“Why haven’t we seen other remains around the galaxy, Speaker?” Sol wondered.
“It’s a big galaxy.” Connie shrugged, distracted by the image of Sellers’ frigid eyes mocking her. “We can only speculate of course, though the answer may lie somewhere in the artifact’s banks. It’s my opinion that the aliens were a warlike species—something like ours, only much more advanced. That’s why we’ve got to be so very careful with this. What if the artifact falls into the wrong hands, say, Sellers‘?”
Sol found the concept frightening.
“But that alien war must have been like nothing we can imagine. I think they turned themselves into gods in the classical ancient Earth sense. Vain, petty, drugged on the power they wielded. When they grew angry—even over some perceived slight—they sought to destroy each other until only one was left. His final days must have been miserable ... the last of his kind. So tell me, is humanity any stronger, any better adapted to the wielding of power? Is that what we’ve seen in the lounge aboard Boaz?”
Sol’s expression reflected confusion. “But how would you track down all of mankind? Even today, we don’t know half the locations of the independent stations. Humanity is spread so far and wide.”
“Like your conversation with Jordan that night,” Constance told him neutrally. “The problem lies with the artifact—the alien ship. No doubt the aliens had the same tactical problems. They found a way to circumvent that. We have only a limited comprehension of how the ship works. I would imagine that the more advanced functions go considerably beyond what we have learned—and what we have learned is sobering enough.”
“Pretty powerful, huh?” Sol asked, ill at ease with her behavior.
“You will now see, Captain.” Archon’s soft voice drifted down from above.
Metal clanged dully against metal. Archon came sliding down from the bridge.
“How do you know we won’t be followed?” Sol wondered as he got to his feet. “I imagine every sensor in space saw us leave Boaz.”
Archon walked to the hatch. “Your Master Kraal provided us with a device. It masks the shuttle’s signal to sensors. It was off when I entered Boaz. It was on when we left. Happy confirmed that we left no signal as we departed. I don’t know how it works—but it keeps us hidden. Another little gizmo will show this shuttle landing at my residence on the planet’s surface in a few hours. Crafty little tricks . . . and absolute necessity with Arpeggians on my planet.”
Archon checked the gauges before undogging the hatch. He swung it open and beckoned. “This is it, Sol. Now, you’ll see what so many have died for.”
Sol nerved himself and walked stiff-backed into a regulation air lock. A grayish compartment lay ahead. He stepped down into a large open room devoid of any ornamentation. Featureless gray met his eyes. Connie stepped down beside him, sniffing the musty air. The place didn’t really have an odor, just an ominous heaviness that ate at the nerves.
“This way.” Archon walked past him, and right through a solid gray wall!
Sol stopped. He reached out tentative fingers and gasped as they sank through the opaque gray. He drew his fingers back and stared numbly at the flesh.
“Your eyes didn’t deceive you,” Connie reassured him nervously. “Go ahead . . . just step through.”
Sol nodded absently and put one foot forward before he shuddered and pulled his body through what seemed to be metal, surprised to feel no sensation as he stepped into another room.
“According to quantum mechanics, matter is mostly space. What we deal with in the ‘real’ world is basically an electron cloud or net. That provides us the illusion of solidity. I’ve checked that bulkhead. It’s a sheet of some metal alloy woven from molecular strings. While it’s structurally sound, it doesn’t impede motion. Here, quantum mechanics are quite different. I cannot explain the reason why.”
“How did you find that?” Sol gasped as Constance ghosted through behind him. Archon’s face dropped. He muttered, “I leaned against it while drinking a cup of coffee. It was not exactly auspicious since I tumbled at the feet of the alien’s body. I’m heartily glad he’d been dead for several billion years. It would have been a most undignified first contact.”
Sol stopped and gaped. Archon pointed to a round metal shaft rising from the floor.
“He was sitting on this. Apparently his command chair. After I touched his body, it never worked again. Evidently the orders he gave the ship were canceled by my action.”
“But the power? How ...”
“Who knows? There are many mysteries here, Sol. For example, the discovery we made that you can walk for miles inside this ship—yes, I said miles—passing from compartment to compartment, yet the craft is only thirty meters long on the outside. Something happens to space in here. Please, don’t ask me what. I’m like a primitive waving a stone-tipped spear who’s been plucked up and taken on his first star jump—only it’s a quantum leap beyond even that.”
