by Allen Wold
They descended yet again, and now they knew that this cone was different in other ways from the other two they had entered. They were too close to the center, and too deep. Where the museum should have been, there was none.
They descended another level, and went inward again, and this time they came to a complex of chambers right at the center. From what they had seen in other cones, and in the database, this looked like a centralized records office, similar to the computer center but less elaborate and sophisticated. Droagn and Gray shard checked out the computer terminals, but the radiation that had killed the cyclopeans had completely destroyed the computer system.
They moved into an outer shell, looking for a further way down. They passed through chambers with their contents mostly intact, pictures on the walls, mostly artworks but in one side chamber what looked like job charts. They decided to go farther in that direction.
Whatever this community had been, it was certainly different, because at this level there were no concentric shells of chamber and passage, but instead a continuing complex of rooms, each opening onto several others. At each doorway they paused, and went toward whatever seemed more businesslike, less residential, more governmental, less civilian.
In one chamber they found, occupying an entire inner wall, a geological map of the world, in a projection not that much different from that currently in use in the Federation. Rikard got a full and detailed recording of it, and after a bit Bardolino was able to identify which were the continents and which the seas. The graphics were different from anything with which they were familiar, though they somewhat resembled some of the images Droagn had dredged up out of the data they'd brought back from Tsikashka, but Bardolino was used to seeing worlds from space, and the graphic conventions didn't confuse her as much. Also, though they had all watched their approach, only Bardolino had really paid attention to the surface of the planet, as opposed to what had been done to it, and so she was able to orient herself on this map, and found their approximate present location, though no cities were shown.
They left the map and went through the rest of this officelike section, but this area of preservation was not extensive, and a little farther on they came to the end. They turned back, but took different routes rather than just retracing their steps, with the intention of searching the whole of this level.
And then, in one large officelike area, Droagn paused to stare at a side door that the others had passed. The blue marks indicated that on the other side was something like a closet. "There's something different about this one," Droagn said. He touched two hands lightly to the Prime, tipped his head so that the points projecting from the circlet aimed more nearly toward the door, swung his head slowly from side to side.
"So what is it?" Rikard asked. "It's the wrong shape, and there's something inside I can't read.'
They opened the door, and not only was the closet far wider than usual, and much shallower, but it was also filled with things too fragile to touch.
On shelves on either side were little transparent boxes, each of which held an insect of some kind. There was a set of pots that contained soil and probably what had once been plants. On one shelf, at eye level, was a set of little multicolored plastic blocks that fit together in a variety of ways. Near the floor was a stack of papers that began to crumble even as they watched. There were several baskets woven of a natural material, which, for a while, held their attention.
Rikard recorded everything, but it was Grayshard who pointed out that there was another peculiarity to this place. "If I'm not mistaken," he said, "this is the outline of a door." It was opposite the one they had opened.
"It looks too good to pass up, doesn't it?" Bardolino said.
"It does indeed." Rikard pushed against the panel, it resisted a moment, and then it swung away from them.
Beyond it was a large office with no other doors. Rikard felt the hairs rise on the back of his neck as the others crowded through the doorway behind him.
"It doesn't look much different from the other offices we've been in," Grayshard said.
But Bardolino had gone on into the center of the room and turned back to face them. "Oh, yes it is." She was looking at the wall through which they had come. The others turned around, and there, to the left of the doorway, was another map, not geological this time but political.
Rikard recorded it all in high resolution, even as they examined it. They found their present location without difficulty this time, and now knew the symbol for a city. They found other cities at places that Bardolino remembered as having received the most damage, as well as smaller symbols that represented smaller cities, such as this one was. A simple real-time analysis of the city symbols showed that not only did they roughly represent the approximate size, but also political importance, the way Federation maps did. And once the symbols were known, the map became easy to read, and they could identify regional capitals, and one city that could only have been the planetary capital, or the equivalent.
And that, of course, was where they wanted to go. They left the map room, and hurried up and out by the most direct route. As they left the ruins, Bardolino paused to communicate with the ship, which was still in orbit. "No visitors while we were gone," she said. They hurried to the shuttle and left the surface.
They returned to orbit but when they flew over the site of the capital they found that it was utterly slagged. It was one of the few ex-land surfaces that showed signs of cratering. "It makes sense," Rikard said. He tried to suppress his disappointment.
"Of course it does," Grayshard agreed. "Whoever wiped these people out would have made sure that the planetary capital got the heaviest attack." The destruction of the city had penetrated deep into the crust of the planet, far below the possibility of any subterranean fortress. There was no sense in even going down to look.
Nor was there any point in their remaining in the system. The kind of research to be done here was best left to academic professionals, not an opportunist like Rikard. Bardolino set a course for Novo Boskva.
