"How many of those are not in stasis?"
"One."
He cursed again. "You said that I was awakened because a human command decision is required. What is the nature of the decision?"
"Automated Sentry Four has detected intruders at the Tertiary Launch Site. Please choose response option and level."
"List options and levels."
"Options: Observe, Apprehend, Repel. Levels: No Force, Moderate Force, Deadly Force."
"Identify the intruders."
"Information not available."
"Quantify threat level."
"Information not available."
"What information is available concerning the intruders?"
"Surveillance audio is available."
"Play it."
Human voices came from the drone, a fragment of a conversation.
"What language is that?"
"Information not available."
"Translate surveillance audio."
"Translation not possible."
He gave up. "Direct Automated Sentry Four to take no action."
"Directive transmitted."
He thought for a moment. "Do you have access to operations logs?"
"Yes."
"Display last entry."
"Indicate console for display."
He went to this nearest, unlocked the chair, and sat down. "This one."
When the image appeared on the skry tablet, it was of a middle-aged woman that he did not know. Her clothing was the standard issue coverall and her hair extremely short. She looked agitated and rushed.
"The Remnants enclave at Mount Brigon fired on the rescue shuttle and it crashed, but there are survivors. The rest of us are going to take another shuttle down to help. Since we don't know how long we'll have to be away, we've taken one of the drones out of storage and modified it to maintain the orbital. I'll resume this log when we return."
The tablet darkened.
"Who are the Remnants?"
"Information not available."
"What was the date of that entry?"
"Day 147, 2377 by the Common Reckoning."
"What?"
"Please clarify nature of query."
"Three hundred years! I have been in stasis for over three hundred years?"
"No," Command Oversight replied in its aggravatingly emotionless tone.
He felt his hear sink. "State current date."
"Day 184, 7025 by the Common Reckoning."
The shock was so severe that for several moments he could not speak. When his thinking cleared, he ordered the drone to play the log entries since the moment he had gone into stasis. At first, he watched each and every one, but as the months rolled in to years, he felt compelled to skip through.
When he learned that the world that he had known had destroyed itself, he pounded the console with his fist and yelled curses.
When he learned that Mortyn had married, had children, and lived a long if severe life aboard the orbital, he smiled for his lost friend.
When he learned that Mortyn's descendants and those of the other crew, destitute of experience of the evil that men could do, had been too naive to recognize the pleading messages from the Remnants as obvious lies intended to lure them down to the surface, he wept.
Shaken, he left Orbital Control and wandered the corridors for an hour or two, trying not to think. Even after five thousand years, the orbital, preserved and maintained by spells of unequalled finesse and power, was in perfect order. Every panel was in place, every light functioned, and the glide tubes whisked him about without a bobble. The lavatories, galleys, and crew quarters were all neat and clean. In the latter, he looked upon but did not touch the personal items that their millennia vanished occupants had left lying about.
When he returned to Orbital Control, he asked the drone, "Do you have the capability to observe the surface?"
"Yes."
"How many people are alive down there?"
"Information not available."
"Estimate population based upon extent of illumination of population centers at night. Use factors derived from historical data to estimate technological level and from that derive the appropriate population density factor."
"Given those parameters, the population of the surface is estimated to be twelve and one-half million with a margin of error of ten point eight percent."
That, at least, was encouraging.
"Can you establish a voice communication link with any of them?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"The few comms in operation are low powered military units that are warded against intrusion."
And that was entirely discouraging.
The world had recovered, but what type of world it had become was an unknown.
However, one thing was certain: the Project and its supporters had slept long enough. The orbital had the capacity to comfortably support twenty-four hundred people, but the plan had always been to return to the surface and reestablish their work.
"Provide demographic summary of personnel in stasis."
"One thousand three hundred and four are female. One thousand one hundred and sixty-four are male. Ninety-two females are classified as elderly. Nine hundred and one females are classified as non-elderly adults. Two hundred and eleven females are classified as children --"
"Cancel. How many medics are in stasis?"
"Would you like those classified as Medic's Assistants to be included in the total?"
"Yes."
"There are forty-seven Medics and Medic's Assistants in stasis."
"How many are active members of the Project?" Participants might lack sufficient discipline to deal with the crisis.
"Three."
"Direct me to the coffins of the those three. I want to have trained personnel on hand should there be complications with any of the rest of the revivals."
The drone gave him the compartment location and coffin number of the first medic, a man named Walis. After verifying that all was well with the entombed medic, he activated the revival sequence.
Walis woke with the same clear head and energy as had Oyraebos and, after a short mental debate on the merits of springing the news on the unsuspecting medic, the sorcerer elected to explain all that had happened.
Walis was a larger man with the muscular physique of someone who had conscientiously exercised to remain in top condition. He accepted Oyraebos's quick explanation of their present circumstance with laudable aplomb, making no comment.