A holo tank filled the bulkhead beyond the control shaft. It measured two meters by two, and awkward looking knobs lined the sides of the unit, handles off-color and strangely shaped. The effect could be compared to the gaming booth on Boat. Inside the cavity, the galaxy spun in a glory of glaring white star fields. Sol stepped over and stared.
“That is our Milky Way Galaxy, Sol.” Archon stood next to him. “From what we can determine. This was navigation as well as a weapon. This feature alone would be worth the galaxy. Observe.”
Archon moved one of the handles that protruded from the side of the tank. Connie, blinked, awed as always by the sensation of diving down toward the Milky Way. Archon manipulated the buttons and slowly they weaved their way to the Orion Arm. The scale continued to explode until familiar stars appeared as pinpoints. Archon slowed the expansion and a red star grew. Soon the spaghetti strands of Arcturus gleamed in silver and white. Archon picked the Confederate Council and, with equal dexterity, the tank seemed to dive through the walls of the station and into the Council chambers before Archon stopped, leaving the image stationary.
“The Council is not in session at the present moment. Were it, we could hear every word spoken. I would have loved to have followed President Palmiere with this after we left his quarters.”
“How fine can the resolution get?” Sol asked.
Archon shrugged. “I have seen the inside of the inside of the inside of the inside of the inside of electrons. Defies complementarity? Indeed, I don’t understand even half of what I’ve seen—or what it means. The fact is, however, that this device can follow a particle through energy states—and I can tell you electrons have at least two hundred and fifty-six symmetries, or expressions of existence. To me, without the theoretical background, they were meaningless images. I’ve peered inside of suns and explored Andromeda, the Magellanic Clouds, the Triangulum, the Sombrero Galaxy and a host of others. I’ve looked inside Star, Sol, Arcturus, Sirius, and a host of other suns. I have seen inside a man’s body and looked at the cores of planets where gravity would crush you like a bug.”
“My God!” Sol gasped at the implications exploding in his mind. “Scholars could answer any question in the-”
“Indeed,” Archon agreed. “Here, Solomon, at my fingertips, lies ultimate knowledge . . . and ultimate power.”
The tank retreated beyond the walls and Sol physically reeled with vertigo as Arcturus shrank into a dot and the image moved back across the stars. He could barely trace the path through space to Star’s Rest, the constellations appearing in the tank as they dropped toward Star and the white dot of the planet. Vertigo struck him again as Archon manipulated the knobs.
Star’s Rest formed with its curious moons and the tank centered on the dots of light orbiting off the planet. Archon stopped the display to show Boat surrounded by five silver-white ships of smaller size.
Connie sensed the wrongness instantly. Fingers curled around the contoured grip of the Model 57, releasing the holster catch.
“Hold it!” Sol cried. “Th
at’s Desmond! If only I ... Damn it, we’ve got to get back!”
“We can find out from here.” She heard the strain in her father’s voice. The tank seemed to fall through space, through the gleaming white skin of Boaz as Archon targeted the lounge and then found his way through the corridors onto the bridge.
Familiar control boards glistened green. Art and Bryana sat tensed, in their chairs, combat armor donned. Bryana stared with worry at the screen and Fan Jordan’s voice suddenly boomed in the tank. “... open fire. I give you thirty seconds to produce Carrasco. If you don’t, we’ll destroy your vessel. I’ve had enough—”
Bryana cried, “If the Captain were aboard, Ambassador, he’d deal with you. If you’ll simply show a little patience!”
“My patience is exhausted!” Jordan screamed. In the background, Sol could see Evans, face tight with misgiving. Jordan began counting, “Twenty-nine, twenty-eight, twenty-seven ...”
Bryana cut the audio. “Fire control, stand by. Happy? I need shields prepared for full intensity!”
“We can’t just sit here and be shot at!” Art gritted, his fingers dancing over the reactor controls.
Bryana looked grim. “Yeah, how were we supposed to know they were a bunch of lying bastards? God, I wish the Captain was here. He’d know what to do.”
