by Thomas Stone
Griswold tried to pick up the rod but it wouldn’t budge.
Jennings was up on one elbow. “We’ve got a deal. You’re getting paid.”
“Nobody said nothing about alien artifacts.” Griswold continued to look over the objects as Ellis kept his weapon trained on the others. He went to the last item, a small box, possibly ceramic, and began looking it over.
Jennings looked at Ellis. “Randy, I’m sorry about your son. Are you sure this is the best way to make things right?”
Ellis gripped the Vimbacher tighter. “My boy was all I had. Ain’t nothing going to replace him, but I agree with Griswold about this stuff you found here. It’s just as much ours as theirs. They ain’t even from here.”
Griswold continued to inspect the device. It was shaped in a rectangle, some ten centimeters long, six centimeters across, and maybe the same in height. There were no symbols or buttons, but after wiping the dust from the front, Griswold saw several recessed dials. He ran his hands along the sides and top. Finding nothing, he began feeling the front of the box.
“All right, all right, we’ll split the profits,” said Jennings as he got to his feet. “Fair’s fair.” He looked at Fagen. “I’m sure that’s fine with Mr. Fagen here.”
Fagen showed no reaction.
“Anyway, this is no way to negotiate,” said Jennings.
“Is that so?” said Griswold. “How many times have I seen you fleece other traders? So, look who’s talking. Ellis and I will take our share and our wages.”
Jennings nodded. “All right, then, it’s a deal.’
Griswold found another depression on the front of the box. With a satisfied expression, he depressed a concealed button. The box emitted a barely audible hum and the dials on the front dimly glowed. Griswold stepped backward.
“Ah, you shouldn’t have done that,” Jennings said.
Griswold scowled but continued to watch the box as did everyone else.
“Turn it off,” Bobbi suggested.
Griswold finally agreed with someone and moved to press the button when suddenly, the power, whatever its source, seemed to surge. The hum became louder and the dials glowed brightly. Darkened bars appeared on the dials and began moving – when they reached the limit of the dial there was a loud pop! and a flash of light that caused everyone but Harry to cower.
Jennings was the first up. “You just couldn’t keep your hands off, could you?”
“What was that?” Bobbi asked.
“I don’t think you want to know,” answered Harry.
Griswold shook his head. Ellis looked scared. Jennings frowned at Harry. “Try me on,” he said.
“Okay. It triggered a signal, a microburst of particles. Had it been in full working order, it would still be sending. That is its only purpose.”
“A signal to whom?” Fagen asked.
Harry looked at Fagen. “The Tec’Lissir.”
Jennings stared at Harry a moment, then a smile began to spread across his face. “Why sure! It was a signal to the aliens! Why not?” He began to laugh and exchanged a look with Griswold, who also began to laugh. To Griswold, he said, “Now, can we get on with it?”
Griswold threw up his hands. “Sure.” He turned and grinned broadly at Ellis who slowly began to lower his weapon.
Harry cleared his throat and uncrossed his arms. “There is one more thing I’d like.”
The room turned silent as all looked to Harry. “I’d like Mr. Griswold to apologize to Kathleen for the name-calling. It was out of line.”
Jennings looked as though someone had hit him with a shovel. He didn’t know what to say.
Griswold slowly faced Harry as the words sunk in. He smiled even as he sidled over next to Kathleen. “You want me to say I’m sorry, eh?”
“No. You’ll never be sorry. I just want you to apologize.”
Kathleen stared at him without fear. She could take care of herself. Griswold leaned closer to her as he maintained eye contact with Harry.
“Well, you see,” Griswold drawled, “I think she liked it.”
Harry watched as Griswold raised his hand. From his perspective, time had slowed drastically and he could see Griswold, in slow motion, reaching for Kathleen.
When Griswold’s hand reached for her, Harry willed it to stop and it did. In the same thought, Harry willed the fingers to bind together. The tips of his fingers and thumb came together to form a hand puppet.
Griswold watched his hand in disbelief. His hand involuntarily opened and shut as if it were speaking to Kathleen.
“Tell her you apologize,” Harry said.
Griswold looked to Ellis and Jennings for help but they were frozen with doubt. He looked back at Harry. “Go to hell,” he said.
Griswold’s free hand suddenly flew to his crotch where it gripped a handful of trouser and all that lay underneath. Then it squeezed until his knees buckled and with a muffled groan, he sank to the floor, still holding up his other puppet hand.
“Say you apologize,” Harry said again.
Sweat was streaming down Griswold’s face when he finally said the words; his hand, in a lobster claw fashion, mimicked his lips. “I’m sorry,” he said as his out of control puppet hand mimicked the words, “and, and… I apologize.” He looked to Harry. “Now let me go.”
Chapter 7
Harry’s head swam, but he maintained composure as he strode from the chamber and up the stone steps leaving Griswold lying on the ground wondering what had happened.
Fagen wheeled on Jennings. “Some crew you got here. These are your best? You can really pick ‘em. Everybody needs to keep his hands off these objects. If you can’t control these guys, I will.” He turned to Bobbi.
“Let’s get pictures of everything in here, stills and videos, before these cretins destroy everything we’ve found.”