But before they departed, Rikard directed her to take the ship back to the moon, so that they could look once again at whatever facilities were there, just in case any had remained intact. She complied willingly.
They orbited the moon equatorially and performed a quick probe of its surface. Though there was scarring on the sunlit planetward face, there was no evidence of slagging there, and the back side was completely untouched. Though it was night there, the physical structures at the center of the back side were plainly evident, and showed no signs of damage. How had they been missed? Rikard, Droagn, Grayshard, and Bardolino took a shuttle down to investigate the largest surviving complex.
The dome covering the complex was intact, and they had no way to operate the ship-locks, plainly located around the perimeter near ground level, so they landed the shuttle a safe distance away and took a pressurized floater over. They circled the dome once, at fairly high speed. There were no fractures, no damage from meteor or missile. Somehow the war had passed it by, and time had left it untouched as well. In the dark and without the ship's extensive probes they couldn't see much inside, but shadowy forms were present deep within. When they had come full circle they landed the floater on the apron of the nearest ship-lock and went out in pressure suits.
It being a lock they could cut through the hatch without letting much air escape, and they put up a temporary seal when they were inside. There were several peculiar craft in the lock, including one that Rikard remembered having seen in the Tschagan space station three years ago, though whether it was a cyclopean craft or belonged to another species he couldn't tell. There were more empty slots than craft, however.
At the inner hatch they again erected a temporary seal after cutting their way through, though the pressure inside the dome was only about half what they were used to. If the cyclopeans had found the other inhabited worlds comfortable, it was half what they had been used to, too, though there was now no way to be sure.
But as they entered the structure itself they saw that it had been stripped. Unlike the lower chambers in the ruins on the planet, there was nothing left here, no furniture, no decorations. Lights had been taken out of the ceilings, other systems of unknown nature had been removed from the supports and partitions. Like the Ahmear ruins, the survivors had taken everything and run when they knew the war was going to destroy their world, or did so shortly afterward.
They went through the empty place quickly, from one side to the other, changing levels whenever possible. There were subsidiary structures off to the sides, and other domes nearby, but there was no sense in trying to visit them. In one place they found some trash in a corner, which had been preserved perfectly. It was nothing worth taking.
Rikard was crushed by disappointment. There was lots more to do regarding these people on other worlds but he'd hoped to make the big find here, especially since Karyl Toerson was, apparently, nowhere around.
"The question remains," Grayshard said. "This was their capital world, and it has been destroyed—by whom? and why?"
"That's something I would very much like to find out," Rikard said.
"And how do you propose to do that?" Bardolino asked.
"My uncle Gawin," Rikard told her. "If you're curious, you can come along."
"This is more fun than running charter trips for Secor Limited," she said. "Besides, you've already paid for the ship. Where are we going?"
"Malvrone," Rikard said.
"That Gawin?" Bardolino asked.
"Yes, do you know him?"
"Only by reputation."
"Which one, I wonder," Rikard said.
Malvrone
1
Even in the relatively Utopian Federation, some people seem to accumulate personal power, while others are helpless and ineffectual. But one of the peculiarities of personal power is that there is, as yet, no good explanation for why some people have it. Not everybody who is well connected politically has power. We all know about people elected to high office who can't control their lives, their constituents, their peers. And there are those with no real political connections at all who nonetheless manage to control those in office. It's a given that those with money also have power, but that's not always true. If it were, rich people would never go broke, and poor people would never get rich. And a change of fortunes is not always due to stupidity or hard work.
The Malvrone family had immense power. They personally ruled an entire world, and were the sole owners of the corporation of which Rikard's grandfather, Artos Lord Malvrone, was the chairman, and his grandmother, Artos's wife, Vikaria Lady Malvrone, was president. Their connections with other planets in the Federation, with Federal agencies, were among the most influential. Though not as wealthy as the family of the legendary M'Kade, they were still worth the total income of at least two worlds, and could dispose of it as they wished.
And they had wielded that power, without dissent or rebellion, for generations. Their connections and money gave them power, but more than that, their personal power enabled them to keep their connections and wealth. Those who seemed likely to lose either were eased out of the inner circle, as was Gawin Malvrone. It was for this reason that while the rest of the family occupied extensive estates in the most beautiful area of Malvrone, within easy reach of all aspects of government and culture, Gawin lived in a remote part of the world in quite modest doings—relatively speaking— within easy reach of interstellar shuttleports, both public and "private."