"We are going to waken everyone?" Walis asked, glancing at a coffin adjacent to his.
"Yes. Over a period of time as we have the opportunity and the manpower."
"Might we immediately awaken two others that I know in this compartment? One is a medic and the other is a Medic's Assistant."
"They are Participants?"
"Yes."
"The two of us would be ill equipped to deal with emotional outbursts at this point."
"Both women are level headed. Both readily accepted the necessity of stasis without complaint. There will be no difficulty."
Oyraebos read the name off the control panel of the adjacent coffin. "Prim Olfew? I know this woman. She is more than a medic. She is a freelance spy, of sorts. The Project engaged her services from time to time. She believed that we were unaware of her identity."
Walis looked surprised. "I did not know. We were colleagues, but I never saw her behave in a suspicious or covert manner. Will that be a problem?"
"No. The Project's evaluation of her confirms your own. The other Participant?"
Walis pointed to the next coffin in the row. The name was Nali.
Oyraebos immediately noticed a flashing readout on this one's control panel. "She has a blended genetic makeup."
Walis nodded. "I only became aware of this after she was placed in stasis. Proctor Zem, my section lead, judged that it was significant enough to merit monitoring but not corrective action."
"I concur, but care sho
uld be taken to fully inform any future suitors of the potential consequences to progeny."
"I will take responsibility for that."
"You were trained in the operation of the coffins?" To Oyraebos, Walis seemed capable and dedicated.
"Yes."
"Then if you would care to initiate the revival process with Medic Prim, I will see to the other young woman."
Though he had already taken it for granted, Oyraebos noted the solicitous manner with which Walis aided Prim as she rose from her coffin and took it as confirmation of an established social relationship.
Both young women proved steady and amenable to direction and he dispatched them under Walis' direction to awaken the other medics.
Over the next month, the medics and their teams awakened the entire roster. The facts of their current situation were spread by word of mouth and while grief, shock, and tears were the common reactions, most all came to accept the ancient disaster and adapted to the circumstances in which they had awoken, commiserating with and comforting one another. The few, all Participants, that remained subject to emotional distress were treated with calming spells and bound over into the care of their friends and families.
Only one of the regional leaders, President Llynris of the Republican Chapter, could be located. Present when she was awakened, Oyraebos saw immediately that the stout, sharp-faced woman was noticeably older than when he had seen her last.
"I went in five years after you," she told him, having readily interpreted his look. "All the others chose to be fish rather than pickles. I could not stand the confines of the orbital any longer."
After he gave her a rapid brief, he said, "I expect that we will be making preparations to return to the surface? I would like to begin organizing my section to that end."
"That is for you to decide. You lead the Project now."
This left him aghast.
"You were chosen and promoted when it became clear that the length of the stasis would be prolonged. We felt that a powerful sorcerer with mastery of a broad range of spell disciplines would be best equipped to deal with any eventuality. You were the obvious choice." She shook her head. "None of us believed that it would be this long though."
Never one to shirk his duty, he fell to with determination.
His first thought was to make contact with Orbital A, but all comm attempts failed and visual observation of the distant platform with one of the telescopes in the astronomical blister showed it dark and apparently lifeless.
Disregarding the severe distress this news caused him, he set the organization in motion, directing various sections to check inventories of supplies, verify the function of all systems, dismantle the drone (magical creations had no place managing human affairs), operate the laundries and kitchens, stand watches at critical consoles, and most importantly begin an intensive study the planet below. He made certain that everyone had a job and plenty to do.
After the reports from the planetary section began to come back, he spoke over the announcement system.
"I would like to speak briefly to answer the questions that I know all of you must have. First, know that the Project will continue. As we originally planned, our work will resume. We are members of the Project and the betterment of mankind is our vocation."
"As you all know to some extent, the world that we have found upon awakening is nothing like the one we left when we entered stasis. The wars that we slept to avoid have changed it almost beyond recognition. All that was before is gone. Civilization as we knew it does not exist. What there is of magic is primitive and ineffectual. The vast majority of the inhabitants of the world today appear to be the descendants of those poor souls who were magic deficient. They have no technology at all and live a barbaric existence. In essence, as far as the work of the Project is concerned, the world is a slate that has been wiped clean."
"Clearly, all of us aboard Orbital B, Proctors and Participants, are a unique resource, a pool of the magically adept who can -- and I would venture to say should -- return our abilities to the world at large through a careful program of genetic management."
"We are not trapped here, as some may have been speculating. We have five shuttles and our pilots have certified that all are in perfect operational condition. The Tertiary Launch Site still exists and some of its magics are responding. Our pilots are confident that we will be able to land there and take off without difficulty. In addition, one of our shuttles is a military model with glide capability and it will be able to put down in any large open level area, such as the dried lake bed that we have identified in one of the northern deserts. Within reasonable limitations, we will be able to come and go as we please. We can go home."
