Echoes of Esharam

by Robert Davies

  Rantara smiled and nodded, but no one noticed until she spoke.

  “She means you, Darrien.”

  Qural stopped abruptly, surprised at Rantara’s clear understanding of their problem.

  “Yes, Sergeant, I mean Darrien.”

  Norris felt the surge of adrenalin as he became the focal point at last.

  “I guess this was inevitable, but let’s hear it; what do you need from me?”

  “We want to borrow your mind,” Qural answered simply.

  “You want his memory functions,” Rantara countered abruptly. “That’s what all this was for; you need him to accept and then transfer the memories of the Saroqui from that library into this machine so our government officials will see—will feel—for themselves what it was like in the last moments of a dying race. When Darrien came back this time, it gave you the chance; as it was when Magistrate Ven saw what I did to Creel—when she felt those moments as I did. You’re going to frighten them so badly they won’t hesitate to move.”

  “Yes,” Qural replied. “It would take hundreds of us, and over the course of many months, to receive and hold so vast an amount of data for upload to the Transceptor; Darrien’s astonishing abilities will allow him to do the same in less than a day.”

  “Hold on, Qural,” Norris said suddenly. “Why can’t we hook the Transceptor up to the archive and let it store the memories automatically? That’s how the Merchants do it, right?”

  “I wish we could, believe me,” she replied. “If that was the case, we would not ask you to take part in the transfer, but our Transceptor does not work in that way. The machines are unique; some were built to this purpose, but most were not. We tried to do so long ago, but the organic element must be present for an upload or download to occur. Settis told of teams the Merchants organized to this purpose—one after the other, each transferring a small segment of memories and the process took many months. Obviously, we have neither the people nor enough time.”

  “The organic element?” Norris asked quickly.

  Kol moved close and said, “We don’t understand why our Transceptor’s creators built it in such a way, but memories must flow through their natural environment for it to function properly. Memories are not created within the machine’s architecture; it is not capable of generating synaptic processes as our brains do. It can find and copy those functions into a digital framework, but nothing more. Without a memory created or transferred by the mind of an organic being, the Transceptor is powerless and of no use.”

  Banen frowned and said, “Memories that are still in the hands of the Merchants, I presume?”

  “Yes.”

  “Which means,” Rantara continued, “you want Darrien to go out to this remote, Porseth planet and retrieve them.”

  Each knew what it meant. Those who perished long before would live again in the memories Norris would upload to the Transceptor. One day, they would be replayed for the highest officials of the Khorran and Anashi governments, forcing them to see the dreadful end of the Saroqui for themselves. But more than that, they would experience the emotional devastation and pain as their own; they would feel the agony of a lost people, knowing the same would happen to them all on the day the Namadi ships arrive.

  Norris sat silently, playing through in his mind scenes made only by his imagination, giving form to their words. Had Eru Toa not interfered years before, Norris would surely have been asked to do in the past what Qural required of him in the present. It was only delayed, he thought to himself; his purpose had always been that of an empty vessel into which memories of the dead would somehow protect the living. All he endured were little more than waypoints on a journey he had begun by an unplanned approach to the Flash Trap hiding in the dark near the Copernican Maze. But there, in the silence of an alien’s house, he would become something more than a lost human mariner in a strange land. He spoke to no one directly, but they all heard in his voice a strange and distant tone.

  “It was just a routine patrol,” he mumbled. “The people who owned those big oxygen tankers operating out in the Maze…they used to complain about raiders hitting their ships before they could jump from local systems, so we went there to have a look. It wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; just a few half-assed pirates who went after unarmed vessels, but…”

  Rantara took his arm gently in hers as the images from seventeen years before passed unhindered through his mind.

  “I went into the Plexus at the Bertrand Corridor, right on schedule; just wanted to see if I could pick up their engine signatures from inside, right? It was supposed to be a quick run into the thread to listen and duck back out again before anyone noticed. I told them to wait. When I woke up in the hospital station above New Hibernia, I couldn’t remember anything at all. There were no alarms or systems warnings—nothing in the ship’s auto-logs, either. The doctors had me in an isolation ward with the bed-wetters and hypochondriacs; they wouldn’t let me talk to anyone. Now I’m back—I’m here again. But I don’t know if…”

  They waited and listened, powerless to take from Norris the quiet torment of a fragmented life, now made worse by uncertainty and the fear of an unknown future they might not survive long enough to see. The weight of the moment bore down on him in the most profound and solemn way, but Rantara understood at last; the next step was so suddenly clear to her, and it was unavoidable. She spoke for them as she held Norris tightly and with a gentle voice they rarely heard.

  “What do you want us to do, Ambassador?”

  Qural knelt in front of Norris and Rantara, taking their hands in hers.

  “Before you are two distinct, but equally vital tasks,” she said, turning to the display behind her. “You will travel first to Esharam and the Merchants’ archive library so that Darrien can transfer the memories we will ultimately show to our leadership. Once they are safely within the Transceptor, we will conduct the briefing to our government officials and when they see at last what we face, it is our hope and belief they will begin to prepare.”

