He’d originally hoped that determining the basis for that definite temperature differential might lead to developing possible means for pushing the ice back from the northern side of the canal. The more he studied that aspect of the problem, the more he doubted that he could develop even a viable theoretical approach. While he was not about to tell the Ministry that, not yet, there were other aspects of the canal that offered better prospects, including his growing awareness of what might almost be called “messages,” such as the understanding of when a berg might calve or when a tsunami might reach the station—although that had happened but a handful of times. He couldn’t very well put those into a research paper or presentation. Even Maarlyna, who loved and trusted him, had hardly given him any indication that she believed what he sensed. Yet…he had the feeling she sensed something as well, although he had not pressed her on that, not when she was neurally so vulnerable.
Now he had to give a convincing presentation on a thesis in which he no longer fully believed in order to retain Ministry support to allow him to pursue a research alternative he couldn’t logically justify or quantify. And Minister Hlaansk’s dispatch had made it more than clear that he had best be very convincing.
There was also the question of whether that was even the real purpose of Hlaansk’s politely worded demand. Was it as simple as what he had stated, or was Maertyn’s presentation designed to provide political cover for the minister against the appointees who were loyal to other political figures, or was it to make an example of Maertyn by showing that even lords were accountable…especially if they requested more equipment? Or was it something else entirely?
Finally, he pushed the chair back and stood, turning from the pale green screens that held meaningful but irrelevant data. He stretched, then, after several moments, walked from his workroom into the main study. He did not see Maarlyna, and he turned toward the ramp that began just inside the main entrance on the canal side of the station building and headed down to the kitchen, located in the chamber below his work space.
Maarlyna was not there, but Shaenya was standing before the cook-top.
“Might I ask what’s for dinner?”
“Carplet stew, but with a pinenut glaze, and spiced potatoes in yogurt with some greens I gathered from the sheltered garden.”
“The panels have kept it from freezing?”
“Them and the water walls. For now. In another two weeks…who could say?”
“If there’s time next week in Daelmar before I catch the maglev to Caelaarn, I’ll see if I can stop and have a side of lamb sent over from there on Haarlan’s freightrunner.”
“You’d not have to do that, Lord Maertyn.”
“I want you, Svorak, and Maarlyna well-fed in my absence.” He grinned. “If I do, don’t you dare save it for my return.”
“Not if you’d be telling me not to, no, sir.”
“You haven’t seen Maarlyna, have you?”
“Lady S’Eidolon?” The cook shook her head. “She came down an hour ago, but not since then.”
“Thank you.” Maertyn turned and walked back up the ramp and then outside onto the narrow space between the station and the canal wall. He glanced around before catching sight of Maarlyna. For a moment, he just looked, taking in the glint of light off her amber hair and the way she appeared so much a part of the canal and the light house.
She stood in the weak late-afternoon sunlight to the left of the light house, looking out at the cold gray waters of the ocean. She did not turn as he joined her.
“It’s peaceful here.” Her voice was quiet, so low he could barely make out her words above the hum of the wind turbines, the rush of the wind, and the intermittent muffled crash of the waves below hitting the enduring blue-gray stone.
He understood. “Not that many people around.”
“They didn’t used to grate on me so much.”
“Times change.”
“So do people. I’ve changed, Maertyn.”
“We all change as we grow.”
“You’re humoring me.”
“Perhaps a little. Isn’t that the husbandly thing to do?”
She finally turned to face him. “You never used to do that. You never were so solicitous before…before…”
“No. I should have been, but almost losing you made me realize how much you meant to me.” His eyes looked into hers, a shade of amber that matched her hair almost perfectly.
“I know. I don’t pretend to understand, but I know.”
He leaned toward her and brushed her cheek with his lips. “I’m glad you do.”
“The longer we’re here,” she mused, “the stranger the station seems, and yet the more like home. I have the feeling that I won’t want to leave.”
Maertyn nodded. He wasn’t certain he felt quite that way, but then, he’d never felt as though any place had ever been home. In those moments as he stood beside her under the high gray clouds, his thoughts returned to the station itself. As Maarlyna had said, there were so many prosaically strange aspects to the station. There were no vermin, no pests, and, according to the records, domesticated animals howled and moaned if they were kept inside. Yet the old records showed that the former light house-keepers had had fewer accidents and lived seemingly healthier and longer lives than their contemporaries. Had some of them sensed what Maertyn did? At least subconsciously?
The functionality of the doors bothered him. They had from the beginning. According to the older records, they didn’t respond to animals, only to people, and that included children, and generally only to bare skin. Did the “windows,” doors, and ducts respond as much to mental intent as to human touch? Did the windows admit light if no people were present? How could he easily test the effect of presence or intent?
“You have the oddest look on your face, Maertyn…”
“I was just thinking…”
“About what?”
“The station.” He paused. “Would you do me a favor, dearest?”
“If I can.” Her voice was puzzled.