Fagen moved up close to Jennings who, uncharacteristically, was sheepishly looking at the floor. “That’s it,” he said, out of earshot of the others, “consider this a threat. If I have any more problems like this with your people, you’re all gone. I don’t need you so much that I have to put up with this kind of bullshit.” He spun and went to Ellis who still gripped the Vimbacher although now it was pointed at the floor.
Fagen gave Ellis a hard look but Ellis maintained his gaze. Fagen said, “I’m sorry about your son. We’ll do everything we can to find him, but you need to know, if you ever point a weapon at me or my people again, I’ll kill you.”
To his credit, Ellis didn’t turn away and he didn’t argue. Griswold had risen from the floor and was flexing his hand. He glanced at Fagen and glared but when Fagen returned the look, Griswold turned away.
Fagen spoke to the entire group. “I want everybody out while Bobbi and Kathleen create a video record of everything in this place.”
“What about the stuff?” Griswold asked.
“We’ll safely pack everything away and move it to my truck.”
Griswold looked at Jennings but Jennings remained mute.
“Okay,” said Griswold. “as long as we get what’s coming to us.”
“Oh, I think you’ll get what’s coming to you. Now get out of here and go check your sensor scans for the boy.”
Reluctantly, Jennings and his men exited the chamber.
As soon as they were outside, Jennings turned on Griswold. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You think I don’t have enough problems with Luther and his crew? Whether you like it or not, you’re working for me.” He looked at Ellis. “You too. Don’t pull anything like that again.”
All Ellis could say was that he wanted to find his son.
“You heard Fagen. They’re working on it and we will too.”
Ellis nodded. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
Jennings headed to his vehicle, which by then was coated with dirt and dust in contrast to Fagen’s sleek, futuristic-looking truck. Auto-cleaners kept Fagen’s truck clean and in good working order. The truck was interesting enough to Jennings but the real prize
was Minerva herself. He yearned to get aboard and learn as much as he could. There was time enough for that but he’d have to mend some fences with Fagen first.
Jennings climbed inside the cab of his truck and opened a UHF channel directly to Minerva. He watched his display as he submitted the connect request. Instead of the visual of Minerva’s hologram that he expected, the picture that came up was of a small simian creature. It smiled at him and chattered in a language that sounded to Jennings like a monkey in a zoo. Bart slid into the picture.
“Sorry about that,” said Bart. “What can we do for you, Mr. Jennings?”
“Who are you?”
“Yes, sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. I am Dr. Barthelme Blane. Minerva and I run things up here.”
“Who’s the monkey?”
“Oh, that’s Arai. But he’s not a monkey. He’s a Bedoran.”
“Never heard of it,” said Jennings.
“I’m not surprised. So, what do you need?”
“Sensor updates in a wide area. We’re looking for one of our men who was lost in the night…”
“Yes,” Bart interrupted, “I’m aware of the details. We’re running scans over the territory you were in as well as scans on the neighboring sections. So far, we’ve come up with nothing, but I assure you we’ll continue looking.”
“Contact me if you do.”
“I will, Mr. Jennings.”
Jennings started to say thanks but Bart had already terminated the connection. Stuffy fat snit, thought Jennings.
*
The artifacts included several items that were simply too old and had disintegrated over the years, leaving dust and pieces of unknown material. These were bagged and tagged and stored within Minerva-Too. The other pieces were carefully wrapped in insulating material and moved to the crew’s lounge aboard the truck. The device Harry had identified as a beacon was left behind.
Fagen came into the crew’s lounge patting the dust from his clothes. Minerva frowned as the particles floated briefly in the air and then were sucked up by the air re-conditioning system.
Harry sat on one of the couches, head thrown back and eyes closed with Tringl sitting beside him. Tringl was transfixed by the cartoons running across the monitor floating before him. It was a children’s program from Earth, part of Minerva’s online library. When Fagen entered, Tringl glanced in his direction and raised an orange six-fingered hand in greeting before returning his attention to the screen.
Harry raised his head, surprising Fagen. “I thought you were asleep.”
“No, just resting,” said Harry.
Fagen sat on the neighboring couch and began removing his boots. Sand collected on the deck. Minerva rolled her eyes and disappeared.
Fagen asked Harry, “How long have the ruins been here?”
“Not long,” Harry replied.
Fagen emitted a short laugh. “Not long? Long enough for the original building to collapse, and buildings made from stone materials like that last a long, long time.”
“In human terms, yes.”
Fagen made a sigh. “You see, Harry, there you go again. When you say things like that, it throws everything out of line.” He leaned forward while holding a boot in one hand. Turning it upside down, he poured sand on the floor. “Look, I know you’ve gone through a lot and I’m trying to understand, but it would help me if you just spoke plainly about whatever it is you think you know.”
Harry gazed steadily at Fagen. His eyes were calm, serene, and he looked more at peace in that moment than Fagen had ever witnessed. “Of course, Edward, you’re right and I respect your point of view. It’s difficult to switch paradigms of reference…”
“What?”
