Then the viewpoint began to move. The desert accelerated beneath, and she squirmed, recalling her desperate flight across the chindi. A few hills rose, rippled beneath, and vanished. Off to the right, she saw movement.
A camel-like creature.
In fact, a camel!
They swept past, and she saw more of the animals. And then, in the distance, white-and-gray specks that grew rapidly into horses with white-clad riders. And lines of men on foot. Archers. There appeared to be thousands of them.
“Looks like Pharaoh’s army,” said one of Mogambo’s people, not entirely joking.
Arrayed against the riders was a second force, even larger, with armed chariots, more horsemen, and hordes of infantry. The cavalry wore purple and white, not quite the colors Byron had cited somewhere.
“It is Earth, no question,” said Mogambo. “Do you realize what this means? These are live pictures.”
“Do we have a date on this?” asked Tor.
Brownstein passed the question to Jennifer.
“The transcript says early twelfth century, B.C.”
“Armageddon?” asked Claymoor.
Hutch shrugged. “Don’t know. Could be any of a thousand engagements, I suppose.”
The opposing forces were lining up, getting ready to move against each other.
“We can pass over this if you prefer not to watch the bloodshed,” said Jennifer.
“No!” Mogambo waved at Brownstein. “Leave it. Tell her no.”
They watched from a perspective behind the smaller force. Jennifer adjusted the view so they were about forty meters above the desert floor. The sides feinted and jabbed at each other, infantry units clashed, and finally the left wing of the bigger force rolled forward. Reluctantly, Hutch sat through it all, chariot charges, volleys of arrows, engagements between squadrons of spearmen. Blood and dust and writhing bodies were everywhere, and although she wanted to get away from it she could not stop watching.
She wasn’t sure how long it took—the carnage seemed endless—but the upper hand swayed back and forth. In the end, the purple force—Assyrians? — held the field, but the killing had been so general it was hard to award either side a victory.
The dying were everywhere. Men walked among them, stabbing everyone, as though they were all enemies.
And finally it blinked off.
They sat unmoving. It wasn’t like the VR epics, played out to heroism and sweeping symphonies. It was the first time Hutch had seen anything like it. And she wondered that her own species could be so implacably cruel. And stupid.
Tor was sitting beside her, and he asked gently whether she wanted to leave.
The system reactivated, and they were over another desert in, she thought, another time. They moved rapidly above the dunes, which gave way to palms and shrubs. A shoreline glimmered in the distance. They passed over herds of horses and other animals Hutch didn’t recognize. Dromedaries of one kind or another.
A walled city appeared and began to spread out across the plain. When they got close enough that she could make out people and pack animals she began to appreciate the size of the place. It seemed more fortress than town, surrounded by triple walls, each higher toward the inside. Towers rose at frequent intervals. It was, in all, a daunting structure, completely enclosing the city, save where it allowed the diagonal passage of a river.
“The Euphrates,” said Jennifer.
If the far side of the city, which she could not see, was as extensive, the walls had to be between eighteen and twenty kilometers around. There was a roadway atop the innermost wall and, as she watched, two chariots, each pulled by a pair of horses, easily passed each other.
They glided over the ramparts and looked down on a stunning rock figure of a lion. It stood astride a man who lay with his right hand on the animal’s flank and his left in its jaw.
The thoroughfares were busy and the shops crowded. She wondered what the sounds of the city would have been like, whether there were horns and flutes in the marketplace, people bickering with each other, or the cries of vendors. She wished it might have been possible to descend and walk for a time on those streets.
They left the mercantile district and passed over a group of public buildings, a palace or two, perhaps, and a temple. Fountains sprayed water onto laughing children, and banners flapped in the wind. Flowering plants bloomed everywhere.
Gardens and walkways were filled with people.
To her left, a tower rose about a dozen stories, circled by an outside ramp.
“Where are we?” someone whispered.
When nobody replied, Hutch answered. “Babylon.”
Tor, on her right, leaned toward Claymoor. “Live from the Tower,” he said. “But it’s pretty low if somebody’s going to try to use it to reach Heaven.”
It almost seems, Hutch thought, that nothing is ever lost.
Epilogue
April 2228
AS OF THIS date, three years after the event, researchers have not returned to the chindi. Records gleaned by the Mogambo mission have supplied a vast amount of data that analysts have only now begun to digest. Meanwhile, plans have been laid for a vessel capable of reaching velocities comparable to that of the artifact. But progress continues to be delayed by funding difficulties.
There was some question at first why satellites had been placed in orbit around VV651107, the neutron star, where the original discovery was made. It is of course a site at which there would seem to be nothing whatever of interest to anyone. Yet the extreme age of the chindi has changed everyone’s perspective. The prevailing theory is that it intends to observe the effects of the dead star when it rumbles into KM447139 at the beginning of the twentieth millennium and disrupts that system.
