James P. Hogan

by Migration

  Korshak stood facing the assembly, clad in a blue tunic and loose white trousers, his dark, curly hair flowing down over the collar of a scarlet cloak emblazoned with gold stars and moons that projected the appropriate mood and image; it also provided concealment for many objects and handy pouches. His hands grasped the two brightly patterned cylinders standing on end a short distance apart on the table in front of him. The routine was going well, with the onlookers into the spirit of things and eager for more. He raised the cylinders from the table to reveal a bottle that had been covered by one, and under the other, a glass. The bottle and glass were identical in appearance to the ones that had occupied opposite positions when he covered them a moment ago, giving the effect of their having changed places. Cries of astonishment, laughter, and applause greeted the feat. Korshak lowered the cylinders back onto the table, then raised them again to show the objects returned to their original sides.

  The trick was common among street performers, and the company was virtually certain to include some who knew, or would guess, that the normal technique used bottomless bottles which the performer could lower over either glass at will by applying pressure through thumb holes in the cylinders, or by making the cylinders flexible enough for the bottles to be gripped through them. The liquid that Korshak had poured from one of the bottles at the start had been held in a compartment contained in the upper part.

  But Korshak’s system was not of the kind used by street entertainers. It was a variant of his own invention, bearing his signature on a side of the table, that made use of hidden recesses below the tabletop where items could be received from above or from which they could be delivered back again, according to the manipulations of spring catches operated by levers from behind. Thus, instead of raising a bottle along with its cylinder to uncover the glass that had been hidden under it – which was the normal way – with Korshak’s system the bottle was carried down below the tabletop, and the opening filled by a disk of matching material previously held in the cylinder space above the bottle, on top of which rested another glass. This left the cylinder empty.

  Korshak lifted the cylinders to show bottle and glass having apparently changed places again. He gazed slowly around the attentive faces, waiting for the knowing nods being exchanged here and there to subside, and let his smile broaden in a way that seemed to say, Yes, I know what some of you are thinking. Then he leveled the cylinder that he was holding above the glass – the one that by the usual method should be concealing a bottle – and swept it around to one side, then the other, letting everyone see that it was empty. Exclamations of surprise greeted the revelation. Without losing momentum, Korshak lowered the cylinders and moved the lever back to restore the bottle; at the same time, he caused the bottle and glass on the other side to be taken up into their cylinder together and replaced by a new item consigned from below the tabletop. When he raised the cylinders again, the bottle was apparently back where it had been, but the glass on the other side had become a bowl of swimming fish.

  As a new wave of applause filled the room, he picked up the bowl in both hands and came around the table, while behind him Ronti, who had been standing back just outside the left wing, moved in to wheel the table away. The bowl was divided by a vertical glass partition that kept the fish in one half. The other half contained a chemical solution that emitted light when a mixture of certain salts was added. As he continued moving forward, Korshak turned the bowl around to bring the prepared half toward the audience, at the same time releasing the pellet that had been secured by wax at the rim. Silence descended as the space between his hands transformed into an eerie white glow. This was also the cue for servants who had been briefed earlier to dim the lamps at the back of the room, ostensibly to enhance the effect; but it would serve other purposes later.

  “As fish swim through the oceans that connect the lands, so impressions swim through the ocean that connects minds,” Korshak intoned, staring down into the glow. Actually, on his side he was looking at the fish, but the effect was the same. “I see thoughts that are present now, here in this room.” He paused as if to let an image clarify. “This very day the hound of the night is given young ones.” Then, looking up and about, “Can anyone here tell us the meaning?”

  There was a pause, heads turning this way and that. Then Leetha piped up from beside her mother, “One of the dogs had puppies this morning. And she’s black. Her name is Ebony.”

  One or two people laughed, but then another said, “You never know. He could be right.”

  “Couldn’t be a coincidence,” someone else agreed.

  “Amazing!”

  “Very good, dear,” Doriet complimented.

  Then Zileg’s voice came in disdainfully over the top of them. “Nonsense. It’s the kind of servant gossip that anyone could have picked up.” Exactly so. But Korshak had expected as much and used it as a lead in.

  He resumed, “Now I see something else… from a land to the west, over mountain and plain….” The officers and officials from Urst became suddenly very still and attentive. Korshak went on, “A strange riddle that I am unable to explain. An old saying has it that there is steel in the bones of the lion. But I am reading now that there are bones in the steel. How to interpret this, I don’t know.” Korshak looked around invitingly again. “Does it mean anything to anyone?”

  Silence fell for several seconds. Then heads among Zileg’s company began turning toward him questioningly. Finally, one of them exclaimed, “The burned bones that harden and temper! No one here knows of it yet.”

  “How can it be?” another demanded.

  Zileg had no answer. Having made his point, Korshak turned the bowl back as the glow faded, showing the fish swimming around unharmed and unconcerned. Another round of applause ensued, though somewhat more subdued this time as many in the room lapsed into thought or glanced at each other ominously. Moving on before the mood could take root, Korshak handed the bowl to Ronti, who had been moving the cabinet out to the center-stage area and was now waiting behind, and turned to gesture at his latest accomplishment. At a nod from Ronti, servants on both sides uncovered additional lamps to illuminate it, further enhancing the contrast in lighting between the rear of the room and the front.

