“It doesn’t look like anyone has been here in a very long while,” Humberto said, pointing to the tall grass in the clearing, and the overgrown vegetation.
Near the tree line, there was a series of four stone columns, no more than two meters high. Mayan glyphs covered their entire surface.
Patli, barely winded from the hike, went to the columns and ran the palms of his hands over them. He gave Michael and the others a wide grin and started speaking in Mayan.
Yaxche, who didn’t look like he’d managed much better on the journey than Michael, said, “He’s telling us what each glyph means.”
“The story he told us back at his place seemed much longer,” Michael said, surveying the four columns.
Humberto nodded. “The glyph-style of storytelling is more like point-form. The priest telling the story would fill in the narrative when he recited it. There’s a lot of room for interpretation.”
“Tell me about it,” Michael said. “When our linguists tried to decipher the Song of the Stars, we had a dozen different versions, and every translator insisted theirs was the correct one.”
Humberto held up a finger, and a crease appeared in his forehead as he questioned Patli. When the older man replied, the cruzado spoke to Michael. “He says the only thing written on the columns that talks about where the alien might have been buried is that it took Subo Ak from sunrise to sunset to walk the distance across the valley from the Sierra De La Minas.”
“Twelve hours.” Michael looked behind him. “How far did we come from where we left the truck?”
“About ten kilometers. It took us a little under four hours.”
“And we’re not all exactly young and fit.” In his head, Michael calculated. “If he could make better time than us, we’re looking at a maximum range of, say, thirty kilometers from this spot.” A moment later, Michael added, “Of course, that’s based on our interpretation of the glyphs.”
Humberto took out his holoslate and called up a terrain map. “In a generally northern direction, I would say we should be looking in this section, along the southern edge of the mountain range.”
Michael blanched. “That’s over ten-thousand hectares, easily. It could take us weeks to cover that much ground.”
Humberto brought up another screen. “There’s a mining operation supplier in Guatemala City. The Guatemalan Minister of Culture is one of our supporters.” He glanced up at Michael. “I can trust him. I’ll ask that he send satellite survey maps to us—we should be able to narrow down any caves in the area. We should get some equipment as well: laser scanners, that kind of thing.”
“Get a radiation detector,” Michael said. “The half-life of Kinemet is in the hundreds of thousands of years. That might help.”
“Good.” Humberto typed a message. “According to the topographical map, there’s a tributary to the Motagua River a few kilometers from here, and a small village a few more kilometers downstream. I’ll tell my friends in Las Amates to come get us there.”
Michael’s excitement was quickly dampened. “The fewer people who know who we are and what we’re doing, the better.”
“Not to worry,” Humberto said, “I trust these men with my—”
He was cut off when the crack of a rifle shot split the air. Diego, who had been standing at the southern edge of the clearing, flew backwards as a bullet ripped through his shoulder, and he disappeared into the long grass.
Migel swung around and shot into the forest, but the bullet that struck was the one that hit him in the leg, spinning him around before he fell with a loud cry.
Before anyone had a chance to react, a loud voice yelled out in Spanish. “¡No se mueva!”
28
Gliesan Ship :
Centauri System :
Justine watched as the Gliesans maneuvered their patrol ship close to the shuttle. At the last moment, the shuttle veered to port and accelerated away.
“They think we’re attacking them,” Justine said. “Is there any way we can communicate with Red Spot? I could explain what we’re doing.”
Naila reached out a feathery finger to an open space on the wall beside him, and touched the flowing surface. A shimmering console molded itself out of the wall. The alien pressed a series of small squares on the device.
“It is rare that a Kulsat ship will respond to a hail, but you may make the attempt. Direct your message into this receptacle. Our communications program will translate to the Kulsat computers.”
He ran his finger along a section of the console, and a thin protuberance formed out of the wall that Justine assumed was a microphone.
Justine stepped up to it and said, “Red Spot, this is Justine. If you can hear me, please respond. We are not trying to destroy you or your ship. The Gliesans have agreed to help us.”
Just when Justine thought there would be no reply, a monotone voice spoke. “There will be no help. They will torture us. Death is preferable.”
“I promise that is not true,” Justine said. “They have given me their word.”
Several moments passed before Red Spot replied. “You cannot guarantee our continuance. Our enemies practice deception on you, Justine.”
Trying to bridge these two very different worlds was frustrating. Justine gave Naila an exasperated look. “Is there anything you can do to prove to them they won’t be tortured?”
Naila and Fairamai shared a look. The pilot looked back at Justine. “You show uncommon compassion for a violent species that shows no compassion for others.”
Shaking her head, Justine said, “You can’t judge an entire culture based on the policies of those in power. Red Spot proved that not all Kulsat are like the Risen. She protected her people from Three Crescents’ murderous rampage, and she helped me—an alien—escape him.”
Cocking his head in a manner that Justine interpreted as bewilderment, Naila bent toward the microphone.
“This is Naila of the Fainne. Do you have the ability to broadcast my words to your entire ship?”
“All Kulsat on board can hear you,” came the monotone reply.
