The Artifact

by W. Michael Gear

  Sol frowned, expression numb. An anesthesia of incomprehension left him temporarily unable to think, shaken—satisfied only to hold his woman tight in that ancient primate urge to touch and, thereby, be reassured.

  “Come,” Archon said. “Let’s leave the Artifact for now. I think, Captain, that you’ve had enough for a while. It’ll take time to assimilate all this and put it into perspective.”

  Sol nodded, struggling to regain his wits. “God forbid if Sellers should get hold of this.”

  Archon barked a bitter laugh—the sound dry as the sands of Bazaar. “You’d find out in a real hurry where things go when that green-brown knob is pushed.”

  Even the gray wall didn’t faze him as he walked through with Connie. The cold steel of the lock acted like a welcome blessing and the interior of the shuttle snugged around him, a treasured and familiar part of the universe—a comfortable human-created womb.

  Archon dogged the hatch and climbed wordlessly onto the bridge. Sol barely felt the shuttle move. He pulled Constance to him and closed his eyes. “How have you and your father withstood the weight of that thing? How have you kept your sanity?”

  “Because we had to. There was no one else for us to lean on except each other.” She stared at him, awkwardly admitting. “I used to treasure my independence. Now I want to ... to ... Well, I’m tired of being alone, Sol. Tired of being a fortress. I want you close, that’s all. Just be close, and human, and warm.”

  “I’ve seen so much in my life,” he mused. “I’ve experienced so many different things. No one should have been better prepared than I for what happened. The Artifact just didn’t . . . didn’t . . .”

  “Now do you see our problem, Sol?” She looked up, her eyes pleading, seeking some reassurance. “How do we keep this safe? Who decides who will be allowed to use it? How can we turn this over to President Palmiere? What do we do with it now?”

  He shivered. “I don’t know. I truly don’t know.”

  CHAPTER XXIX

  The shuttle rocked lightly as it touched down. Sol smiled, kissed Connie gently, and pulled himself to his feet. Archon powered the system down as Constance undogged the hatch. Sol dropped lightly into the cool night of Star’s Rest. He sucked the fresh scented air into his grateful lungs and enjoyed the sensations as the breeze caressed his cheek. Connie dropped next to him and her hand sought his as he looked up, seeing the moons with new eyes, emotions more intense as sensations of life pulsed in his veins.

  Archon lowered himself with more reserve. “Now you know, Sol. You can see why we took such care, allowing no one to know the true nature of our quest. I hope you can understand the gravity of the situation.”

  Sol threw his head back, eyes longingly on the stars— but a galactic weight lay upon his soul, the starlight white, cold in the forbidding heavens. “I can and do, Speaker. We’ll get it back to the right hands, somehow—some way.”

  Archon nodded, patted his shoulder, and headed for the house, the door opening and lights coming on as he approached. Sol turned to follow, but Connie pulled him back.

  “Not yet, Sol. I want to enjoy the night. It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. Come, walk with me. I want to have you all to myself for a while at least. There’s no telling when the next time will be—or even if it will be.” She pulled him close.

  “But your father—”

  “—knows I’m a woman,” she answered firmly. “Besides, he likes and admires you.” She closed her eyes, filling her lungs, hair spilling down her back. “I was the one who decided I’d act as executioner. I guess you became my responsibility. It’s a difficult thing to know you may have to kill the man you love because he doesn’t measure up.” She turned, placing cool hands on his chest, eyes searching his in the dark. “We couldn’t let you loose with that kind of power—no matter what your motives. Do you understand?”

  “Not entirely. Not yet anyway.” He frowned in the darkness. “I’m still . . . staggering. I guess that’s the right word. Like everything’s been pulled up by the roots. A new reality has to be integrated.”

  “And how do you feel about that? I just stared at the walls, trying to put it all together. How did it feel when you shunted the Mainiacs away?”