  “I obtained this from a caravan of merchants far to the east,” Korshak announced. “They told me it was crafted by masters in distant Sofi, who have revived techniques of magic thought to have died with the old world.” As he spoke, he approached the cabinet and opened the doors to show the interior apparently empty. He closed the doors and continued speaking while he and Ronti turned the cabinet through a complete circle, exhibiting all four sides. “It is said that distance was no impediment then – that travel from anyplace to anywhere could be effected in an instant. There are many today who do not believe such things to be possible. However, I will now bring back for you a glimpse of the arts that were lost.”

  Ronti retrieved one of several folded garments, fashioned from a dark gray material, from a small table that he had set to one side, and came forward with it draped over his arm. Korshak took it and opened it out, revealing it to be a long robe with an enveloping cowl. “Behold, the shroud of translocation, which embodies the power to carry the wearer beyond the constraints of space and time,” he informed the audience.

  An air of expectancy came over the room as Korshak placed the robe over Ronti’s shoulders and then moved past him to open the cabinet doors. Ronti pulled the cowl around his face, gathered the robe about him, stepped inside, and then turned to stand while Korshak closed the doors in front of him.

  They had positioned the cabinet well forward in the stage area. Korshak stepped back and then walked around to the space between it and the black drapes at the rear. “Note that there’s no possibility of another exit at the back.” He turned and called to the people seated at the front on the audience’s extreme left-hand side. “Watch me and confirm that I remain in sight.” He moved behind the cabinet to stand against the drapes, and addresse
d those sitting to the right. “And I am visible to you on that side?”

  “Yes,” a uniformed officer answered.

  Turning back toward the first group, “And still to you on that side?” Several ladies sitting together nodded vigorously. Korshak emerged on the other side to complete a circuit of the cabinet, and drew up to take in the room for a moment. “Now,” he pronounced simply, and with that moved forward and threw the doors open to show the interior once again devoid of any sign of occupancy. The audience was more intrigued than surprised now, and sensed that more was to come. Korshak took another of the folded robes from the side table and came forward to within a few feet of the front row of seats.

  “No doubt there are those among you who suspect some kind of trick mechanism that depends on the knowledge of my assistant to operate. But I shall demonstrate that it is not so. Any one of you can avail yourself of this ability. There is no risk attached, of any kind. Would anyone care to step forward?” A moment of stillness followed as he had anticipated, while he cast his gaze around. When he saw one or two people starting to stiffen or hesitate, he looked toward where Zileg was sitting and said before any could respond, “I would confidently consign our noblest and fairest to the experience. Would Your Highness, the prince, consent to my borrowing his lovely bride-to-be?” Korshak added hastily, to a scattering of chuckles, “I promise to bring her back before the big day.”

  Zileg was clearly not pleased, but not even he could summon the ill grace to object. In any case, before he had a chance to, Vaydien had risen to her feet and was coming forward to an accompaniment of encouraging cheers and hand clapping. She caught Korshak’s eye for an instant as she turned for him to drape the robe around her, and then let him lead her by the hand into the cabinet. He closed the doors and faced the room again.

  “Distance is no barrier, time an illusion. Where are they at this instant? To the north, to the south? Over land, over sea? Maybe even drawn by some mystical force back to the wondrous land of Sofi itself.” He paused to survey the room. The air was serious now.

  When he opened the doors again, the hooded figure was still there. Puzzled looks appeared. Somebody groaned. Had it gone wrong after all? But when the figure stepped out and threw back its cowl, it turned out to be Ronti, back again. While the audience was mulling and coming to terms with this unexpected development, Korshak and Ronti turned the cabinet around through a circle again, ostensibly to show nothing amiss. But this time they left it farther back – practically against the drapes. Nobody registered the fact.

  Korshak lifted a slate that had been lying with the folded robes, set it up vertically on the table where all could see it, and resumed. “We have glimpsed the Ancients’ mastery over space. Now we will reenact a rendition of their command over time itself.” He raised his head a fraction to call to a servant at the rear, who was awaiting the cue. “The light, if you please.” All heads turned as a lamp was turned up above a small alcove by the doors leading to the main hall. In the alcove was a high-backed chair with carved arms, standing behind a footstool. While the audience was still taking in this new turn, Ronti walked back through the center aisle and took his place in the chair. In the comparative darkness at the back of the room, the light from the lamp above highlighted the form of his head and shoulders, enveloped in the cowl and robe. Korshak drew attention back to the front of the room.

  “Does someone here have the time of day at this moment?”

  After some fumbling in different places, a man near the center announced, “Almost a quarter past the eighteenth hour.” Korshak chalked the information onto the slate. People all around were looking mystified. Nobody had any idea where this could be leading.