“Blaster fire!” Art cried. “Happy, how does it look?”
“We can hold them for a couple of minutes, Art. Get us the hell out of here! Cap blew a way out at Arpeggio. See what you can do.”
Sol shook his head. “That took coordination they don’t have.” His voice carried that shrill fear that grated on her nerves as he added, “And I can’t do a damned thing!” Fists knotted at his sides, a terrible anguish on his tortured face.
Connie swallowed hard, “Father, show him.” She eased the heavy blaster from her hip. And now we see, Sol. God, help me to be strong. Damn it, Connie, you ‘ve got your duty. She settled the sights on the center of his back.
The tank backed out of the bridge as Sol cried out. He quivered as they fell through flaring gouts of actinic light as they dropped through the shields and death. He fell through lances of blaster bolts and a New Maine battleship formed in the tank, blaster batteries violet as they poured concentrated fire into Boaz.
Sol shook his head, staring desperately at the flaring screens as Fujiki’s hotter fire poured back, wavering the shields—a futile action against five vessels. Dead in space with no maneuvering room and no chance to cool the shields, Boaz would overload. Art and Bryana hadn’t recognized the trap.
“If you wish to change the course of the fight and save your ship, Solomon,” Archon’s voice was tense, “push this green-brown knob to the wall.”
Sol reached, fragile human fingers caressing the awkward shape built for no human hand. A moan escaped his lips, a weird death knell for Boaz and his crew. He pushed.
The Mainiac vanished.
Archon pulled the screen back and centered another New Maine cruiser in the middle. Sol pushed. From where she waited, Connie watched the muscles of his arms working to overcome the resistance of the spring.
The second Mainiac vanished. As did the third when Archon manipulated the tank around the victims. They went away without a trace, simply leaving the screen blank while star fields reformed behind the box.
It’s possessing him. The power’s unleashed. I... I’m going to have to kill him. Here, now, it’s up to me. She raised the blaster, settling her aim between his shoulder blades, remembering the gentle care in his eyes as he kissed her. Damn it, I. . . Pull, the trigger, Connie! Pull the . . .
Archon had boxed Desmond, the deep worry eroding his expression, his face gone gray.
“No!” Solomon cried, jerking his hand back as if burned, jumping away. “I can’t . . . She’s . . . she’s safe.” He panted hard, eyes glazed. “Safe . . . now!” He hunched, gripping his wrist as if to strangle the right hand that had worked the knob.
Desmond had ceased firing, diverting energy into her shields as they took the brunt of Cal’s powerful blasters. They wavered and buckled, atmosphere sparkling rainbow colors as it reacted with blaster bolts. Wreckage, men, and equipment blew out the ruptured sides under decompression. A white lance of reaction mass shot out as Desmond broke and ran.
Boaz ceased firing almost immediately. The great white ship floated undamaged, a halo of dissipating energy radiating from the fields of her shields.
Sol blinked, swallowing hard, lips moving in silent speech. His eyes sought Archon s, seeking to understand. He turned and looked into Connie’s blaster, his mind refusing to comprehend.
“How?” Sol asked. “I ...”
Archon shrugged. “We don’t know. I found that capacity by accident. There used to be a Bl star two light-years from here. I pushed that button trying to look inside. It went away just that quickly. After that, I made a coffee cup on my table at home go away. The resolution was so fine, I picked the mice off one of my ships, one at a time.”
“But a ... star? A Bl star? That’s . . . that’s ...” Sol shook his head, eyes wide as he looked at Boaz hanging there in peace. “Where did it ... go?” He reached up, face working, and wiped the sudden perspiration from his forehead with a jerky gesture.
Archon shook his head slowly. “That I do not know, Solomon. Simply put, I assume it goes somewhere else, squeezed out of our space—maybe outside. Maybe beyond outside. How many dimensions are there beyond the ones we know?”
“Three ships,” Sol muttered. “Class III Star hulls, probably eighty men apiece. If they lived, how will they survive? Two hundred and forty men! Just like that!”