Wealth is not enough. Ann Braeth had discovered vast wealth, and before he died he'd passed it on to his son, Rikard. If Rikard could have converted that wealth to cash, he could have purchased and controlled a significant portion of the entire Federation. He could have bought his mother's family for small change. But his personal power was far more limited than theirs. Not that he was condemned to be powerless, for he had learned a lot in the seven years since he'd first left home to go adventuring. But he lacked the background, the experience, the whatever it was that it took to handle that kind of wealth effectively, and he knew it.
And now that he was going to face that family, he was somewhat nervous about it. He was riding in the luxurious passenger space of an air-floater, a vehicle that could either follow paved roads or fly above the countryside with other air traffic, as it was doing now. It was being driven by a living person, rather than running on a self-control grid. They were approaching a huge structure set in a parklike forest, among gardens, on a plateau overlooking wilderness and rich farmland.
Rikard moved uncomfortably in his comfortable seat. He was dressed far more elegantly than he was used to. He also did not have his gun with him, having been instructed most firmly to leave it behind, and felt a little nervous about that.
The air-floater came down to a tiny private landing field and proceeded on floaters alone above a perfect road that led toward the huge building. In spite of himself, Rikard was impressed. He could not truly gauge how big the building was, nor of what it was made, but it glittered in the light of the setting sun behind him, as if it were designed to do so. As it probably was.
The driver brought the air-floater between wings of the building into a courtyard, as if he knew which way he was going. Being Gawin's personal chauffeur, he probably did. The floater set down at a low porch, and as Rikard got out, the door to the mansion was opened by two Human servants whose job seemed to be just that, as they held the door while a third servant came out and walked directly toward Rikard.
The man did not smile as he neared. His expression was perfectly neutral. "Good evening, sir," he said when he was some three paces away. There was no questioning of identity, no sign of recognition. "Won't you please come in." He stood to one side in an unmistakable gesture of invitation. There was no feeling in it at all.
Rikard made the smallest of nods and started toward the door. He did not look at the servant again, nor at the two who were holding the door open for him, though it could probably have stood by itself. The man who had greeted him followed three paces behind.
They entered a large foyer, and as they did so Rikard stopped, turned to the man behind him, and handed him a letter from Gawin. The servant took it, and merely glanced at it. But then, instead of directing Rikard into the large and comfortable parlor through a broad open doorway opposite the entrance, he led him through a side door on the right, to a small chamber where they paused for just a moment, then out another door opposite into a most luxurious chamber where a number of people were socializing. They stood or sat, seemingly at their ease, engaged in mild conversation, dressed much as Rikard was though with some differences in style. A number of Human servants and machines moved among them, offering drinks and light foods and taking away empty glasses and napkins. There the servant who had let Rikard into the house simply bowed and left him to his own devices.
He stood for a moment, trying to size up these people. They were of all ages, though few were as young as he, and the older people, maybe as much as one hundred eighty or so, looked all very well cared for. Someone glanced his way. He smiled, broke eye contact, and the other directed his attention somewhere else.
He moved slowly into the open crowd. The people did not seem unfriendly, they smiled his way, but they didn't know him, and did not make an effort to meet him. He smiled back when he met someone's eye, nodded now and then, and once or twice said hello when it couldn't be avoided. But he did not pursue their acquaintance either.
He was uncomfortable here. His clothes were as good as theirs but he didn't wear them as well. He was too tall, and not nearl
y as good-looking as he would like to be. He was surrounded by strangers who all seemed to have something to say to each other, and there were no openings for him to fit into.
He did notice that an attractive woman of about his age seemed to be watching him. He paid no attention to her at all, but remained aware of her as he moved in a not completely aimless arc among the people around the room. She was more toward the center, engaged in conversation with first one person, then another, but she kept on glancing at him. He was not surprised when, after a while, she came over in his direction. Her eyes met his and held his, and she smiled in a thoroughly neutral way as she approached. "Good evening," she said. "I don't believe we've met."
"I am sure we have not," Rikard said, "as I have been to Malvrone only once before, and I did not meet you then. My name is Rikard Braeth, and I am here at the invitation of my uncle, Gawin Malvrone."
"Good heavens," the woman said, and her expression now showed some small real pleasure mingled with surprise and confusion. "I would never have known you. And yet you do look something like your mother. I'm your cousin Gwineth."
Now it was Rikard's turn to be taken aback. He knew from his uncle that he had cousins, but he'd never met them. Gawin, on his few visits, had come alone, and had spoken of his family little. "Cousin Gwineth," he said, "forgive me, I guess I wasn't expecting to meet anybody here except Gawin."
"The chances are good that you won't," Gwineth said, "and it's probably just as well."
"Especially my grandfather," Rikard said wryly. He watched her closely for signs of aversion, and saw none.
"I'm afraid so," she said with a small sigh. "You do know how the family feels about you?"