laid a hand on his arm. “My ha’lyneice has told me a little about you—not much, though. I gather that she has represented me to you as well.”
Fozzoli had the grace to look embarrassed. “Well, not a lot. Just, well, a few things.”
“I hope you can form your own impressions in the next three days.”
Fozzoli squinted at her. “So you’ve really been up there?” he said suddenly.
“I have.”
“What’s it like?”
Now Sirra interrupted. “Dr. Seelith is here.”
Fozzoli and Iede turned to see Khadre’s one-person transport (an enclosed model, unlike Fozzoli’s open-air scooter) approach from the south. The craft sighed to a stop close to the airfoil and unfolded elegantly. Khadre climbed out of the pilot’s saddle and stretched luxuriously. “Hello, everyone. Am I late? The trip took longer than I had expected,” Iede knew Khadre, of course, revering her only slightly less than her gods. The woman was wrinkled, but sturdy—her face carried implacable strength behind considerable age.
“Dr. Seelith. I am honored you agreed to come with us,” Iede said, beginning a genuflection then thinking better of it.
“Iede, how are you?” Khadre asked, sincerity evident in her voice. “You are looking well.”
“I am well.”
Khadre’s absent gaze drifted past Iede to Sirra and Fozzoli. “Hello, Doctors.”
Fozzoli smiled and thrust out his hand. “Dr. Seelith, it’s an honor. I’ve read everything you’ve published about the vix. Brilliant stuff.”
“Thank you.” Khadre acknowledged the complement gracefully, then turned her attention to Sirra. “Dr. Geniker?”
Sirra smiled. “I haven’t used that name in years. It’s just Sirra. How are you, Khadre?”
“As well as could be expected. I’m still fighting against the dying of the light, so far.”
“Rage,” Iede said suddenly. The others turned to look at her. “I’m sorry, Dr. Seelith, but the quote is ‘rage against the dying of the light.’”
Khadre’s lower lip thrust outward. “Hm. Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.” She turned toward Sirra again. “Are we ready to go?”
“Ask Iede. This is her expedition.”
Khadre turned back toward her. “Are we?”
“I’d like to say a brief invocation before we depart,” Iede said. She saw Sirra’s eyes roll skyward but pressed on nonetheless. “If you would all please raise your eyes to the skies and repeat after me,” she said, lifting her arms up. She paused briefly and intoned, “Those who watch over us protect and guide this holy endeavor.” She paused to allow the others to repeat her words. They did not. Iede continued regardless. “We go at Your bidding to fulfill Your will. May Ship continue its great circle forever and ever.” She lowered her arms and opened her eyes. The others had not repeated her words, nor, Iede suspected, had they even looked upwards. Remaining genial, she said, “If you’d like to take your seats, we may begin now.”
The journey to the ruins was uneventful, if one discounted Sirra’s occasional outbursts at Iede’s explanations of her religion. Fozzoli’s questions seemed, to Iede, to be devoid of spite and sarcasm—when he asked her about some of her doctrines, he did not seem to be trying to trap her in an inconsistency. Khadre did not comment on the discussions, and Iede did not dare appeal to her for an opinion.
Only once did Sirra’s temper flare so badly that Iede seriously considered abandoning the project and finding new companions. On the evening of their second day out, Fozzoli resumed his questions about planet-bound life under
the guidelines laid down in Costellan’s verses.
“So you verify that your interpretation of the verses is correct through meditation and prayer?” he had asked quietly. Khadre and Sirra were sleeping the rear of the airfoil.
“Mostly, though we do use textual analysis and scholarly research. For example, we check the passage in question against the other verses He has written to find inconsistencies. If the interpretation matches other established verses, we consider it valid.”
“But those original verses—how did you interpret them properly if you had nothing to base your decisions on?” Fozzoli’s question, like all his others, seemed to Iede to be a genuine attempt to comprehend her religion.
“Some of the verses were quite simple to interpret. We consider those the ‘base’ verses, if you will. For example, here’s one of the most basic tenets we have. It’s from Costellan’s Verse 223. ‘Consider the sun/While it shines upon your head/You will always have life.’” She smiled at Fozzoli.
“That’s a simple one?”
“Of course. The sun isn’t Epsilon Eridani III, of course—it’s the Ship itself. As long as it is there, we are safe and protected.”
Fozzoli frowned. “I don’t know. It seems to me that that verse admits to several meanings. How can you be sure that that one is correct?”
“As I said, we pray and meditate as well. No one has ever proposed an alternate meaning for that verse. It is one of our most basic beliefs.”
“Pardon me for sounding rude, Iede, but how do you know that’s not an example of credo consolans?”
“Of what?”
“A belief you cling to because it is comforting. It’s very comforting to believe that Ship is watching over us, protecting us, ready to intervene to stop tragedy from….” He stopped. His eyes widened. “Of course! I see what you’re saying!” Iede smiled and nodded as he continued, “You were saved by Ship those thirty some-odd years ago, weren’t you? When the Dome flyer malfunctioned and flew away! And so was—” he began to turn in his seat to find Sirra’s eyes watching him.
When Sirra spoke, her bitterness was almost palpable. “Yes, Foz. Everyone in this airfoil except yourself was saved by ship’s actions that day. But not all aboard the vessel lived. Viktur Ljarbazz died. Ship didn’t save him, did it, Iede?”