  “And then?” asked Banen.

  “Within the memories, Settis stumbled on a series of Namadi transmissions the Saroqui technicians managed to translate. That information was confusing, at first, but Settis pieced together the nature of these communications.”

  “What did he find?”

  “A series of encrypted bursts that finally revealed the location coordinates of a command and control facility. It is the most distant world from their inner planets and a station from which the Namadi send final, automatic navigational instructions to their bombardment fleets.”

  Rantara walked to where Qural stood near the display.

  “You found this place?”

  Tindas nodded and called up the image of a star system none of them recognized.

  “It took time to fix the exact location, but we now know they maintain a station on one of the atmospheric moons orbiting a planet in this system,” he said.

  Qural joined them.

  “The parent world itself is unremarkable—a gas giant of mostly hydrogen and some methane—but around it, more than a dozen small moons orbit at varying distances. We have identified on one of them a small complex Settis called Primus Station, which functions as a major command and control center. More importantly, he managed to uncover in the Merchants’ archives a series of identification codes that may provide access to its internal systems.”

  Rantara felt a tingle up her spine; the mysterious plan unfolding before them was turning quickly into a mission.

  Qural turned again to the display.

  “If we are successful in convincing our governments to act, an assault team will accompany you through four consecutive Hyperthread tunnels to assess the station’s defensive capability. If it is vulnerable, and we believe it is, you will attack and penetrate this facility. When it has been secured, you will gain access to its transmission array with codes Settis found. Once inside the internal systems, the final exit points for each wave of the bombardment fleets can
be found and copied.”

  “To what purpose, Ambassador?” Banen asked.

  “Early warning,” she replied simply. “The pulse transmission technology the Namadi use is not challenging and should be easily compromised. Because you have the advantage of Hyperthread technology for your journey, you will be able to transit to and from Primus Station in a fraction of the time it will take for their bombardment fleets to reach us. The information in their systems will be given to our respective military and government leaders and with it, a combined force of naval units will be positioned to intercept the Namadi ships at the moment they emerge from the Plexus and destroy them.”

  “Wait a second,” Norris said suddenly. “Why bother?”

  “I don’t understand the question, Darrien.”

  “Look; I’ve seen what your plasma weapons can do, so why not obliterate this station from orbit and be done with it? If they can’t direct their cloud ships, they’re useless, right?”

  “Unfortunately, the final course inputs have already been transmitted; the clouds have no need of further communication from the Namadi. We are simply going to use our speed advantage to find and copy the cloud exit points, then return to prepare a reception long before they break from the Plexus.

  Rantara looked at the display warily.

  “How are you going to do that? Even if we know exactly where and when these things are going to pop out of the Plexus, you would have to deploy every last ship in both our navies. Even then, we don’t have those kinds of numbers and neither do you; this is a stupid waste of time!”

  “We have no intention of recommending a ship-to-ship engagement, Sergeant,” said Tindas. “This will require a more effective method.”

  “What method?” Rantara asked, and they could hear the exasperation rising in her voice.

  “Our designers have been working on a project to develop a new generation of weapons system, Sergeant; one that is nearly ready for deployment as we speak. It is an area-denial device of extreme yield; the most powerful explosive mechanism in history. Even the most devastating fission devices of the past cannot match it and deploying copies of this design with proximity fuses at strategic points near the Plexus gates will solve the problem of meeting superior numbers.”

  Banen turned to Qural.

  “You know of this weapon?”

  “Yes, but not by way of the intrigue and spying activity you seem to suggest. It should not be a surprise, but our own designers have been involved in a parallel effort as well, and the existence of our research was known to Khorran Central Command. I do not know precisely how or why, but the information was already exposed.”

  Norris looked at Qural with narrowed eyes.

  “Both of you just happen to have this god-awful bomb at precisely the right moment to stop the Namadi clouds?”

  Tindas understood and said, “The weapon has been under development for some time, Darrien, and yes; both the Anash and Khorra Nu have been building them to destroy the other.”

  “We did not agree with this direction, Darrien,” Qural added, “but our respective leaders cannot restrain themselves from war and this device is simply the next step in an evolutionary process to develop new and improved weapons. However, we intend to deploy them to a much better purpose.”

  Norris shook his head and smiled sadly, “Assholes always keep pushing it and then somebody shows them a single bomb that can kill a million people in the blink of an eye. ‘Now I am become death—the destroyer of worlds.’ Whether it’s Earth back in 1945, or your war today—this shit never ends, does it?”

  “Darrien?” Qural said, confused by the strange words.

  “It’s not important,” he replied softly. “Any idea how many of these ships the Namadi are sending?” Norris asked.

  “If the attacks on neighboring civilizations are any indication, the vessel count would certainly be in the hundreds of thousands, if not millions. They arrive in groups so large, the ship movements were characterized by the Saroqui as ‘clouds,’ which should give you an idea of what we are facing.”

  “Millions? How big are these things?”