"As to when that will be, I propose that we send covert scouts to the surface immediately to examine the cultures that exist, learn their languages, and develop an understanding of extant political situations. As we receive information from them, I believe that we should work together to make all preparations necessary to accomplish our evacuation. A tentative schedule agreed to by all the committees would see the removal of all but a standby crew from the orbital within a timeframe of six to eight months."
"I am sure that all of you will agree with me that it is our solemn duty to set the planet -- our house -- in order. We must suppress the misguided barbarian conflicts that now rage in various locales, establish a proper order -- rational jurisprudence, social support systems, and a modern economy -- and begin to mold a new civilization based upon the best principals of our lost world."
"If there are no substantive objections, I would like to see the first shuttle depart tomorrow."
FORTY-THREE
From where he stood on a bluff above a river called Shiinalao by the tribesmen who were the only ones to have reason to cross it, nhBreen could see the mountain that was his target. He began to enter the lengthy location code into the bracelet for the seventh and final port that would take him to the ice shelf where the crashed flyer lay.
"You will freeze to death with no more clothes than this," Waleck promised.
nhBreen made a sharp slashing gesture with his fist and cast, "Dhiolazal."
An ethereal barrier that radiated a comfortable warmth took shape around him.
"A thermal glamour? You have remembered another spell?"
"Yes," nhBreen confirmed. "They are all coming back. The damage to my mind has finally begun to heal. Soon I will be rid of all of the deficiencies that have plagued me for five millennia -- including you."
"You are me."
"I am Knight-Commander nhBreen, a master sorcerer of the eighth rank. I am proud and I am strong and I am brave."
"nhBreen is a dead man. Waleck, through many guises, is the man that has been given life from his corpse. You are Waleck."
"I am nhBreen."
For a moment, he felt disoriented, then shook his head to clear it and tapped the bracelet.
It was snowing on the mountain and heavy clouds held the ice shelf in a bluish-gray twilight that made him shiver in spite of the fact that the temperature maintained by the thermal glamour was quite balmy. Though fragmentary, memories of imprisonment in his dark and cold tomb had also begun to surface.
To save time, as soon as he located a spot just above the crushed pilot compartment, he cast a focused knife of ethereal fire and began to use it to melt a tunnel down into the ice.
"I thought that you said that your dream showed you chipping the ice away?"
"It did, but foreknowledge predisposes change."
"You change one thing and you change everything."
"My dream is still valid. Minor changes cannot divert the main progression."
"You have regained all of nhBreen's knowledge. You know that under the proper circumstances that even an insignificant change in a primary event has the potential to introduce exponential variation."
"I grow weary of you. Be quiet for a while."
On his return from the glacier, nhBreen took possession of an unused storeroom in
Plythtwaelndt. With wards erected across the threshold to insure that he would not be disturbed, he brought in a table and chair to his liking and began the prodigious task of modifying the spells of the port bracelet.
Including the variables necessary to establish the time interval and location matrix, the spell contained exactly two thousand, one hundred ninety-seven Keys, the forth Hidden Significant Number cubed, and he had never previously attempted a composite modulation of such complexity. A single error in the early stages would force him to begin again. A single error in the latter stages would likely eradicate Plythtwaelndt, the Brotherhood of Phaelle, Mhevyr, and everything else within a radius of fifty leagues.
"Khy-list-neq-pol'istorck-mystra-bhylaah-desnheoi-kymosotolot," he said to apply the four hundred and sixth.
Nearly all of the Keys were such multi-syllabic nonsensical phrases. The spell was not of his devising; it had been presented in its entirety at a secret intelligence briefing at the Bastion and the implication had been that operatives of the Defense Service had stolen it from a Kendis facility.
"This is insane."
"That is not a word that you should use, given that you are a phantom of my nightmares."
"I can feel the flux potential growing. How can you have possibly memorized threefold thirteen Keys?"
"I have not memorized them. I am simply reading off what was written to my mind by my dreams. Now be quiet. These next three hundred and twelve Keys are delicate."
Not stopping to eat or sleep and only taking an occasional sip of water, he worked through the night to complete the spell. For all of its power, the spell could only achieve a limited displacement and thus had to be used before midday coming.
When day broke, he was ready to make the last and most critical gesture.
"It will not work," the phantom argued with some heat. "It cannot work. You will kill us both."
nhBreen ignored him, stood up without pause, balanced on the ball of his right foot, and then slowly spun widdershins for seven-tenths of an arc.
Feeling the spell stabilize, he finally smiled as he strapped the bracelet onto his wrist. "It is complete. The adapted modulation will take us to a point exactly forty-nine hours in the past."
Wizard (The Key to Magic) Page 25