  He stared at her, eyes haunted. “Like I’d been betrayed. Connie, I’m just a human being. And . . . and all of a sudden, I ... I mean, aliens can kill better than we can. Think about it. It’s the cold efficiency of it. Passionless . . . yes, that’s it. Passionless. No violence. No heavy elements stripped off and accelerated at light speed to blast atoms apart. No matter/antimatter annihilation. No explosions, or blood, or fission or fusion. Just a simple push of the button. It’s inhuman. We’re, well, not meant to fight that way.”

  He gestured helplessly. “Think about it, we’re sophisticated primates. Apes in our own right, and we deserve to be able to scream and holler while we throw sticks at the leopard in the bush. We have a right to strut and bluster and pound our chests before we blast each other.”

  “They said the same of submarines. Sneaky, dishonorable, unworthy of a warrior. The Germans lost world hegemony in the early twentieth century because they thought it morally repugnant. It took Americans—who hollered loudest in incensed outrage—to bring submarines to their peak in World War II. So why is this different?”

  He stared into the darkness, oblivious to the vista before him. “It’s too good. It’s ... All right, I’m a damned chauvinist. The thing isn’t human! It’s a cheat.”

  “But a powerful one. Think of the policies you could implement. Think of the political ramifications if you could listen in on anyone’s strategic sessions? Want to know what the Great Houses are plotting on Arpeggio?”

  “You’re playing devil’s advocate?”

  “Why not?”

  “Ultimate power.”

  “Ultimate knowledge,” she countered. “Knowledge—and power, for that matter—is neutral.”

  “Humans aren’t. And that’s the key to the problem.”

  “Not very flattering, is it? I mean to know that for all our belief in ourselves, in our achievements, we can’t trust ourselves with such a device. Are we self-damned? Is that the lesson here? Is all life that way? I mean, the alien destroyed himself and his species. And what if he wasn’t the first? I—”

  He silenced her, placing his fingers gently on her lips. Then he bent down and kissed her tenderly.

  She gave a long sigh and he could feel her body tense against his. “That was the final obstacle, Sol. From now on, no more secrets.” Her lips sought his, hungrily.

  He hadn’t realized his need. Feeling her—real in his embrace—he met her desire with his own, responding passionately as he pulled her close, striving to become one with her—as if he could pull her inside and tuck her away safe and warm where she’d never be vulnerable again. The soft mat of vegetation cushioned them as they sank to the ground. Twining together, they began the eternal dance, reveling in the unity of soul, body, and mind, thrilling in the physical reaffirmation of life and love—the ultimate appeal to the future.

  * * *

  The savages had returned, bringing a third victim to work the spring. Who was this odd human? A Master’s servant? Doubtful. He’d reacted poorly to the simplest of tests. The others didn’t act subservient to him or show respect. Nor did he seem to merit such, having stopped but a spring’s push from eliminating the incomparable Sabot Sellers. Did these savage animals have no strata in their society? Impossible! How could they build ships without order?

  Yet how delightful to see that they had war! War and Masters moved digit-in-claw together. And the third savage? He’d worked the spring, the memory would be in his simple brain now. He had pushed the button to remove the three crafts which assailed the white ship. A warrior from a different caste? That might describe the social system.

  They would come soon. Too many ships had arrived. She knew a little more about these animals now. They would fight over her, and in the process, she’d learn. A
flash of energy ran through long unused systems. The long wait was over. One way or another, she would have a Master soon. Forbid that it be a savage, but then, even that was better than a corpse! And besides, Sabot Sellers had yet to play his hand. She turned her monitors to Hunter where men armed themselves, preparing shuttles, and strapping weapons to combat armor.

  In the twist of her thoughts, an insane amusement lit her boards with flickers of triumph. She howled back at the stars, knowing it had started. These humans had worked the spring. The first faltering steps toward their destruction had been taken. The rest would follow until damnation.

  * * *

  Bryana fixed burning eyes on the screen, aware she’d been living in the command chair for over a day. The system provided for all her body’s needs from evacuating wastes to feeding her. It stimulated her muscles, and kept her physically alert. Her mind, however, was on the verge of shutting down out of sheer exhaustion. She could barely see Carrasco in the dim planet’s night.