  “Note that my assistant is here in this room at this moment,” Korshak instructed. “But before proceeding further with him, we must bring back Princess Vaydien.” He crossed to the cabinet and opened it to reveal a second hooded figure returned from beyond. But something about it didn’t seem right. The figure was turning its head from side to side as if trying to get its bearings, and acting in a generally agitated manner – not suggestive of royalty at all. Korshak took the figure’s hand and led it out. Looking perplexed, he lifted back the cowl. It wasn’t Vaydien – who by that time had already exited from the cabinet’s secret compartment behind the mirrors, through a divide in the black drapes, and from there along the space behind them to the side exit from the wings.

  Laughter erupted among some of the court and palace staff, who recognized the face and took it as a joke that Korshak had thrown in. “Who are you?” Korshak demanded.

  “My name is Eena, sir,” the scullery maid answered, seemingly bewildered, playing well the part that Ronti had rehearsed her in. She had been inside the cabinet when it was wheeled in from the wings.

  Korshak threw the audience a grimace that looked like a sick attempt at a smile, drawing more laughter as others caught on. “Where are you from?”

  “If you please, sir, I work in the kitchens.”

  “Here, in the palace of Shandrahl?”

  “Why, yes, sir. I was there just a moment ago.”

  “How did you get here?”

  “I… don’t know.”

  Even Shandrahl was unable to suppress a smile. Korshak turned and looked toward the rear of the room as if suddenly remembering something else. “But time moves on! Nothing can arrest it, not even the powers of the Ancients. Observe.” He pointed. Everyone in the room turned to regard the solemn, hooded shape still sitting in the light of the lamp above the alcove, its lower part lost in shadow behind the footstool. What none of them knew was that the cowl and shoulder portion of the robe that Ronti had worn contained stiffening strips of cane that would preserve its shape when lifted from the wearer. With it, during the distraction afforded by Korshak’s clowning, Ronti had shed the top part of his tunic, uncovering the jacket of an Urst cavalry officer that he had been wearing underneath, and slipped out through the rear doors into the banqueting hall. By now he would be on his way through the corridor to the kitchen area and cellars to join Vaydien.

  Every eye in the room watched in awe and trepidation as ghostly white vapors rose around the motionless form in the alcove. They thickened to obscure it completely for a moment or two, and then thinned; but the form was still there. Attention remained riveted on it, the room breathless and silent, waiting for something to happen. But nothing did. Finally, Zileg turned back impatiently, his expression demanding an explanation. Others followed suit in quick succession.

  But by then the front of the room was deserted, with no trace of Korshak to be seen.

  Korshak caught up with Vaydien and Ronti where the side passage from the kitchens joined the palace’s escape tunnel. They emerged at a landing place on the riverbank, where Mirsto had opened the concealed gate and was waiting with a boat. They followed the river for a little over a mile downstream to a copse just outside the city, where four fast horses, watched over by Sultan, were hitched among the trees – saddled, provisioned for lightweight travel, and ready to go.

  SIX

  Tranth City, with the surrounding region that it dominated, which extended a couple of hundred miles or so in each direction, was located on the opposite side of Merka from Sofi. From a descending surface lander launched fifteen minutes previously by a mother craft from Aurora cruising in the upper stratosphere, Lois Iles contemplated the scene enlarging gradually below. At the far end of the cabin behind her, looking bored and indifferent in a baggy suit, his mouth working absently on a piece of chewing root, Quentago sat between two hefty escorts from the ship. Although Lois’s principal field was optical physics – she had played a major part in working out the functions of devices found in the ruins of several old-world astronomical observatories preserved in Sofi’s central mountain range – she was also active in recruiting for the mission, which meant being on the lookout for exceptional individuals. People like Quentago, with the contempt they displayed for every kind of principle in their pursuit of self
-gratification, repulsed her. Not only did they debase everything it meant to be human; they bragged about it.

  Tranth was ruled by a gangster faction that had come to power through violence and made law as expedient. They had rebuilt a hydrocarbon-based technology of sorts and were putting all else second to expanding their industrial base to achieve military dominance in the region. Mills, mine heads, and factory buildings disgorging smoke cluttered the outlying areas, with grimy houses growing denser farther in to become a belt of ugliness choking the urban center. After the open, airy townships of Sofi, the narrow streets hemmed in by tall, austere buildings looked airless and cramped.

  From their earliest days, the Sofians had progressed quickly in deciphering old-world scientific texts, enabling rapid advances in physics that had resulted in a decision to move directly to nuclear techniques for power generation and supplying process heat for materials extraction, manufacture, and other needs. Such boldness of innovation was characteristic of the Sofian way of going about things, leading them through a succession of breakthroughs in the furthering of knowledge and its application to practical matters. This, and their policy of not making their discoveries widely available, had given them uncontested technical supremacy and made possible its culmination in Aurora.

  The lander came down as directed in an open space behind a line of high, solid-looking stone buildings. It looked like a site being cleared for new construction, walled on either side and enclosed at the front by a chain-link fence with a wide gate. Maybe a dozen armed guards, who could have been police or soldiers, were stationed at the gate and outside in the street. A vehicle with two figures waiting in front of it was standing inside, clear of the touchdown area. As the lander’s power died, Lois picked up the document wallet containing her notes, unbuckled her seat restraint, and rose to her feet. The exit was forward from the passenger cabin, through a bulkhead door and behind the crew stations. Farther back, Quentago remained seated with his two escorts.