Of all people, I should have known.
Artwhiler had taken his removal from the Paratwa investigation as a personal humiliation. He would not allow himself to be humiliated a second time.
Private pleas to Artwhiler had failed. It was almost as if the Guardian commander did not care why Rome had arranged for the Alexanders to raid the Church temples. Artwhiler perceived the pirate actions as some sort of opportunity to regain his lost dignity.
Madness.
Going public had been a desperate measure on Rome’s part. His admitting E-Tech’s role in the raids and ordering the arrest of Vokir forced Artwhiler to consider the consequences of his actions. Hopefully, he would hold back his Guardians, at least until after the Council meeting.
Rome thought about what had not been publicly announced.
The three coordinated raids had gone smoothly enough. Costeau vessels had touched down simultaneously at the temples on the Shan Plateau, in Finland, and in Western Canada. Church personnel manning the temples had been surprised by the landings, then astonished when armed pirates had come charging into their sacred domains. The temple servants had put up no real resistance, however, and no serious harm had befallen them. The worst injury had apparently occurred in Finland, when a Church maintenance tech, in his excitement, tripped over an airlock portal and fractured an ankle.
The Church personnel had been imprisoned in their bedrooms while the Alexanders, using heavy-duty scanning gear provided by E-Tech, searched the temples.
Almost immediately, secret stairwells had been discovered in all three locations, leading down from the bishop’s private offices. Each stairwell terminated in a small cavern. Each cavern boasted a metal door carved into bedrock. Each door contained a circle of five single-access hand modems.
That discovery had relieved the last of Rome’s doubts.
Unfortunately, the metal doors and the surrounding bedrock had resisted all attempts at penetration. Ultrasonics, X-rays—nothing had worked. In Finland, the Costeau crew had decided to pierce the door with beam cutters. In Western Canada, they opted for diamond-thermal drills, set in the surrounding bedrock. The Costeaus on the Shan Plateau resolved to wait and see which method worked best before attempting penetration; they proved to be the luckiest of the three groups.
In Finland and Western Canada, immense explosions had ripped through the underground facilities, blowing holes straight up to the surface and rocking the temples so badly that they were yanked from their foundations. Whatever lay hidden beneath Finland and Western Canada had been totally annihilated. And fifteen Alexanders had perished.
Rome shook his head. We warned them that the Ash Ock might have set traps. We asked them to wait. We told them we had a safer way to get through the portals. We told them that the Ash Ock might rather see their handiwork destroyed than have it fall into enemy hands.
But with Artwhiler threatening to blow up their home colony, the Alexanders had been in no mood to tarry.
Rome closed his eyes. Gillian and Nick were already on their way down to the Shan Plateau. They must get through that door. We must have evidence to present to the Council.
The fate of the Colonies depended on it.
O}o{O
“Well,” said Nick over his intercom, “I guess it’s showtime.”
The midget turned away from Gillian. He chuckled as he faced the grim array of spacesuited pirates who stood poised behind them in the shallow bedrock cavern, one hundred and twenty feet below the Shan Plateau.
They did not really need the protection of spacesuits. The cavern was free of atmospheric poisons, its closed air-circulation system secretly linked to the temple above. But once they opened this portal ...
Nick’s theory that a breeding lab lay beyond the door—a huge installation, where a new army of Paratwa was being created—dictated the presence of purified air, Gillian had his doubts, not so much about the presence of air as to the existence of a breeding lab. That the Ash Ock would have maintained a trio of fully manned centers beneath the Earth for over two hundred years seemed improbable, especially in the light of what had just occurred in Finland and Western Canada. Two centuries of work would not have been destroyed with such complete indifference. Something else lay beyond this portal.
“I gotta tell you,” Nick drawled, “this is the biggest goddamn door I’ve ever seen.”
Several of the pirates laughed. Most of them merely stared at the tiny spacesuited figure huddled next to Gillian in front of the imposing gray portal.