The evidence is in on Safe Harbor, whose civilization was destroyed by a nuclear war. The war broke out near the end of the eleventh century on the terrestrial calendar, at about the time of the First Crusade. We have assembled a reasonably detailed history of the events leading up to the disaster, and the conditions of its aftermath. Destruction of the dominant life-form was complete, lethal levels of radioactivity drifted around the world, and everyone was dead within two years. Some vegetation survived, a few herbivorous animals, and several thousand species of birds. And, of course, swarms of insects.
At KM449397, the Memphis mission’s Paradise, no further attempt has been made to contact the inhabitants. They have been observed from orbit, and on the ground through the use of lightbenders. They give every appearance of being for the most part a peaceful, amicable society. There is occasional intertribal violence, but it is sufficiently rare to raise serious questions as to why the inhabitants attacked the Memphis landing party without provocation.
The answer may be found in their religious beliefs, which allow for the existence of demons and evil wood sprites, all of which can be easily recognized by their lack of wings. The Almighty, who occupies the sky, does not wish such creatures in his presence and has therefore denied them the power of flight.
There are several alternative explanations, laid out in detail in Michael Myshko’s excellent study, The Rivers of Paradise.
The identity of the occupants of the Retreat remains a mystery. Two bodies were found in the courtyard grave. They were of the same species, male and female. DNA reconstitution has given us pictures of the creatures.
Dates of death have not been established precisely, but they clearly occurred not later than the end of the third century. The female was apparently buried immediately. The male’s interment occurred not long before the arrival of the Memphis. There seems little doubt that it was accomplished by the chindi. But as to how, or why, there is at this time only speculation. In any case, we know that representatives from the chindi were there, because Maurice Mogambo, during his period on the artifact, discovered and recorded items taken from the Retreat.
Were they of the same species?
Technology at the Retreat was more advanced than on the chindi, but that in itself does n
ot preclude the possibility that there was a common origin. We simply do not know. If translations from the library ever become available, we will be in a better position to answer this kind of question.
The bulk of the Retreat library was lost when the vehicle carrying it into orbit was struck by simultaneous electromagnetic discharges from both Twins, lost power, and crashed. Most of the volumes were destroyed in the resulting explosion.
Some fragments survive and have been translated. They are philosophical in nature. For example, one which has gained some celebrity is the debate on whether truth should be held as a value in its own right, as opposed to a system of constructive beliefs, without regard to their validity as accurate reflections of the real world. These might include a mythology that breeds community virtues, a set of religious dogma, or tales of noble acts attributed to a Washington or a Pericles.
The technology evident at the Retreat, in its various support systems, is clearly far advanced over terrestrial capability.
Everyone regrets that the Memphis didn’t arrive on the scene quickly enough to allow it to watch the Chindi’s procedures at the Retreat. Another opportunity to observe the chindi in action will be forthcoming in 2439, when it arrives in the vicinity of the Venture. The suggestion that the starship be left in place so that we can observe what happens has met with vociferous protest in some quarters. Opponents of the idea argue that the Venture is sacred, and that the aliens should not be allowed anywhere near it. As a compromise, a plan is now being developed to recover the ship and leave a duplicate for the chindi to inspect.
Ironically, the same people who held for the sanctity of the Venture raised no objection when the Retreat was disassembled two years ago and shipped to Virginia, where it waits in a storage facility for an appropriate site. In an angry interview last year, Maurice Mogambo argued that there is no appropriate site on the banks of the Potomac, in the state of Virginia, or at any other place he can think of. Save one.
An examination of that ill-fated voyage, by the way, revealed that the Venture was brought down by a simple calibration problem in the life-support system. Shortly after it had made its jump into hyperspace, the system locked up and began producing the wrong mix of gases. The crew suffered oxygen deprivation, which quickly produced brain damage. AI’s did not, during that early period, operate with the subtlety and sophistication of contemporary systems. Consequently the Venture’s artificial intelligence did not take over the ship, as a modern system would, and return it home.
George Hockelmann’s family successfully contested the will that would have given the Memphis to the Academy. It is now an executive transport for Lone Star, which performs extraterrestrial geological surveys.
After much indecision, Hutch accepted an administrative position with the Academy, and is now chief of transport operations. Just prior to publication of this report, she bought a chalet in the Rockies. She is taking skiing lessons from Tor, who assured a group of nervous well-wishers that he knows exactly what he is doing.
Tor’s eight-piece series, Sketches from the Chindi, has been on display in several major cities in Europe, the Americas, and in Malaysia and China. He appears to be selling well.
Technology harvested from the vehicle at the Retreat remains puzzling, but seems to hold open the possibility of a quantum leap, and may make feasible the long-awaited Weatherman mission, to investigate the nature of the omega clouds and to find a way to neutralize them.
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Chindi к-3 Page 54