Formally, Naila said, “On behalf of the Collection of Worlds and the Parliament of Gliese, I am willing to offer you and the other members of your crew the right of asylum in return for your parole that you will renounce all hostilities against the Collection now and in the future. You will live, but you never be permitted to leave Gliesan space for the rest of your lives. Do you agree to these terms?”
A few long moments later, Red Spot replied, “All are in agreement. We accept your conditions.”
“Cut your engines. We will latch your shuttle to our ship and enter Aetherflight.”
“Thank you, Naila,” Justine said.
Naila made a low throaty noise. “Do not thank me yet. Their shuttle is much larger than our patrol ship, and our scans indicated there are over one hundred of them. If the shuttle is secured to our ship, and we push our quantum drive to its capacity, we should be able to convert them to Aethersleep, but I cannot guarantee they will all survive the Aetherflight.”
Justine opened her mouth to ask him to elaborate, but Fairamai got up from her seat and gestured to the corridor leading toward the back of the Fainne.
“If you will follow me down the passageway, Justine, I will take you to the passenger compartment. It is for your safety.”
As Naila began the docking procedure, Justine followed Fairamai and asked her a question. “What kind of danger was Naila talking about?”
“I’m sure you are aware there can be disorientation when coming out of Aetherflight.”
“Actually,” Justine said as she trailed the Gliesan, “I’ve only been on a quantum ship once, and I was the pilot at the time. I had no idea what I was doing—though I learned quickly—but I seemed to be able to manage the transition all right.”
“For our flight,” Fairamai said, “only the pilot will be in Aetherform and remain aware. It is the way of it. All passengers and crew of our ships, regardless whether they are Aet
hers or not, are placed in Aethersleep before Aetherflight. It is for their safety. You will not be conscious during the flight, and neither will I. Unfortunately, Naila will not be able to put all the Kulsat into Aethersleep. He will only be able to maintain a link with a dozen or so.” A moment later, she spoke in a low voice. “The Kulsat Risen apparently do not bother to induce Aethersleep in their crew, and let their quantum engines perform the conversion. The Kulsat may have more advanced technology, but that doesn’t mean they are more enlightened.”
Justine guessed that Aethersleep must be the term for quantizing another being, whether by a Kinemat, or by a quantum drive. Sensing the deep emotion behind Fairamai’s last statement, Justine was curious about the difference. “Why don’t you use the quantum drive to start the photonic change in passengers?”
The alien shook her head. “There is a significant risk of passengers not returning to the physical state if the Aetherdrive initiates Aethersleep.”
“Uh…”
“Were you not aware of this problem?” Fairamai asked. “Did you experience a noticeable delay when your ship came out of Aetherspace?”
Gulping at the thought that there had been a chance that all of them aboard the Ultio could have been stuck in the quantum state, Justine said, “Yes. That was one of our greatest hurdles when we began experimenting with quantum drives.” The more she learned, the more she realized how much more there was to learn. “Many of our test pilots died…”
Fairamai had reached the passenger compartment, and gestured for Justine to enter first.
“I am sorry to hear that,” the alien said. “We undergo years of training to master Aetherform and inducing Aethersleep before we are allowed to take a ship into Aetherspace.”
“Since we both have the ability to become photonic,” Justine asked, “why are we going into Aethersleep?”
“Only one consciousness can pilot a ship in Aetherstate. If there are two consciousnesses, there will be conflict and instability. The chance of returning to normal space is severely diminished.”
Justine felt her stomach sink at the thought. It would have been another fatal lesson for NASA and Quantum Resources to learn. At the back of her mind, she was aware that, in the four years since she’d been in Sol System, any number of disasters could have taken place if Earth continued quantum experiments.
Fairamai said, “The report we received from the other patrol ship indicated that your journey to Centauri was entirely in Aetherspace. The risks of mishap would have been greatly increased if you had gone outside light. You are lucky to be alive.”
Fairamai touched a spot on the wall, and a hammock-like seat formed out of the fluidic metal.
“You will be secure here.”
Justine didn’t move to the seat, however. Her mouth hung open in shock.
“Is there a problem?” Fairamai asked.
“What do you mean by ‘outside light’?”
With a slight jerking motion of her head, Fairamai made a chirping sound. She sounded surprised when she said, “You were not aware of this, either?”
Justine shook her head. “I thought there was a problem with the translation computer when you said the other patrol ship had sent a report to you before traveling to my solar system. I thought maybe you meant they’d left a report here for you, in Centauri; but they actually went to Gliese, and then to Sol System, didn’t they?”
“Yes.” Fairamai nodded. “It is by the Grace that we travel outside light. Inside a system, we travel in Aetherspace—inside the speed of light—but once we reach the star beacons, we are able to arrive in another system instantaneously.”
Justine couldn’t wrap her head around it. “How?”
“Outside light, the star beacons all occupy the same space.”
“Are you talking about quantum entanglement?”
“It is one theory. However, our experiments in that area have proven inconclusive.”
Chewing her lip, Justine asked, “Could ‘outside light’ be another dimension?”