They lost fifteen of their friends today, Gillian thought. The other temples were booby-trapped. And there’s no guarantee that when I place my hand on this modem and open this door, we won’t suffer the same fate. The Ash Ock may have constructed more subtle traps to prevent illegal entry.
It didn’t hurt that Nick was trying to cheer everybody up.
Gillian stared at the circle of hand modems embedded in the metal door.
Five modems. He closed his eyes and formed a picture in his mind. A circle of five.
Since yesterday morning, when he had learned his real identity, memories, unfettered by pain, had been returning. He had already recalled a rash of events from childhood.
The process of recall proved very strange. He found that the clearer recollections emanated from those times when he and Catharine had been linked together as Empedocles. Somehow, that seemed backward to Gillian. He felt that his own discrete tway memories should have been easier to recall.
It was a mystery whose solution would have to wait. They did not have much time. Artwhiler had not backed down.
Following Rome’s public announcement, the Guardian commander had modified his position to allow the Alexanders three hours to retreat from the surface. If they had not left the temples within that time, Artwhiler vowed to launch a full-scale shuttle attack aimed at regaining control of all three Church facilities. Concurrent with that action, the Guardians would fire the first rocket barrage at the home colony of the Alexanders. For the Costeaus, it was a no-win situation.
Which means we have less than thirty-five minutes to get through this door, find out what’s inside, and then return to the shuttles and blast off.
Gillian depressurized his spacesuit, broke the wrist seal, and pulled the thick rubber glove off his right hand. With his eyes still closed, he raised his bare palm toward the circle of modems.
A circle of five. That was important to me once. Somewhere, ages ago, someone told me about the significance of this circle.
His mind needed no more prompting. The memory, already on the edge of awareness, exploded into full consciousness.
Aristotle, my contact with the other Ash Ock. He was a pair of brutish-looking males—and the only one of the Royal Caste I was ever allowed to see. He used to visit me in Brazil, gauge the progress of my training, make sure that I was being properly tutored by the scientists, who by that time were under the dominion of the very Paratwa whom they had created.
One day when I was young, still a pair of preteens, I was alone with Aristotle, our four bodies facing each other on the hot sand beside the quiet jungle stream. One of Aristotle’s tways picked up a stick and drew a rough circle in the sand and said to me that I must remember it always, for it was the sphere of the Royal Caste.
“First,” said Aristotle, “comes Codrus, oldest of our breed, financier of our cause.” And Aristotle marked Codrus’s position by scribing an X just past the one o’clock spot on the circle.
Aristotle’s tways then burst into laughter as he marked his own position on the circle, between three and four o’clock. Still chuckling, he said that he could not understand how such a great political genius as himself had been given such a mediocre position on the perimeter of greatness. And I had laughed with him, but uneasily, for I was too young to understand what he meant.
Aristotle slashed an X at the very bottom of the circle—six o’clock—and he said that that represented Sappho. And he would say no more, for he never talked about Sappho, no matter how ha
rd I pestered him.
“Theophrastus, master of the hard sciences, occupies the fourth spot on the circle,” said Aristotle, drawing the X between eight and nine o’clock. “Remember, young one, that it will be Theophrastus whose inventions will someday free us from the crushing burden of human beings.” When Aristotle said that, a thrill coursed through my bodies and I felt momentarily overwhelmed by a joy I could not describe.
“And finally,” Aristotle said with a twinkle in his eyes, “we come to Empedocles, youngest and fairest of them all, the child who will someday grow to be our protector.” And he drew a tiny X near the eleven o’clock position.
The memory vanished. Gillian opened his eyes and placed his bare hand on the fifth modem, near the eleven o’clock position of the circle. He repeated the access code that Aristotle had made him memorize that day on the beach.
The modem flashed green. He yanked his glove back on, repressurized his suit, and pushed the door inward.
“Here we go,” muttered Nick.