“I’d like you to touch parts of the station wall as we walk back, but I want you to close your eyes after the first touch, take several steps, and touch the station wall again. You remember when I was doing that? I didn’t think about doing it with my eyes closed when I couldn’t see the wall.”
“Would that make a difference?”
He laughed softly. “I don’t know. I just never thought of it.”
“If you think it will help,” she offered, smiling.
“One way or the other, it will,” he promised.
As they walked back toward the station, she grasped his arm with her left hand a trace more firmly than usual.
“Where do you want me to start?”
“Right at the corner, here. Then you close your eyes and take several steps. I’ll tell you when to touch the wall again. Keep your eyes closed, but reach out and touch the stone. Then, we’ll do it once more…several times more.”
Maarlyna reached out and touched the rounded square corner of the stone, then closed her eyes. “How many steps?”
“Try three.”
Maertyn let her lead him.
“Here?” she asked.
“That’s good.”
At the third stop, where, on the inside, Maertyn thought there was a window, there was no change in the opacity of the stone. Maertyn hadn’t expected there would be, but the confirmation was slightly satisfying.
After the fourth stop, he said, “Just two steps this time.”
Maarlyna took the two steps, then stretched her arm and touched the smooth gray stone.
Maertyn watched intently. For a long moment, nothing happened. He counted silently. One, two, three.
Then the door opened, the stone sliding/folding into itself as it always did.
He almost nodded. “You can open your eyes.”
“We’re back. What did you find out?”
He gestured for her to enter the study, following her inside, before replying
. “The door opened more slowly when you weren’t thinking of it as a door.”
Behind them, the door re-formed into the smooth stone wall.
She nodded. “I can’t say that surprises me. I couldn’t tell you why, though.” She smiled. “I wonder if it would refuse to open if someone hostile tried.”
“I’d rather not have to try that experiment.” He returned the smile. “I need to think about some things before dinner.”
“I’ll just read in here, if it won’t disturb you.”
“You never do.” Maertyn returned to his workroom through the open archway and settled into the swivel, thinking.
Had that long hesitation meant what he thought? Exactly what else could he do? He nodded. He should have thought about it earlier. He could certainly measure the light levels in the main rooms just by leaving a recording photometer behind. That would tell him about the windows. He leaned forward and began to list the equipment he needed. He’d have to modify some of it to get the accuracy he desired, but it wouldn’t take that much work.
When he finished, some time later, he straightened and considered the situation.
The first and most obvious question was why had others not discovered what he had. The first thought that came to mind was that they might well have, but how would he know, given the fragmentary nature of the records remaining? If they had discovered only what he had observed so far, then the results would only have been a curiosity. To discover more would have required higher-level technology, and human records tended to become more and more impermanent with such technology, not to mention that humans seemed to have great difficulty hanging on to civilization—and records—once technology reached a high level.
Maarlyna’s question raised another line of thought. Determining hostile intent suggested more than mere mechanical response. Could the stone hold an entire intelligence of some sort?
Yet, if it did, why had it remained detached, or at least passive, over all the years? Was there some sort of test involved? Or was the test simply to discover what the canal truly was and how to best use it?
He frowned. Then again…could anything as enigmatic as the canal truly be “used” by anyone?
As always, what he discovered was raising more questions than answers, and he needed some sort of answers to keep the Ministry off his back…and to keep Maarlyna away from Caelaarn—indeed anywhere near Unity spies and functionaries—for as long as possible.
8
10 Quad 2471 R.E.
Outside the station, the late-spring midmorning temperature hovered around 39° Standard. The wind speed was negligible. That lack of meteorological instability allowed Eltyn to return to evaluating the results of the latest attempt to delve into the unseen and unknown systems controlling the station. His virties scanned the records of the device’s attempts, but only confirmed what the very first attempts had revealed—that the DNA-infused pressure probe was effective in opening conduit covers, but not in operating doors and windows.
Pressure[DNA] novel (8) ineffective in gaining interior/exterior access.
Suggests [system?] awareness of consciousness/intelligence? Faelyna pulsed back from her work space.
Interrogative possibility of incorporating replica brain-wave patterns?
Would estimate probability of failure to approach unity.
Interrogative integration/facsimile of higher functions? pressed Eltyn.
Equivalent result probable.
????
Your earlier observations. Windows only pass light when humans present/awake. Suggests that full-body-brain construct required. Clone offers theoretical possibility, but to what end? [disgust] Replica human equivalent to FFH.
Eltyn considered her point…and the associated probabilities. Even before a rational and quick calcjection, he knew she was right. Agree/accept. Interrogative your basis for approach(9)? [polite inquiry, non-intrusive]
Replication of sensorium…
?????
Basis for reception…[observe]…
Eltyn appreciated the easy access to her protocols, even as he marveled at the ingenuity involved. Then he paused. Interrogative access to polariton generator/imager?
Loan from IPS. ETA on fourday.
She’d wrangled that from the Institute for Physical Science? Excellent. [marveling admiration] Duration of loan?