  “From what Doctor Kol found in the Searcher archives, most appear to be only four or five meters in length.”

  “They’re flying bombs?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “And you’re going to position these weapons of yours as a minefield, then sit back and watch as the Namadi ships blunder into them?” Norris asked.

  Tindas nodded.

  “We believe it is the only way to effectively halt this attack and prevent the horrors that destroyed the Saroqui from appearing here. The clouds disperse almost immediately, but if we are able to detonate high-yield matter weapons at the moment each cloud emerges, the ships within those clouds can be destroyed while still grouped. Outside a tunnel’s exit gate, the detonations will be more than enough to obliterate a cloud without causing damage to the Plexus threads themselves.”

  The plan was sound militarily, Norris knew, but even the most powerful weapon in history would be useless until it was positioned properly and that truth brought them to the final, most essential question, but Qural stood suddenly and nodded Tindas’ attention to where Kol and Haleth waited at the doorway to the inner lab; it was time for them to purge nitrogen from their system.

  “Let’s rest for a while,” he said. “After some refreshments, I’ll continue the briefing.”

  Norris understood at once, and he steered Rantara toward the ramp. Only days before, it would’ve been a mystery, but with his memories restored, the customary purge break was like an old friend and he smiled with images from seventeen years before, grateful and silent in that knowledge.

  AT THE MIDWAY point between midnight and dawn, the dedicated comm unit chirped to life, bathing the room in its pale, yellow light until she stirred at last and tapped at the controls to open the link.

  “Has something changed?” she asked instinctively.

  “I apologize for waking you at this hour,” he began, “but we have new information to discuss.”

  “What do you have?”

  “This matter with Rantara—her unfortunate encounter as a child.”

  “Yes?”

  “The Professor has arranged for your Magistrate to join them here, and for the purpose of seeing the memories so that Rantara’s name can be cleared.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I saw no issue with her family members traveling here, but this is different.”

  “That process is ancillary to ours; why are you suddenly concerned?”

  “They have exploited the opportunity so that her disposition can be concluded, and while it is none of my concern, Tindas managed to convince Tograz to accompany them and hold the ceremony in-person.”

  “I believe that was the Magistrate’s idea, but I take your meaning; it will be seen and questioned when our most senior military officer appears inside Anashi space without any warning.”

  “It would be one thing if he was merely stopping off as a courtesy on his way to a meeting with one of ours, but once this is finished, they must return directly to Belex.”

  “Has there been any sign of disappointment from your leadership?”

  “No, but we must consider a suitable cover story if they do voice concern.”

  “He can be difficult, but Tograz is a friend of the Ven family; I’m sure he’ll simply use that as an excuse if anyone from the outside asks.”

  “I hope you are right, but they are aboard Degrem’s flagship as we speak; there is no hope of intercepting them now.”

  “I understand why you’re worried about this, but remember, Rantara’s brother is with them and his notoriety from those events at a Revallan fuel depot years ago, and Tograz’ involvement to absolve the Major should provide sufficient cover. Anyone looking on will focus on them, rather than the underlying reasons and Rantara’s part in it.”

  “We have little choice, at this point, but you may be right. We will see soon enou
gh, but I have your assurance they will remain in Anashi space only long enough to complete these two tasks on Rantara’s behalf?”

  “I guarantee it.”

  “That is good enough for me. Again, I apologize for interrupting you at so late an hour.”

  “You needn’t apologize, my friend.”

  “Thank you, and now back to bed; we will speak again soon.”

  “Good night.”

  AFTER A BREAK, and Rantara’s growing interest in Anashi pastries, they returned to the lower chamber and settled near the Transceptor. Norris waited as patiently as he could, pressed into service as Rantara’s teacup holder while she finished off what looked to him to be an oversized éclair. At last, the Professor took up position beside the holo-display emitters and the murmur disappeared.

  “We still have to get these memories from the Merchants so you’ll have what you need to scare the hell out of your politicians, right?”

  “Correct,” Tindas replied.

  “Who’s coming with us to Esharam?”

  Qural went to him. “You will have to carry out the first phase on your own, Darrien; we cannot ask for support from our governments until they see and understand the true nature of the threat.”

  Norris smirked and said, “I can’t imagine these Merchants are going to give us all those memories for free, are they? Have you arranged to pay Toa off before we get there?”

  “You misunderstand, Darrien,” Tindas replied. “The Merchants—especially Eru Toa—wouldn’t dream of allowing you access to their library at any price; the memories will have to be taken by force.”

  Norris looked at Kol and Haleth where they waited in silence near the doorway to the lab.

  “No offense intended, Professor, but I don’t think a handful of Searchers would put up much of a fight.”

  Kol answered for Tindas.

  “The Merchants on Esharam are few in number, Darrien and you are correct; they would not, as you say, put up much of a fight. Unfortunately, they are not alone; the archive facility is guarded by a small detachment of Kez’Erel mercenary soldiers under Toa’s command. He keeps them to discourage curious Porseth technicians, for the most part, but also any other intruders who could reveal the facility’s location.”