  “Good to see you, Captain,” she greeted, washed by a wave of relief. “Happy picked up your transmitter about an hour ago. Is everything all right down there?”

  “Fine.”

  “Well, you wouldn’t believe what happened here.” She shook her head, knowing she’d failed.

  “I would.” He sounded reserved. She winced. He’d really know when he reviewed the tapes. “You’ll never be rescued that easily again.”

  “You saw?” Her tired mind prodded. “Captain Carrasco, we didn’t kill those three cruisers. They just vanished. Happy and Cal have been driving themselves crazy with it.”

  “Tell them to forget it. I’ll brief everybody when I get there. Keep on your toes. Things are happening too quickly here,” Sol warned, then his voice barked. “I . . . Damn! We’re being hit! Hold your position and wait for my orders!” A light flickered in the screen and it went dead.

  Bryana kicked Art awake and turned to comm. “Happy! Cal! Someone’s shooting at Carrasco on the planet’s surface. Is there any way we can help them?”

  Happy’s grim face formed on the monitor. “Not without sending down a shuttle. His orders are to hold. From the sensor, he’s still alive. Trust Cap, Bry, he’ll make it. I hope.”

  * * *

  Nikita Malakova grunted and turned over.

  “You sound like a water buffalo in the desert,” Tayash grunted.

  “Is planet. Never sleep well on planet. Is something intrinsically wrong with being in place as final and heavy as bottom of gravity well. Not only that, things don’t move right. Grav plates are ... are lighter on soul, you know?”

  Tayash mumbled to himself, a faint glow springing from his bunk in the darkness overhead. “It’s almost five hundred hours. Dawn will be breaking soon. I don’t suppose you’ll let me get any more sleep.”

  “Sorry. Is just how planets are. Heavy ... so very heavy. People are not made for planets, Tayash. Are made for stations where gravity isn’t always so oppressive.”

  A short silence followed.

  Tayash chuckled. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so subdued. Maybe I ought to drop you on planets more often?”

  Nikita waved his arms in the dark. “What? Is not right. Humans aren’t meant to be at bottom of hole! What is planet, eh? Is bottom of hole. You stamp foot, and is as down as down can be. Look up, and you’ll scare sacred wits white with fear. Anything, and I mean anything, could fall on you. Frightening, horribly, utterly frightening.”

  “Humans lived like this for almost the entire history of our species.”

  “No wonder humanity is crazy. To live so, to know that underfoot is end to movement, to light and life, is like trap to soul. No wonder Soviets took to stars. Humanity would have killed itself to find freedom of space.”

  “Mind if I record this? I’m not sure anyone would ever believe it if I told them the things you’re saying.”

  Nikita grunted, swinging his feet over the side of the bunk. “Is almost time for sunrise? Have heard of such things. Would be worth it to see, I suppose. Only other thing will be to listen to Lietov and Medea inflict invective through long meeting.”

  “Archon said he’d have some information for us this morning. The unveiling of the ‘sacred secret’?”

  “Urn.” Nikita adjusted his compensator belt, standing, while the lights came up.

  Tayash squinted into the light, staring around the small room. He pulled himself up, rubbing his thin limbs, his ancient skin hanging like parchment. “Well, maybe you’ve got something about planets.”

  “Have been thinking,” Nikita added, staring down as he relieved himself into the converter. “Seems to me, perhaps we should back Archon and Constance. From what I can tell, Brotherhood is more trustworthy than Sirius, Earth, or New Maine.”

  “And if it’s all propaganda? It’s their ship we came in.”

  Nikita pressed his fly closed as he turned. “And has Carrasco tried even once to buy us? Has he tried to impose will? Has he made single promise to curry favor?”

  Considering the unknown capabilities of his ship up there, does he need to?“ Tayash pulled his suit on, fumbling absently for his cane. ”Maybe he’s already got the secret wrapped up? An inside track. If he’s been screwing Constance, maybe that’s his angle?“

  Nikita lowered bushy eyebrows. “You believe that? That she—of all women—would compromise integrity for a little frantic coupling with a man?”