“Essentially, my frame of reference for the world has changed. It’s hard to articulate in human terms anymore, but my control is much better now, thanks to a combination of factors. Minerva kept me alive when I should have died, then Tringl’s Malaaz support technique; the worst of the infection is over – the new cellular structures within me are complete and working properly. And then there’s the matter of just being on Mirabel. I’ve felt better just by breathing the air -- it’s like I’m supposed to be here. As far as the changes go, I seem to have shifted into a learning period. The collective communicates with me now but there’s so much more. I can’t say I understand it all.”
Fagen wasn’t sure how much of what Harry said meant anything. “This collective you talk about…”
“Yes?”
“It’s like a high council of kitzloc?”
Harry nodded. “You could say that, I suppose.”
“How many are in the council, er, the collective?”
“All of them.”
“How many is that?”
“I’m not sure. Sometimes it seems like one and sometimes it seems like one hundred. In any case, there’s not many.”
“What if one dies?”
“It is replaced.”
“By what? If all are in the council, uh collective, and one dies, where does the next one come from?”
“I’m not sure. From different quantum realities maybe.”
For a moment, Fagen had no reply. Notions of quantum reality had been around for a while. In the last century, quantum physics had established a firm hold as the outstanding candidate to fill in the gaps for unified field theory: the explanation for everything. Mathematicians and physicists had completed the final proofs in the 21st century but the validation of the theorems had never been fully tested. Nobody was that far along yet. Or maybe the scientists were afraid of unleashing what had been described as unlimited power. To think about such things also brought questions concerning the nature of reality, or what people generally perceived reality to be. Fagen didn’t understand the new physics, but that wasn’t his lot in life. It wasn’t his task to understand such things. He understood enough to drive a starship and lead his little group of explorers, but talking about manipulating reality via a field theory no one completely understood, well, that was another matter altogether. The upshot of it all, as Fagen understood it, was that reality was vastly different from what was perceived. Fagen had witnessed Harry’s powers but somehow had pushed the unrealness of it to the side, attributing it to some psychic phenomenon, or even more likely, the extraordinary kitzloc senses, but not some phase-shifting quantum effect that underpinned everything.
After a long pause, Fagen replied slowly, “That’s pretty heady stuff, Harry. The implications are beyond anything I can imagine.”
“Yes,” Harry said, “now you’re getting it.”
“So, instead of taxing my brain any more, for the moment why don’t we return to the ruins and the stuff we found?”
“Okay.”
“How old are they?”
“Approximately three thousand years.”
“Do you know how they came to be here? The True Ones?”
“Yes. You know the inherent attitude of their race is, excuse me for using the phrase again, in human terms, arrogant. They are convinced of their dominance in the universe in the same way that many humans are convinced of their dominion over the environment and other life forms, even the life forms on their own planet, our planet, Earth.”
“Yeh, I got that much, but whatever motivates them to do the things they do is and has always been a mystery to me. The slaughter of life for their own amusement and/or edification? I don’t get it.”
“You don’t get it because you are securely attached to your own humanity. The Tec’Lissir are not human. But you know, in some ways they are just like us, convinced and blinded by their own righteousness.”
“Okay, okay, what about the ruins?”
“It was an outpost. The Tec’Lissir planned to colonize Mirabel. Like the human colonists, they were unaware of the existence of kitzloc until they established themselves. Encroachment on kitzloc controlled territory was inevitable and, when it began to occur, the kitzloc pushed back.”
“To hear you tell it, the kitzloc are only
protecting their interests.”
“Precisely,” replied Harry. “In any case, Tec’Lissir encroachment became intolerable and they were driven away. In all the years since, they’ve never returned.”
“Learned their lesson, eh?”
“Not exactly. The survivors returned to the empire without any memory of the kitzloc. They reported to their superiors that the planet was a waste of time – poor climate, few natural resources, and no native life worth their time. They were infected and re-programmed to make their false report. They believed what they’d been told to say.”
“And the kitzloc did all this?”
“Yes.”
Fagen took off his other boot as he considered what Harry had told him. “How could a race of creatures without the capability of building artifacts, without science, without…” Fagen spread his hands and searched for the right words, “…without anything, influence a technologically superior race? It just doesn’t make sense.”
“There is much you don’t know.”
“I’m trying to understand,” said Fagen. “Why haven’t the kitzloc driven humans away in the same manner?”
“I don’t know. It may yet occur. I’m still learning.”
“What about the beacon and the artifacts that were left behind?” Fagen asked.
“I don’t know,” Harry admitted, “perhaps the Tec’Lissir were in a hurry to leave. Maybe the collective had plans for those items or plans for whoever found them.”
“That’s a lot of ‘maybes’.”
“True. However, there is one thing you haven’t mentioned that bothers me.”
“What’s that?”
“How I came to be trapped in the underground chambers.”
Fagen had assumed Harry had found shelter, crawled inside, and then the entrance sealed by the sandstorm. “What do you mean?”
“The kitzloc fashioned a trap as a deadfall. A very sophisticated deadfall. I still don’t understand how it worked.” At that point, Harry told Fagen how a great section of rock slab had given way under his feet and then slid back into place. “I think,” said Harry, “they intended someone to find the artifacts, to trip the beacon. I think they intended for us, for me, to find them.”