Two months. Maintenance while restructuring fusion laboratory.
Probability of shadow/dark energy imaging?
Real time/space interfaces fully examined. What remains?
Faelyna definitely had a point. The stone doors and windows reacted to human presence and acts, and intent. Yet under a complete range of observable energies, no form of radiation passed the stone’s surface, nor was there any diminution of energy upon impact, nor any observable reaction from the stone. Shadow entanglement?
One possibility.
Interrogative follow-up approaches? he pulsed.
Possibilities…Assistance appreciated.
[grateful thanks] Eltyn had the feeling she was being kind. He could accept that. They’d succeed or fail as a team, and he’d not been that successful.
You spurred thought.
Had he unconsciously private-pulsed her? Or she understood what he was feeling? From my failure…your success?
Unsuccessful efforts leading to success are not failure. Our success. [apprehension/hopefulness]
At that moment came a white pulse, followed by, MCC Met Station(W). Request b/up data, confirming sandstorm intensities, past year. Absent from report.
?????, Eltyn private-pulsed to Faelyna. Idiots5! [contempt]
[fatalism2] You expected competence?
[rueful shrug] She was right. Their project had been buried in Meteorology because RucheMet was known not to be aggressively self-examining. He pulsed back, MetControl. Data sent. Possible transmission loss. Appendices 2 & 3. Resending this time. It took him several seconds to locate, link, and resend the report.
MCC MetStation (W). Request b/up report transmission for future reports. CommNet capacity interference increasing.
MetControl. Will comply.
Eltyn paused, frowning. CommNet capacity interference? When RucheCom had been touting more than adequate capacity for generations to come? He keyworded/concepted the term and pulsed Ruche reference, tagging for current news.
All he got was a definition. Loss of data in transmission resulting from unbuffered packet interruption. The image at the top of the virtie-screen, above the words, was one of the standard ones—an image of Ruche Central, the golden-domed hexagonal structure at the center of Hururia, shimmering in the cooler sun of its northern latitude.
He pulsed Faelyna. Capacity interference?
Raelyn noted same at IPS. [skepticism] Full-band monitoring could reduce net capacity 40%.
Eltyn pondered that for all of ten seconds, until he received another MetCom transmission.
All dispatches/reports to RucheCom and Meteorology require complete impersonality. Failure to comply will result in disciplinary action.
Complete impersonality??? offered Eltyn on a local pulse to Faelyna. Rationale? Rationality? [ironic not-quite-disbelief]
Excessive individualism is the root of societal collapse and the bane of the Ruche. [sarcasm][snort]
The “new” tenet of The Fifty?
???? Old tenet. Very old. Resurging with the possibility of another Searing, replied Faelyna.
IPS not solar meddling?
After the discovery of the ruins at Jheana? Not likely. Sandstorms and drought equate to Searing for most workers/drones. They vote-post. The Fifty reacts.
Unfortunately. [wince]
They may not react enough. [sadness/cynical worry] Fear reinforces worst of tradition.
Great3 Wonder. After a moment, Eltyn added, Suggest we work on additional approaches for use of polariton generator/imager. Intensive uses.
[complete agreement]
Outside the station, under the smoldering sun, the temperatur
e crept higher. The blue-gray waters of the canal held little more than ripples, those generated from the low ocean waves, ripples that subsided into stillness a handful of kays to the east of the station.
9
11 Siebmonat 3123, Vaniran Hegemony
Duhyle stood by the chest-high section of the protective wall that topped the main canal wall for the first kay eastward from the ocean. He watched as the sleek biosolar transport approached the station from the east. The transport eased to a stop on the blue-gray stone ten yards east of the station. The driver positioned the vehicle three yards from the protective wall. That left a good thirty yards of clear flat stone on the south side of the transport.
Duhyle waited for a moment, then walked toward the shimmering craft, whose dark exterior soaked up every possible photon.
The tall officer who stepped out and toward him wore the single silver bar of a subcaptain and the black beret of special operations. She had silvered black hair and the creamy tan skin of a transplanted norther. Her deep black irises matched her hair, except for the flecks of silver scattered around her pupils. The equipment belt at her waist held a stunner on one side and a sidearm on the other. “You must be Tech Duhyle,” she offered. The tips of her hair and eyelashes remained dark, unemotional.
“Yes, ser.”
“Is Scient-Commander Mimyra Helkyria here?”
“She is. She’s in her laboratory. Could I announce you?”
“If you would. I’m Subcaptain Symra. We’ll be unloading her equipment.”
Eight other well-muscled techs emerged from the transport. All wore the dull deep green singlesuits and boots of spec-ops. Five were women, and three were men. The shortest of the women was Duhyle’s height. Duhyle was taller than the three male techs.
“I’ll tell her.” Duhyle turned and headed back toward the station.
He had just reached the foot of the ramp up to Helkyria’s lab when he saw her hurrying down. “There’s a Subcaptain Symra and a spec-ops squad here. They have the equipment…”
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