  Tayash combed out his goatee. “Actually, no. I thought I’d mention it though. What if she loves him? What if she’s willing to bare her soul to him? As much as I respect Constance, I’ve known some superb women to fall flat on their faces when it comes to men.”

  “Bah!” Nikita waved the idea away. “If she didn’t have sense when it comes to men, she’d have fallen for me.”

  “You wish.” Tayash stood, checking his image in the mirror. “But, Nikita, remember, whatever we must decide, we can’t let personalities get in the way of the right choice for all people, everywhere.”

  “What? You lecture me ... me, Nikita Malakova, who has survived the—”

  “Damn right! Now, are you ready to go see a sunrise? Or are you content to sit around here beating your breast and bellowing your pompous—”

  “Let’s see sunrise.” Nikita strode across the floor. He opened the door to find a man standing outside. The fellow wore a black uniform, hair and beard gaudily braided and bejeweled. He smiled a nasty smile as he jammed an ugly blaster barrel into Nikita’s paunch.

  “Mister Malakova, if you’ll come with me, your presence is required in the meeting room.”

  “What? Who are—” Nikita stopped short as the safety clicked off.

  Tayash reached for his belt comm, freezing in mid move as the gunman added, “One word, Representative Niter, and I’ll blow your friend here in two. Now, if you’ll both step to the side and get a move on, you’ll save time and trouble.”

  Nikita nodded slowly, noting the sword and starburst on the man’s uniform. “Another voice speaks its mind about sacred secret. What do—”

  “Shut up!”

  Nikita glared at the blaster, put his hands up, and clamped his mouth closed.

  * * *

  Light was beginning to shade the eastern horizon. Sol crouched, dirty and disheveled, across from Archon’s wrecked shuttle.

  They had come in, five shuttles from five different directions. He and Connie had provided flanking fire as men dashed from the landing shuttles, while the house, shielded, had replied in kind, proving they hadn’t caught Archon completely off guard. The first bolts had blown the bridge out of Archon’s shuttle. Well planned, that, but then the whole action demonstrated coordination and skill.

  Even the best strategy and tactics rarely survive the first shot. They hadn’t counted on Connie and Sol being outside. From where they crouched in the night, they’d raked the attackers from the sides, killing scores, forcing the assault to break as the bewildered attackers scrambled for shuttles and withdrew.
>
  Sol had provided enfilading fire as Connie covered his back. Human war. The thought burned through his battle-hyped brain. He and Constance had broken the rush on the house. Sol had managed to cripple a shuttle when he got a couple of bolts driven through the open lock as men dived inside. The ship had pitched on its side and accelerated over the edge of the pyramid, screaming toward a reactor overload. The others had risen into the black night sky.

  “It’ll be light soon,” Connie whispered. “We’d better move or they’ll have us pinned.”

  Sol nodded. “Let’s just hope Archon doesn’t fry us while we’re coming in.”

  They scuttled to the side and ran for the house. Sol jumped a body, blown in half by a bolt. He zigzagged, saw a dark figure rise from the ground before him, and watched the man jerk as his body absorbed a bolt and exploded.

  “We’re friendly!” Sol yelled as he sprinted for a charred hole burned in the wall. The expected resistance of the shield didn’t meet his charge and he jumped through the blasted hole unimpeded, rolling and coming to his feet, blaster ready as Connie dove through after him.

  “Archon?” Sol called. A bolt slapped the structure with a bang, shaking the walls.

  Connie covered him as he ran through the house. In the rear, the story became evident. The huge gaping hole in the rear wall mocked him. The frontal assault had been a diversion. That’s why the shields were down. While men had died out front, they’d snatched Archon from the rear.

  Sol ran to the front, picked up an Arpeggian shoulder weapon from beside a gutted body and studied the front with IR. Amid the grisly pile of bodies, he saw movement, sighted, and blew the man’s head off. Moving to Archon’s scanner, he noted one other target behind a low depression.