“You can do that with a planet.” Archon shrugged. “Here, let me show you.” His age-grizzled hands worked knobs, space reeling in the tank until a planet hung there, vibrant in color, white patches of cloud over mottled continents. “Arpeggio. Justice, Solomon. You have the ability to pay them back for Sword, for all the dead you lost there. Pay them back for Moriah for the bomb that killed your ship and so many of your crew. And Gage? Do you doubt that Arpeggians killed Gage? You don’t know, do you? No, Kraal didn’t release his agent’s discoveries. Suppose I told you Sellers killed Gage off Tygee? Suppose you could repay that? Even the score for Mbazi, and Cerratanos, and Maybry Andaki?” Archon worked the knobs, bending and twisting the off-color forms, space spinning away, Star’s Rest reforming. “Would you like to rid yourself of Sellers and the Hunter?” He manipulated the controls and Hunter, its sleek black lines filling the tank, lay there, looking ominous while six other black shapes loomed behind.
“He . . . killed my . . .” Stricken, Carrasco reached for the knob with trembling fingers. The panicky look on his face shivered Connie’s soul. The blaster lifted as if of its own volition, the sights settling on Carrasco’s back.
I’ll wait. As soon as he kills Hunter and Sabot. . .I’ll blow Solomon Carrasco in two. A steel fist closed on her heart. Like Ngoro said . . . it’s duty. A god in your own flawed image, Sol? No. I... I love you. But I can’t allow that. Her ringer tightened on the trigger, taking up the slack. Inside, her heart pumped, nerves tingling. At each beat of her tearing heart, the sight picture jumped before her tear-shimmered vision.
“Killed Gage?” Carrasco wound his fingers around the knob, tendons standing from the backs of his hands, as he leaned against the lever—and crumbled to the deck, bent double, panting, tears streaking down from his clamped eyes.
“No,” he whispered. “Not like that. I ... I can’t become God like that. I can’t become . . . become like Sellers. I can’t . . . can’t ...”
“You would do the galaxy a favor, Solomon.” Archon’s voice prodded.
Sol glared up, anguished. “‘Damn you, no! I’m not God, Archon! I can’t just . . . just murder those men and women! I can’t! You do it! Do it! You have as much reason as I!” Impassioned eyes searched the Speaker’s, trying to find a link. Desperately he turned to Connie, arms lifted in supplication.
Sight of him twisted her
soul, seeing the pain and confusion. “You have the choice, Sol. You could serve the species. You could help so many.”
“At . . . what price?” he asked, voice gone hoarse. “You . . . you said it was ... my soul.” His eyes lost focus as he looked up at the deadly shape of Hunter resting against the background of the stars.
“I think you can put your weapon away,” Archon said wearily. “The test was a little more dramatic than necessary, but I think Solomon is safe.”
Connie took a deep breath, stilling the jangle of strained nerves within. “Yes, I think so.” The heavy pistol weighed like a lump of neutrinos. It slid rasping into the holster. She stared at him, drained. And I would have shot . . . killed the man I loved. Why, damn it? What’s this all come to? Who the hell am I anymore?
“What? Why? I ...” Sol stared, ashen-faced, trying to understand.
Connie reached down, helping him to his feet. “We had to know, Sol. As much as I am coming to love you, we had to know how you would react to the chance for ultimate power. I couldn’t allow you to become a God. Couldn’t turn you loose with . . . that.” She pointed to the tank where Hunter was still visible. “You see, it wasn’t a game we played in the observation blister. That’s godhead there, ultimate power within a single person’s reach. I think the alien destroyed his last rival. Died alone.”
Archon pulled at his chin, stepping forward. “And not only that, I’ve received a report from Kraal.” Archon shook his head. “The alien had a better brain, a more dexterous body, and he fell heir to this? What of humanity?”
Sol frowned. “But the things we could learn?”
Archon stared at him dully. “Like looking inside atoms? Like peering into stars? Seeing the edge of the universe? Moving planets?”
“Yes, yes, think of what that means!”
“And you would be God,” Archon agreed. “Or at least, you could come as close to filling that role as our limited culture understands it.” He smiled. “Believe me, I have been there, Solomon. The temptation is so great. What a delightful benevolent despot I would be.” He tilted his head. “But after me? Who next? Oh, Constance would probably do all right, but she is young, Solomon. She has a lot longer to learn about omnipotence and corruption.”
The Artifact Page 43