Gillian flipped the spring-mount on his left wrist and felt the thruster fly into his hand. He charged into the darkness, not knowing what to expect, but wishing again that he did not need to function within the limitations of a spacesuit. Worst of all, the bulky suit glove defeated the subtle hand pressures needed to effectively use the Cohe. He had been forced to store the wand in one of his belt compartments.
Sensors detected him. Ceiling panels faded up to full illumination.
Nick leaped in behind him. The midget came to a bewildered halt at Gillian’s side.
“What the hell do you call this?”
The pirates poured in, thrusters ready to meet any threat. But like Nick, they halted in confusion just inside the door.
They stood within a relatively small chamber, circular in shape, about twenty feet in diameter. The low ceiling offered a standard lighting grid. In the center of the room, a desk, molded from gray plastic, supported a pair of data consoles. A small armless chair stood before the desk. But it was the surrounding circular wall that astonished them.
Except for the portal where they had entered, the circumference of the chamber was an uninterrupted layer of some sort of thick translucent membrane. At least fifty pale green orbs, each the size of a golf ball, floated randomly within the clear get. Tiny flagella projected from each opaque bubble. The orbs wiggled and pulsed, slowly propelling themselves through the ooze.
“Are they alive?” asked one of the pirates, her thruster aimed warily at the nearest section of wall.
Nick broke into a deep frown. “They seem to be.”
With fascination, Gillian watched two bubbles haphazardly encounter one another. For a moment, nothing happened. Then flagella whipped violently. The orbs immediately reversed direction and moved away from each other.
Gillian shook his head. “This is no breeding lab.”
Nick looked upset. He stared down at the plastic floor, then up at the illuminated ceiling grids, ten feet above, “There’s got to be more to the facility. Another chamber, above or below us, or on the other side of this wall.”
Gillian had his doubts. “I think this is it.” He crossed to the desk in the center of the room and examined the twin keyboards and dual monitors, a Paratwa arrangement.
The terminals appeared to be standard models, no different from those Gillian had known back in the twenty-first century. Microcams were mounted above the monitors for teleconferencing. But between the two keyboards stood a thick black toggle switch. It was not labeled.
Gillian pointed to the switch. “Any ideas?”
The midget scowled. “I haven’t the faintest idea what it’s for.” Nick kept his eyes warily on the pulsating green bubbles, as if he expected them to leap from the gel and attack him. “Maybe it blows up the whole goddamned planet!”
Gillian smiled. Nick did not like his mysteries this mysterious. “Well, we don’t have time for any careful experiments, do we? Let’s give it a try.” He threw the switch before Nick could stop him.
The screen came to life.
contact position formulating.
“Something’s going on,” whispered the midget with a nervous tremor in his voice.
All around them, the suspended bubbles shook violently, blazing through a wild rainbow of colors. After about fifteen seconds, the process stopped. The spectral mutation stabilized itself. Each bubble had grown to twice its normal size and each had turned a dark shade of blue.
“Well, that was fun,” muttered Nick. “Now what?”
Before Gillian could respond, the screen came to life again.
doppler corrections initiated. coordinates synchronized.
There was a short pause in the readout. Then:
contact is being established.
“Doppler corrections!” said Gillian excitedly. “That’s the frequency shift between two points in rapid motion. We’re in motion—the Earth is moving through space. So are they!”
Nick twisted his lips. “You mean they’re up in the Colonies?”
“No! Don’t you see?” Gillian could barely contain himself. Insights flooded awareness. He knew what this chamber was used for.
Theophrastus! Aristotle said it was you who would free the Paratwa! And you did it!
Gillian motioned to Nick and the pirates. “Quick! There’s no time to explain. All of you back away from the front of these terminals. It says that contact is being established. Whoever comes on that screen will be able to see the person transmitting from this end!”