“That is not known. When we are outside light, none of us has consciousness. It is only by the Grace that we are able to return to Aetherspace in another system.”
Stunned, Justine made her way to the seat and laid back into it. “I spent four years in a quantized state,” she said in a hoarse voice. “And I could have made the same journey in the blink of an eye.”
“It is unlikely,” Fairamai said. “You do not have the training, and your ships do not have the proper technology. All of that will come in time.”
Springing up to a sitting position, Justine said, “Then you must train me and show us how to use the star beacons correctly.”
“We cannot.” The alien shrugged her delicate shoulders. “We are forbidden to interfere in your technological evolution. It is a knowledge you need to discover for yourselves. Already, I am in ambiguous territory by warning you of the dangers.”
“I really don’t understand that policy,” Justine said.
“It is because of the Kulsat that the Grace made non-interference a law.”
“The Kulsat?”
Fairamai made a tapping gesture to the wall beside her, a console appeared showing writing that Justine couldn’t read.
The alien said, “We still have some time before Naila is finished attaching the shuttle. I will tell you the history while we wait—it is not restricted material.” She flicked her fingers across the panel, and it disappeared back into the wall.
Another reclining seat, similar to Justine’s, formed underneath Fairamai, and she sank into it.
“The Grace, who called themselves Xtôti, discovered Aetherspace nearly a million years ago. They explored our galaxy, and erected a star beacon in every system with a life-supporting planet, or cache of the Aetherock, so that they would not have to spend years or centuries to return to those systems.
“The Kulsat were the second species in the galaxy to achieve space flight—we believe this occurred approximately eight-thousand-years ago. From your own history, you understand that societal evolution can take a very long time. The Grace were perhaps too impatient. They brought knowledge of Aetherspace to the Kulsat as a gift. The Kulsat had not matured as a society, and quickly splintered into a caste system of those who could achieve Aetherform, and those who were unable to make the change.”
Justine interrupted. “The Deficients.” She thought about Alex. “They weren’t able to transform fully.”
“Yes. It is rare for it to happen in the other races, but there is some kind of physiological issue with the Kulsat species. Less than one in ten thousand is able to transform into a ‘Risen’.”
“That is why the Risen have cultivated their elite status.”
“That,” Fairamai said, “and because of the lifespan differential.”
“Lifespan?”
“A normal Kulsat has a life expectancy of approximately two to three years.” The translator calculated the time equivalent for Justine’s reference. “Those who fail the conversion process have their normal life expectancy reduced to an average of one quarter—it is the same rate with any other species when this happens.”
Justine swallowed hard. “One of my friends from the Ultio, Alex, wasn’t able to complete the transformation. Do you mean to say his life expectancy will be cut short as well?”
“Yes. I am afraid that is the case.”
The average human lived to a hundred-and-twenty. Alex had been exposed to Kinemet when he was ten. That meant that he most likely only had twenty or thirty years from the time on Macklin’s Rock left to live.
Fairamai said, “We make every effort to ensure those unconverted are comfortable. Though they can never exist within the gravity well of a planet or moon, we have many stations in our system where they work and live out their lives.”
“There’s no cure?” Justine asked, to which Fairamai shook her head.
She said, “The Kulsat call them Deficients, and do not treat them very well. Often, since they rarely have
more than a year of life left in them, they are sent out to mine Aetherock, or they are used as front-line troops in combat missions against the Collection.”
Justine was aghast. “And the Xtôti didn’t do anything to stop the Kulsat?”
“The Kulsat did not begin their war with the Collection until after the Grace disappeared from the galaxy. Before that point, the Grace were able to keep the Kulsat reined in. No one knows how this was accomplished; otherwise, we would have used the knowledge long ago to stop them.”
After a moment, Fairamai continued, “The Grace realized that interference could have unforeseen consequences. They decreed that all species would retain autonomy over their own affairs in all matters, especially when it came to technological advances. Only once a system Emerged could they petition to become a member of the Collection of Worlds and share technology.”
Justine said, “That answers some of my questions about the Kulsat’s internal culture, but why are they so aggressively paranoid about other species? Surely, there has to be a way to stop the war between them and the rest of the galaxy. You said it’s been going on for a very long time.” Justine shook her head in astonishment at the thought of a thousand years of war. “Does it have something to do with this ‘final component’ they kept asking me about?”
Fairamai gave a shrug of uncertainty. “At this point, there can only be speculation. Over the centuries, many of our records have been lost, and those that remain are in dispute. We believe the Xtôti—the Grace—possessed a higher level of technology concerning the Aetherock than any we have been able to develop. There are two aspects to this advancement that we have debated endlessly.
“While those who fail the Aether conversion have their life expectancies shortened, those who convert successfully often more than double their life span. There is a theory that, individually, each of the Grace had lived for a million years.”
Justine blanched, unable to imagine living so long. Doubling life expectancy was a more familiar concept; humankind had been exploring that for all history. Primitive peoples often only lived twenty or thirty years. Currently, it was becoming more common for people to celebrate their hundredth birthday, and still be quite active and lucid.
Worlds Away (The Interstellar Age Book 3) Page 19