Gillian replaced his thruster and depressurized his suit. He removed his helmet, then sat down in front of the monitor. Nick and the Alexanders shuffled to the sides of the chamber. They could still observe the screen but they remained outside the viewing locus of the terminal’s microcams.
They moved just in time. Status lights ignited above the keyboard. The letters disappeared. A face dissolved onto the screen.
An elegant woven tapestry served as a backdrop for the man who appeared before Gillian. His hair was blond and shiny and just long enough to cover his ears. Short bangs hid most of his furrowed brow. The face was clean-shaven and utterly calm. Alert green eyes betrayed no surprise.
He studied Gillian for a long moment. Then he smiled.
“May I help you?”
Gillian wanted to laugh. He’s expecting an Ash Ock, Codrus, probably, and a complete stranger—me—shows up instead. And now he’s going to try and bluff his way through a conversation and find out what the hell’s going on.
Gillian matched the pleasant smile. It won’t work. I’ll be doing the bluffing. I have the advantage. You have no idea who I am. But I recognize you.
The face on the screen was that of a tway. He was a Jeek Elemental, an assassin from the same breeding labs as Reemul.
The memory returned in full. Long ago, when I was just a child, Aristotle brought me to you for the first time. In the beginning, you were his servant alone, but later you became chief lieutenant for all of the Ash Ock.
It was you who trained me to be a fighter. It was you who taught me to use the Cohe wand, to master the mind-body rhythms of the assassin. It was you who made me into the deadliest of the Ash Ock, the one destined to become their overlord and protector.
Gillian said, “Hello, Meridian.”
The tway registered a slight shock. His eyes wavered.
Meridian quickly regained his composure. “I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that name.”
Gillian laughed. “You don’t recognize me, Meridian? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had several facial alterations since Brazil.”
This time, Meridian squinted. Gillian imagined that the Jeek’s other tway was already summoning help—his Ash Ock masters.
Gillian added, “I’m afraid that Codrus is indisposed right now.”
The tway gave a wary nod.
So! Nick is right! It is Codrus!
Gillian chuckled, enjoying the game. Another memory came to him.
“Remember, Me
ridian, the time that you became angry with me because you said I wasn’t paying enough attention to my training? And you threatened to punish me by waiting till I had separated and then locking me in different rooms and breaking all the mirrors so that I couldn’t interlace. And I laughed at you and I made you kneel down and I whispered in both your ears my great secret—that I, alone among the five, never, ever needed the mirror for interlacing!”
Gillian found himself laughing as he recalled the story. “That was my little secret, Meridian. I never told anyone else about it. Did you?”
The tway’s jaw dropped open. He did not even try to hide his astonishment.
“Who ... are ... you?”
Gillian mocked his words, in the same manner he had mocked them as a child. “Who ... am ... I? I’m surprised, Meridian. I always liked and admired you, especially the quickness of your mind. But you’re rather slow today.” And he thought, It’s true. I did like and admire you. You were always a good companion to me—harsh, but fair.
“You taught me much, Meridian, and not just the tricks of the assassin. Next to Aristotle, you were my best teacher.”
“Empedocles?” the tway whispered.
Gillian nodded. Close enough to the truth. I can’t let you know about Catharine. I can’t let you see that I’ve been reduced to a mere tway.
“You ... were killed.” Meridian clamped his jaw shut. His face betrayed total confusion.
“That was the E-Tech story,” Gillian explained, mixing truth with lies. “They naturally did not want it known that they had captured one of the Royal Caste. I was too valuable a prize to dangle in the public eye.”
Meridian shook his head. “Where is Codrus?”
“At this precise moment, I don’t know where the bishop is.” And neither does anyone else.
Gillian smiled at Meridian’s discomfiture. He decided to take a chance. “And the councilor-tway is up in Irrya preparing for a meeting.”
Meridian nodded solemnly. Gillian caught Nick’s excited gaze from the side of the room.
So! It’s true! Codrus’s tway is indeed an Irryan councilor!
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